the stalagmites of culture shock Monday, May 26 2008

It seems to have been a few days since my last post, so I think it’s only a reasonable time at just past one in the morning to begin writing a third post. These last few days have seen significant amount of changes. I’m not quite sure how to take it.

Those close to me may understand this, but in one particular half of the human race, it’s going to take a little time before I can restore my faith, and waiting around for this is like balancing on the edge into the unknown. The philosophy exam I completed wasn’t all that wonderful either, and i’m hoping that I didn’t make that one large mistake I apprehensively fear I have made.

after writing these few paragraphs, i think it’s unlikely I can write anymore due to the increasing energy drainage and half of my face is droopy/hurts ( which is a story I will tell at another time in order to give it a sufficient amount of justice.

Oh, and every late night stint should involve listening to Peter Gabriel with a flute.

mmm.

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The fool escaped Wednesday, May 21 2008

Wow, two blog posts in one day, probably not unheard of, but any sensible person would more than likely have concluded their day within one post. However, I am the exception.

Worries. To proceed doggedly in the face of difficulty or hardship may be a fitting chore for a teenager, it wouldn’t pass to have a little slack within the little freedom we have before the monstrous inevitability of life controls our actions.

For example, exams. Yes, don’t contradict, we all have to do them to get anywhere in life, I know, I know. Plenty of students around my age resort to their little teenage tantrums to try and outsmart or embarass the exam boards. Well, I’m more concerned with the communication between exam boards. The fact on Friday I have to complete five hours worth of exams is enough, but compared to my friend Adam whom has to complete three gruelling exams in the space of a few hours is preposterous. These exams are dictating his future, and one exam is a mental test enough, let alone three. Good luck with those Adam

 

May I just add, what the hell is general studies? Please, someone give me a decent explanation as to why i care whether problems occur entirely through my family, or my opinion on the decreasing quality of television. Me and a few of my friends decided to add some comedy to the desperately long hours which we had to endure, including dairy products within our answers. I managed three, and considering it was a little abstract, I was rather proud.

Onwards to Philosophy. But where to begin?

I do believe this will explain why it’s so abstract.

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The sun comprehending glass Wednesday, May 21 2008

So after completing my AS level English Literature paper, I can’t help feel a slight case of resentment. Yes, I managed to get through the isolation of Spies and the deception and betrayal of Tis’ Pity She’s A Whore, but it’s Philip Larkin who’s really got me screaming.

On the day of the explosion
Shadows pointed towards the pithead
in the sun, the slagheap slept

Down the lane came men in pitboots
Coughing oath edged talk and pipe smoke
Shouldering off the freshened silence.

One chased after rabbits; lost them;
Came back with a next of lark’s eggs;
Showed them; lodged them in the grasses.

So they passed in beards and moleskins,
Father’s, brothers, nicknames, laughter
Through the tall gates standing open.

At noon, there came a tremor; cows
Stopped chewing for a second; sun,
Scarfed as in a heat-haze, dimmed.

the dead go on before us, they
are sitting in God’s house in comfort,
We shall see them face to face –

Plain as lettering in the chapels
It was said, and for a second
Wives saw men of the explosion

Larger than in life they managed -
Gold as on a coin, or walking
Somehow from the sun towards them,

One showing the eggs unbroken.

Philip Larkin. High Windows 1974

The truth is, it’s not because I know too little about him, it’s because I know too much. The question that was asked involved the poem “The Explosion”. Ulitmately, I find this poem a beautifully constructed tragedy, one which portrays the delicacy and sensitivity in Larkin unlike his ‘things fuck you up’ style. Sitting there I couldn’t quite adequately put pen to paper about how I felt about it. Not only did I think it was the pinnacle ending to the collection, but it was the centre of Larkin’s tranquility, putting all his desolate fears of isolation and mortality into a harmonious context, finally setting Larkin’s mind at peace.

Talking to others, it seems as if I may have loved Larkin’s final poem a little too much, as I didn’t do the most vital thing in the exam and construct a reasonable for and against arguement. How silly of me.

Still, results day will tell all.

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