TIGHTENING THE CIRCLE

Yes, folks, I have indeed joined forces with some of the "literati" here, and we are coming up with some ways to take our machinations public.  It's nothing new, really- or at least I do know it's been done before.  So all you critics of my pretention, just stop reading now, and check back next week for some easy-on-the stomach travel logging.

The purpose of this little group is tackle postmodernism (which those of you who know me are probably too familiar with my late-night whiskey-fueled monologues ranting and reeming its flaws) in a democratic way.  A little *ah-hem* maturity and the rigor bestowed upon me by my philosophy studies demand that I take it far beyond my tendency to preside over barroom discussions, and open the floor for the supporters as well as the denouncers.  One question I keep asking myself, especially as concerns literature, is, "How far is too far?"  While the Shock Wave that seems to be quite prominent in literature these days doesn't exactly offend me, (I am, after all, just as desensitized as the rest of my generation), it does make me curious about the ultimate purpose and effectiveness of all that this traumatism suggests.  I know many of my readers are much more qualified and competent at contributing to this, both formally and informally- so please be thinking on it.  As I feel that I am better qualified to act as mediator of sorts, I welcome commentary here, but also be aware that a publication will hopefully ensue in the fall, in which I will be looking for submissions.  After that, the goal is to host round-table symposium-esq events biannually, the first we are thinking will take place in London in December.  Basically, we want to engage writers, philosophers, scholars, etc. in a conceptual version of TED.  

While this is a very loose sketch of what's taking place here in Paris, be sure a concrete structure is on the horizon, so be ready for intervals from pictures of sailboats and pretty buildings...

DIEPPE

Dieppe is a tiny little town on the Normandy coast.  There is really not much to report, but that was kinda the point of going there.  Hiatus from Paris, and some sea air.  I did eat a delicious moule, and visited a really weird bar.  But mostly, it was just quiet...

ART

Although I am inhabiting a city with some of the greatest collections of artwork in the world, I have not seen even a tenth of it.  This is partly due, yes, to the overwhelming amount of it here (the sheer proportions of which one would have to devote an entire lifetime to absorbing), but also due to my own laziness.  Today for example, would be a great day to spend in a museum as it is quite grey and rainy, but instead I am doing laundry and blogging.  This morning I did read Stefan Zweig's novella "Chess," which was interesting and cataclysmic despite only being 75 pages.  Anyway, my lack of museum-perusing began at first by not wishing to try to consume Paris' sights, but allowing them to seep into me, in the efforts of being of the spirit of a mug of tea rather than a culture-vulture.  Now that I have been here about three months, and my french is beginning to become passable, I think it may be time to concentrate on the artworld a bit more.  I did go and see an exhibition of William Blake, and was pretty amazed.  Most of the pieces were actually quite small in dimensions, but nonetheless his child-like representations of rather dark material were quite striking.  But my favorite part of the exhibit was one of Francis Bacon's paintings of Blake's self-made "Deathmask."  He did a few versions of this, and I post here the one I saw, although the quality of the color does the painting no justice.  It was hanging on a wall at the end of the exhibit proper, next to a flat-screen which had about 45 seconds of Jarmusch's "Dead Man" in which Nobody encounters William Blake and asks, "How can it be?"  Over and over on repeat, this little clip sort-of got Bacon's painting stuck in my head, so I share it here.

On Saturday, a fellow Memphian came to Paris, as he had bored of London and the business that had taken him there.  I took him to Le marche aux puces de Saint-Ouen, where we had a nice lunch with my boss and son.  We then went to Montparnasse looking for Oscar Wilde's favorite bar, which my friend had visited the last time he was in Paris 15 years ago.  We were unsuccessful, but enjoyed some American beverages nonetheless.  After that, we had a break for naps and rejoined another in the evening.  We took a trip up the Eiffel Tower at night, which was pretty nice with all the lights and the full moon.  I realized in this day with a comrade a few things about my internal self, most notably that, well, I've changed a lot.  Imperceptible to the self which has demanded a lot in terms of "improvement" (see the post CHRONIC OBSERVER), ideas, no, the structure of thought has made a movement.  Most likely, this is entirely lateral, but it was interesting enough to witness it, and to note that it takes a comparative devise (such as a person from "home") to be able to perceive the movement.  I'm not depressed enough this morning to go into the details here on the blog, but believe that I was stricken and that it IS recounted in vol. III of the cumbersome journal.  Here are a few photos from the excursion.

MAY DAY

The first of May is a holiday in France.  Here's the history: "On May 1st, 1561, King Charles IX of France received a lily of the valley as a lucky charm. He decided to offer a lily of the valley each year to the ladies of the court. At the beginning of the 20th century, it became custom on the 1st of May, to give a sprig of lily of the valley, a symbol of springtime. The government permits individuals and workers' organisations to sell them free of taxation. It is also traditional for the lady receiving the spray of lily of valley to give a kiss in return. Now, people may present loved ones with bunches of lily of the valley or dog rose flowers."  (Wikipedia)  It is quite a charming holiday, I think.  Which may have to do with the fact that the French take lots of holidays, and that is always charming, but, still.  So I received two sets of Lillies- Bruno brought them for all of the girls in his household, and another came from a friend.  See above.

In other news, I am eagerly anticipating Jim Jarmusch's new film, "The Limits of Control."  Jarmusch is known for films of the journeyman, and though they are always a bit abstract, I am interested in comparing his latest endeavor with my own experiences.  See NYT review here: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/26/movies/26lim.html?_r=1&scp=3&sq=jarmusch&st=cse.  

Another theme being tested and tried (and researched in the sociological method (sic)) is, "What remains after Love?"  I am working on putting this into a narrative, and so comments are welcome.  Although it would be easy to focus here on all that is dour in the world, I really would like the piece to have a tone of reconciliation, in the hopes that by the end of the work maybe a little bit of lost innocence can be regained.  Maybe my interest here is a bit of an atonement for those casualties of myself, but beyond that I think it is a subject everyone deals with at one time or another, and life in France seems to be sharpening certain foci.  Many different accounts of this have been given over the course of time, but I find it especially interesting amidst this postmodern isolation.  So please, if you have thoughts, post them!