I am at my desk, not in my studio, not at the beach either, and thinking of Roma more than ever. Oh, make that getting distracted with Roma!
Yesterday evening was fun, had not done that kind of thing in a good while. It did bring back memories of the Middle East and all its sensuality. I loved it. This morning I took Ralph’s advice about the thing with the oil. But why on earth is Ralph giving me advice about oil? But then, his dogs are both dead, and the good man is living in a castle of sorts. He said something about his work, and he mentioned something about a liaison, and I had to smile, grin and smirk all at once. I was amused, and then I remembered the conversations I had under the Algarvian sun with that liaison. I remember the sun and warmth above all. What am I to do in the face of such facts? It is all nonsense, really!
Thing is that I often write on more than one piece at a time, mostly because while writing one paper or chapter an idea comes that I want to hold on to, and then I change files or open a new file, and write those down. As I write now what are notes in a chapter of Theoretical Man, there are all these images of a film that my son brought to my attention. One evening he comes home from the movies and I asked him what it was that he had gone to see. It was Turtles Can Fly. We talked about it, and I was fascinated. The next day I went to watch the film myself. It remains one of my all time favourite films. The storyline is fascinating, and the imagery is attentive.
I think that there were some elements that emerged in a couple of conversations last night that have brought additional insight to both how I function and how others function. I tend to not think that there is something like dysfunction although the term is much too popular even in scientific and scholarly circles.
That little piece of fiction – Turtles Can Fly – is in my view incredibly insightful. Politics aside, it is claimed that harsh truths are revealed. But is there anything like a truth, and can it ever be harsh? Events happen, and then there are consequences. Besides that, a couple of Alberts are on my mind. Not my uncle, not the one that most quote among physicists, but Albert Camus. Damn! I like his darkness and his transparency. Each time that I read him… I fall in love all over again, trouble is that I never know with whom. Now I begin to suspect that I might know after all.