In the wake of once more rearranging my schedules to make more time for my dissertation among my other commitments, I also have to look at the way I write “Small Steps”. Having just one or two tired hours after midnight to compose a new chapter is not a good solution and does not ensure the quality I want to uphold for both my readers and myself.
I’m not going to take a complete break from fiction writing until I finish the dissertation – the “drop anything else and just write the thesis” approach is a luxury I could perhaps allow myself during my MA, but not anymore – but I repeat here what I already stated a while ago on miarroba: I can’t do more than two or (maximum) three updates a week.
If, just for five minutes, you want to feel perfectly at peace and believe that there is a thing such as utter purity in this world, check out the clip above.
It’s a bit as if Gabriel went for a smoke and left Eden’s Gates unguarded for a minute, allowing you to shake off any concept of alienated individualist existence and the usual binary baggage. Philippe Jaroussky’s angelic counter/soprano blends perfectly with the bottomless warmth and depth of Marie-Nicole Lemieux’s contralto, both of them bypassing any assignations of gender or age.
Jean-Christophe Spinosi, the conductor, describes the “Cum dederit” (first piece of the sample) as a music of “mouvement immobile”, of motionless movement, citing the image of Venice at dusk, when, being rowed across on of the canales, you have the impression of not moving forward at all since the waters are so still.
…sed nihil dulcius est, bene quam munita tenere
edita doctrina sapientum templa serena,
despicere unde queas alios passimque videre
errare atque viam palantis quaerere vitae,
certare ingenio, contendere nobilitate,
noctes atque dies niti praestante labore
ad summas emergere opes rerumque potiri.
Lucretius: De rerum natura 2, 7-13
The pilgrimage was a little more extensive than initially expected. On Saturday afternoon, for the first time in three years, my internet connection acted up. There was no way to load any page or establish any contact with Radio France. AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhh!!!!!
I don’t know what karmic wrongdoings I committed this past week, but they must have been grave. At 7:30, I was desperate, cursing, and short of throwing things at my modem.
The solution came at the hands of the best girlfriend ever, who calmly suggested “Why don’t we go to your institute downtown? You’ve got internet there, right?”
It’s the space of the only display of passion and emotion that the average German will ever show. Soccer might, in fact, be the singular instance where a German acts like a passionate Southerner. For example, like a Spaniard.
The average passionate, explosive, easily emotional Spaniard doesn’t change fundamentally when it comes to soccer, on the other hand. There’s just an increase of all these qualities, to a point of religious dimensions.