lunedì, gennaio 18, 2016

The new tyrannosaurus

Well . . . how are you doing this week? I'm in the middle of some questions of myself, and creativity, and mortality, and things . . . but they are not bad. I know it doesn't sound frightfully cheerful. But I've always been a pretty gloomy person and I see no reason to panic or worry over or try to change being a little gloomy now that I've actually got some things to be gloomy about from time to time.

Just to add to the cacophony of mourning voices out there - David Bowie - he's one of my favourite pop musicians, and about 15 of his songs occupy my top 30, if I have one. But his talent wasn't boundless, and he knew it. And he decided to be David Bowie anyways. I can say and acknowledge until the cows stumble home trying to mask their rummy breath that the work is more important than the result, but somehow it took David Bowie dying a couple of days after his millionth album came out, with this massive body of occasionally brilliant work behind him, for me to understand it. That is a profound gift to give people. Almost as good a gift as the music itself. Maybe better. It's quite a thing to get a Buddhist levelling-up handed to you like that from a man you've never met.

And I feel like a slightly better mother these days because I bought Godzilla a new tyrannosaurus that he can cuddle in bed, and he fell asleep with it as soon as he opened the package.  

4 commenti:

aglaiketstirk ha detto...

Meanwhile, in the Athens of the North...

Sometime around 11pm on Saturday night and after (totally and utterly) drowning his sorrows with his younger brother and his father (Hearts v Motherwell) my eldest son got onto the Glasgow train headed for Queen St.

Thinking he'd just have a 20 min snooze, he fell asleep.

Into a deep, deep, deep sleep.

Slumped flat out on the seat, eldest plonker was completely overlooked by the train guard when the train got into Queen St.
And because this was the last train of the night (we really haven't got the concept of 'public service here) the sleeping L was towed several miles out to the Springburn depot... where, at 1.30am the driver began locking it up for the night.

Only at that point was the dozy drunkard discovered... wandering about the empty carriage in a bit of a daze...

You made me jealous. I remember tucking that drunk idiot up in bed with his wee teddy...

Bowie? I liked the manner of his going. What astonishing style and grace and humility.

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

Oh dear. Thank you for the reminder that one day I'll miss the biggest inconveniences being contagious skin rashes and occasional tantrums.

aglaiketstirk ha detto...

Nah. It's the same - just slightly different.
Anyway, he drove me unhinged when he was a toddler. I couldn't go back to that - even if the rose tints make me remember only the lovely things.
I think I like this bit better - when he survives to tell funny stories (and he has plenty - mostly involving trippy drugs, alcohol and his incredibly weak bladder) and I only know about the survival bit.
You're at the tough stage of parenting I think. You've still to develop the tough protective outer shell that shields you and mostly helps you get through. Everything's raw. But that makes it so so amazing as well.

Dread Pirate Jessica ha detto...

I really needed to hear that. Godzilla is lovely - a gem of a kid - but man. This shit is HARD.