I arrived in York on Monday afternoon. The city is very beautiful, definitely the sort of place I would like to walk around and explore. There's a tremendous amount of history here, and lots of buildings that date back to medieval times or earlier. As usual on this tour, I really didn't get to have a proper look around. I stopped for a pint in the Golden Fleece (which they claim is haunted, though that's not why I went there), and then headed off to find soundcheck.
The energy at this gig was different from the others. I did not have a great feeling when I walked into the Duchess, though I couldn't really have told you why. Chris Oliver repeatedly asked me if I was OK, and I really couldn't say anything other than, "yeah, fine, thanks." At one point I was suddenly very cold, to the point that I could feel my bones shaking, which I attribute to travel exhaustion as much as anything else. The soundcheck seemed to go well enough, though there was some problems with Sefa's equipment that they were having trouble sorting out.
From the audience point of view, the gig sounded good, though it was clear that something was going on. Chris O. kept having to run across stage, and then over to the sound board, as both Sefa and Hannah seemed to be having issues. John seemed to be having some difficulties during "Underpass". Later, I learned that from the band and crew's point of view, the show was "total mayhem" (to use John's phrase). The band couldn't hear anything they were doing onstage, and at I saw Chris O. wince and stick his fingers in his ears at one point when Hannah picked up her violin. The main trouble was the sound board itself. From what I gathered (and my knowledge of sound engineering is zero), the sound desk at the venue had all kinds of programmable menus that could be set up--probably a very good and efficient thing if you have time to program it, but coming in cold a couple of hours before the gig was not good, and having to make quick changes through songs when they have to go through several menus each time is a problem. John told me that they were all utterly exhausted from trying to deal with the situation on stage, and from what I understand they were up late the day before, which I'm sure didn't help. At one point I could see my hands shaking while I was talking to him, and I realized it was from lack of proper sleep and food. I mentioned it, and John said that everyone was in the same boat--the band was pretty much the same way after several days of not taking proper meals, and then drinking at night and/or not getting much sleep. I'm actually looking forward to a "day off" in London as much as the rest of them probably are.
There were bright spots to the evening. I finally met Alex S. (who runs the Quiet City blog), and John came out to sign autographs and talk to people who were waiting, including Alex, who hadn't had a chance to talk to him in a couple of years. I also met a very nice gent in the front row called Martin, whom I chatted with between sets. The audience energy was very good, though we did have one person who had to repeatedly yell the name of each song as it was starting up. (I'd seen him wandering around earlier, and it's clear to me that he has "issues"--I won't start making diagnoses, though). However, as Martin pointed out, "Well, at least he knows John's material."
It is now Tuesday (Tuesday? Yes, it is Tuesday) morning, and I'm heading to London for the next 4 days, before going home on Saturday. I will not be doing soundchecks in London, as I hope to meet up with the Foxx fans who are going to the London gigs, and I will know more people there than at any other gig I've been to this past week. London is at least very much familiar territory now, so there will be no guessing about where I am or how to get around.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
John Foxx at Glasgow Arches
I arrived in Glasgow on Sunday afternoon. It's a rather busy city, but mostly with your standard business rather than anything of particular interest. To be fair, I didn't really have any time to look around the city, though others tell me pretty much the same thing. I went to the soundcheck at about 3:45, and ran into Tara Busch and her husband, who were just arriving, and helped them bring in their things. I finally purchased a copy of Tara's album--her style has grown on me, and I very much like what she's doing.
I met some very nice people who were there for the VIP meet and greet, particularly Jess and Fraser (hope I'm spelling his name correctly). I also met "Numan Chris" from the Metamatic forum after the gig was over, and I was glad he introduced himself. (Turns out that he knows Fraser). Tara's gig went very well, and sounded good. One thing I should mention about the Glasgow Arches is that it's literally just that--a cavernous type place with huge brick arches. This ought to do wonders for the sound, but it's tricky with electronics, I think. Everyone sitting at the sound desk thought the sound was incredible, as did the band--they said it was the best it had been on tour thus far, and they were able to hear themselves. Standing in the front row, there were several times when many of us were holding our ears, from the loud reverb. "Running Man" sounded very distorted to me, as did the initial sound effects in "Dislocation". But other parts of the gig were perfectly fine. There were some interesting misses in "Evergreen", but they weren't fatal.
I think I have done enough of these gigs now to know what is different when I hear it. The setlist has remained unchanged, which is not really surprising, as John's own material had to be learned by the Maths, and they're going to stick to what they're comfortable with. Benge told me this was the first time he's ever toured--he's done one gig here and there, but mostly he's in his studio. By contrast, Chris Curran, who is the tour manager, has said, "Eh, it's a short tour", so it's no big deal to him. I'm not with the band, but I can say that following them at this pace is quite disorienting at times. From the second I arrive in a particular city, I have to see what time I'm going to the next one. London will be a relief, as I can park my luggage for a few days. On the other hand--I'm going to miss the dynamic of the tour up North. I've been able to spend a lot of time after gigs with the band and/or just John, and while that may be the case in London as well, it will be different.
I asked John where he would be post-gig, and he told me where the dressing room was, which security let me do with no trouble. I had a couple of beers with John, Benge, and Sefa, and we mostly talked about York and it's history, Rennie Mackintosh, and a bit about Umberto Eco (who I'm going to see in a couple of weeks in New York). We didn't spend too much time, as there were fans who wanted autographs, so John came upstairs to sign things for them, and then they were packing up and leaving for their next destination.
Today I head off to York at about 10:00. I have heard so much about the city, I am looking forward to it, and also to seeing some other Foxx fans that I know there (either through social media or who I have met personally). So, til tomorrow. Again.
I met some very nice people who were there for the VIP meet and greet, particularly Jess and Fraser (hope I'm spelling his name correctly). I also met "Numan Chris" from the Metamatic forum after the gig was over, and I was glad he introduced himself. (Turns out that he knows Fraser). Tara's gig went very well, and sounded good. One thing I should mention about the Glasgow Arches is that it's literally just that--a cavernous type place with huge brick arches. This ought to do wonders for the sound, but it's tricky with electronics, I think. Everyone sitting at the sound desk thought the sound was incredible, as did the band--they said it was the best it had been on tour thus far, and they were able to hear themselves. Standing in the front row, there were several times when many of us were holding our ears, from the loud reverb. "Running Man" sounded very distorted to me, as did the initial sound effects in "Dislocation". But other parts of the gig were perfectly fine. There were some interesting misses in "Evergreen", but they weren't fatal.
I think I have done enough of these gigs now to know what is different when I hear it. The setlist has remained unchanged, which is not really surprising, as John's own material had to be learned by the Maths, and they're going to stick to what they're comfortable with. Benge told me this was the first time he's ever toured--he's done one gig here and there, but mostly he's in his studio. By contrast, Chris Curran, who is the tour manager, has said, "Eh, it's a short tour", so it's no big deal to him. I'm not with the band, but I can say that following them at this pace is quite disorienting at times. From the second I arrive in a particular city, I have to see what time I'm going to the next one. London will be a relief, as I can park my luggage for a few days. On the other hand--I'm going to miss the dynamic of the tour up North. I've been able to spend a lot of time after gigs with the band and/or just John, and while that may be the case in London as well, it will be different.
I asked John where he would be post-gig, and he told me where the dressing room was, which security let me do with no trouble. I had a couple of beers with John, Benge, and Sefa, and we mostly talked about York and it's history, Rennie Mackintosh, and a bit about Umberto Eco (who I'm going to see in a couple of weeks in New York). We didn't spend too much time, as there were fans who wanted autographs, so John came upstairs to sign things for them, and then they were packing up and leaving for their next destination.
Today I head off to York at about 10:00. I have heard so much about the city, I am looking forward to it, and also to seeing some other Foxx fans that I know there (either through social media or who I have met personally). So, til tomorrow. Again.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
John Foxx at Liverpool Guild of Students
My Liverpool trip had a rather rocky start. The train from Manchester was packed, and wifi was not working at my hotel. I was assigned to the top floor, and there was no lift in the hotel, so I had to take my 50 pound luggage up 3 flights of stairs. If I haven't lost 10 pounds by the end of this excursion, I will be surprised. My hotel was lovely, right on the lake in Sefton Park, but I didn't have much time to enjoy it.
I got to the soundcheck as they were just setting up, and was around for several hours. Rob and Rob turned up for this one, and I met some other people, some who were doing work for John, others who were there for the "VIP" meetup. Rob told me that John did a Beatles song during soundcheck; it must have been the moment I stepped out to make a call. Dammit.
There was some female pop singer playing in a venue next door, so there was about 8 million teenage and pre-teen girls outside. Some would occasionally walk into soundcheck, thinking they were somehow going to make their way backstage to the female singer's area. Security eventually threw all of them out. We all laughed and thought how funny it would be if they were there to see John.
Soundcheck ran late, leaving Tara Busch about 10 minutes to get set up and checked. The gig sounded good, though afterward I heard discussion that John's vocorder kept fading in and out, as well as the bass. The setlist was the same, and the projections were better at this gig than any other so far. The crowd was enthusiastic, and it seems that at every gig, I hear requests for John to play "Quiet Men". Must be a favorite.
After the gig, the two Robs and I ended up in the Maths dressing room, and had a beer with John, as the others had taken off for a local pub. John was in rare form. We chatted about Karborn (whom John expects to push him around in his push chair when he's old and wait on him), about how much roadies get paid ("They all have fancy estates outside of London. The band lives in council housing."), and yoga (We were talking about difficult yoga postures, and I mentioned that those are to prep the body for meditation. Then John came back with, "Yes, you do that before your medication." He pointed around the room and said, "Welcome to the fabulous rock and roll lifestyle. See how cheerfully the walls are painted, and how beautiful the furniture is, and how the woodwork has been carefully worn by bottle caps, as bands previous have tried to open their beer bottles on the edge of the counter, since they can provide beer bottles but not a bottle opener." (Apparently they found a place on the radiator that worked.)
We helped them gather up everything left in the room as they were getting on the bus, and said goodbye. Rob was kind enough to give me a lift back to my hotel, and I came to the unpleasant realization that I had to be at the train by 9:30 in the morning. (I am actually writing this on the train, fighting off another headache).
I got to the soundcheck as they were just setting up, and was around for several hours. Rob and Rob turned up for this one, and I met some other people, some who were doing work for John, others who were there for the "VIP" meetup. Rob told me that John did a Beatles song during soundcheck; it must have been the moment I stepped out to make a call. Dammit.
There was some female pop singer playing in a venue next door, so there was about 8 million teenage and pre-teen girls outside. Some would occasionally walk into soundcheck, thinking they were somehow going to make their way backstage to the female singer's area. Security eventually threw all of them out. We all laughed and thought how funny it would be if they were there to see John.
Soundcheck ran late, leaving Tara Busch about 10 minutes to get set up and checked. The gig sounded good, though afterward I heard discussion that John's vocorder kept fading in and out, as well as the bass. The setlist was the same, and the projections were better at this gig than any other so far. The crowd was enthusiastic, and it seems that at every gig, I hear requests for John to play "Quiet Men". Must be a favorite.
After the gig, the two Robs and I ended up in the Maths dressing room, and had a beer with John, as the others had taken off for a local pub. John was in rare form. We chatted about Karborn (whom John expects to push him around in his push chair when he's old and wait on him), about how much roadies get paid ("They all have fancy estates outside of London. The band lives in council housing."), and yoga (We were talking about difficult yoga postures, and I mentioned that those are to prep the body for meditation. Then John came back with, "Yes, you do that before your medication." He pointed around the room and said, "Welcome to the fabulous rock and roll lifestyle. See how cheerfully the walls are painted, and how beautiful the furniture is, and how the woodwork has been carefully worn by bottle caps, as bands previous have tried to open their beer bottles on the edge of the counter, since they can provide beer bottles but not a bottle opener." (Apparently they found a place on the radiator that worked.)
We helped them gather up everything left in the room as they were getting on the bus, and said goodbye. Rob was kind enough to give me a lift back to my hotel, and I came to the unpleasant realization that I had to be at the train by 9:30 in the morning. (I am actually writing this on the train, fighting off another headache).
John Foxx at Manchester Club Academy (I've lost track of days)
Arrived in Manchester on Friday afternoon. The cab driver who brought me from Manchester Picadilly to my hotel sang the praises of the town. He also told me that he had driven someone in his cab the previous week who was friends with Bob Dylan--and was coming to see him play. The cab driver had never heard of Bob Dylan before then.
After checking in to my hotel and getting myself sorted out, I headed over to where Manchester Academy is located. As it turns out, there are 4 "Academies"--the first is a large building that seats about 3,000, and the academies get progressively smaller until you get to "Club Academy", which holds about 300 to 400 people. This is where John played.
I walked into sound check with no difficulty, and listened to the band go through "Dislocation", "He's a Liquid", "Evergreen" and "Hiroshima Mon Amour". Before they really got going, I chatted with Tara Busch, who was unpacking her own gear with her husband Maf. It turns out she's from Hartford, Connecticut (about 3 hours from where I currently live), and spent time in North Carolina before moving overseas. Tara spoke about John as an influence--she said she learned a lot from being in the studio with him. She was especially impressed with his minimalist style, and his ability to choose what sounds he's going to use "efficiently". As I've mentioned, Tara's songs are a bit complicated, but they are very good. There's probably no need to for her to imitate John's style, though in general, learning different ways is never a bad thing.
Afterward Chris Curran showed me where they were coming out after the gig, and I joined the queue to see what fans were there at the show. There were a number of children at the show--probably ages 6 to 8--which is a first for me. One of the gents at the show was kind enough to show "Manchester hospitality" and buy me a drink. I actually was able to sit on a stool by the side of the stage for the entire gig, and was able to see the stage clearly. There were a lot of people at the gig, but it wasn't packed to the point of not being able to move around.
The gig itself was spot-on; the sound guy later said that it was the best sounding gig out of the three so far, and I think I would agree with him. Tara opened, and this time she had no equipment difficulties. John started the show with "Shatterproof" as usual, and this time said, "This is for all the bankers." The show then steamed ahead, with very intense vocals, and great sound. (There were a few errors, but I have sworn not to reveal them. OK, one of them had to do with the "moment" in "Just for a Moment". I won't name names.). John later said to me that "mistakes happen in live gigs, it's just one of those things." None of the errors were fatal, though at least one was funny. One of the audience hecklers kept asking for them to play "Quiet Men", and then shouted, "John, you are the quiet man!" which made Serafina laugh visibly. The setlist was the same as the previous shows.
After the gig, I went to the backstage door, and Benge and Serafina came out. Serafina went back in and got me a beer. We sat on the steps with Tara and Maf, talking about mistakes made in the gig, and offering suggestions regarding a fancier drum riser for Benge. They let me come back into the dressing room, where John was getting ready to get changed after the gig, and had a couple of visitors. I went with Serafina and Benge to a nearby pub for a drink, and John joined us later. I've noticed that when John likes someone or thinks they're a decent person, he refers to them as "civilised". We talked a bit about the gig circuit, and John mentioned seeing the Talking Heads with the Ramones in Belgium around 1977. I think he also said that Ultravox had opened for Blondie around 1978. ("Now I'm name dropping" he said.) I had a couple of drinks, and when Hannah Peel finally joined us, she ended up going with Benge and Serafina to get something to eat, and I went back to the venue with John, so he could collect his things and go to his hotel.
As we walked, he told me how much Manchester University had changed since he'd been there. "Only about half these buildings were here when I was in school," he told me. We also talked about the difficulties of touring in a different city every day. John said, "I come to Manchester, and think, look how much has changed; I'd love to take a look around. Don't have time. Get to Liverpool. Notice how much has changed. Would love to take a walk around. Don't have time. Looks like they've done some reorganisation in Glasgow; would love to look around, don't have time. And so on." While I haven't been to most of these cities (except Liverpool, and that was just 2 years ago), I think I feel the same way--I'm here in a new city, but I basically have time to check into my hotel, head into town, look around for about an hour tops, and then hit sound check. By the next morning, I'm writing my blog posts after breakfast, packing up, and then heading on to the train to get to the next city. There's no time to explore anything here. Perhaps one day.
John was heading back to his hotel, and offered a ride back to mine, so I took a short ride in the touring van with John and Chris 1 and 2 (Curran and Oliver) to my hotel. Chris Oliver mentioned that he was playing soon in New York with Chameleons Vox, so I need to look up that gig when I get back to the U.S. Now time is flying, it's sunny in Manchester (which I hear happens only about twice a year), and I have to check out and catch a train.
So, now I am off to Liverpool. Until tomorrow...
After checking in to my hotel and getting myself sorted out, I headed over to where Manchester Academy is located. As it turns out, there are 4 "Academies"--the first is a large building that seats about 3,000, and the academies get progressively smaller until you get to "Club Academy", which holds about 300 to 400 people. This is where John played.
I walked into sound check with no difficulty, and listened to the band go through "Dislocation", "He's a Liquid", "Evergreen" and "Hiroshima Mon Amour". Before they really got going, I chatted with Tara Busch, who was unpacking her own gear with her husband Maf. It turns out she's from Hartford, Connecticut (about 3 hours from where I currently live), and spent time in North Carolina before moving overseas. Tara spoke about John as an influence--she said she learned a lot from being in the studio with him. She was especially impressed with his minimalist style, and his ability to choose what sounds he's going to use "efficiently". As I've mentioned, Tara's songs are a bit complicated, but they are very good. There's probably no need to for her to imitate John's style, though in general, learning different ways is never a bad thing.
Afterward Chris Curran showed me where they were coming out after the gig, and I joined the queue to see what fans were there at the show. There were a number of children at the show--probably ages 6 to 8--which is a first for me. One of the gents at the show was kind enough to show "Manchester hospitality" and buy me a drink. I actually was able to sit on a stool by the side of the stage for the entire gig, and was able to see the stage clearly. There were a lot of people at the gig, but it wasn't packed to the point of not being able to move around.
The gig itself was spot-on; the sound guy later said that it was the best sounding gig out of the three so far, and I think I would agree with him. Tara opened, and this time she had no equipment difficulties. John started the show with "Shatterproof" as usual, and this time said, "This is for all the bankers." The show then steamed ahead, with very intense vocals, and great sound. (There were a few errors, but I have sworn not to reveal them. OK, one of them had to do with the "moment" in "Just for a Moment". I won't name names.). John later said to me that "mistakes happen in live gigs, it's just one of those things." None of the errors were fatal, though at least one was funny. One of the audience hecklers kept asking for them to play "Quiet Men", and then shouted, "John, you are the quiet man!" which made Serafina laugh visibly. The setlist was the same as the previous shows.
After the gig, I went to the backstage door, and Benge and Serafina came out. Serafina went back in and got me a beer. We sat on the steps with Tara and Maf, talking about mistakes made in the gig, and offering suggestions regarding a fancier drum riser for Benge. They let me come back into the dressing room, where John was getting ready to get changed after the gig, and had a couple of visitors. I went with Serafina and Benge to a nearby pub for a drink, and John joined us later. I've noticed that when John likes someone or thinks they're a decent person, he refers to them as "civilised". We talked a bit about the gig circuit, and John mentioned seeing the Talking Heads with the Ramones in Belgium around 1977. I think he also said that Ultravox had opened for Blondie around 1978. ("Now I'm name dropping" he said.) I had a couple of drinks, and when Hannah Peel finally joined us, she ended up going with Benge and Serafina to get something to eat, and I went back to the venue with John, so he could collect his things and go to his hotel.
As we walked, he told me how much Manchester University had changed since he'd been there. "Only about half these buildings were here when I was in school," he told me. We also talked about the difficulties of touring in a different city every day. John said, "I come to Manchester, and think, look how much has changed; I'd love to take a look around. Don't have time. Get to Liverpool. Notice how much has changed. Would love to take a walk around. Don't have time. Looks like they've done some reorganisation in Glasgow; would love to look around, don't have time. And so on." While I haven't been to most of these cities (except Liverpool, and that was just 2 years ago), I think I feel the same way--I'm here in a new city, but I basically have time to check into my hotel, head into town, look around for about an hour tops, and then hit sound check. By the next morning, I'm writing my blog posts after breakfast, packing up, and then heading on to the train to get to the next city. There's no time to explore anything here. Perhaps one day.
John was heading back to his hotel, and offered a ride back to mine, so I took a short ride in the touring van with John and Chris 1 and 2 (Curran and Oliver) to my hotel. Chris Oliver mentioned that he was playing soon in New York with Chameleons Vox, so I need to look up that gig when I get back to the U.S. Now time is flying, it's sunny in Manchester (which I hear happens only about twice a year), and I have to check out and catch a train.
So, now I am off to Liverpool. Until tomorrow...
Friday, October 21, 2011
John Foxx and the Maths at Bristol Thekla (UK Trip Day 8)
I finally left Exeter about 12:30, and headed over to Bristol. The train was heading all the way up to Dundee, so it was packed with reservations. Between the guy having a loud argument via phone with his ex-girlfriend because she owed him money (and this is way more than I ever needed to know about him), and the disgruntled couple who were told there were "plenty of seats" on the train after they were given the wrong reservation date and now had to stand, I have to say I was glad to get off in Bristol Temple Meads.
I have been through Bristol countless times, but have never stopped here. The view from the train station is not very impressive (nor from the bus stop to Glastonbury), so I really didn't know what to expect. I was pleasantly surprised--Bristol is a lovely city on the river, and my hotel was on something called the "Welsh Back" which runs right along the river front, and is near the Grove, where Thekla (the venue John was playing) is located. My hotel was also surprisingly lovely, as the photos of it on the Internet are hardly a testament to good marketing.
I arrived at Severshed, where there was supposed to be a meetup, and had a very expensive beer, waiting to see who would show up. About 10 minutes later, Rob popped in and asked me to come over to the soundcheck. He helped me finish my beer and we went right over. Soundcheck was mostly with the Maths, with John turning up at the end. Brian was there, as was Cerise, whose name I've heard but never previously met. It was almost 6:00 when we headed back to Severshed for dinner and/or drinks, and there we met up with Mark.
So--onto the gig itself. The setlist was about the same as Leamington Spa, and the dynamic of the place was entirely different. The Thekla venue is on a boat (easy to forget in a place that looks a bit like the Mercury Lounge in New York). Everyone was packed in, and I managed to be up front with Brian, Rob, and Cerise. Tara Busch opened again, and she had some difficulty with one piece of equipment. She couldn't get it resolved, so she decided to forego the first song and move on. Besides that, she did a very good set, and I think her music is starting to grow on me. There are elements of her music that remind me of the Spacedog gig I saw last year in London, and I like it very much.
John and crew came on promptly at 8:30, as there was a 10:00 curfew (for the show, not the club itself, which is apparently open until 4 in the morning). The acoustics were not as good as they were at Leamington Assembly, but the audience energy was high, and the band seemed more comfortable overall. I finally met Benge after the gig while they were loading up their gear, and he mentioned that they were all a bit nervous at the first gig, as they weren't yet comfortable with the setlist. (Apparently he does read this blog.) It may have explained at least some of the tension at the Leamington Spa gig. Interestingly, I was chatting with a fan after the show while waiting for John, and he said that he'd recently been to see Stiff Little Finger, and how different the shows were, mainly because of the lack of audience interaction. I don't think he was being critical of John's lack of interaction (John doesn't banter with the audience), but simply noted that it was a very different experience. Having seen Stiff Little Finger before (only 3 days before the Sept. 11 catastrophe in fact--in downtown Manhattan), I would totally agree with that observation. Right after the show, Mark said it was probably the best John Foxx gig he'd ever seen.
Compared to other sets where they've performed material from Interplay, I'd noticed something different about the sound, and I finally pinpointed that John is singing the songs in a higher range. This has the effect of "lightening" some of the darker sounds of the songs.
To get trivial for a moment--I was close enough to John to see his breathing, and watching how he took in air reminded me of a Reiki Master beginning the attunement process. Those of you reading this who are Reiki Masters (and there are a couple of you) will know exactly what I mean--it's a type of breathing that I've never properly mastered (no pun intended). I only remark on it because it looked unusual.
After the gig everyone wanted to go for a drink, and I did too, but I also wanted to talk to John. The Thekla becomes a nightclub for twenty-somethings as it gets later, and I watched with another fan as these girls walked into the club in skimpy little shorts and half-tops, while the temperature was probably around 39 degrees Fahrenheit. I vaguely remember those days in my own life, and I am just glad that the "can't wear a coat out because it isn't sexy" phase of my life is very much over.
John did come out at last, and apologized for keeping me waiting. In between fan requests for autographs and photos, John and I chatted for close to 45 minutes, with Benge joining us (and Serafina briefly) later on. We discussed Manchester, the next tour stop, and he suggested I check out St. Ann's Square, which he said was "civilised". He said a 15-minute walk anywhere beyond that was not particularly safe, and that there were parts of Manchester that had been fine when he was growing up in that area that are no longer safe. We also discussed my visit to Exeter and prospective Ph.D., which branched off into me trying to explain to John what "Western Esotericism" is. He turned to Benge at one point and said, "Brigid's going for a Ph.D. in things that are not understandable". With John I think it's always a question of us having different definitions of terms (just like he claims his work has no "mythological" component), and to be entirely fair, Western Esotericism is a rather new field. He did like the idea of "Theology of Electricity" (someone's actual research topic at Exeter).
I am now back in my hotel room looking forward to a hot bath and breakfast before heading off to Manchester. Until then...
I have been through Bristol countless times, but have never stopped here. The view from the train station is not very impressive (nor from the bus stop to Glastonbury), so I really didn't know what to expect. I was pleasantly surprised--Bristol is a lovely city on the river, and my hotel was on something called the "Welsh Back" which runs right along the river front, and is near the Grove, where Thekla (the venue John was playing) is located. My hotel was also surprisingly lovely, as the photos of it on the Internet are hardly a testament to good marketing.
I arrived at Severshed, where there was supposed to be a meetup, and had a very expensive beer, waiting to see who would show up. About 10 minutes later, Rob popped in and asked me to come over to the soundcheck. He helped me finish my beer and we went right over. Soundcheck was mostly with the Maths, with John turning up at the end. Brian was there, as was Cerise, whose name I've heard but never previously met. It was almost 6:00 when we headed back to Severshed for dinner and/or drinks, and there we met up with Mark.
So--onto the gig itself. The setlist was about the same as Leamington Spa, and the dynamic of the place was entirely different. The Thekla venue is on a boat (easy to forget in a place that looks a bit like the Mercury Lounge in New York). Everyone was packed in, and I managed to be up front with Brian, Rob, and Cerise. Tara Busch opened again, and she had some difficulty with one piece of equipment. She couldn't get it resolved, so she decided to forego the first song and move on. Besides that, she did a very good set, and I think her music is starting to grow on me. There are elements of her music that remind me of the Spacedog gig I saw last year in London, and I like it very much.
John and crew came on promptly at 8:30, as there was a 10:00 curfew (for the show, not the club itself, which is apparently open until 4 in the morning). The acoustics were not as good as they were at Leamington Assembly, but the audience energy was high, and the band seemed more comfortable overall. I finally met Benge after the gig while they were loading up their gear, and he mentioned that they were all a bit nervous at the first gig, as they weren't yet comfortable with the setlist. (Apparently he does read this blog.) It may have explained at least some of the tension at the Leamington Spa gig. Interestingly, I was chatting with a fan after the show while waiting for John, and he said that he'd recently been to see Stiff Little Finger, and how different the shows were, mainly because of the lack of audience interaction. I don't think he was being critical of John's lack of interaction (John doesn't banter with the audience), but simply noted that it was a very different experience. Having seen Stiff Little Finger before (only 3 days before the Sept. 11 catastrophe in fact--in downtown Manhattan), I would totally agree with that observation. Right after the show, Mark said it was probably the best John Foxx gig he'd ever seen.
Compared to other sets where they've performed material from Interplay, I'd noticed something different about the sound, and I finally pinpointed that John is singing the songs in a higher range. This has the effect of "lightening" some of the darker sounds of the songs.
To get trivial for a moment--I was close enough to John to see his breathing, and watching how he took in air reminded me of a Reiki Master beginning the attunement process. Those of you reading this who are Reiki Masters (and there are a couple of you) will know exactly what I mean--it's a type of breathing that I've never properly mastered (no pun intended). I only remark on it because it looked unusual.
After the gig everyone wanted to go for a drink, and I did too, but I also wanted to talk to John. The Thekla becomes a nightclub for twenty-somethings as it gets later, and I watched with another fan as these girls walked into the club in skimpy little shorts and half-tops, while the temperature was probably around 39 degrees Fahrenheit. I vaguely remember those days in my own life, and I am just glad that the "can't wear a coat out because it isn't sexy" phase of my life is very much over.
John did come out at last, and apologized for keeping me waiting. In between fan requests for autographs and photos, John and I chatted for close to 45 minutes, with Benge joining us (and Serafina briefly) later on. We discussed Manchester, the next tour stop, and he suggested I check out St. Ann's Square, which he said was "civilised". He said a 15-minute walk anywhere beyond that was not particularly safe, and that there were parts of Manchester that had been fine when he was growing up in that area that are no longer safe. We also discussed my visit to Exeter and prospective Ph.D., which branched off into me trying to explain to John what "Western Esotericism" is. He turned to Benge at one point and said, "Brigid's going for a Ph.D. in things that are not understandable". With John I think it's always a question of us having different definitions of terms (just like he claims his work has no "mythological" component), and to be entirely fair, Western Esotericism is a rather new field. He did like the idea of "Theology of Electricity" (someone's actual research topic at Exeter).
I am now back in my hotel room looking forward to a hot bath and breakfast before heading off to Manchester. Until then...
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Medieval Exeter and Such (UK trip Day 7)
It is Wednesday, and a very bittersweet day. I am enjoying my last day in Exeter, but also keenly aware that it is my last day here. I will be happy to continue the John Foxx tour, but it's going to be hard to leave tomorrow.
This morning I was chatting with Loretta, the young woman always at breakfast at the same time as myself. We talked about conditions in America. I have to say I am not missing the constant updates on the election, the proposed job act, the economy, or anything else. I'm more than happy to read Yahoo UK stories about a dog that videobombs (is that a word?) a marriage proposal.
My favorite writing spot is in a pub right across from the Cathedral Yard. This afternoon the sun is shining brightly in the blue sky while a reasonably heavy rain comes down from a single cloud. I've never seen this sun/rain mix in quite this manner anywhere else, and it strikes me as a lucky omen.
I had a meeting this morning with a nice young woman called Alicia, who deals with prospective USA students coming to Exeter. We discussed my Ph.D. plans and options, and there was a promise from her to look at funding opportunities for me. She told me that accommodations would be no problem. "Everyone letting rooms to students is dying to have a female Ph.D. student. You're the ideal type. They don't want to let to undergraduates, especially not first-year students." I'm glad to know that I'm a desirable lot. Now I just need money.
After leaving the university, I headed to the Heavitree area of Exeter to do my laundry. The launderette was staffed by a loquacious Devon woman, who referred to everyone as "my lovely". I could not help noticing her yelling repeatedly at a woman on the phone. When she hung up, she looked at me and said, "Bless her, poor woman, she's stone deaf. Don't think she's got her hearing aid turned up." From her ensuing description of the conversation, it sounds like the woman is both deaf and has dementia. But I didn't mention that.
I brought my washing back to my hotel room, and then headed back to the Cathedral Yard for the last time. The pub I like to visit has an awning, one of the only buildings on that side with an awning. The rain from the sunshower picked up, and there was a crowd of young women at the window, trying to get out of the rain. Within about 10 minutes all had stopped, and they slowly drifted away.
Outside you can hear seagulls everywhere. There is a statue in the Cathedral Yard of Richard Hooker, one of the founders of Anglicanism. A seagull stands perched on his head. It strikes me as funny, and I feel like it has some ironic meaning, though I couldn't tell you what. The town is full of references to Sir Francis Drake, and I find myself thinking of the Monty Python episode about the fake Luchino Visconti ("Dlake has spotted the Spanish Freet, youl Majesty." "What news flom Prymouth?")
I am mesmerized by the Cathedral Yard, and I don't know why. I could sit here for days. Perhaps the age of the place affects me; I have always been in wonder of very old things and places. Alicia informed me that many wealthy Londoners have Exeter as their "second" home. While there is some diversity in town, both by nationality and religion, on the whole Exeter is "really, really white". This may be the only drawback the town has so far. But the locals are extremely kind.
There are free walking tours around Exeter with a local guide in the afternoons, at least until Oct. 31. I took a Medieval Exeter walk today, though it ran longer than I expected, and I ended up cutting out early. Our guide took us into various alleyways, courtyards, and other corners that clearly looked like throwbacks to medieval times, and would never have been noticed if someone hadn't pointed them out. The courtyard around St. Nicholas Priory was especially beautiful. Many parts of the towns and many street names end in "hay": Northernhay, Southernhay Princesshay, Bonhay, Freirehay, etc. He explained that "hay" means "enclosure", so these were various sections of the town that had been walled off. Exeter had seven gates around it, erected around 1286 after the murder of cathedral choir leader Walter Lechlade. Seems like a drastic step (especially since Lechlade was widely hated), but there was apparently concern for the safety of the clergy, so the area by the cathedral was walled off. By the time the tour headed down near the Quay, I decided I needed to get back. I ended up at the Ask Restaurant for dinner (supposedly haunted by the ghost of a monk and his illicit lover). Ghosts or not, the Italian food there is spectacular.
And thus ends my Exeter adventure. Tomorrow I go to Bristol, and will pick up with John Foxx reviews once again.
This morning I was chatting with Loretta, the young woman always at breakfast at the same time as myself. We talked about conditions in America. I have to say I am not missing the constant updates on the election, the proposed job act, the economy, or anything else. I'm more than happy to read Yahoo UK stories about a dog that videobombs (is that a word?) a marriage proposal.
My favorite writing spot is in a pub right across from the Cathedral Yard. This afternoon the sun is shining brightly in the blue sky while a reasonably heavy rain comes down from a single cloud. I've never seen this sun/rain mix in quite this manner anywhere else, and it strikes me as a lucky omen.
I had a meeting this morning with a nice young woman called Alicia, who deals with prospective USA students coming to Exeter. We discussed my Ph.D. plans and options, and there was a promise from her to look at funding opportunities for me. She told me that accommodations would be no problem. "Everyone letting rooms to students is dying to have a female Ph.D. student. You're the ideal type. They don't want to let to undergraduates, especially not first-year students." I'm glad to know that I'm a desirable lot. Now I just need money.
After leaving the university, I headed to the Heavitree area of Exeter to do my laundry. The launderette was staffed by a loquacious Devon woman, who referred to everyone as "my lovely". I could not help noticing her yelling repeatedly at a woman on the phone. When she hung up, she looked at me and said, "Bless her, poor woman, she's stone deaf. Don't think she's got her hearing aid turned up." From her ensuing description of the conversation, it sounds like the woman is both deaf and has dementia. But I didn't mention that.
I brought my washing back to my hotel room, and then headed back to the Cathedral Yard for the last time. The pub I like to visit has an awning, one of the only buildings on that side with an awning. The rain from the sunshower picked up, and there was a crowd of young women at the window, trying to get out of the rain. Within about 10 minutes all had stopped, and they slowly drifted away.
Outside you can hear seagulls everywhere. There is a statue in the Cathedral Yard of Richard Hooker, one of the founders of Anglicanism. A seagull stands perched on his head. It strikes me as funny, and I feel like it has some ironic meaning, though I couldn't tell you what. The town is full of references to Sir Francis Drake, and I find myself thinking of the Monty Python episode about the fake Luchino Visconti ("Dlake has spotted the Spanish Freet, youl Majesty." "What news flom Prymouth?")
I am mesmerized by the Cathedral Yard, and I don't know why. I could sit here for days. Perhaps the age of the place affects me; I have always been in wonder of very old things and places. Alicia informed me that many wealthy Londoners have Exeter as their "second" home. While there is some diversity in town, both by nationality and religion, on the whole Exeter is "really, really white". This may be the only drawback the town has so far. But the locals are extremely kind.
There are free walking tours around Exeter with a local guide in the afternoons, at least until Oct. 31. I took a Medieval Exeter walk today, though it ran longer than I expected, and I ended up cutting out early. Our guide took us into various alleyways, courtyards, and other corners that clearly looked like throwbacks to medieval times, and would never have been noticed if someone hadn't pointed them out. The courtyard around St. Nicholas Priory was especially beautiful. Many parts of the towns and many street names end in "hay": Northernhay, Southernhay Princesshay, Bonhay, Freirehay, etc. He explained that "hay" means "enclosure", so these were various sections of the town that had been walled off. Exeter had seven gates around it, erected around 1286 after the murder of cathedral choir leader Walter Lechlade. Seems like a drastic step (especially since Lechlade was widely hated), but there was apparently concern for the safety of the clergy, so the area by the cathedral was walled off. By the time the tour headed down near the Quay, I decided I needed to get back. I ended up at the Ask Restaurant for dinner (supposedly haunted by the ghost of a monk and his illicit lover). Ghosts or not, the Italian food there is spectacular.
And thus ends my Exeter adventure. Tomorrow I go to Bristol, and will pick up with John Foxx reviews once again.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
The Quay (Exeter and UK Trip Day 6)
Today is my second-to-last day in Exeter. It's a bit stressful, because I've just settled in, and then I'll have to be off again, on a whirlwind tour of 5 places, 7 shows. I had another brief meeting at the university today, this time with Prof. Daniel Ogden, who has written a number of books on ancient Greek and Roman religion, including one on necromancy that has been on my reading list. Talking with him was helpful, because he summed up the difference between British and American scholarship: Americans are interdisciplinary, the British aren't. The comparative approaches we prefer in the States don't have many adherents in the UK, and possibly not in Europe. The concern here, of course, is finding someone who can support my own intellectual approach to esoteric material.
After talking to him, I gave some more thought to Antoine Faivre's classification of esotericism, and decided to re-read something on his approach in the library. It seems to me that Exeter adopts what Faivre refers to as the "critical-historical" approach, rather than a "universalist" approach to esoteric topics. This is certainly to be an expected attitude in British academia, and I have noticed it elsewhere. Now the burden is on me to either define my interests in these terms and get going at Exeter, or to look elsewhere for someone who supports a more universalist approach. On the whole, I have done my homework on departments, and I feel Exeter has more to offer me than other programs, so I will have to give the issue some thought. Tomorrow I talk to the international office about what's involved for someone enrolling from abroad, and what my options may be with regard to funding.
Not all of my time here has been "business", and today was no exception. After a post-office stop, I made my way to the White Hart Hotel for a drink. The White Hart has been around since the 14th century, and the well out back was supposedly home to a "cockatrice", which is a cross between a cockerel and a serpent. It was identified by a foul smell. I suspect the foul smell has other origins, but that was a good enough explanation in 1640. It's a wonderful quiet place, with mostly older patrons, which suits me better that noisy pubs overrun by college students. I am something of an old fogey in my own way, or perhaps just "librarianish".
Afterward, I realized that the Quay was just a short walk from the pub. I headed onto the overpass crossing the M5, and went down a series of stairs by the old city wall, and down to the river. The riverfront has many stores and cafes, and I decided to stop for some tea and to sit by the river. After all, there is nothing more British than a cup of tea, even though most everyone seems to drink coffee nowadays. The day was chilly with a breeze, so I imagine they will not be having outside service much longer. There are birds all along the waterfront--swans, seagulls, and pigeons, mostly. An intrepid brown and white pigeon cased my table, so I gave him my crumbs when I finished eating. The afternoon was wearing on, and soon I realized I had to start to head back. If the day had been warmer, I think I would have spent a lot more time walking around, but things were getting quite raw.
In the interest of being frugal with my remaining cash funds, I've chosen to stay in tonight. Tomorrow I won't be able to do much either, though I am hoping to get in one more good walk around the city. It is a bit hard to believe that by week's end, I will have been in Bristol, Manchester, and Liverpool. At that point there will be little discussion of sightseeing, and pretty much all-John-Foxx-all-the-time, as I won't have much time to do anything else until I get to London.
After talking to him, I gave some more thought to Antoine Faivre's classification of esotericism, and decided to re-read something on his approach in the library. It seems to me that Exeter adopts what Faivre refers to as the "critical-historical" approach, rather than a "universalist" approach to esoteric topics. This is certainly to be an expected attitude in British academia, and I have noticed it elsewhere. Now the burden is on me to either define my interests in these terms and get going at Exeter, or to look elsewhere for someone who supports a more universalist approach. On the whole, I have done my homework on departments, and I feel Exeter has more to offer me than other programs, so I will have to give the issue some thought. Tomorrow I talk to the international office about what's involved for someone enrolling from abroad, and what my options may be with regard to funding.
Not all of my time here has been "business", and today was no exception. After a post-office stop, I made my way to the White Hart Hotel for a drink. The White Hart has been around since the 14th century, and the well out back was supposedly home to a "cockatrice", which is a cross between a cockerel and a serpent. It was identified by a foul smell. I suspect the foul smell has other origins, but that was a good enough explanation in 1640. It's a wonderful quiet place, with mostly older patrons, which suits me better that noisy pubs overrun by college students. I am something of an old fogey in my own way, or perhaps just "librarianish".
Afterward, I realized that the Quay was just a short walk from the pub. I headed onto the overpass crossing the M5, and went down a series of stairs by the old city wall, and down to the river. The riverfront has many stores and cafes, and I decided to stop for some tea and to sit by the river. After all, there is nothing more British than a cup of tea, even though most everyone seems to drink coffee nowadays. The day was chilly with a breeze, so I imagine they will not be having outside service much longer. There are birds all along the waterfront--swans, seagulls, and pigeons, mostly. An intrepid brown and white pigeon cased my table, so I gave him my crumbs when I finished eating. The afternoon was wearing on, and soon I realized I had to start to head back. If the day had been warmer, I think I would have spent a lot more time walking around, but things were getting quite raw.
In the interest of being frugal with my remaining cash funds, I've chosen to stay in tonight. Tomorrow I won't be able to do much either, though I am hoping to get in one more good walk around the city. It is a bit hard to believe that by week's end, I will have been in Bristol, Manchester, and Liverpool. At that point there will be little discussion of sightseeing, and pretty much all-John-Foxx-all-the-time, as I won't have much time to do anything else until I get to London.
Monday, October 17, 2011
More Exeter Reflections (UK Trip Day 5)
It's a lovely afternoon in Exeter, sitting in the Old Well House Tavern, listening to the rustling of leaves outside. A chilly October wind has come up, persistent enough to drown out the pub's music and conversation. On the Cathedral Green outside the door, a very chubby pigeon sits on the low wall in the sunshine, bracing his feathers against the cold wind. Eventually he gives up and moves on. It is said that the bones of plague victims are all throughout the ground in the Cathedral Green, piled so high that the occasional bone will stick up through the ground. To my left, there are 15th century buildings covered in reddening ivy.
I'm sitting near the door at a small table with a local bitter, and everything seems in its place. Everyone moves and acts in a manner exactly as I expect; everyone is polite, but no one is in your business. There are unspoken rules that everyone follows, and I feel like I know what they are. When such rules are broken, the British are hardly ever confrontational in a direct way, but more in a passive-aggressive way. The cultural norms are as hidden and old as the rest of the country.
A number of men in suits are standing around a rubbish bin, as though they're waiting for some kind of ceremony. I find myself thinking of the Monty Python sketch about the grand opening of a new mailbox. Tourists and students walk back and forth, wrapped in sweaters, pushing their hair back against the wind. I can only imagine how my own hair looks. A taxi is driving in reverse along the bricked road, with the phone number 66-66-66. The irony of this is not lost on me on a sunny day that was supposed to be gloomy. 666 is a solar number.
Earlier in the day I spoke with the department chair at the University of Exeter, and we had a lengthy discussion about what staff would be most suited to help me with my research interests. He also suggested the possibility of applying at the University of Amsterdam, where I could get a fully funded Ph.D. (though it is very competitive). While the idea is excellent, I couldn't bear to think of being anywhere but Exeter. It's not that people here are any different from how they are anywhere else. I just don't feel like I'm supposed to be anywhere else, as though Exeter has a secret just for me.
The wind is tossing about a great tree outside, making me think of the Algernon Blackwood story about the willows. Two young women, with dark red and purple hair respectively, sit on the lawn of the Green eating sandwiches. There is a delightful sense of integration here, a variety of influences and ages in one place with no conflict, yet no merging. The Jungian in me wants to say it's an individuated community in some sense.
My feet are very tired, as I have been walking around in boots all day. I spend some time examining Exeter Cathedral up close. Some restorative work is being done on the outside, but around the Gothic architecture you can still see gruesome faces and tall figures carved into columns that have been around since at least the Norman Conquest. I should like to examine the inside, and more of the surrounding area, but I am too tired.
My plans for the next two days were going to include a visit to Cornwall, but it appears I will have one or two more meetings at the university, so I am going to stay in town. I don't actually mind; if John Foxx wasn't playing, I'd happily stay here for the rest of my trip.
A phone call to my mother assures me that the cats are fine at home, and my house is still standing. Aside from the cats, I'm not missing home much at all. I've seen three black cats in town thus far--a chubby long-haired one that jumps the fence into the hotel's yard during breakfast, one running up the sidewalk towards the university, and another in front of someone's house along Prince of Wales Drive. I miss having a cat at the foot of the bed at night, though I don't miss the allergies that come with it. I have been remarkably allergy-free since coming to the UK.
Tomorrow will be a very ad-libbed day, as I don't know if I will be suddenly summoned back to campus. If not, it is likely I will get lost somewhere down by the Exe River, or in Northernhay.
I'm sitting near the door at a small table with a local bitter, and everything seems in its place. Everyone moves and acts in a manner exactly as I expect; everyone is polite, but no one is in your business. There are unspoken rules that everyone follows, and I feel like I know what they are. When such rules are broken, the British are hardly ever confrontational in a direct way, but more in a passive-aggressive way. The cultural norms are as hidden and old as the rest of the country.
A number of men in suits are standing around a rubbish bin, as though they're waiting for some kind of ceremony. I find myself thinking of the Monty Python sketch about the grand opening of a new mailbox. Tourists and students walk back and forth, wrapped in sweaters, pushing their hair back against the wind. I can only imagine how my own hair looks. A taxi is driving in reverse along the bricked road, with the phone number 66-66-66. The irony of this is not lost on me on a sunny day that was supposed to be gloomy. 666 is a solar number.
Earlier in the day I spoke with the department chair at the University of Exeter, and we had a lengthy discussion about what staff would be most suited to help me with my research interests. He also suggested the possibility of applying at the University of Amsterdam, where I could get a fully funded Ph.D. (though it is very competitive). While the idea is excellent, I couldn't bear to think of being anywhere but Exeter. It's not that people here are any different from how they are anywhere else. I just don't feel like I'm supposed to be anywhere else, as though Exeter has a secret just for me.
The wind is tossing about a great tree outside, making me think of the Algernon Blackwood story about the willows. Two young women, with dark red and purple hair respectively, sit on the lawn of the Green eating sandwiches. There is a delightful sense of integration here, a variety of influences and ages in one place with no conflict, yet no merging. The Jungian in me wants to say it's an individuated community in some sense.
My feet are very tired, as I have been walking around in boots all day. I spend some time examining Exeter Cathedral up close. Some restorative work is being done on the outside, but around the Gothic architecture you can still see gruesome faces and tall figures carved into columns that have been around since at least the Norman Conquest. I should like to examine the inside, and more of the surrounding area, but I am too tired.
My plans for the next two days were going to include a visit to Cornwall, but it appears I will have one or two more meetings at the university, so I am going to stay in town. I don't actually mind; if John Foxx wasn't playing, I'd happily stay here for the rest of my trip.
A phone call to my mother assures me that the cats are fine at home, and my house is still standing. Aside from the cats, I'm not missing home much at all. I've seen three black cats in town thus far--a chubby long-haired one that jumps the fence into the hotel's yard during breakfast, one running up the sidewalk towards the university, and another in front of someone's house along Prince of Wales Drive. I miss having a cat at the foot of the bed at night, though I don't miss the allergies that come with it. I have been remarkably allergy-free since coming to the UK.
Tomorrow will be a very ad-libbed day, as I don't know if I will be suddenly summoned back to campus. If not, it is likely I will get lost somewhere down by the Exe River, or in Northernhay.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
A Walk Around Exeter (UK trip Day 4)
Today has been a day spent wandering around Exeter. After a gloomy morning that didn't look promising, the sky cleared up and it ended up being a lovely day. Rather than give you a blow-by-blow account of where I went, I'll sum up my impressions of the town thus far.
The University of Exeter is not very old, but the town surrounding it is very old. Exeter has been in existence since Roman times, and many of the buildings in town are built on Roman ruins of some kind or another. It's an odd mixture of new and old; you'll find a modern Italian restaurant in a 14th century building, old ruins standing next to department stores, a Marks and Spencer's built on a Roman graveyard. The old city wall runs around an incredibly modern shopping district.
In the residential part of town, otherwise ordinary houses have some kind of characteristic that makes them stand out--an unusual paint job, stained glass windows or doors, or other decorations that catch your eye. Combined with the autumn leaves, it makes a striking visual effect when you walk down almost any street.
During breakfast I had a chat with a woman from Scotland, who was newly hired in the university's engineering department. I told her about my doctoral interests, and the obstacles I faced at home with debt, owning a home and such. She said, "I'm sure you'll find a way to get it all sorted." I think she's probably right.
I visited the university this morning, which was beautifully laid out. Like the town, there is a mixture of the expected and the unexpected. Mostly there are little ecological havens in the midst of the stark buildings. A young woman approached me in a very friendly manner on campus, and I instantly knew she must be recruiting for a church. I was right. I was polite, but tossed her card in the trash after she went away. Pip told me that Exeter was on a hill, and she is not kidding. I found myself walking along the road look down some rather steep inclines.
My next big stop was St. David's churchyard, as I was fascinated by the headstones I saw on the way in. I've noticed that church people don't like you looking at their yard, as if they expect you to desecrate the stones for some Satanic ritual or something equally idiotic. No one said anything to me, but the few people I passed got the looks they gave me returned to them. The stones were not as old as they looked--about 1860s and up. Still, it was a marvelously overgrown churchyard, with tombstone decorations I'd never seen before. In the U.S. I'm used to seeing the old "memento mori", or perhaps a finger pointing upwards, or a willow tree. These headstones had scrolls on them, window panes, and other snake-like patterns and designs that I've never seen before. One grave had a holly tree growing on it, giving it a very pagan feel.
Breakfast was huge this morning, so at lunchtime I stopped in the Ship Inn for just a pint and a snack. I learned from a book I'd purchased on the area that Sir Francis Drake used to frequent this pub, during the time of the Spanish Armada. Supposedly it is haunted by 5 different ghosts. I didn't notice any, but it was a lovely old building. Besides the 3 bookstores, I've noticed no less than 5 Italian restaurants (2 reputed to be haunted). Seriously, nothing more to be said there--2 of my favorite things, Italian food and hauntings. I don't have to be at the Publick House near my home in the U.S. to find it.
I think the juxtaposition of new and old was something quite unexpected for me. I didn't realize how old the town really was--there were even Viking invasions of Exeter, according to the book I've purchased. I also did not expect to feel as "at home" here as I do. Normally when I am in a town where I don't know anyone, I'm in a hurry to do my business and leave. Not so with Exeter--there's a casualness about my feelings towards the place, the same kind of casualness I would have towards my own home in the States.
After having an afternoon nap (I'd walked about 10 miles over the day, after all), it was still sunny and blue skies, so I went out to Bury Meadow, which is across the street from where I'm staying. Bury Meadow is a park, and from what I'm told, it's named after a Mr. Berry who had owned the land at the time. But in 1832 it was used as a graveyard for cholera victims, when there was a severe outbreak. Now there are slides and swings and other such amusements for children. I curled up on a bench with my book until sunset. As I'm writing this, it is dark out, and I'm tempted to go down and take some pictures there, as it is reputed to be extra-creepy at night.
We've had a spate of lovely weather in Exeter, as apparently is the case all over the UK. I see from forecasts that this is about to change, and some places may even see snow. It makes me glad that I brought my 45 pound suitcase (heavy mostly with clothes) so that I am not freezing to death during the middle of the week. I have not yet made my way to the River Exe; I intend to go down to the Quay tomorrow after my meeting at the university.
For now, I will enjoy the rest of the evening doing something I don't get to do very often--relaxing.
The University of Exeter is not very old, but the town surrounding it is very old. Exeter has been in existence since Roman times, and many of the buildings in town are built on Roman ruins of some kind or another. It's an odd mixture of new and old; you'll find a modern Italian restaurant in a 14th century building, old ruins standing next to department stores, a Marks and Spencer's built on a Roman graveyard. The old city wall runs around an incredibly modern shopping district.
In the residential part of town, otherwise ordinary houses have some kind of characteristic that makes them stand out--an unusual paint job, stained glass windows or doors, or other decorations that catch your eye. Combined with the autumn leaves, it makes a striking visual effect when you walk down almost any street.
During breakfast I had a chat with a woman from Scotland, who was newly hired in the university's engineering department. I told her about my doctoral interests, and the obstacles I faced at home with debt, owning a home and such. She said, "I'm sure you'll find a way to get it all sorted." I think she's probably right.
I visited the university this morning, which was beautifully laid out. Like the town, there is a mixture of the expected and the unexpected. Mostly there are little ecological havens in the midst of the stark buildings. A young woman approached me in a very friendly manner on campus, and I instantly knew she must be recruiting for a church. I was right. I was polite, but tossed her card in the trash after she went away. Pip told me that Exeter was on a hill, and she is not kidding. I found myself walking along the road look down some rather steep inclines.
My next big stop was St. David's churchyard, as I was fascinated by the headstones I saw on the way in. I've noticed that church people don't like you looking at their yard, as if they expect you to desecrate the stones for some Satanic ritual or something equally idiotic. No one said anything to me, but the few people I passed got the looks they gave me returned to them. The stones were not as old as they looked--about 1860s and up. Still, it was a marvelously overgrown churchyard, with tombstone decorations I'd never seen before. In the U.S. I'm used to seeing the old "memento mori", or perhaps a finger pointing upwards, or a willow tree. These headstones had scrolls on them, window panes, and other snake-like patterns and designs that I've never seen before. One grave had a holly tree growing on it, giving it a very pagan feel.
Breakfast was huge this morning, so at lunchtime I stopped in the Ship Inn for just a pint and a snack. I learned from a book I'd purchased on the area that Sir Francis Drake used to frequent this pub, during the time of the Spanish Armada. Supposedly it is haunted by 5 different ghosts. I didn't notice any, but it was a lovely old building. Besides the 3 bookstores, I've noticed no less than 5 Italian restaurants (2 reputed to be haunted). Seriously, nothing more to be said there--2 of my favorite things, Italian food and hauntings. I don't have to be at the Publick House near my home in the U.S. to find it.
I think the juxtaposition of new and old was something quite unexpected for me. I didn't realize how old the town really was--there were even Viking invasions of Exeter, according to the book I've purchased. I also did not expect to feel as "at home" here as I do. Normally when I am in a town where I don't know anyone, I'm in a hurry to do my business and leave. Not so with Exeter--there's a casualness about my feelings towards the place, the same kind of casualness I would have towards my own home in the States.
After having an afternoon nap (I'd walked about 10 miles over the day, after all), it was still sunny and blue skies, so I went out to Bury Meadow, which is across the street from where I'm staying. Bury Meadow is a park, and from what I'm told, it's named after a Mr. Berry who had owned the land at the time. But in 1832 it was used as a graveyard for cholera victims, when there was a severe outbreak. Now there are slides and swings and other such amusements for children. I curled up on a bench with my book until sunset. As I'm writing this, it is dark out, and I'm tempted to go down and take some pictures there, as it is reputed to be extra-creepy at night.
We've had a spate of lovely weather in Exeter, as apparently is the case all over the UK. I see from forecasts that this is about to change, and some places may even see snow. It makes me glad that I brought my 45 pound suitcase (heavy mostly with clothes) so that I am not freezing to death during the middle of the week. I have not yet made my way to the River Exe; I intend to go down to the Quay tomorrow after my meeting at the university.
For now, I will enjoy the rest of the evening doing something I don't get to do very often--relaxing.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Oxford, Heaven 17 and Exeter (UK Trip Days 2 and 3)
The last two days have been so busy, I've not had much time (if any) to sit down at a computer. Therefore, now that I am sitting in my room in a quiet Exeter neighborhood, I am going to try to catch up with myself.
At both my arriving and leaving Leamington Spa, I couldn't help but notice that the area was familiar. Then I realized that I was between Banbury and Warwick, an area I had been in around ten years ago. The university I work for has a satellite college "Near Banbury" (that is the actual postal location), and I had gone this way when I was there on an administrative retreat. I became quite aware on the trip just how large Oxfordshire actually is.
I went from Leamington Spa to Oxford, and that day was a whirlwind of activity. I didn't really get to go sightseeing in Oxford, which wasn't a total loss, as I'd been there sightseeing last year. I checked into my hotel and headed straight over to the Eagle and Child (or the "Bird and Baby" as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien used to call it), and met up with my friends Rob and Paul for drinks (and lunch). Afterward we headed to Paul's house, and then picked up his wife Pip and headed back to London for the Heaven 17 show at the Roundhouse.
I am in no way qualified to comment on the Heaven 17 gig. I recall seeing Heaven 17 on MTV when I was a young'un, but I really remember nothing about them or their music. I am not really sure why; Heaven 17 was founded by Martyn Ware, who was originally in the Human League, and I love early Human League material. But I never made the connection. The show itself was excellent. I spent much of my time standing there listening to songs, seeing if any of them rang a bell (and trying to get a "vibe" for whether or not I liked them). Their big hit, "Temptation" sounded somewhat familiar, but I still couldn't swear that I really "knew" the song. For some reason my attention was focused on the dress of the female singer. It was an incredibly 1980s style, which is sensible considering the "retro" nature of the material. But I had a very negative association with it. I recall my brother once describing a woman at his company wearing a dress that sounded exactly like that one--to the office. I have blocked out this woman's name in my mind (no, wait, I haven't--it was Karen), but all I know is that she was a truly rotten person. This was at Drexel Burnham Lambert, a company that epitomized everything wrong with the 1980s. My brother said she was mainly hired because she was sleeping with someone in management, and really had no talent except "to stick her tits in someone's face". Because my brother did not respond to her advances, she looked into his background, and when she found out he was being treated for HIV, she managed to get him fired so he wouldn't have any health insurance. At any rate, that's a long time past, and has nothing to do with the woman in Heaven 17, but association is funny in that way.
Getting back to the gig--Heaven 17 performed the entire "Luxury Gap" album, and then went on to do some rarities, including some early Human League material, which made me very happy (and Rob as well). After the gig we were all knackered, and made the long drive back to Oxford.
It wouldn't really be a complete day in Oxford if I didn't learn something new. In this case, I learned several (mostly) new words. They are:
Oik
"Ish"
Nobby
Sniffy
(the two preceding words are in no way to be confused with "Toppy").
The first one is my favorite. I plan to use it in a sentence when I get home.
The next morning I had a lovely breakfast in Oxford, but also not much time until my train. I went to my room, paid my bills for the rest of the month online, and headed over to Oxford rail station. My morning and early afternoon was spent on trains heading over to Exeter. To get to Exeter, I had to stop in Reading, where I haven't really been since I was in school there 18 years ago. Of course there was no time to go out and look around, but I've been assured that I'm not missing anything.
When I got off the train at Exeter and headed into town towards my hotel, I had a very good feeling. I passed St. David's Church, and marveled at the old graveyard--I will definitely be checking that out before I leave. The town is a strange mixture of the mundane, the old, and the pseudo-old. It is a university town, so naturally there are university students everywhere you go. I went for lunch after checking into my hotel, and everyone was involved in studying or reading at their tables. Not that it was quiet by any stretch. On a Saturday, though, I could hardly expect to find quiet anywhere except in my room.
I went into town, and naturally the first place I gravitated towards was the rare bookshop. It was in an odd place--inside a shopping center (read as: sort-of mall), on the second floor, in a mostly vacant corner near a music shop. I would have expected it to be in a creaky old building. The older gentleman who runs the shop told me about the fairies in his garden. When I made a purchase, he wrapped it very carefully, like a present. I hope he continues to stay in business. I noticed that there are two Italian restaurants in town, which just adds points in my book. My other stops were rather mundane, a run to the mobile phone store and to Tesco's (who actually had J.P. Chenet Merlot, a wine I like to buy when I'm at home, in individual serving bottles. You may think this is silly, but you won't find such a thing in the U.S.). I mainly wanted to get a first look around the town. There is a lot more to see, but I prefer to go when it's not so crowded.
I've had enough of night life for a couple of days, so I am staying in, catching up on writing, and going to bed early. I'm looking forward to more exploration tomorrow, and to curl up in the back of a pub with a pint of Hobgoblin and a good book.
At both my arriving and leaving Leamington Spa, I couldn't help but notice that the area was familiar. Then I realized that I was between Banbury and Warwick, an area I had been in around ten years ago. The university I work for has a satellite college "Near Banbury" (that is the actual postal location), and I had gone this way when I was there on an administrative retreat. I became quite aware on the trip just how large Oxfordshire actually is.
I went from Leamington Spa to Oxford, and that day was a whirlwind of activity. I didn't really get to go sightseeing in Oxford, which wasn't a total loss, as I'd been there sightseeing last year. I checked into my hotel and headed straight over to the Eagle and Child (or the "Bird and Baby" as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien used to call it), and met up with my friends Rob and Paul for drinks (and lunch). Afterward we headed to Paul's house, and then picked up his wife Pip and headed back to London for the Heaven 17 show at the Roundhouse.
I am in no way qualified to comment on the Heaven 17 gig. I recall seeing Heaven 17 on MTV when I was a young'un, but I really remember nothing about them or their music. I am not really sure why; Heaven 17 was founded by Martyn Ware, who was originally in the Human League, and I love early Human League material. But I never made the connection. The show itself was excellent. I spent much of my time standing there listening to songs, seeing if any of them rang a bell (and trying to get a "vibe" for whether or not I liked them). Their big hit, "Temptation" sounded somewhat familiar, but I still couldn't swear that I really "knew" the song. For some reason my attention was focused on the dress of the female singer. It was an incredibly 1980s style, which is sensible considering the "retro" nature of the material. But I had a very negative association with it. I recall my brother once describing a woman at his company wearing a dress that sounded exactly like that one--to the office. I have blocked out this woman's name in my mind (no, wait, I haven't--it was Karen), but all I know is that she was a truly rotten person. This was at Drexel Burnham Lambert, a company that epitomized everything wrong with the 1980s. My brother said she was mainly hired because she was sleeping with someone in management, and really had no talent except "to stick her tits in someone's face". Because my brother did not respond to her advances, she looked into his background, and when she found out he was being treated for HIV, she managed to get him fired so he wouldn't have any health insurance. At any rate, that's a long time past, and has nothing to do with the woman in Heaven 17, but association is funny in that way.
Getting back to the gig--Heaven 17 performed the entire "Luxury Gap" album, and then went on to do some rarities, including some early Human League material, which made me very happy (and Rob as well). After the gig we were all knackered, and made the long drive back to Oxford.
It wouldn't really be a complete day in Oxford if I didn't learn something new. In this case, I learned several (mostly) new words. They are:
Oik
"Ish"
Nobby
Sniffy
(the two preceding words are in no way to be confused with "Toppy").
The first one is my favorite. I plan to use it in a sentence when I get home.
The next morning I had a lovely breakfast in Oxford, but also not much time until my train. I went to my room, paid my bills for the rest of the month online, and headed over to Oxford rail station. My morning and early afternoon was spent on trains heading over to Exeter. To get to Exeter, I had to stop in Reading, where I haven't really been since I was in school there 18 years ago. Of course there was no time to go out and look around, but I've been assured that I'm not missing anything.
When I got off the train at Exeter and headed into town towards my hotel, I had a very good feeling. I passed St. David's Church, and marveled at the old graveyard--I will definitely be checking that out before I leave. The town is a strange mixture of the mundane, the old, and the pseudo-old. It is a university town, so naturally there are university students everywhere you go. I went for lunch after checking into my hotel, and everyone was involved in studying or reading at their tables. Not that it was quiet by any stretch. On a Saturday, though, I could hardly expect to find quiet anywhere except in my room.
I went into town, and naturally the first place I gravitated towards was the rare bookshop. It was in an odd place--inside a shopping center (read as: sort-of mall), on the second floor, in a mostly vacant corner near a music shop. I would have expected it to be in a creaky old building. The older gentleman who runs the shop told me about the fairies in his garden. When I made a purchase, he wrapped it very carefully, like a present. I hope he continues to stay in business. I noticed that there are two Italian restaurants in town, which just adds points in my book. My other stops were rather mundane, a run to the mobile phone store and to Tesco's (who actually had J.P. Chenet Merlot, a wine I like to buy when I'm at home, in individual serving bottles. You may think this is silly, but you won't find such a thing in the U.S.). I mainly wanted to get a first look around the town. There is a lot more to see, but I prefer to go when it's not so crowded.
I've had enough of night life for a couple of days, so I am staying in, catching up on writing, and going to bed early. I'm looking forward to more exploration tomorrow, and to curl up in the back of a pub with a pint of Hobgoblin and a good book.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
John Foxx at Leamington Spa, October 13, 2011 (UK trip Day 1)
Wednesday night I flew to London, arrived the next day, and took a train to Leamington Spa to see the John Foxx and the Maths gig at Leamington Assembly. At the end of the evening, John asked me, "Brigid, what did you think?" I informed him that I would be blogging my opinion of the show, because there was too much to say in one sentence. He replied, "Oh yes. Your blog." He said it with that punctuation. I don't know if that's good or bad. At any rate, here is my review of the evening.
There was not much time for anything when I arrived at my hotel. I had time for a quick shower, change, and to run off and meet a friend at a nearby pub for a drink. Later, before the doors opened, I spoke with some very nice folks outside the Assembly. I saw Steve and Rob, and had drinks with Rob and some others before the start of the show. The show started around 8:15, and by the time I got into the room, there were very few seats left. (Yes, there were actual seats, surprisingly enough).
Tara Busch opened the show. I've never heard anything by her before, so this was my first time hearing her. I'm not entirely sure what I think. She has an amazing voice, and played very beautifully. Whether or not I can relate to her material I can't say. I'd have to listen to it more before deciding. In general, I thought she was quite talented, but perhaps not exactly my "thing" musically. I was surprised to realize that she is an American, and it makes me curious about how she got interested in synths. Synth music never took off in a big way in the U.S. the way it did in Europe (we were about guitars for oh so many years).
John Foxx and the Maths came on about 20 minutes after her set finished. The Maths on this tour include Benge, Serafina Steer, and Hannah Peel. Here is a photo of the setlist, with the caveat (per Chris Curran) that it is not exactly correct:
I was a bit taken aback by the start of the show. John began with "Shatterproof", and I recognize that the song is supposed to have a certain harshness of tone. But it seemed like the first few songs in the set were like that--he sang very fast, at a higher pitch, and with a kind of vehemence. At the same time, he really didn't show a lot of emotion to the audience when they applauded; he might give a slight nod or a terse smile. The sort of frozen expressions and language coupled with the very dramatic singing left me with strange impressions. It almost seemed like he was so determined to do a perfect set musically, he'd totally lost any sense of interaction with the audience. The best analogy I can think of for how it felt that isn't sexual--it was like two feuding family members in the same room trying to pretend that everything is wonderful between them, yet the tension is still there. For all the emotion in the singing, it felt like a lot was held back. The net result was an uncomfortable sense of barrier between the performers and the audience; Serafina and Hannah seemed to be affected by the vibe, as they seemed like they were holding back in their own ways, even though all the playing was brilliant. (Benge was in the back looking unaffected by any of it. He may be a bhodisattva). There was a bottleneck on both sides--performers and audience.
Then John performed "Catwalk", and everything changed. Members of the audience got up and started to dance, and that started to put the thaw on everything. John still retained his demeanor through the song, but as the rest of the set went on, he became more natural, and more interactive. That was also the first time I'd really noticed the two women onstage really getting into the performance--the audience energy affected the performers in a very good way, and it felt more like everyone was part of the experience. (Of course, following that song with "Summerland", and then "Just for a Moment" temporarily killed the dance vibe, but it was recovered).The most memorable shows are the ones where you really react to the performance--singing along, dancing, crying, whatever--it should move you. Everyone was moved, but there was an initial lack of expression. Once that broke, there was a wonderful flow that really allowed their stunning performance to come through. At the end of the show, John finally spoke to everyone--first with a "thank you, good night", then after the encore he said, "thank you all for having a good time". I suspect he may have noticed that change in energy as well.
The net result was amazing, making the concert feel like a life-changing psychological breakthrough. Maybe that's exaggerated, maybe it's more a reflection of where I'm at than where anyone else is or was at. Nonetheless, others agreed after the show that some kind of "barrier" was broken after "Catwalk". I do wonder if the presence of chairs in the hall when a "standing room" situation was assumed affected initial behaviors. One never really knows these things. But when they happen in that way, it's wonderful.
I don't wish to suggest by any of this that the first half of the set wasn't good--it was excellent, but that tension does affect things. It's not necessarily anyone's "fault"--sometimes it just ends up that way. In the days when Sleater Kinney was together, I remember that there was a huge difference between shows in Philadelphia and shows in New York. The audience members in Philly were like zombies, and it really sapped the energy of the show. In New York, it was like an ecstatic religious experience--there was no differentiation between the audience, its movement, and the music. Everyone there contributes to the atmosphere. The technical aspects of the show are only a very small part of the larger concert picture.
After the gig, I didn't talk to John for long, as he is en route to the next gig in Poland (I marvel at people who can function without any sleep). He asked me if Steve had given me a copy of the Maths new album (Shapes of Things--and by the way, go buy it. Now. Well, not now--it's only available at the shows. But as soon as possible.). I told him that I had a copy that I'd purchased. "Steve just wasn't fast enough," I said. (Note to Steve: I was joking. I did not expect anyone to give me a copy). "Oh," said John. "You really deserve to have gotten one." I told him I didn't mind contributing £15 to his personal income. I did not mention that I have encouraged others to buy "Interplay" by suggesting that it brings lasting happiness and cures male pattern baldness. But he doesn't need to know that.
So, I'm back in my room after an overall pleasant and rather amazing evening here in Leamington Spa. I will be blogging this entire UK trip--I will be here for 16 days, so be prepared for lots more Brigid-abroad-goodness, as well as reviews of 7 more John Foxx gigs that I will be attending (Bristol, Manchester, Liverpool. Glasgow, York, and 2 London dates).
There was not much time for anything when I arrived at my hotel. I had time for a quick shower, change, and to run off and meet a friend at a nearby pub for a drink. Later, before the doors opened, I spoke with some very nice folks outside the Assembly. I saw Steve and Rob, and had drinks with Rob and some others before the start of the show. The show started around 8:15, and by the time I got into the room, there were very few seats left. (Yes, there were actual seats, surprisingly enough).
Tara Busch opened the show. I've never heard anything by her before, so this was my first time hearing her. I'm not entirely sure what I think. She has an amazing voice, and played very beautifully. Whether or not I can relate to her material I can't say. I'd have to listen to it more before deciding. In general, I thought she was quite talented, but perhaps not exactly my "thing" musically. I was surprised to realize that she is an American, and it makes me curious about how she got interested in synths. Synth music never took off in a big way in the U.S. the way it did in Europe (we were about guitars for oh so many years).
John Foxx and the Maths came on about 20 minutes after her set finished. The Maths on this tour include Benge, Serafina Steer, and Hannah Peel. Here is a photo of the setlist, with the caveat (per Chris Curran) that it is not exactly correct:
I was a bit taken aback by the start of the show. John began with "Shatterproof", and I recognize that the song is supposed to have a certain harshness of tone. But it seemed like the first few songs in the set were like that--he sang very fast, at a higher pitch, and with a kind of vehemence. At the same time, he really didn't show a lot of emotion to the audience when they applauded; he might give a slight nod or a terse smile. The sort of frozen expressions and language coupled with the very dramatic singing left me with strange impressions. It almost seemed like he was so determined to do a perfect set musically, he'd totally lost any sense of interaction with the audience. The best analogy I can think of for how it felt that isn't sexual--it was like two feuding family members in the same room trying to pretend that everything is wonderful between them, yet the tension is still there. For all the emotion in the singing, it felt like a lot was held back. The net result was an uncomfortable sense of barrier between the performers and the audience; Serafina and Hannah seemed to be affected by the vibe, as they seemed like they were holding back in their own ways, even though all the playing was brilliant. (Benge was in the back looking unaffected by any of it. He may be a bhodisattva). There was a bottleneck on both sides--performers and audience.
Then John performed "Catwalk", and everything changed. Members of the audience got up and started to dance, and that started to put the thaw on everything. John still retained his demeanor through the song, but as the rest of the set went on, he became more natural, and more interactive. That was also the first time I'd really noticed the two women onstage really getting into the performance--the audience energy affected the performers in a very good way, and it felt more like everyone was part of the experience. (Of course, following that song with "Summerland", and then "Just for a Moment" temporarily killed the dance vibe, but it was recovered).The most memorable shows are the ones where you really react to the performance--singing along, dancing, crying, whatever--it should move you. Everyone was moved, but there was an initial lack of expression. Once that broke, there was a wonderful flow that really allowed their stunning performance to come through. At the end of the show, John finally spoke to everyone--first with a "thank you, good night", then after the encore he said, "thank you all for having a good time". I suspect he may have noticed that change in energy as well.
The net result was amazing, making the concert feel like a life-changing psychological breakthrough. Maybe that's exaggerated, maybe it's more a reflection of where I'm at than where anyone else is or was at. Nonetheless, others agreed after the show that some kind of "barrier" was broken after "Catwalk". I do wonder if the presence of chairs in the hall when a "standing room" situation was assumed affected initial behaviors. One never really knows these things. But when they happen in that way, it's wonderful.
I don't wish to suggest by any of this that the first half of the set wasn't good--it was excellent, but that tension does affect things. It's not necessarily anyone's "fault"--sometimes it just ends up that way. In the days when Sleater Kinney was together, I remember that there was a huge difference between shows in Philadelphia and shows in New York. The audience members in Philly were like zombies, and it really sapped the energy of the show. In New York, it was like an ecstatic religious experience--there was no differentiation between the audience, its movement, and the music. Everyone there contributes to the atmosphere. The technical aspects of the show are only a very small part of the larger concert picture.
After the gig, I didn't talk to John for long, as he is en route to the next gig in Poland (I marvel at people who can function without any sleep). He asked me if Steve had given me a copy of the Maths new album (Shapes of Things--and by the way, go buy it. Now. Well, not now--it's only available at the shows. But as soon as possible.). I told him that I had a copy that I'd purchased. "Steve just wasn't fast enough," I said. (Note to Steve: I was joking. I did not expect anyone to give me a copy). "Oh," said John. "You really deserve to have gotten one." I told him I didn't mind contributing £15 to his personal income. I did not mention that I have encouraged others to buy "Interplay" by suggesting that it brings lasting happiness and cures male pattern baldness. But he doesn't need to know that.
So, I'm back in my room after an overall pleasant and rather amazing evening here in Leamington Spa. I will be blogging this entire UK trip--I will be here for 16 days, so be prepared for lots more Brigid-abroad-goodness, as well as reviews of 7 more John Foxx gigs that I will be attending (Bristol, Manchester, Liverpool. Glasgow, York, and 2 London dates).
Thursday, October 06, 2011
Numinous
When I teach classes about the idea of "deity", a word always comes up as a description: "numinous". I think it's fairly meaningless to most of my students, or really, to anyone. It's something they might write down on an essay test, or jot down in their notebook after seeing me write it somewhere.
Like a lot of psychological ideas, they really don't mean much to anyone. The description doesn't invoke any sense of what the word means. And yet all our lives are constructed around the numinous--either rigorous exploration of it, or hell-bent avoidance of it. You might call that the "purpose" of our lives.
So, what is it? It's probably best understood through example. I am not alone in my interest in the paranormal--our curiosity about life after death, ghosts, and other such related phenomena represent our curiosity about the numinous. I don't want to give the impression that this is "all" the numinous is about. It's really about anything we can't explain--things that are out of step with what we gauge as our "normal" perceived existence. It doesn't have to be anything as strange as a ghostly encounter. The "numinous" is anything that hits us out of left field. What I went through with my parents' house last week could be described as numinous--walking into an unexpected disaster, something out of my control. The numinous can make you feel very small, suggests that you are not as in control of your life as you think you are.
There are really two senses of "numinous". One is just as I've explained--encountering the unknown. It doesn't have to be negative; sometimes our lives change very suddenly in a positive way through totally unforeseen circumstances. Our human habit is only to remember the negative, unless the positive experience truly made us a new person. The other sense is that of the "weird". Stephen Carter (author of "Culture of Disbelief") noted that if you walked into a bar and started talking about your religion, people would find you...well, weird. When something happens for which ordinary explanations are not entirely satisfying, we find it "weird". Sometimes we laugh and marvel at the strangeness, other times we are "freaked out". In either case, it disturbs our ordinary vision of the world.
Horror writer Arthur Machen equated this second aspect of the numinous with what we often perceive as "horror" or "terror" in his story "The White People" :
"What would your feelings be, seriously, if your cat or dog began to talk to you, and to dispute with you in human accents? You would be overwhelmed with horror. I am sure of it. An if the roses in your garden sang a weird song, you would go mad. And suppose the stones in the road began to swell and grow before your eyes, an if the pebble that you noticed at night had shot out stony blossoms in the morning?"
Machen also notes in this story that "sin" is the "taking of Heaven by storm". Chaos, the disruption of what we perceive as the natural order of things. H.P. Lovecraft's horror is so successful not because he is writing about some religious battle of good and evil (in spite of any pleading by August Derleth), he is writing about the "acausal"--when the indifferent forces of the universe run ramshod over us, for absolutely no reason at all. It reminds us that we are at the mercy of something much larger than ourselves. Everyone senses this; the only difference between a religious man (in the Western sense) and the atheist (in the broadest sense) is that the religious man wants to believe there is something in the numinous that cares about him, while the atheist is certain that there is not.
We deal with the numinous in various ways. Many of us like to keep busy all the time, and like to always have company of some sort (even if it is in an online message or chat). We do not like long periods of doing nothing with much silence. The numinous fills that silence, and unless we are practiced meditators, that fills us with dread. Those are the times when we start imagining all of the potentially negative possibilities of our lives and others. That is when we hear the voices that remind us of our weaknesses. The numinous doesn't "cause" this, it's our reaction to it. How many people can't wait "to get back to routine" after a long vacation? Vacations are often anything but restful, if that is their intention.
We can be "victims" in the face of the numinous, or we can be "ship captains", and it's really a question of attitude. When the mystical religions talk about "surrendering", they mean accepting the numinous for what it is. Most of us cannot do that--we have ambitions and plans that we don't want to see wrecked. At least one principle of Chaos Magick involves never getting into set patterns, because then we fall into that trap of believing that we are in control of everything. But rather than go mad or go to pieces in the face of that lack of control (or get frozen like the schizophrenic), we should learn how to steer through uncharted waters--hence the "captain" metaphor. A ship at sea does not know what kind of weather it will encounter--there could be still waters that are a bane to sailboats, there could be violent storms. The captain is trained to deal with either situation appropriately, and has also amassed the correct tools for navigating the seas. Similarly--we have our metaphorical tools that provide us with guidance, and our negative experiences should teach us how to react to whatever comes our way. I say "negative" specifically, because if you are sheltered from such things your whole life, you will go to pieces when you're actually confronted with the experience, and no one really escapes it. The compass you have is your instinct--and hearing your instincts clearly all the time requires an uncluttered mind.
Like a lot of psychological ideas, they really don't mean much to anyone. The description doesn't invoke any sense of what the word means. And yet all our lives are constructed around the numinous--either rigorous exploration of it, or hell-bent avoidance of it. You might call that the "purpose" of our lives.
So, what is it? It's probably best understood through example. I am not alone in my interest in the paranormal--our curiosity about life after death, ghosts, and other such related phenomena represent our curiosity about the numinous. I don't want to give the impression that this is "all" the numinous is about. It's really about anything we can't explain--things that are out of step with what we gauge as our "normal" perceived existence. It doesn't have to be anything as strange as a ghostly encounter. The "numinous" is anything that hits us out of left field. What I went through with my parents' house last week could be described as numinous--walking into an unexpected disaster, something out of my control. The numinous can make you feel very small, suggests that you are not as in control of your life as you think you are.
There are really two senses of "numinous". One is just as I've explained--encountering the unknown. It doesn't have to be negative; sometimes our lives change very suddenly in a positive way through totally unforeseen circumstances. Our human habit is only to remember the negative, unless the positive experience truly made us a new person. The other sense is that of the "weird". Stephen Carter (author of "Culture of Disbelief") noted that if you walked into a bar and started talking about your religion, people would find you...well, weird. When something happens for which ordinary explanations are not entirely satisfying, we find it "weird". Sometimes we laugh and marvel at the strangeness, other times we are "freaked out". In either case, it disturbs our ordinary vision of the world.
Horror writer Arthur Machen equated this second aspect of the numinous with what we often perceive as "horror" or "terror" in his story "The White People" :
"What would your feelings be, seriously, if your cat or dog began to talk to you, and to dispute with you in human accents? You would be overwhelmed with horror. I am sure of it. An if the roses in your garden sang a weird song, you would go mad. And suppose the stones in the road began to swell and grow before your eyes, an if the pebble that you noticed at night had shot out stony blossoms in the morning?"
Machen also notes in this story that "sin" is the "taking of Heaven by storm". Chaos, the disruption of what we perceive as the natural order of things. H.P. Lovecraft's horror is so successful not because he is writing about some religious battle of good and evil (in spite of any pleading by August Derleth), he is writing about the "acausal"--when the indifferent forces of the universe run ramshod over us, for absolutely no reason at all. It reminds us that we are at the mercy of something much larger than ourselves. Everyone senses this; the only difference between a religious man (in the Western sense) and the atheist (in the broadest sense) is that the religious man wants to believe there is something in the numinous that cares about him, while the atheist is certain that there is not.
We deal with the numinous in various ways. Many of us like to keep busy all the time, and like to always have company of some sort (even if it is in an online message or chat). We do not like long periods of doing nothing with much silence. The numinous fills that silence, and unless we are practiced meditators, that fills us with dread. Those are the times when we start imagining all of the potentially negative possibilities of our lives and others. That is when we hear the voices that remind us of our weaknesses. The numinous doesn't "cause" this, it's our reaction to it. How many people can't wait "to get back to routine" after a long vacation? Vacations are often anything but restful, if that is their intention.
We can be "victims" in the face of the numinous, or we can be "ship captains", and it's really a question of attitude. When the mystical religions talk about "surrendering", they mean accepting the numinous for what it is. Most of us cannot do that--we have ambitions and plans that we don't want to see wrecked. At least one principle of Chaos Magick involves never getting into set patterns, because then we fall into that trap of believing that we are in control of everything. But rather than go mad or go to pieces in the face of that lack of control (or get frozen like the schizophrenic), we should learn how to steer through uncharted waters--hence the "captain" metaphor. A ship at sea does not know what kind of weather it will encounter--there could be still waters that are a bane to sailboats, there could be violent storms. The captain is trained to deal with either situation appropriately, and has also amassed the correct tools for navigating the seas. Similarly--we have our metaphorical tools that provide us with guidance, and our negative experiences should teach us how to react to whatever comes our way. I say "negative" specifically, because if you are sheltered from such things your whole life, you will go to pieces when you're actually confronted with the experience, and no one really escapes it. The compass you have is your instinct--and hearing your instincts clearly all the time requires an uncluttered mind.
Sunday, October 02, 2011
Water
The fastest way to have an out-of-body experience is to work and drive long hours, and then work and drive long hours again after only 2 hours of sleep. This week’s out-of-body experience for me is sponsored by God (my mother’s version), my parents, and Shiva the cat. And that’s just this past Friday. The last week is another matter entirely.
My adventure began on Monday. At the beginning of September, I always read Susan Miller’s monthly horoscope for my sign. She mentioned that after the Autumn Equinox on the 23rd, things were going to get “stormy”, so I should prepare for about 3 weeks of “storminess” (read as: crap). I remember thinking about this as I drove to work at the crack of dawn on Monday. I’d had a reasonably good weekend, and was dropping by to check on my parents’ house while they were on vacation. There’s no need for me to do this every day, as they have no living things in the house (pets, plants, etc.). I thought, hmm, what could possibly go wrong this week? (Note: do not ever think this. You will regret it).
Before she went on vacation, my mother stopped before closing the door and said a silent prayer: “Please, God, take care of my house while I’m gone.” (Here is where the God sponsorship comes in). As you know, I don’t believe in a personal God. However, it is clear that whatever God heard that prayer did not like the décor in her house—particularly not the 1970s-style bathrooms, or the 1990s carpeting, flooring, or wallpaper. So, He or She decided to take the opportunity to “take care” of it. I walked in the door that morning to the sound of running water. The upstairs toilet had a bizarre-looking crack in the front and back, and water had been pouring out of it as it continually filled up, probably for the last 2 days. Long story short—her upstairs carpeting, most of the downstairs floors, and most of the ceilings downstairs were destroyed by water.
And thus began my work week. I think I worked 2 hours on Monday, as I called every conceivable person necessary to deal with the crisis, starting with the fire department (who made sure that there were no fires in the walls from the wet electrical connections—the switches were buzzing), then my parents (who did not take the news well, as you might imagine), then the insurance company, and then a water extraction service. I had to let various people in and out of the house, and the water extraction crew was there for 6 hours. Mind you, I shut off the main water valve first thing, and 6 hours is a long time to sit without a bathroom. (Fortunately my parents’ neighbor let me use hers). Before the crew left, the project manager said to me, “You know, I do 7 or 8 jobs like this a day. This is the hardest one I’ve done so far”. I don’t know if we get a prize for that. Not likely we’ll get a discount.
My “stormy” week continued when a routine thunderstorm suddenly became a torrential event and flooded my basement to a dangerous level (4th time since mid-August). I need to find a reliable drainage method, and I want climate change deniers to pay for it. Thursday night I picked up my parents from the airport, and they went to a nearby hotel for the night. I am not close to the airport or my parents’ house geographically, so I got home after a long drive, and realized I had about 4 hours to sleep before getting up for work. Shiva (the cat) has been rather needy these days when I come home, so I looked at him and said, “Do NOT wake me up before 4:00 in the morning, OK?” He meowed at me, which could have meant, “OK”, or could have meant, “You’ll get up when I want you to, biatch”. I’m guessing it’s the latter, because he started his morning yowl at 2:15 AM.
Let me just say here that the bigger challenges of this week did not faze me. It is little things like being woken up by a yowling cat after 2 hours of sleep that make me want to commit harakiri. I am seriously looking forward to vacation this month.
By the way, it's slated to rain again tonight.
My adventure began on Monday. At the beginning of September, I always read Susan Miller’s monthly horoscope for my sign. She mentioned that after the Autumn Equinox on the 23rd, things were going to get “stormy”, so I should prepare for about 3 weeks of “storminess” (read as: crap). I remember thinking about this as I drove to work at the crack of dawn on Monday. I’d had a reasonably good weekend, and was dropping by to check on my parents’ house while they were on vacation. There’s no need for me to do this every day, as they have no living things in the house (pets, plants, etc.). I thought, hmm, what could possibly go wrong this week? (Note: do not ever think this. You will regret it).
Before she went on vacation, my mother stopped before closing the door and said a silent prayer: “Please, God, take care of my house while I’m gone.” (Here is where the God sponsorship comes in). As you know, I don’t believe in a personal God. However, it is clear that whatever God heard that prayer did not like the décor in her house—particularly not the 1970s-style bathrooms, or the 1990s carpeting, flooring, or wallpaper. So, He or She decided to take the opportunity to “take care” of it. I walked in the door that morning to the sound of running water. The upstairs toilet had a bizarre-looking crack in the front and back, and water had been pouring out of it as it continually filled up, probably for the last 2 days. Long story short—her upstairs carpeting, most of the downstairs floors, and most of the ceilings downstairs were destroyed by water.
And thus began my work week. I think I worked 2 hours on Monday, as I called every conceivable person necessary to deal with the crisis, starting with the fire department (who made sure that there were no fires in the walls from the wet electrical connections—the switches were buzzing), then my parents (who did not take the news well, as you might imagine), then the insurance company, and then a water extraction service. I had to let various people in and out of the house, and the water extraction crew was there for 6 hours. Mind you, I shut off the main water valve first thing, and 6 hours is a long time to sit without a bathroom. (Fortunately my parents’ neighbor let me use hers). Before the crew left, the project manager said to me, “You know, I do 7 or 8 jobs like this a day. This is the hardest one I’ve done so far”. I don’t know if we get a prize for that. Not likely we’ll get a discount.
My “stormy” week continued when a routine thunderstorm suddenly became a torrential event and flooded my basement to a dangerous level (4th time since mid-August). I need to find a reliable drainage method, and I want climate change deniers to pay for it. Thursday night I picked up my parents from the airport, and they went to a nearby hotel for the night. I am not close to the airport or my parents’ house geographically, so I got home after a long drive, and realized I had about 4 hours to sleep before getting up for work. Shiva (the cat) has been rather needy these days when I come home, so I looked at him and said, “Do NOT wake me up before 4:00 in the morning, OK?” He meowed at me, which could have meant, “OK”, or could have meant, “You’ll get up when I want you to, biatch”. I’m guessing it’s the latter, because he started his morning yowl at 2:15 AM.
Let me just say here that the bigger challenges of this week did not faze me. It is little things like being woken up by a yowling cat after 2 hours of sleep that make me want to commit harakiri. I am seriously looking forward to vacation this month.
By the way, it's slated to rain again tonight.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Poltergeist
I’m not looking to get into the habit of blogging individual episodes of Paranormal Witness. However, I’m going to make an exception for last night’s episode, for two reasons. One is that it disturbed me; while I know this kind of thing happens, I don’t like the “malevolent entity in the house ends up killing the pets and new baby kittens” thread. I can’t abide stories about pets getting killed, namely because they’re so innocent. I have less trouble with stories about humans being killed, because humans often do dumb things that lead to their deaths—not always, but humans are not particularly innocent, not even children. Humans also have more wits at their disposal to survive. Pets are often dragged into such situations, and are the most vulnerable. And I get annoyed when people are in a house with negative activity and don’t move all vulnerable parties from the premises.
The second reason this is on my mind is that the first story provides an example of something that we call a “constellated archetype” in depth psychology jargon. It sounds very innocent, but it’s actually something quite frightening and potentially dangerous. The practice of psychology today is largely behavioristic—it reduces the human psyche to chemical reactions in the brain, and putting band-aids on life crises. To be fair, this is largely the fault of health insurance—they won’t pay for therapy that’s actually beneficial long-term to the person, unless they’re diagnosed with a mental illness.
But back to constellated archetypes. “Constellation” simply means “coming to the surface” in this case. Archetypes are the contents of the collective unconscious. There are LOTS and LOTS of them, though there are some fundamental ones. They are neither good or bad in and of themselves, but we shouldn’t think that their abstract description on paper minimizes them. They’re important for us to grapple with, because they influence everything we do.
So, the episode—Paranormal Witness shows two stories in each episode, and this refers to the first. It is about a poltergeist . What starts out as a jar of melted peanut butter found on its side, open and dripping escalates to items being found stacked in various places, then doors banging by themselves all night, then writing on the walls. This later escalated for a variety of reasons to all the animals dying in the house, then one of the girls in the house being attacked by flying furniture (and the doors locking so no one could get in to help her), and finally with the other girl’s door being hammered on with sharp objects, and then being locked in while a fire started in the house.
The players—there was a mother, her boyfriend, and two teenage daughters, one belonging to the mother, the other to her boyfriend. The girls were friendly with each other, and everyone got on well. When the incidents started happening, the boyfriend tried to blame the mother’s daughter. They blamed the girls in general for playing pranks and looking for attention. When it became clear this wasn’t the case, the boyfriend called a priest to come in, who walked around, said he couldn’t help, and left. In the end, the mother and boyfriend split up when they moved out of the house. The girls still remain friends.
Several incidents were of interest during the episode, at least to me. The first attempt of this “spirit” to write on the walls consisted of arrows drawn everywhere pointing to the vents and to the attic. An examination of the attic space yielded nothing, though the air was tense. Fire seemed to be a theme in this haunting—first the melted peanut butter (obviously heated up), and then trying to set fire to the house. Initially the mother tried to make a peace offering to whatever it was by lighting candles, and offering a ceramic cat (because she loved cats) to it as an offering. Her boyfriend saw what was going on, got angry, and threw the cat outside, only to turn around seconds later and find it back on the shelf with the candles. He then smashed it, which unleashed a hellish fury on the house. The next day the word “cat” was scrawled on the walls everywhere. And eventually—the cats in the house died.
So, what does all this have to do with anything, least of all constellated archetypes? Carl Jung believed that poltergeist (noisy ghost) phenomena were the result of a constellation of the Trickster archetype. Even writing and hearing voices are part of it. If you recall the old Bell Witch case in the 19th century, this is similar. Where do they come from? From the teenage girls. Why? Because they are throwing off electromagnetism that is manifesting externally a battle that is raging internally. Poltergeist phenomena are usually connected with girls around the age of puberty, when there is a hormonal shift that affects the pituitary gland (and also at menopause, though that’s less well known). What battle? It’s hard to know exactly. My guess is that there’s more to the family story. Both the mother and the boyfriend were divorced, and we don’t know how that affected the girls. There was clearly some hostility towards the boyfriend, and perhaps there was an undercurrent of resentment or rage among the girls and the parental figures. We don’t know anything about that, but I’d bet money that something wasn’t right.
Now, once they moved out, they never experienced activity again. Usually poltergeist activity follows you. But—the mother and boyfriend broke up, and the girls were no longer together to act as a beacon for the archetype. So, its settling down is not out of the question. I think the arrows on the walls were significant—they pointed to a need to “vent”, and also to the attic, which is a symbol of the unconscious. The archetype identified itself.
There are some things that may still leave you with questions. For instance—they saw something that looked like huge, demonic footprints in the house after the cat incident. The neighbors on that block also put their houses up for sale, and within a short time there were 5 vacant houses on that street. We don’t know why, but it suggests an external entity rather than a psychological phenomena. Again, I can’t prove anything in this case, but my suspicion is that it has to do with something attracted by the constellated archetype. There are other manifestations of consciousness, and I think this one was a belligerent fire elemental—namely because fire was a running theme through the poltergeist pranks. I recall another case mentioned by Jason and Grant of Ghost Hunters in one of their books, where a similar stacking of objects in the kitchen and various places turned out to be a haunting by an elemental attached to the property (they actually caught it on tape—not seen on any episodes though, as it was not part of a GH investigation). The scientific minded may think that’s a stretch, but coming from a Jungian perspective, there are things that are both part of us and external to us—apparently. We are not separate from Nature, so “elementals” are not separate from us—they are manifestations of aspects of Nature.
So, that’s my interpretation of what went on, right or wrong, for better or for worse. While these kinds of things are fairly rare, they are an object lesson in why you should “know thyself”. Psychologists who want patients to simply “forget their past” and move forward without examination (a new trend, especially in Christian counseling) should think twice. Under the right conditions, these things DO happen—and they demonstrate the incredible power of the collective human psyche.
The second reason this is on my mind is that the first story provides an example of something that we call a “constellated archetype” in depth psychology jargon. It sounds very innocent, but it’s actually something quite frightening and potentially dangerous. The practice of psychology today is largely behavioristic—it reduces the human psyche to chemical reactions in the brain, and putting band-aids on life crises. To be fair, this is largely the fault of health insurance—they won’t pay for therapy that’s actually beneficial long-term to the person, unless they’re diagnosed with a mental illness.
But back to constellated archetypes. “Constellation” simply means “coming to the surface” in this case. Archetypes are the contents of the collective unconscious. There are LOTS and LOTS of them, though there are some fundamental ones. They are neither good or bad in and of themselves, but we shouldn’t think that their abstract description on paper minimizes them. They’re important for us to grapple with, because they influence everything we do.
So, the episode—Paranormal Witness shows two stories in each episode, and this refers to the first. It is about a poltergeist . What starts out as a jar of melted peanut butter found on its side, open and dripping escalates to items being found stacked in various places, then doors banging by themselves all night, then writing on the walls. This later escalated for a variety of reasons to all the animals dying in the house, then one of the girls in the house being attacked by flying furniture (and the doors locking so no one could get in to help her), and finally with the other girl’s door being hammered on with sharp objects, and then being locked in while a fire started in the house.
The players—there was a mother, her boyfriend, and two teenage daughters, one belonging to the mother, the other to her boyfriend. The girls were friendly with each other, and everyone got on well. When the incidents started happening, the boyfriend tried to blame the mother’s daughter. They blamed the girls in general for playing pranks and looking for attention. When it became clear this wasn’t the case, the boyfriend called a priest to come in, who walked around, said he couldn’t help, and left. In the end, the mother and boyfriend split up when they moved out of the house. The girls still remain friends.
Several incidents were of interest during the episode, at least to me. The first attempt of this “spirit” to write on the walls consisted of arrows drawn everywhere pointing to the vents and to the attic. An examination of the attic space yielded nothing, though the air was tense. Fire seemed to be a theme in this haunting—first the melted peanut butter (obviously heated up), and then trying to set fire to the house. Initially the mother tried to make a peace offering to whatever it was by lighting candles, and offering a ceramic cat (because she loved cats) to it as an offering. Her boyfriend saw what was going on, got angry, and threw the cat outside, only to turn around seconds later and find it back on the shelf with the candles. He then smashed it, which unleashed a hellish fury on the house. The next day the word “cat” was scrawled on the walls everywhere. And eventually—the cats in the house died.
So, what does all this have to do with anything, least of all constellated archetypes? Carl Jung believed that poltergeist (noisy ghost) phenomena were the result of a constellation of the Trickster archetype. Even writing and hearing voices are part of it. If you recall the old Bell Witch case in the 19th century, this is similar. Where do they come from? From the teenage girls. Why? Because they are throwing off electromagnetism that is manifesting externally a battle that is raging internally. Poltergeist phenomena are usually connected with girls around the age of puberty, when there is a hormonal shift that affects the pituitary gland (and also at menopause, though that’s less well known). What battle? It’s hard to know exactly. My guess is that there’s more to the family story. Both the mother and the boyfriend were divorced, and we don’t know how that affected the girls. There was clearly some hostility towards the boyfriend, and perhaps there was an undercurrent of resentment or rage among the girls and the parental figures. We don’t know anything about that, but I’d bet money that something wasn’t right.
Now, once they moved out, they never experienced activity again. Usually poltergeist activity follows you. But—the mother and boyfriend broke up, and the girls were no longer together to act as a beacon for the archetype. So, its settling down is not out of the question. I think the arrows on the walls were significant—they pointed to a need to “vent”, and also to the attic, which is a symbol of the unconscious. The archetype identified itself.
There are some things that may still leave you with questions. For instance—they saw something that looked like huge, demonic footprints in the house after the cat incident. The neighbors on that block also put their houses up for sale, and within a short time there were 5 vacant houses on that street. We don’t know why, but it suggests an external entity rather than a psychological phenomena. Again, I can’t prove anything in this case, but my suspicion is that it has to do with something attracted by the constellated archetype. There are other manifestations of consciousness, and I think this one was a belligerent fire elemental—namely because fire was a running theme through the poltergeist pranks. I recall another case mentioned by Jason and Grant of Ghost Hunters in one of their books, where a similar stacking of objects in the kitchen and various places turned out to be a haunting by an elemental attached to the property (they actually caught it on tape—not seen on any episodes though, as it was not part of a GH investigation). The scientific minded may think that’s a stretch, but coming from a Jungian perspective, there are things that are both part of us and external to us—apparently. We are not separate from Nature, so “elementals” are not separate from us—they are manifestations of aspects of Nature.
So, that’s my interpretation of what went on, right or wrong, for better or for worse. While these kinds of things are fairly rare, they are an object lesson in why you should “know thyself”. Psychologists who want patients to simply “forget their past” and move forward without examination (a new trend, especially in Christian counseling) should think twice. Under the right conditions, these things DO happen—and they demonstrate the incredible power of the collective human psyche.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Chicken and Egg
This past week I read an article on reading and personality. The article mentioned a study involving young adults reading passages from either the Harry Potter or Twilight series, and then giving them a certain number of social associative tests. The gist of their findings was that reading is not “escapist” as previously thought, but is able to provide a sense of social identification with the characters in the story, which translates to their social identity. It’s sort of a jumping off point for one’s own thoughts, feelings, and experiences. Reading increased the empathy of readers.
My first reaction to such a study is a chicken-and-egg sort of thing. What comes first? Does the book foster a new interest? Or is the person drawn to the book because they already had an interest?
If I take myself as an example—from the time I was able to read (I got past Dr. Seuss at about 4 years old) I have gravitated towards books about witches, magic, ghosts, haunted houses and world religions. It’s not difficult to see that I’ve retained this interest throughout my life. In fact—a lot of my career, research, and personal life is tied in with these subjects. By the time I’m old, I’ll be a real life Mrs. Zimmerman, complete with purple murals on the walls, and doctoral degree relating to magic. (If you don’t know who she is, refer to John Bellairs’s book “The House With a Clock in its Walls”). But did the books influence me, or did I just gravitate towards them because it was about a subject I was interested in?
The answer is likely a mixture of both. I had a heavy duty imagination as a kid, and when I had an idea or story in my head about something, I would go cruising the library shelves for something that matched the image in my head. Sometimes I would get new ideas or gravitate towards new kinds of stories if I read something that didn’t quite match, but still held my attention. Additionally—whenever I read something fantastical and magical, I wanted it to be real, and I set about finding a method for making it real. I am reminded of Aleister Crowley’s comment on Cardinal Newman:
“In the Apologia pro Vita Sua, Cardinal Newman tells us, I suspect truthfully, that as a child he wished that The Arabian Nights were true. As we all know, he gratified his ambitions by accepting for reality the Freudian phantasm of hashed-up paganism with Semitic sauce which led him to the hat. But I went further. My senses and my rational judgment created a subconscious feeling of uneasiness that supernaturalism might not be true. This insulted my inmost consciousness of myself. But the reply was not to accept the false for the true, but to determine to make it true.” (Confessions, Ch. 5)
Returning to the study—it was a controlled experiment, where kids were given passages to read in one of the Harry Potter or Twilight books. They were then tested on their associations. What I would like to know is how many of those kids were already interested in the subject beforehand—and I’d like to see the final result numbers in light of that variable. Nonetheless, what’s rather interesting about the results is that the psychologists found that kids could be very healthy mentally while being lost in reading. There is a perception that reading too much makes a child a loner and unsocial. The study seems to demonstrate the opposite. The characters in the stories seem to provide some kind of mythical identity foundation. This may be the key even more than the particular subject matter.
Mythical identity is something easily lost in a secular world that scorns anything smacking of religiosity—or is so rigid in dogma that there is no room for anything but fear. That identity is a critical part of being human. The identity may be illusory, but so are all identities. The banker going to a Wall Street job every day isn’t doing anything less hallucinatory than the child who sees fairies in the woods. They are equally illusory; the only difference is whether or not society approves of the illusion.
I have heard that we are living under a corporate oligarchy that spurns imagination and education, because people are less likely to settle for being mindless, underpaid drones if they possess either. I’m sure that’s at least a little bit true, even if it’s overstated. Real freedom is being able to choose the life you want, not being forced to choose a life of endless work hours at a job you hate. If you have some imagination, you can avoid the latter situation, though it gets harder and harder in this economy.
To tie all this up with reading—I do agree that the more one reads, the more imagination develops, but I don’t think reading “influences” you unless something in what you’re reading resonates with you. The same is true of music, and probably art as well. Something that doesn’t resonate with you may serve to challenge your point of view, but that doesn’t happen often. If it does enough to disturb you or change you, then it is highly successful, and will likely become a classic over time.
My first reaction to such a study is a chicken-and-egg sort of thing. What comes first? Does the book foster a new interest? Or is the person drawn to the book because they already had an interest?
If I take myself as an example—from the time I was able to read (I got past Dr. Seuss at about 4 years old) I have gravitated towards books about witches, magic, ghosts, haunted houses and world religions. It’s not difficult to see that I’ve retained this interest throughout my life. In fact—a lot of my career, research, and personal life is tied in with these subjects. By the time I’m old, I’ll be a real life Mrs. Zimmerman, complete with purple murals on the walls, and doctoral degree relating to magic. (If you don’t know who she is, refer to John Bellairs’s book “The House With a Clock in its Walls”). But did the books influence me, or did I just gravitate towards them because it was about a subject I was interested in?
The answer is likely a mixture of both. I had a heavy duty imagination as a kid, and when I had an idea or story in my head about something, I would go cruising the library shelves for something that matched the image in my head. Sometimes I would get new ideas or gravitate towards new kinds of stories if I read something that didn’t quite match, but still held my attention. Additionally—whenever I read something fantastical and magical, I wanted it to be real, and I set about finding a method for making it real. I am reminded of Aleister Crowley’s comment on Cardinal Newman:
“In the Apologia pro Vita Sua, Cardinal Newman tells us, I suspect truthfully, that as a child he wished that The Arabian Nights were true. As we all know, he gratified his ambitions by accepting for reality the Freudian phantasm of hashed-up paganism with Semitic sauce which led him to the hat. But I went further. My senses and my rational judgment created a subconscious feeling of uneasiness that supernaturalism might not be true. This insulted my inmost consciousness of myself. But the reply was not to accept the false for the true, but to determine to make it true.” (Confessions, Ch. 5)
Returning to the study—it was a controlled experiment, where kids were given passages to read in one of the Harry Potter or Twilight books. They were then tested on their associations. What I would like to know is how many of those kids were already interested in the subject beforehand—and I’d like to see the final result numbers in light of that variable. Nonetheless, what’s rather interesting about the results is that the psychologists found that kids could be very healthy mentally while being lost in reading. There is a perception that reading too much makes a child a loner and unsocial. The study seems to demonstrate the opposite. The characters in the stories seem to provide some kind of mythical identity foundation. This may be the key even more than the particular subject matter.
Mythical identity is something easily lost in a secular world that scorns anything smacking of religiosity—or is so rigid in dogma that there is no room for anything but fear. That identity is a critical part of being human. The identity may be illusory, but so are all identities. The banker going to a Wall Street job every day isn’t doing anything less hallucinatory than the child who sees fairies in the woods. They are equally illusory; the only difference is whether or not society approves of the illusion.
I have heard that we are living under a corporate oligarchy that spurns imagination and education, because people are less likely to settle for being mindless, underpaid drones if they possess either. I’m sure that’s at least a little bit true, even if it’s overstated. Real freedom is being able to choose the life you want, not being forced to choose a life of endless work hours at a job you hate. If you have some imagination, you can avoid the latter situation, though it gets harder and harder in this economy.
To tie all this up with reading—I do agree that the more one reads, the more imagination develops, but I don’t think reading “influences” you unless something in what you’re reading resonates with you. The same is true of music, and probably art as well. Something that doesn’t resonate with you may serve to challenge your point of view, but that doesn’t happen often. If it does enough to disturb you or change you, then it is highly successful, and will likely become a classic over time.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Anniversary (Sept. 11)
Today is the 10th anniversary of the September 11 attacks on the Twin Towers in New York City. Outside, it is a day nothing like that day--it is overcast and cold. September 11, 2001 was a perfect Fall-like day--the sky couldn't have been bluer, the sun was shining, the temperature was comfortable. I couldn't make up my mind this morning whether to even comment on the anniversary. But it's collectively there, so here's my recollection.
On that day I was working in Whippany, New Jersey, which is about 25 to 30 miles from New York City. I was working in the County Library as a cataloger. My hair was ginger red, I was wearing a burgundy sweater that I'd had for years and jeans. I left the Technical Services department to go upstairs and get some volumes that needed reclassification. I got off the elevator, and passed the Reference desk. I said good morning to my colleagues. One of them, James, was looking at CNN.com.
"Did you see this? An airplane has crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers."
"No, I didn't." I went over to look.
"Oh, it's probably some idiot in a Cessna," said Jane, another librarian at the desk. "Some of these people shouldn't be flying planes."
"I don't know," said Marie, our NJ Librarian. She looked at me almost knowingly, and said, "I think it's terrrorism."
Jane brushed it off. "Oh, that's ridiculous."
I got what needed from the stacks and returned to my department. Within 5 minutes everyone was watching the break room TV across the hall in silence. One of my colleagues grabbed me by the arm. "Come in here and see this."
A second plane had struck the tower. And it was not a Cessna, it was a 747. As was the first plane. As we watched the Towers burn on the television, it didn't seem real. It felt like we were watching a disaster movie. The reporters on the scene were genuinely hysterical. At one point I remember one reporter and her entire crew suddenly fleeing towards the camera as the second Tower fell suddenly.
No one did any work that day. We milled around, talking to each other, watching coverage on our computers. Many of my co-workers had family in the city, and were frantically trying to call them. All cell phone contact was cut off, and no one could get a hold of anyone. One of our part-timers sat sobbing, as her daughter worked nearby and she couldn't get a hold of her. (Later, she did get a hold of her daughter, who was fine, thankfully). My boss also started to become panicked, as her husband had gone into the city for work right about that time. While she was out of the room, I heard her phone ring. I grabbed it. It was her husband--he had made it home. He heard what was happening in Penn Station, and immediately dove onto what was the last Midtown Direct train back. He said people around him were dazed, covered in dust, some of them bleeding. He wanted his wife to know he'd made it home. When I told her, she grabbed me and kissed me. Relief flooded her face.
I somehow remember being at Liz's house that day. Maybe I was dropping by for lunch, maybe it was after work. What I particularly remember was how quiet it was. Whippany is in line with Newark Airport, and Morristown Airport is not far away, so there is always the sound of planes. You could hear a pin drop outside. When one or two military planes flew over, it was actually scary. She and I had been in the city with some friends just the day before. Her birthday was that week, and we'd gone to see Stiff Little Finger at the Village Underground. A world of difference between the day before and today.
At one point in the afternoon, I stepped outside with our cataloging assistant, Kim. She and I were talking--I no longer remember what we said. We looked up and could see smoke floating in over the sky. We walked across the street to the Arboretum, and climbed the hill. There is a point where you can see the New York skyline. From there, we could see smoke billowing out of the Twin Towers.
I had been in the Twin Towers only once. My brother took me to the city for my 13th birthday, and we took the PATH to the World Trade Center. I found it to be a scary building, as I have always been afraid of heights. The escalators into the building were daunting. My brother had to tell me the story of a woman who got her high-heeled shoe caught in the escalator stairs and fell down. "There was nothing left to her by the time she hit bottom." I could always count on him for that sort of thing. My brother has been long dead--he didn't live to see this.
I got home from work. I was in the process of splitting up with my husband. We already had settled everything, and he was moving out in about 12 days. I was going to be moving shortly thereafter. I reflected on the fact that the divorce decision had started with an inferno (a huge oil tanker fire on Route 80 near our house the day I told him), and the official split was also preceded by an inferno. Not that this has anything to do with the event, but the association did strike me. He came home from his job, and said, "You've seen the news, huh?"
"Yep. Scary as shit."
"You know--I'm not usually scared by things I see on the news. But I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight."
"I know what you mean. I probably won't either."
Mike did move out 12 days later, when his sister and brother-in-law came to pack his things and drive South with him. I remember thinking, "Wow, I'm heading out into the world completely alone for the first time, at a time when everything is so uncertain." I wasn't necessarily scared, but it was surreal. The strangeness did not last long, as I realized I was well-equipped to face the unknown by myself. Ultimately, you face the unknown by yourself whether you like it or not. It's called "death".
I did not personally know anyone who died on September 11, except for a high school classmate, and I didn't hear about that until years later. I did not venture downtown after the attacks. The air was really bad, still thick with smoke, soot, and who knows what else. A former colleague did go into the city a week later to see a show. She said New York was eerily quiet. People were staying away. But that didn't last long. In fact, I started going to the city weekly within the year. For years I avoided the city, as my rather provincial family was discouraging--New York was too "dangerous". After September 11, I no longer gave a rat's ass. Everything is dangerous. And you walk into it with your eyes open, you don't run away from it. Running away would have been a win for the terrorists.
On that day I was working in Whippany, New Jersey, which is about 25 to 30 miles from New York City. I was working in the County Library as a cataloger. My hair was ginger red, I was wearing a burgundy sweater that I'd had for years and jeans. I left the Technical Services department to go upstairs and get some volumes that needed reclassification. I got off the elevator, and passed the Reference desk. I said good morning to my colleagues. One of them, James, was looking at CNN.com.
"Did you see this? An airplane has crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers."
"No, I didn't." I went over to look.
"Oh, it's probably some idiot in a Cessna," said Jane, another librarian at the desk. "Some of these people shouldn't be flying planes."
"I don't know," said Marie, our NJ Librarian. She looked at me almost knowingly, and said, "I think it's terrrorism."
Jane brushed it off. "Oh, that's ridiculous."
I got what needed from the stacks and returned to my department. Within 5 minutes everyone was watching the break room TV across the hall in silence. One of my colleagues grabbed me by the arm. "Come in here and see this."
A second plane had struck the tower. And it was not a Cessna, it was a 747. As was the first plane. As we watched the Towers burn on the television, it didn't seem real. It felt like we were watching a disaster movie. The reporters on the scene were genuinely hysterical. At one point I remember one reporter and her entire crew suddenly fleeing towards the camera as the second Tower fell suddenly.
No one did any work that day. We milled around, talking to each other, watching coverage on our computers. Many of my co-workers had family in the city, and were frantically trying to call them. All cell phone contact was cut off, and no one could get a hold of anyone. One of our part-timers sat sobbing, as her daughter worked nearby and she couldn't get a hold of her. (Later, she did get a hold of her daughter, who was fine, thankfully). My boss also started to become panicked, as her husband had gone into the city for work right about that time. While she was out of the room, I heard her phone ring. I grabbed it. It was her husband--he had made it home. He heard what was happening in Penn Station, and immediately dove onto what was the last Midtown Direct train back. He said people around him were dazed, covered in dust, some of them bleeding. He wanted his wife to know he'd made it home. When I told her, she grabbed me and kissed me. Relief flooded her face.
I somehow remember being at Liz's house that day. Maybe I was dropping by for lunch, maybe it was after work. What I particularly remember was how quiet it was. Whippany is in line with Newark Airport, and Morristown Airport is not far away, so there is always the sound of planes. You could hear a pin drop outside. When one or two military planes flew over, it was actually scary. She and I had been in the city with some friends just the day before. Her birthday was that week, and we'd gone to see Stiff Little Finger at the Village Underground. A world of difference between the day before and today.
At one point in the afternoon, I stepped outside with our cataloging assistant, Kim. She and I were talking--I no longer remember what we said. We looked up and could see smoke floating in over the sky. We walked across the street to the Arboretum, and climbed the hill. There is a point where you can see the New York skyline. From there, we could see smoke billowing out of the Twin Towers.
I had been in the Twin Towers only once. My brother took me to the city for my 13th birthday, and we took the PATH to the World Trade Center. I found it to be a scary building, as I have always been afraid of heights. The escalators into the building were daunting. My brother had to tell me the story of a woman who got her high-heeled shoe caught in the escalator stairs and fell down. "There was nothing left to her by the time she hit bottom." I could always count on him for that sort of thing. My brother has been long dead--he didn't live to see this.
I got home from work. I was in the process of splitting up with my husband. We already had settled everything, and he was moving out in about 12 days. I was going to be moving shortly thereafter. I reflected on the fact that the divorce decision had started with an inferno (a huge oil tanker fire on Route 80 near our house the day I told him), and the official split was also preceded by an inferno. Not that this has anything to do with the event, but the association did strike me. He came home from his job, and said, "You've seen the news, huh?"
"Yep. Scary as shit."
"You know--I'm not usually scared by things I see on the news. But I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight."
"I know what you mean. I probably won't either."
Mike did move out 12 days later, when his sister and brother-in-law came to pack his things and drive South with him. I remember thinking, "Wow, I'm heading out into the world completely alone for the first time, at a time when everything is so uncertain." I wasn't necessarily scared, but it was surreal. The strangeness did not last long, as I realized I was well-equipped to face the unknown by myself. Ultimately, you face the unknown by yourself whether you like it or not. It's called "death".
I did not personally know anyone who died on September 11, except for a high school classmate, and I didn't hear about that until years later. I did not venture downtown after the attacks. The air was really bad, still thick with smoke, soot, and who knows what else. A former colleague did go into the city a week later to see a show. She said New York was eerily quiet. People were staying away. But that didn't last long. In fact, I started going to the city weekly within the year. For years I avoided the city, as my rather provincial family was discouraging--New York was too "dangerous". After September 11, I no longer gave a rat's ass. Everything is dangerous. And you walk into it with your eyes open, you don't run away from it. Running away would have been a win for the terrorists.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Paranormal Witness
Syfy has been touting a new reality show in its ghostly genre called “Paranormal Witness”. The concept is not really new—it presents the true stories of everyday people who have paranormal encounters. Even so, I’m a sucker for shows like this, and the idea of stories newer than the ones I’d seen and heard over and over put this on my list.
The iO9 blog had a post reviewing the premier episode, saying that Syfy “finally” had a paranormal show that was actually scary. Ghost Hunters and its related franchises have always been the big ratings grabbers, but it really hasn’t been scary in years. They’ll have to forgive me for this—but honestly, most people I know put the show on in the background while they’re doing something else. It’s become very formulaic. They always go to a high-profile place (you don’t see them going to Joe Blow’s house anymore), and the team falls into their roles in the same way, like a band that has rehearsed and is “tight” but has no spontaneity. It doesn’t have to be bad, but it does lack something. In every GH episode I’ve seen in the last 2 years, not much happens. They claim to hear sounds and see things, but the evidence review is not very impressive. And as my sister pointed out, it doesn’t seem like they really “help” people too much—they collect their evidence, give their opinion, and that’s it. It rarely solves anything for the people involved. Nothing really beat Season 2 and 3 of that show, in my opinion.
As I no longer have anything but basic cable in my house, I no longer get Syfy, so I’m pretty reliant on their streaming full episodes online. Naturally they’ve removed all Ghost Hunters episodes, and charge $40.00 for a season pass on iTunes. The first Paranormal Witness episode was posted, and the season pass was only $16.00, so I went for it. Maybe it’s not a huge bargain—there may not be as many episodes. But I can tell you it’s money better spent, after seeing the first episode.
First, I should mention that I am one of those who puts on the new GH episode and ends up wandering away to do something else. It just doesn’t hold my attention. If I hear something that sounds moderately exciting, I’ll pay attention again, and I usually like to watch the evidence review, but otherwise it’s pretty dull. Not so with Paranormal Witness. I think I sat on the edge of my chair for the entire episode. It did not disappoint—it was creepy and scary.
The episodes are said to be true accounts of paranormal experiences. I have to take that with a grain of salt. I don’t doubt that these things really happened to these people; I’m just not sure how the production crew has spun the story. Nonetheless, good storytelling has its value, and these are very well told.
The first part of episode 1 deals with a family that moves into a haunted house. Their daughter begins to communicate with “Emily” a little girl who they believe is just an imaginary friend. Ensuing events show them that not only is “Emily” not particularly nice (and she hates the parents), Emily may not be Emily at all. When a medium visits the house, it seems clear it is a male spirit. But from what I could see early on, the “Emily” haunting had all the hallmarks of a demonic case. I understand that these things are overwhelming, and that people go into denial. But when a spirit tries to make your daughter jump out the window, I don’t think I’d worry about the mortgage and the bills—I’d pack up and move right then, and call somebody to figure out what’s going on—either a spiritual person (an exorcist of some variety) or a paranormal investigator. Calling in a medium did not seem very sensible, nor did it appear that this medium helped them at all. They also succumbed very quickly to fear; an investigator, religious or not, would tell them that this is the worst thing to do, even understanding how scary it is. Nothing feeds a negative energy more than your fear of it. After all, in some respect, it IS you, even though it’s also external to you.
The second part was about an episode in Florida, where a mother drove to church with her daughter and their Pakistani exchange student. The teenage daughter refused to go into the church, staying outside with the music blaring and the windows down. When the mother came out and they were driving home, the daughter saw a young girl at the side of the otherwise desolate road. It seemed to be getting dark, which I thought was weird—how could you have gone to a church service—which is usually held in the morning—and have it be getting dark already by the time you’re going home? Minor detail, really. But the daughter convinces the mother to turn around and look for the girl—they see her again, but then she disappears. They start driving home again, but then the girl reappears on the road two miles ahead. At this point the daughter (the real daughter, as they were being interviewed, and it alternated between this and a re-enactment) starting freaking out a bit, and she realized there was something unnatural about this girl. I don’t want to say any more about the story—you should watch it if you’re able. You can watch it here for now.
So, my review—this show lives up to the hype so far. Hope it continues to be as good throughout the season.
The iO9 blog had a post reviewing the premier episode, saying that Syfy “finally” had a paranormal show that was actually scary. Ghost Hunters and its related franchises have always been the big ratings grabbers, but it really hasn’t been scary in years. They’ll have to forgive me for this—but honestly, most people I know put the show on in the background while they’re doing something else. It’s become very formulaic. They always go to a high-profile place (you don’t see them going to Joe Blow’s house anymore), and the team falls into their roles in the same way, like a band that has rehearsed and is “tight” but has no spontaneity. It doesn’t have to be bad, but it does lack something. In every GH episode I’ve seen in the last 2 years, not much happens. They claim to hear sounds and see things, but the evidence review is not very impressive. And as my sister pointed out, it doesn’t seem like they really “help” people too much—they collect their evidence, give their opinion, and that’s it. It rarely solves anything for the people involved. Nothing really beat Season 2 and 3 of that show, in my opinion.
As I no longer have anything but basic cable in my house, I no longer get Syfy, so I’m pretty reliant on their streaming full episodes online. Naturally they’ve removed all Ghost Hunters episodes, and charge $40.00 for a season pass on iTunes. The first Paranormal Witness episode was posted, and the season pass was only $16.00, so I went for it. Maybe it’s not a huge bargain—there may not be as many episodes. But I can tell you it’s money better spent, after seeing the first episode.
First, I should mention that I am one of those who puts on the new GH episode and ends up wandering away to do something else. It just doesn’t hold my attention. If I hear something that sounds moderately exciting, I’ll pay attention again, and I usually like to watch the evidence review, but otherwise it’s pretty dull. Not so with Paranormal Witness. I think I sat on the edge of my chair for the entire episode. It did not disappoint—it was creepy and scary.
The episodes are said to be true accounts of paranormal experiences. I have to take that with a grain of salt. I don’t doubt that these things really happened to these people; I’m just not sure how the production crew has spun the story. Nonetheless, good storytelling has its value, and these are very well told.
The first part of episode 1 deals with a family that moves into a haunted house. Their daughter begins to communicate with “Emily” a little girl who they believe is just an imaginary friend. Ensuing events show them that not only is “Emily” not particularly nice (and she hates the parents), Emily may not be Emily at all. When a medium visits the house, it seems clear it is a male spirit. But from what I could see early on, the “Emily” haunting had all the hallmarks of a demonic case. I understand that these things are overwhelming, and that people go into denial. But when a spirit tries to make your daughter jump out the window, I don’t think I’d worry about the mortgage and the bills—I’d pack up and move right then, and call somebody to figure out what’s going on—either a spiritual person (an exorcist of some variety) or a paranormal investigator. Calling in a medium did not seem very sensible, nor did it appear that this medium helped them at all. They also succumbed very quickly to fear; an investigator, religious or not, would tell them that this is the worst thing to do, even understanding how scary it is. Nothing feeds a negative energy more than your fear of it. After all, in some respect, it IS you, even though it’s also external to you.
The second part was about an episode in Florida, where a mother drove to church with her daughter and their Pakistani exchange student. The teenage daughter refused to go into the church, staying outside with the music blaring and the windows down. When the mother came out and they were driving home, the daughter saw a young girl at the side of the otherwise desolate road. It seemed to be getting dark, which I thought was weird—how could you have gone to a church service—which is usually held in the morning—and have it be getting dark already by the time you’re going home? Minor detail, really. But the daughter convinces the mother to turn around and look for the girl—they see her again, but then she disappears. They start driving home again, but then the girl reappears on the road two miles ahead. At this point the daughter (the real daughter, as they were being interviewed, and it alternated between this and a re-enactment) starting freaking out a bit, and she realized there was something unnatural about this girl. I don’t want to say any more about the story—you should watch it if you’re able. You can watch it here for now.
So, my review—this show lives up to the hype so far. Hope it continues to be as good throughout the season.
Friday, September 09, 2011
Sounds
One of the reasons I meditate is to be able to block out sound. This may seem strange at first glance, but one benefit of meditation is focus. You need to be able to move through your day with awareness, but not restless distraction. Aleister Crowley once vented his frustration at trying to meditate in a London apartment, with much noise outside. He then realized that it was the perfect training ground. If he could meditate there, he could meditate anywhere.
I still meditate daily, but I’m not doing such a good job at blocking. And it’s causing me a lot of stress. Not while I meditate—usually while I’m trying to sleep. Under normal circumstances, I can sleep through anything. However, as of late, I find myself waking up between midnight and 2 am, unable to fall back to sleep right away.
This is because Mother Nature is trying to destroy the United States. Or something. In any event, we’ve had even more rain this week, and the sound of rain on skylights is not relaxing. It sounds like someone shelling the house with M16 rounds. Knowing that my cats are learning how to sail in my basement does not do anything to help the “not relaxing” part. Nor does knowing that I’ll have to go outside and deal with it.
Even when the rain subsides, I have more sounds to deal with. If a single bedspring creaks, if I get up to use the bathroom, a chorus begins in the basement of yowling cats. This has nothing to do with the rain; they do this in all weather. My one indoor cat will then assume I am awake and ready to play, and when he sees that I’m not so playful, he will curl up next to me and start cleaning himself. Because he has a perpetual case of sniffles, this is a very noisy proposition. So—for the next hour I hear “YOWL slurp slurp sluuurp YOWL YOWL slurpslurpslurp YOWL MEOWMEOWMEOWMEOW honk slurp sluuurp” (repeat until my nerves feel like they’ve been attacked with a cheese grater). When this is combined with the rain, it is a true symphony of chaos. I imagine it’s similar to what Lewis Black describes as “the sound of pigs being slaughtered, of men and women gnashing their teeth”. If I made a recording and posted it, you would never read this blog again if you decided to listen to it.
Recent weeks have made me more convinced than ever that Chaos is the ruling principle of the universe. When my mother was visiting my house during her own power outage, we watched one of Joseph Campbell’s “Power of Myth” episodes. In this episode, Campbell talked about the Trickster archetype. Bill Moyers asked him about its significance; Campbell replied, “Well, you think you’ve got it all figured out and BAM!” The Trickster shows you that you know nothing at all.
I’ve been reading a lot on something called TMT (Terror Management Theory) as of late. TMT suggests that religion has its origins in the management of death anxiety. The studies in support of this theory are fascinating. Some of the most interesting involve motivations to violence or compassion depending on the response to death anxiety. Fundamentalists react violently to things that challenge their world view, as it gives them greater death awareness. In one study, Christians were exposed to Bible verses that condone or glorify violence, and their behavior became more aggressive (and more prejudiced). On the other hand, when exposed to verses that encouraged compassion and respect, the violent tendencies decreased significantly.
There are several critiques of this theory, which is behavioristic in nature, though the authors of the theory make no claim to “explain away” religious belief with this theory. I feel they shouldn’t focus exclusively on death anxiety, even though that is a good example of a chaotic unknown. Religious belief serves as a tool for coping with the unknown, for dealing with the wonder and mystery of things beyond the mind that we know exist but can’t express. We don’t know anything about it except that we don’t know—and that it is chaotic in nature.
H.P. Lovecraft had a “chaotic blind idiot god” called Azathoth. As I’ve mentioned before, Lovecraft’s monsters and other beings were not waging a good vs. evil battle. They were representations of these impersonal, chaotic forces in the universe. Lovecraft was neither a religious man nor an occultist—he was a materialist in the extreme. The horror of his work is the horror of knowing that there’s not a personal god or devil interested in your actions. These forces move with indifference, and all you can do is struggle to adapt. It is interesting that the key to happiness has little to do with how many “good” things happen to you that give you pleasant feelings. It has more to do with one’s ability to detach from expectations of outcome, and to live purely for the experience of living, regardless of what that involves. Eastern religions would call it a “true present”, not lamenting the past or worrying about the future. In short, it is how well you live with chaos. This is achieved through meditation.
And so, we come full circle from the beginning of this post.
I still meditate daily, but I’m not doing such a good job at blocking. And it’s causing me a lot of stress. Not while I meditate—usually while I’m trying to sleep. Under normal circumstances, I can sleep through anything. However, as of late, I find myself waking up between midnight and 2 am, unable to fall back to sleep right away.
This is because Mother Nature is trying to destroy the United States. Or something. In any event, we’ve had even more rain this week, and the sound of rain on skylights is not relaxing. It sounds like someone shelling the house with M16 rounds. Knowing that my cats are learning how to sail in my basement does not do anything to help the “not relaxing” part. Nor does knowing that I’ll have to go outside and deal with it.
Even when the rain subsides, I have more sounds to deal with. If a single bedspring creaks, if I get up to use the bathroom, a chorus begins in the basement of yowling cats. This has nothing to do with the rain; they do this in all weather. My one indoor cat will then assume I am awake and ready to play, and when he sees that I’m not so playful, he will curl up next to me and start cleaning himself. Because he has a perpetual case of sniffles, this is a very noisy proposition. So—for the next hour I hear “YOWL slurp slurp sluuurp YOWL YOWL slurpslurpslurp YOWL MEOWMEOWMEOWMEOW honk slurp sluuurp” (repeat until my nerves feel like they’ve been attacked with a cheese grater). When this is combined with the rain, it is a true symphony of chaos. I imagine it’s similar to what Lewis Black describes as “the sound of pigs being slaughtered, of men and women gnashing their teeth”. If I made a recording and posted it, you would never read this blog again if you decided to listen to it.
Recent weeks have made me more convinced than ever that Chaos is the ruling principle of the universe. When my mother was visiting my house during her own power outage, we watched one of Joseph Campbell’s “Power of Myth” episodes. In this episode, Campbell talked about the Trickster archetype. Bill Moyers asked him about its significance; Campbell replied, “Well, you think you’ve got it all figured out and BAM!” The Trickster shows you that you know nothing at all.
I’ve been reading a lot on something called TMT (Terror Management Theory) as of late. TMT suggests that religion has its origins in the management of death anxiety. The studies in support of this theory are fascinating. Some of the most interesting involve motivations to violence or compassion depending on the response to death anxiety. Fundamentalists react violently to things that challenge their world view, as it gives them greater death awareness. In one study, Christians were exposed to Bible verses that condone or glorify violence, and their behavior became more aggressive (and more prejudiced). On the other hand, when exposed to verses that encouraged compassion and respect, the violent tendencies decreased significantly.
There are several critiques of this theory, which is behavioristic in nature, though the authors of the theory make no claim to “explain away” religious belief with this theory. I feel they shouldn’t focus exclusively on death anxiety, even though that is a good example of a chaotic unknown. Religious belief serves as a tool for coping with the unknown, for dealing with the wonder and mystery of things beyond the mind that we know exist but can’t express. We don’t know anything about it except that we don’t know—and that it is chaotic in nature.
H.P. Lovecraft had a “chaotic blind idiot god” called Azathoth. As I’ve mentioned before, Lovecraft’s monsters and other beings were not waging a good vs. evil battle. They were representations of these impersonal, chaotic forces in the universe. Lovecraft was neither a religious man nor an occultist—he was a materialist in the extreme. The horror of his work is the horror of knowing that there’s not a personal god or devil interested in your actions. These forces move with indifference, and all you can do is struggle to adapt. It is interesting that the key to happiness has little to do with how many “good” things happen to you that give you pleasant feelings. It has more to do with one’s ability to detach from expectations of outcome, and to live purely for the experience of living, regardless of what that involves. Eastern religions would call it a “true present”, not lamenting the past or worrying about the future. In short, it is how well you live with chaos. This is achieved through meditation.
And so, we come full circle from the beginning of this post.
Monday, September 05, 2011
Smashing
First, a piece of writing news: The last of the stories that I've sent out for publication, "Umbra", is in the September 2011 issue of Death Head Grin Magazine. I'm not sending out the rest of the stories in the archetype set to magazines--I'm going to see if I can publish the set of ten as an anthology (with six already published). Stay tuned on that front.
Life has been an obstacle course lately. I have been dealing with flooding, then dealing with a smashed up right leg (not broken, fortunately)--then Hurricane Irene (more flooding and debris), which necessitated bailing 100 gallons of water by hand from my basement (and leaving me unable to climb stairs for two days). On the whole, I did quite well--I only lost electric for two minutes, and by the following afternoon, my flooding was gone and I'd cleaned up all the debris from the storm. My parents did not fare so well--they lost electric for an entire week, as well as their phone. So, I spent a week trying to help them out. Now that they're back in business, another tropical storm threatens to drop another 2 to 6 inches of rain.
So, needless to say, life has been smashing, in the sense of trying to flatten me into the ground. I've been trying to look at it as a character-building experience, but I would be lying if I say I'm not cranky. I don't have a lot of patience for other people's problems at the moment. My neighbor came by the other day to vent bitterly about how much our taxes have gone up, and what little we're getting for it. Normally I don't mind venting, but I really wanted to say, "I don't give a flying f**k right now, and I don't want to think about it."
On the plus side, besides all this character I'm building, I'm clearly losing weight. I call it the "stress" diet. It may just be that I'm all toned from hauling huge buckets of water up stairs for two hours at a time. Not an exercise routine that I want to maintain, honestly. I don't think I was "fat" before, but there were a lot of areas that could use toning. I should be careful what I wish for.
I’m realizing that I’m a bit burnt out, and not at a good time. I’m in desperate need of my October vacation, but that’s not going to be much of a vacation. Dragging my luggage to 9 cities throughout the UK on little sleep is not going to make me return home feeling refreshed, even if I feel the effort is worth it. I’m hoping to recharge my batteries during 5 days in Devon, but I have business there as well.
As they say, this too shall pass. I read something the other day about time on the Cosmic Variance blog. First, they say time exists. Whether it is fundamental to the universe is unknown—apparently we need to understand more about quantum gravity to know that. Then, they say there is a past, present and future. However, these are often experienced at the same time. The article also suggests that we spend most of our time living in the past. I find myself thinking about Jung’s definition of the collective unconscious. One of its attributes is the mixing up of past, present, and future—there is no linearity. In what sense these are all “real”, I don’t know. Time is not something you can touch; a clock is not time. As Mike said on the Young Ones to the question, “Gosh, is that the time?” ... “No, time is an abstract concept. That’s a wristwatch.”
Time is likely to be as real as every other concept we use to interpret reality. It’s more of a convenience than a thing in its own right. It’s like saying there’s such a thing as an inch or a centimeter. They don’t exist independently in nature; they are concepts to help us interpret the world.
That’s about as much depth as I can handle for today; I’m tired, and not in great shape for plumbing the depths of the universe. Instead, I’ll share a video of a kitten having a nightmare and being hugged by its mother. Have a pleasant Labor Day.
Life has been an obstacle course lately. I have been dealing with flooding, then dealing with a smashed up right leg (not broken, fortunately)--then Hurricane Irene (more flooding and debris), which necessitated bailing 100 gallons of water by hand from my basement (and leaving me unable to climb stairs for two days). On the whole, I did quite well--I only lost electric for two minutes, and by the following afternoon, my flooding was gone and I'd cleaned up all the debris from the storm. My parents did not fare so well--they lost electric for an entire week, as well as their phone. So, I spent a week trying to help them out. Now that they're back in business, another tropical storm threatens to drop another 2 to 6 inches of rain.
So, needless to say, life has been smashing, in the sense of trying to flatten me into the ground. I've been trying to look at it as a character-building experience, but I would be lying if I say I'm not cranky. I don't have a lot of patience for other people's problems at the moment. My neighbor came by the other day to vent bitterly about how much our taxes have gone up, and what little we're getting for it. Normally I don't mind venting, but I really wanted to say, "I don't give a flying f**k right now, and I don't want to think about it."
On the plus side, besides all this character I'm building, I'm clearly losing weight. I call it the "stress" diet. It may just be that I'm all toned from hauling huge buckets of water up stairs for two hours at a time. Not an exercise routine that I want to maintain, honestly. I don't think I was "fat" before, but there were a lot of areas that could use toning. I should be careful what I wish for.
I’m realizing that I’m a bit burnt out, and not at a good time. I’m in desperate need of my October vacation, but that’s not going to be much of a vacation. Dragging my luggage to 9 cities throughout the UK on little sleep is not going to make me return home feeling refreshed, even if I feel the effort is worth it. I’m hoping to recharge my batteries during 5 days in Devon, but I have business there as well.
As they say, this too shall pass. I read something the other day about time on the Cosmic Variance blog. First, they say time exists. Whether it is fundamental to the universe is unknown—apparently we need to understand more about quantum gravity to know that. Then, they say there is a past, present and future. However, these are often experienced at the same time. The article also suggests that we spend most of our time living in the past. I find myself thinking about Jung’s definition of the collective unconscious. One of its attributes is the mixing up of past, present, and future—there is no linearity. In what sense these are all “real”, I don’t know. Time is not something you can touch; a clock is not time. As Mike said on the Young Ones to the question, “Gosh, is that the time?” ... “No, time is an abstract concept. That’s a wristwatch.”
Time is likely to be as real as every other concept we use to interpret reality. It’s more of a convenience than a thing in its own right. It’s like saying there’s such a thing as an inch or a centimeter. They don’t exist independently in nature; they are concepts to help us interpret the world.
That’s about as much depth as I can handle for today; I’m tired, and not in great shape for plumbing the depths of the universe. Instead, I’ll share a video of a kitten having a nightmare and being hugged by its mother. Have a pleasant Labor Day.
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