Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Stephen's LiveJournal:

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Tuesday, October 30th, 2007
8:06 pm	(1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 6th, 2005
9:25 pm	Life is pretty good. Me and Corinne both have jobs we like, and we're both taking Open University courses. I'm getting out and about on my electric bike (1 1/2 hours, 16 miles of cycling every day, time well spent) and learning various database and software development related things (like piecemeal computer science courses). Guys at work in the IT department (five of them) have their heads screwed on right and are amiable enough, which is all one can ask, it's more pleasant than Norwich Union. Plus there's a fridge, microwave and kettle, which has greatly improved the quality of breakfast and lunch. Corinne's working Thursday and Saturday evenings on reception at the hotel, which she seems to enjoy, so it's all good, and those nights I either watch a film or listen to music at a volume that wasn't practical at the flat. I'm now well on my way towards The Coach House being my second longest place of residence I can remember, which doesn't make much difference to everyday life but it would be nice to have a home, and apparently the longer you stay in one place the more it feels like home. I've now had two literature essays marked - my course is called Approaching Literature, I've been reading Frankenstein, Great Expectations, Fathers and Sons (Turgenev) so far, and both of them are better than all but one of my philosophy essays. I just do what I did for my english essays for gcse and they turn out as they should. I'm reasonably sure that philosophy is one of my worst subjects (in terms of marks only). My mum's making a living buying things at car boot sales and selling them on ebay, and I'm doing most of my christmas shopping with it. Everything seems to be very easy nowadays. What with gadgets, internet, cheap good food, and all the music, films and games of the world, I can do anything I want. I can't say I find much very challenging nowadays, which is where the OU course comes into its own. In my course I'm studying some romantic poetry next. Keats and Byron. I'm really, really glad to be doing that. Every since I was 17 and read odds and ends of romantic poetry while tagging along on the English department trip to Venice I've wanted to read more poetry. It's why I took the philosophy course on Wordsworth. Plus studying is far more relaxing and fulfilling than watching TV. I also now have a social calendar of sorts. There's a thing called 'book crossing', which involves people meeting and swapping books. When you receive a book, you read it and/or pass it on. You can also give away all your books you don't want but really want other people to read, so it works great for me. I gave away some Jorges Luis Borges and D H Lawrence. I hope they read it. So at least once a month I meet up with this 'bookcrossing York meetup group', which is really just an excuse for a group of people to meet up at a bar and chat about books. Because of my taste in books I get accused of being smart, which is nice not because it's flattering, but because it reminds me of college and uni. Corinne's visiting her mum from 27th Dec until 5th Jan, but for Christmas we'll both be with my mum. However, my sister and my dad will be at my grandparents. They won't spend Christmas together. Boxing day is okay though, apparently. I'm listening to a Beethoven symphony now and the feeling it provokes seems to be a rare one - that is, I rarely feel this happy because of something I'm hearing. I wish it'd happen more often. Current Mood: grateful Current Music: Beethoven's 2nd Symphony (Comment on this)
Sunday, December 4th, 2005
9:15 pm	New Blog New, public spirited blog can be found here. Let's hope I do a better job with Small Steps Forward than with my online diary! (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, August 8th, 2004
4:41 pm	Life in York at Present Dear All, I've now completed my third week of my time in York, living in a Youth Hostel with forty to one hundred and fifty fellow backpackers, searching for work every day except Saturday and Sunday, when everything is closed. I don't expect to get used to living here any time soon. Part of the reason for this is that it's difficult to relax - I can't remember the last time I sat in a room alone, just reading, or just listening to music, like I used to do so often at home. I also miss my studies, but not in the way I expected; I don't feel that there's something I should be doing that I'm not doing, but I do get a strange sensation once in a while (usually prompted by a reminder; yesterday it was talking with my old friend Alec, whom I visited in Newcastle for a day; at other times, hearing the tracks Logical Song, Homeward Bound, and even Bohemian Rhapsody have had the unexpected effect of reminding me that I lived for seven months in Seattle, that I was in Montana, that I used to go to High School, which prompts me to recall the past.) It's a strange life here, because I'm always busy, and everything is always new, but nothing changes, and I'm not going anywhere. Everyday there are new faces in my dorm room, Yorkshire Dales, a twelve bed mixed dorm, and so everyday I have the pleasure of meeting those people and whoever I happen to bump into in the kitchen, the TV lounge or the bar. It's certainly a very sociable place. But as a result, I'm always thinking of now, yesterday and tomorrow; the times when I truly reflect, as I was accustomed to in Bristol and Seattle, are few and far between. I miss music as well, it's another precious reminder. But the times when I do remember, as always, make me very happy and glad. I try to remember how I came to be here - a series of choices - the university, the switch, the choice of city on the basis of average rent and size of library. Sometimes I think about Dina, the proud russian girl, now married, and Josh, and a strange Canadian girl called Holly (a true friendship, lasting approximately five hours, now two weeks in the past). Strangely, I don't think about my life in Bristol too much, just the work, the books that I read and want to keep reading, but can't. Work is a slightly farcical novelty. It's surprisingly interesting, but I'm well aware that I don't belong there. I really want to avoid sounding elitist or whatever in my observations of Norwich Union's York Office's CEC Admin (Chargeable Event Certificate Administration) Team, but they do spend rather too much time talking about Big Brother, their last night out and the coming night out, and I am surprised that Abbie, the girl who has done quite a good job on getting me up to speed on the intricacies of processing Chargeable Events, has already spent two years in this job (she joined after leaving high school at sixteen, and is now eighteen. She seems happy enough, though). Philosophy, Literature and Classical Music are not very popular topics of discussion at Norwich Union. My explicit aim is certainly to return to University as soon as possible - my priorities have not changed, and nor do I expect them to when I find a job in IT support, which will probably bring in a salary of around fourteen to fifteen thousand (before tax). But it would be nice to pay off my immediate debt (i.e. overdraft) - that is a practical necessity which no philosopher can ignore. I'm still forgetful, though. I recently I forgot my railcard, and I lost my suit*, my shower gel, my shaving foam, my whole set of toiletries. The result of this absentmindedness was that I paid an extra £6 for my return ticket to Newcastle, I was without a suit for my first three weeks at York (luckily, I have not invited to any formal interviews yet) and it was necessary to replace my shower gel and shaving foam. However, I found my toiletries in reception after I left them in the breakfast kitchen, I found someone else's forgotten shower gel this morning, and I found around £4.64 while making beds this morning (I get money off my rent (£69 a week normally) if I make beds. Last week, I didn't pay rent. Life goes on. I'll meet about three or four new people today, may have to forgo reading anything, will not have to worry in the slightest about work tomorrow, and will go to bed at the earliest time possible, which is around midnight (there's no point going to bed before then, as I'm woken up by my roommates going to bed afterward). I'll try to keep in mind the important things - I now have a print from the Laing Art Gallery in Newcastle which I shall put next to my bed. It's called The Traveller. I'll let you know how I get on in the coming weeks. Lots of love, Stephen * I left my suit on a bench at Cheltenham Spa Station when I got on the train to York. Then the gentleman in charge of lost property went on holiday for two weeks. Then they couldn't find a box to put it in. But on Friday morning it arrived by Royal Mail Special Delivery, and I only paid a £10 admin charge. I figured I wouldn't tell anyone about it until I got it back to prevent unnecessary alarm. Current Mood: uncertain Current Music: None, unfortunately (Comment on this)
Wednesday, April 14th, 2004
10:26 pm	Sudden Convictions I am beginning to remember... Atom Heart Mother reminds me of Seattle 2001. It thus reminds me of what I felt in Seattle in 2001. Renting the basement of a divorced father keen on the bacardi and cokes with a Croatian for three weeks, living out of a backpack, listening to Pink Floyd in pitch black darkness out the same speakers that I am now. There was a girl... Dina. I miss her, and many others. In planning our lives we consider only skeletons and pale abstractions. We forget the substance, the real thing that we live. Who lives as he has planned? No one, thank God. Imagine that. Life in theory, but not in practice, that is, philosophy. Having remembered much intensely practical life encountered on now distant (in space and time) travels, the possiblity of equally intensely practical life dawns on me, much in the same manner as this insane music. I graduate in June, and thus far I have been considering merely abstractions and skeletons of the forthcoming summer and academic year. I'm missing out. Stretch... (Comment on this)
10:22 pm	Desire I want to write an essay! An essay is not a sentence, a week's punishment. It is my challenge, it is that which will bring me to life. Current Mood: determined Current Music: Pink Floyd - Atom Heart Mother Suite (Comment on this)
10:03 pm	Not half life; around two thirds. Well, I found myself. My self was being used as a bookmark in several books scattered across the city. I found a few in the library, a few in my bedroom, one in a deserted playground. All were waiting for me to pick them up where I left them; my quiet self, my philosophising self, my ambitious self, all forgotten in love, all remembered on my return to solitude. Some of them carry with them faint traces of nostalgia, some seem worn and tired, but a precious few still sparkle with newness and promise. The empty playground and reflections on the Kantian Sublime, for instance. The fire escape. The couple at Triffins Indian Food Takeaway (takeaway status having been granted three weeks ago. They are very pleased about this; now they are permitted to heat the curries up before selling them). But for some reason I'm too tired to pick up many of this old projects and old loves. I know that the ideas and ideals of aesthetics are waiting for me, as is all music and literature, my ideas and ideals. There are perhaps also some friends waiting here and there who I would dearly like to speak to again. For now, I am drinking coffee and listening to jazz. Sounds romantic? The coffee is instant and the jazz is a slow mp3 grind. I like the lit windows across the way, but the curtains are drawn. I will be patient. Current Mood: listless Current Music: Tori Amos - Cornflake Girl (Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 13th, 2004
12:22 am	Looks like I'm going to need this from now on - If my prediction is correct, that is. Corinne's gone, and there's nothing to prop me up; browsing the web and messing about on Trillian isn't going to cut it now that I've found out what it's like to have a girl sharing my room for three weeks straight. I don't know why it's so hot in here. I'm glad that it is, though. It feels unreal; I have the window wide open, and I can see the fire escape of the newsagents, a van, a phone booth, all lit by streetlights and framed by dark trees. I've never found it romantic before, but I do now. It's kinda french. (That probably doesn't make much sense, but it's just my associations. Read Nausea.) I've just come back from holiday. It wasn't my typical sitting reading listening writing walking life when she was here. It was happiness of a new brand - hadn't tried it before. I put myself down when she arrived and now I've forgotten where I put it. That doesn't mean I need to find myself, though. I'm assuming that all of the old stuff still applies; 'quest for truth' (I notice that I'm putting it in inverted commas now) and all that. I'm just in a funny mood. We'll see tomorrow. I hope it's sunny again, it seemed apt today, I'm not used to it being so sunny. Quiet, as well. Very quiet. Soon the new term will begin, then there will be much noise and work. Perhaps then I'll forget all this, and the fire escape won't be french anymore. It seems that I quite like this state. Some of the benefits of romantizing right there. I don't want to go to sleep. It'll make me feel raw. I really have no clue how I'll feel tomorrow. Which is new. I have planned to begin planning my essay on Kant on the Sublime and the Beautiful, wash clothes, and ... Don't know. I reckon three sounds organized, two is tentative. I don't want to be organized, not quite yet. Although I am, I have a to do list, but I'm not paying attention to it, I don't respect it, there's something else filling my mind. That fire escape, Corinne. I am a little scared... Current Mood: scared Current Music: Sootballs from Spirited Away is running through my head. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 3rd, 2004
8:50 pm	Dear all, I just watched Lost in Translation for the second time. I think he whispered all the secrets of the universe into her ear. I succeeded in completely confusing a careers advisor for fifteen minutes today. As I spoke about my 'personal values' and attempted to give an answer to his question "what things do you think you'd like to do?", I grew in confidence in my knowledge of my mind, and farcical laughter grew inside my head. I shall certainly be me for my entire life. I take consolation in that. Sometimes I resent it, and wish I could unload the responsibility, by, I don't know, taking on a sudden craving to earn money and make friends, but most of the time it sits easy on my shoulders. I've become used to it. I still believe that I possess an unconditional imperative; rather, that I am an unconditional imperative. They are many things I can't choose about the way I am. I lean on them, I smile at them. They are my solitary comfort. I clash with the world, but so be it, it will be, because it is necessary. When I listed my personal likes to the careers advisor I forgot to mention that I am happiest when I am travelling alone. However, I don't think that would have been of much help to him. I'm unhappy again, like I was a few weeks back when I skipped a few lectures. It's curious how difficult it is to extract myself from it. I haven't succeeded; willpower is not really that powerful. Something else seems to drive us most of the time, something hidden from us. I laughed out loud during the film. An idea occurred to me; if I am rejected at the Cambridge teacher training interview, I will have nowhere to go. For the first time in my life, the new academic year will be without structure - instead, it will be the first year of the rest of my life. This would hence be the ideal time to carry out my oldest dream - leaving, walking, thinking, never stopping, run as far as I can before I reach the sea, fly, go mad, I don't know. All my fantasy includes is leaving and never coming back. Is it strange to admit that I am a little scared? I decided to go into philosophy academia because I saw it as the only road. I have now decided that there is nothing superior about that road. But now... there is only a life, with a little sense, scattered here and there, in stray leaves and the odd glance, music, paintings, and grey and blue skies. I am usually brave; these sensations are, as a result, disconcerting. I prefer my essays. Sometimes I like feeling scared because I also feel capable of being honest. I think they come together, proud is a helpful smokescreen. In other news, I received my first ever first for a philosophy essay. It made me very happy, but it quickly wore off. Nevertheless, I'm glad that I managed it, at least once. Current Mood: uncomfortable Current Music: Chopin - Ballade No.1 in G minor (Comment on this)
Saturday, January 24th, 2004
6:51 pm	Quiet music in mind I have been feeling much quieter in recent days. I finished the first draft of my emotions essay on Friday; now I am in a slight state of limbo because I have not yet begun the next project. I am happy alone, happier than usual, because my mind is still. With this comes a disposition to occasionally lapse into contemplative melancholy and a silence that prevails; on another day, in the same place, I might have been chattering. But I so rarely chatter with an easy conscience, it doesn't make any difference. From the outside, I simply seem more confused and slower to respond than usual. That is all. I was very happy when I watched the last episode of the office yesterday. I have a friend that is very fond of the pathos represented by the sad ending in which the last word is "tits!" Most others seem to prefer the boisterous. Maybe it seems that way because people cannot easily express their love of silence, empty skies, the sense of nonsense. Last night, I tried to tell Kate why the steamed up double decker bus travelling down an empty Gloucester Road at midnight made me shiver. I didn't succeed. Imogen is very far from my mind. I need not either hate her or desire to talk to her now; she cannot touch me. Corinne is sometimes quite disturbing in her sporadic self-accusations, censorship and spontaneous declaration. I try to keep up, but ultimately she too is beyond me. She spent £18 talking to me on the phone for fifty minutes the other day. I don't know whether she thinks the communication is worth that much, or whether she was trying not to think about it. I suspect the latter, because she call me on my landline and pay a twentieth of the price. Through all of this, I have hope. I was reminded of its presence when I walked on the downs today; there is something about the open green space that helps me forget the many little reasons to be pessimistic. I have been listening to music all day, but I think just now is the first time I have heard it. Current Mood: hopeful Current Music: Shostakovich - Piano Quintet in G minor, 4th movement (Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 14th, 2004
6:59 pm	The end of a stressful two days Dear all, On Monday, Imogen came to visit. I waited fifty minutes for her at the train station. In that time, I was quite happy; I don't mind being in suspense, I read my Kafka book. That was a mistake; surrounded by cold and stone, waiting for a person I wasn't sure I'd enjoy meeting, it brought to the surface my existing feelings of isolation. I felt like no one else existed. At another time, that could have been a joyful feeling, but here, it just brought a dulled melancholy. She arrived; I was watching another person while she approached, so she caught me off guard. But there was nothing to guard against beyond my reaction to her presence. As expected, she greeted me in a tone that was neither warm nor cold, and we went on our way with no delay. She was silent on the bus home. It was only after we'd got into the house, deposited her things in my room, made two cups of tea, and returned to my room, that she asked me, "So, what questions do you want to ask me?" I questioned her about her mood, her hopes (of which she seems to have very few), her silence, her desires. She answered tersely, but in a tone of voice that was different to before; she wanted me to know her. Although she was not warm, she told me of her doubts and fears. She wanted me to know. Am I writing this because I want to prove to myself that we are friends? The next day she was downright cold. At times, I tried to converse comfortably with her (an attempt doomed to failure - how can anyone attempt to be comfortable?), accept the silence, enquire as to its cause; I went through all of these in turn, with a constant desire to once again realise the possiblity of closeness and friendship. They're aren't many people who wish for me to understand all that they are; she is one of the few. As we traipsed around Clifton of Bristol (I got us lost, which is not unusual; I would have enjoyed the diversion, had I been alone. I don't think she appreciated it, we were going uphill.) The tension of the unspeakable words grew between us, a silence occasionally interrupted by comments relating to the day's plans - locations of cash machines and names of streets - she became gradually more irritated. I annoyed her, she said. She was trying to make me angry; but I don't get angry. In the face of her coldness I could do nothing more than ask and hope to receive. She turned to my housemates and her newspaper with grateful relief. I could not tell whether she enjoyed the Shaped Murg Korma; she said thank you quietly and without looking at me. The tension inside each of us was released in my bedroom. I wanted to be angry at her, as did she; but I cannot do that. I do not enjoy blaming people, I just wanted to reach her. I almost decided to leave her alone in my house for the evening to go anywhere where I could be alone, anything rather than endure Imogen's averted eyes and expressionless mouth. But instead I told her I wanted to talk. She reacted angrily. Suddenly words poured - accusations, explanations, profuse apology, mutual grappling with our silent war. There was no surrender, we were still up in arms against one another. At last, I became resigned. It was like a gift; the elastic band that I'd carried inside me all day became loose. My muscles relaxed. Imogen heard it in my voice; she responded. We succeeded in arriving at a kind of truce. She was not content, however. Next came 'the issue' of the form our closeness would take. Her uncertainty could be heard in her voice; she was almost fearful of both me and her. She wanted to be close to me, but she didn't want to submit; another part of her rebelled, made her want to be far away. I would put my arms around her, and she would pull away; but a moment later, she'd give a great sigh and push herself towards me (for she would not touch me). And in such a manner I fell off her, and onto her, until she told me, exasperated, "I want you to fight me". That, if nothing else, made sense; it was clear all along that she wanted me to become angry with her, to hit her, to hurt her. My complete lack of aggression infuriated her. A kind of mock fighting ensued. I felt my blood flow; I knew that my potential for absolution through revenge had not been fulfilled. I did not resist the temptation to pinch, to squeeze, to hurt her slightly. I enjoyed it. But then she asked me to take all her clothes off; she seemed to relax somewhat. But traces of her old stubbornness kept creeping into her otherwise angelic demenour; the odd pushing away, occasionally she would turn her head and look away from me. She decided that she wanted to have sex with me, it did not come off. It's not very sexy when a girl looks away. This was accompanied by an odd word from her - she said that it was "traumatic". Not painful, though. Just traumatic. I don't understand. The morning after, a naked Imogen lay facing away from me on her side of my bed. She was either sleeping or ignoring me until 10; when I brought her breakfast she ate the buns in silence but left the tea. She later claimed the silence of the morning, mantained during eating, dressing and packing was due to the fact that she didn't have much to say, and was 'comfortable'. I did not experience it as such - I wanted us to talk. When we parted ways in front of the Philosophy Department, I offered her a hug, which she refused. It was a relief when she had left; I prefer being alone to being with her, perhaps with the exception of the night time. My housemates Chrissi and Kate were a great comfort that afternoon, as was Beethoven's 31st Piano Sonata, a bottle of Grolsch beer and a sticky toffee pudding. Stephen Current Mood: depressed Current Music: Beethoven. Then some heavy metal. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, January 11th, 2004
12:14 am	Why I'm Studying Philosophy Dear all, I have not yet succeeding in explaining why I considered it necessary to discontinue my study of physics, instead devoting all my time to the study of philosophy. This will be my third attempt. As a result of my decision, my career prospects have suffered, and my marks have dropped (I make note of this not because I assign any importance to it, but because others do). If I have continued studying physics and philosophy, I would most likely be graduating with a 2:1. As it is, it is likely that I will graduate with a 2:2. But this is irrelevant. I would have studied single honours philosophy, and incurred nine thousand pounds worth of debt, even if it did not result in the award of a degree. Likewise, nor is the “diminished career prospects” of any consequence to me; for if the salary achieved after graduation was important to me, I doubt that the study of philosophy would be – I cannot imagine both valuing the study of philosophy for its own sake, and desiring to earn as much money as possible after graduation. They are not quite polar opposites; to not seek truth would be to seek ignorance, and no one can wilfully do that. To place importance on receiving a high salary is to place importance on what that brings; greater purchasing power, being able to afford a more expensive mortgage, the ability to support children and to pay for expensive holidays (I will not say that it brings a higher ‘standard of living’, because that is a lie. More money does not result in a better life.) Well, to seek this, to value it, is not to seek ignorance, or to seek truth; it seems to me that it simply shows that one is not concerned with the dichotomy of truth and ignorance at all. These are seen as being irrelevant, and beside the point. The point is to live, and enjoy what life brings; friends, family, a comfortable life, the expensive holidays and rich food. This is all very well, and very good in its own way; but there is more. My decision to switch confused many; even my philosophy tutor encouraged me to continue in the study of joint honours physics and philosophy. I suspect he was thinking of my career prospects. I believe that my decision confused because of a tendency of many to think about the subjects of physics and philosophy in a certain way. I imagine that their thoughts run as follows: “The study of many interesting theories make up the subjects of both physics and philosophy. Stephen is studying both of these subjects because he finds the study of special relativity, quantum mechanics and thermodynamics interesting and enjoyable, for precisely the same reasons that he finds the study of Rawls’ theory of justice, Davidson’s anomalous monism, and Kant’s metaphysics of morals interesting and enjoyable. But by discontinuing his study of physics, he has done nothing more than narrowed the variety of his courses and has exchanged the study of one set of interesting theories for another, at the cost of a drop in marks and diminished career prospects.” Even if I were to state that I find the study of theories in philosophy far more interesting and enjoyable than the study of theories in physics, this would still not clear up the confusion. I know this, because much of what I have said in the past has been interpreted as stating the above, and it is evident that the confusion still exists. In any case, the above is not strictly speaking true. The words “interesting and enjoyable” do not suffice to describe what I gain from the study of philosophy. If they did (many assume that they do), the difference between the value of studying physics and the value of studying philosophy would become trivial, and inconsequential; my decision could be viewed as an expression of taste, nothing more. But as it happens, all considerations of interestingness and enjoyableness are entirely beside the point, and so I shall waste no more time discussing them. (Ideally, I would waste no more time discussing these things in conversation, either. But civility demands it. ) I shall put it simply: I seek Truth. I imagine these words will seem amusing to some, and will be incomprehensible to many others. This is inevitable; the word has fallen out of usage. It has ceased to have any meaning outside its biblical context; in this day and age Truth is not only out of fashion; it is thought not to exist. Hence my problems in making myself understood. I believe that understanding is valuable in itself; I also believe that it is impossible to understand a world this complex and beautiful. The Truth is beautiful; if you do not believe me, or do not even believe such a grand sounding thing actually exists (because in reality, life is too mundane for that), read a book. A good one (I can recommend a few, ask me). Hidden inside art is the proof of everything I say. But here I feel myself once again slipping away from the modern day. I become unintelligible as I disappear into the distance, and there is nothing I can do to prevent it. It is ironic, because the very real beauty of the world in which we live is right here. God, Tao, Brahmin, Truth, whatever you choose to call it (which word we use is not so important, after all), is not far, far away beyond the stars; it is implicit in every thing that surrounds us; it is right here. The modern day, in which interestingness and enjoyableness is everything and Truth does not exist, is a mere skimming on the surface of reality; what is there is not seen. If Truth lay beyond the horizon I do not believe I could bear to stay here. For all its flaws, Philosophy is about the incomprehensible world. It seeks to stop and see what is really there, what we ignore or skim over in our daily lives. It is strange to me that some consider it to be an occupation. For how can one forget that the world is strange, that we do not know it? Personally, I cannot forget it. I can state with certainty that I will be a philosopher until the day I die. Given that this is the case, what is one to do? One cannot simply sit back and admire the view. To be honest, I do not know. I am still working it out. Some things have become evident, however. Through attempting to live as I ought to live, some things have become… irrelevant; they have fallen by the wayside. I have named a few of them above. Pursuit of the interesting and enjoyable is one of them; the idea of maximising career prospects is another. It is funny… what I seek is very clear to me, very clear indeed; more so than the fuzzy memory of the past, the supposedly concrete present that is not noticed today, and will be forgotten tomorrow. Yet I can’t talk about it. I suppose you’ll just have to trust me on this. Current Mood: hopeful Current Music: Shostakovich - Symphony No.1 - 4th Movement (Comment on this)
Wednesday, October 22nd, 2003
12:24 am	four days on friday I went to Durham to meet an old friend for the first time. we spent a lot of time in bed together and it's the first time I've been tempted to use the L word. On Saturday I was told by my mum that I'd lost my wallet, and that it was in Cornwall. I also saw kill bill in Newcastle and had dinner at KFC. On Sunday I wandered around Durham alone. On Monday Imogen and I went our separate ways, and I went underwear shopping with Claire (of my 18th birthday) in Birmingham. On Monday night I went to the first philsoc event of the year; one person turned up, a very interesting and open minded girl from sweden studying music technology at bristol city college. and this evening, the kitchen ceiling fell on my head. it took ages to wash the dust out. Current Mood: happy Current Music: Kill Bill Soundtrack (Comment on this)
Friday, August 29th, 2003
5:30 pm	Books, words, hands Dear all, This may be the last email I send before I return to England. It is Friday today; in nine days time I will depart Seattle on the train. The next day, I will arrive in San Francisco. It has been a busy week, for many reasons. Given that I never see the majority of people I spend time with here in Seattle ever again, I am taking care to spend more time with them than I would do ordinarily; I value the time that I spend alone, but I will have time to be alone when I am back in England (and indeed, while travelling for fourty hours straight on the train across America). I'm also spending more time in the second hand bookshops of the U District; until recently, I had never paid much attention to ancient (or modern) Chinese and Japanese writers. But I have discovered that there is something about them which is simply not present in most of the major works of western european literature. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I think they have a better understanding of silence and death. They are also not quite as explicit in their joy and despair. I've ordered three books, a bluetooth adapter, a flash memory card, a cassette shaped mp3 player, and a memory card reader. This won't mean much to most of you, so I will simply say that this will allow me to play mp3s in a cassette player and watch simpsons episodes on my mobile phone. I will also be able to read the second and third volumes of the Story of the Stone, as I have nearly finished the first. On Friday 22nd August, I played one game of chess and watched two anime films with Josh. The cafe we played the game of chess in was large, and sold several different blends of coffee; it was a very pleasant environment. They gave me my coffee in a cafetiere (french press to them). It was black. We then walked (although we ran a little, as well) to the movie rental (Hollywood Videos; I'm not sure whether or not they also operate in England) and picked two movies; one of which Josh had already seen, and heartily recommended - it was called Armitage III. The other was simply called X. In fitting with the Japanese Anime, I dug out some of my unpronounceable Japanese sweets; these included lemon flavoured sliced ginger, lychee gum squares, and ginger and sweet potato hard chewy things. We settled down to watch the movie, and Wickers settled down in my lap. Armitage III was quite touching. X was like a drug-induced nightmare (of course, I'm only guessing here). But funnily enough, Armitage III had its moments of horror and terror, and X had moments where dead leaves drifted in the breeze, interspersed with images of a young girl sleeping. Or perhaps that last part was just my imagination. I went to bed at 3.30am feeling quite dazed; I was afraid that I would not be able to get to sleep, but the image of the winged angel of the future soon faded out of my consciousness and I fell asleep. At least, that is what I assume happened. The next day, I rose, dressed, walked to the bakery to buy day-old bread (it's half price), returned, and had breakfast. Then I made salad sandwiches - four of them (lettuce, tomato, cheese, mayonnaise, salt and pepper) - with the bread I had just purchased - and after sitting for an hour reading "Thousand Cranes", Briane picked me up in her car. We visited her workplace (they carry out biotech research into diabetes; comparing genes in different organisms, and the like) and QFC supermarket; we then travelled to the beach in North Seattle, where we stayed a little longer. I had made too many sandwiches, and the sky was grey, but it was pleasant to be there nonetheless. It had been a while since I had last heard the sea. A car is a useful thing; we were also able to go paddleboating, then go for milkshakes (or was it the other way round?) all in one day without taking buses to get from one place to the next. The sun came out while we were on the lake; we let the paddleboat float for a while and had a nice chat. On Sunday, I called Emily, my old housemate from Bristol who is currently in Seattle, to see if she wished to come round, but it seems that she is still as moody and inconsiderate as always; we made arrangements for her to come visit with her boyfriend around 2.30pm; she said she would call before they left. Well, I stayed in and no one called, and no one came knocking at the door; later that evening I called Emily and she told me that she had forgotten about it. I'm not the sort to get angry, so I didn't, but it's hard to brush off. I was disappointed. I doubt I'll see her in Seattle before I leave, and really don't expect to bump into her in Bristol. On the plus side, however, given that Emily is the way Emily is, it probably wouldn't have been much fun spending time with her anyway. However, that afternoon Briane called. Once again, she picked me up from 4915 Wallingford Av N, and myself, Briane and Briane's housemate Julie went off to 'the Spaghetti Factory' for dinner. Everything about it, besides the company, reminded me of similar trips that me and my family had taken while on holiday. The sun was shining, we were driving on the wrong side of the road, the family restaurant was large and busy. Once we had sat down at the table, however, all associations disappeared; no one complained about the food. We had planned to watch Pirates of the Caribbean afterwards, but it was not showing at the appropriate time. Fortunately, Josh's apartment for one is just round the corner from Briane and Julie's house, so I ambled round there. I like having friends who are tolerant of unexpected visits. Too many people are busy and polite in response to a unexpected visitor. In recent years, I have come to believe that I must be the only student left alive who can come and go as he pleases, without a list of obligations to family, friends, employers and professors that must be ticked off one by one, every day of their waking lives, until the time comes when they must go to sleep and wake the next day to begin once more. I believe it also helps not to have an overbearing significant other. I personally take great pleasure in walking out the door when I want to be outside, and sitting and doing nothing when I wish to sit and do nothing, and writing endless emails when I feel like writing. It's like mentally stretching out, hence reminding oneself of oneself, and one's capacities and potentials of every mental and physical limb. Josh gave me a bag of dried anchovies. They will make good travel food. On Monday, I sat for an hour, in an armchair, with a cat in my lap, and did nothing. At this point in the email I encounter difficulties. Naturally, I can't write everything in these emails. There are two reasons for this. Firstly, I can't. It's impossible; I have a hard enough job giving a true summary of my thoughts (for it could hardly be a complete one). But as for the daily turmoil evoked by blue, grey and black skies, familiar and unfamiliar faces, long lost memories and half remembered dreams... it's simply impossible. Secondly, I sometimes do not wish to and sometimes ought not to. I may cause offense by my words; I'm also quite likely to embarrass myself. Giving away all of oneself in the face of indifference and coldness is demeaning; sharing must be mutual. I have a solution, however. I will simply describe the indescribable the only way I can. On Tuesday night, I visited Emily at her apartment for one. We sat at the kitchen table, talked, and drank tea. I looked at her and she looked at me. We held hands. We talked, we smiled. A tear rolled down my right cheek. We watched Princess Mononoke in Japanese with English subtitles. The movie finished; I left, and walked home. On Thursday afternoon, I sat in the HIT project graduate student office in the Aeronautical Engineering Research Building. Occasionally flicking back to my IDS System Documentation that I was writing, I talked to a friend online. While typing at the keyboard and watching the words flash up on the screen, I grimaced, silently laughed, and smiled. At 4.50pm, I stopped typing words, logged off the computer, and left the building. Out of everything that has happened in the past few days, Tuesday night and Thursday afternoon will be remembered, often recalled, dwelt upon, and not forgotten. They are a reason to be happy, and a reason to lay down, curl up into a little ball and do nothing. Except listen to Bach, perhaps. Coincidentally, I listened to Bach on Thursday evening. I don't know what I'll do tonight. Stephen Current Mood: indescribable Current Music: Bach - Agnus Dei of Mass in B Minor. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, August 20th, 2003
4:16 pm	USA Today Dear all, I just read the last letter I sent. At the bottom, it said, "I'll send my next letter from home". Well, I'm at work. The user directory file server has been down for over a day now; I am unable to access my code. However, even if I were able to access my code, I would still have very little to do because the code is complete. The fact that my files are inaccessible makes a good situation even better; I can do nothing with an easy conscience. If my code were accessible, doubtless I would feel obliged to make slight refinements, add comments, write documentation, etc. But it's not, so I can't, so I'm happy. After work, on Thursday, I walked to one of the three large second hand bookshops on University Way. After sitting all day in a chair in a silent room, I was glad to be moving, and in the open air; as usual, the sun was shining. Inside the bookshop, Chopin was playing on a record player; I had come to the bookshop to browse literature from A to L (one side of a row of bookshelves; it takes me about an hour), but I was so happy just to be there that I sat down on a wooden chair and did nothing. I quite often sit and do nothing; in a park, bookshop, or cafe, usually. At such times, I remember all the things I have forgotten. While I am reading, I think only of the book; while I am working, I am thinking about what I am working on. While I am talking, I am thinking about what I am talking about; but while I sit and do nothing, I am not paying attention to any one person or thing; hence, all sorts of ideas and impressions spring up unbidden; memories and dreams become clear, then are lost; I consider the words of a passage I have recently read, or the features of a face I have recently seen; the image is examined from new angles, it takes on new form. Before, it lacked the power to move me; in its second coming, it prompts the creation of a new world. Inside this bookshop, sitting on the chair, I watched a young girl and a young lady play badminton. This little girl is often in the store, and occasionally nags the young lady to play badminton with her. I watched them play; it was quite a surreal image. (I must confess that the young lady was very pretty; almost beautiful). There were wild swings and laughs; this little girl seemed to find every stray shot and clumsy fumble incredibly funny, and this was all accompanied by a Mazurka on the piano. Soon enough, the young lady got tired of the game; whereupon the little girl received the racket from her and handed it to me. We played for a good while (I was not in a hurry; the only place I ever go at the end of the day is home). We exchanged a few words; among other things, she asked me what my name and middle were, what language I spoke (I could forgive this question from a little girl, because even fully grown americans ask me that). She was born in Vietnam, and I believe she can speak both English and Vietnamese perfectly. After we played, I browsed the books; I'm trying to branch out from 20th century European literature, so I bought a 19th century American novel, a book of 20th century chinese short stories (there are not many 20th century chinese short stories; I think this book is banned in China) and a book by a Japanese author which I am now reading. It is a beautiful book, and nothing like anything I have read before (whether that is fortunate or unfortunate I do not know). I returned on Friday evening to browse from L to Z; the little girl was there again, and again she handed me a racket, so again we played. I paid little attention to my surroundings, and so I was caught off guard when a man behind the counter exploded. He yelled at me to "get the hell out of here", demanded to know whether I wished to buy a book, told me not to come back again, reminded me that this was a bookshop, not a playground. I tried to offer a calm word in reply, (i.e. that I didn't mean to cause offence, that the young lady who worked there had been playing with the girl yesterday, that he should have said earlier) but I was unable to say anything, for whenever I began to speak he cut me off by telling me to "get the hell out of here". He was furious, and his eyes were bulging. The little girl looked scared; it was fortunate that he did not turn upon her also. I was quite shaken. I couldn't forget the look in his eyes. After wandering to and fro for a while, I went to a friendlier bookstore; there I bumped into a friend from work, and began to feel happier. That night I was to meet up with Josh. We had no plans in particular for the evening, but had decided that we would stay in the U District. However, earlier that day Josh had made the acquaintance of a aeronautical engineering graduate and former HFS (Housing and Food Services) employee at the Student Union. Josh studies aeronautical engineering, and works for HFS, so naturally they had a lot to talk about. This guy, named Tom, invited Josh to come along to a poker game at someone's house on Capitol Hill. Josh put the suggestion to me that we go to this poker game on Capitol Hill. I was in favour of this, as I knew we would certainly meet many new people there, and I'd never been to anyone's house on Capitol Hill before. Josh was actually more inclined to seek a quieter evening, but I persuaded him that we ought to go, for there is so much potential for strange and interesting encounters among a gathering of unknown people; especially in a unfamiliar part of town in an foreign city in a foreign country. And so we took the bus down to the house. However, once in the general vicinity of Capitol Hill Josh divulged that he didn't know exactly where the party was; the message left on his voicemail was vague, he said. After a few minutes of wandering, I was beginning to get a little annoyed; I demanded that Josh let me listen to the message. And indeed, it was very vague. It mentioned two intersections and did not name the number of a house. Josh called him, and got through to his voicemail. A few minutes later, he called him again, this time managing to talk to Tom. He discovered that the poker tournament (this was news to me; I'd gained to impression of something a lot more informal) was already well underway, and it would be impossible for us to join in at this time. We were both feeling thoroughly fed up with this wild goose chase, but did not feel like going home. So seeing that we were within a couple of miles walk of Dina's house, I gave her a call. As it happened, she and Kevin were having a drink at the apartment of a guy called Angelo. We were promptly invited round; I'd met Angelo twice before - one day in Summer 2001 and one day in Summer 2002. I thought it was nearby, but it wasn't. It took us about forty minutes to get there on foot, through some interesting neighborhoods, getting a little lost on the way, naturally. But Josh had some idea where we were going, as his apartment-to-be happened to be next door to Angelo's place. Angelo had Japanese Electronica and Indie Metal, Strobe Lighting, 'Army of Darkness' on video (american spoof horror), and some very strong cinnamon liqueur. Also some refrigerated red wine. And so we danced to the weird Japanese music in the strobe lighting and watched the weird movie and drank cold red wine and spirits. Dina was having a whale of a time; she spent a long time dancing by herself because she likes people looking at her. Josh called to her as a 'princess from the desert' in his poetic online journal. She was also very drunk; you could tell, because she kept on telling everyone how drunk she was. At 1.00am, Josh went to catch the last bus home. I decided to stay and go home with Dina and Kevin, as they have a spare bedroom and Dina had mentioned something about having blueberry waffles the next morning. Breakfasts at Dina's on Saturday mornings make up some of my favourite memories of the time I've spent in Seattle. Fresh coffee, good company, beautiful kitchen, being a guest and no work to be done. But at 1.30am, Kevin had gone for a walk and Dina and Angelo had both conked out, sprawled on the floor in strange undignified positions. The room was lit only by a pale red lamp and slow sad jazz was playing on the radio. I gave up my dream of blueberry waffles and decided to head home. On the way, I stopped at the 24 hour supermarket and 24 hour second hand bookshop (I kid you not). I brought provisions at the supermarket (three chocolate bars for $1) and referred to a streetmap at the bookshop. I also checked the philosophy section for new old titles. Then began the long walk home. I passed an all night bakery, walked over canals and freeways, drank at a water fountain. There was a fine mist of drizzle, but the night was warm enough for me not to get cold. I arrived home at 3.30am. I was greeted by my good friend Wickers (she's a cat) then I went to bed. On Saturday night I went to Griff's Party II (at least, that's how I think of it; it's like the sequel to the last party; same house, similar group of people, but the plot thickens, time has past since the last one. It's a second try to investigate the potential contained within a large group of Phd students, drinking lots of beer). The ebb and flow of the evening was unpredictable. At different points in time, I'd find myself answering the same old familiar questions put to me by new unfamiliar people, taking a rest from it all in the company of a solitary male acquaintance, being greeting warmly and addressed by name by people I swear I'd never met before in my life, but seem to know all about me; and my favourite memory of the night, talking for an hour or two outside with a girl called Briane who invited me camping. But she invited me places at the last party, and nothing ever came of that. I gave her my number for the second time. I generally trust people; strangely enough, I really do believe that she lost all the numbers on her cellphone. On Sunday, I visited the train station and Seattle's really quite large Japanese Supermarket. I bought a 15 day $200 rail pass valid for all railways west of Chicago and New Orleans and some wotsits made out of peas and rice. I also found a bunch of other Japanese food; I'm not entirely sure what most of it is, as it's all labelled in Japanese. However, the titles below the food were in English, so I was able to tell whether I was buying stuff likely to contain celery or insects. The Japanese dressing is great, however, as is the ginger sweets and lychee gum cake. I will be departing Seattle at 10am on Sunday September 7th, and arriving in San Francisco the following morning. I hope to find an flat, unoccupied area somewhere in the lounge car of the train; I will have my sleeping bag with me. No need to check any luggage, because I'll be carrying everything on my back. On Saturday 13th September, I will be in Chicago, and shall rendezvous with Gwen, a girl from Michigan whom I met in the Seattle youth hostel in June 2002; before then, I'll be stopping near Aspen in Colorado, also in Salt Lake City and possibly in Reno in Nevada. I have a book listing all the youth hostels in America; I've circled all the cities on my map that have both train stations and youth hostels. Most of them are in Colorado. On the way back West, I'll be stopping at Minneapolis in Minnesota, a small town on the prairie, and Glacier National Park in Montana, where I'll be meeting up with Shauna, whom I worked with at Big Sky Resort in 2001. The trip will include 125 hours of travelling on the train; I hope to meet a fair few people in the cafe, lounge and dining cars; I've talked to some americans who have travelled on the trains and they've assured me they're very social places. If I slept every night on the train (speaking hypothetically now) it would cost me about the same as my current lodgings ($13 a day) with the added advantage of having a home that is in a different time zone every day, albeit without a kitchen. I went home early yesterday because the server didn't come back up all day. The server is back up, so I've made some additions to the code to allow me to check whether two plasma shots which I assume to be identical really are identical. A plasma shot is a burst of ionized gas (the same that is found inside the sun, at the centre of a H bomb explosion, or inside a bolt of lightning), about two million degrees celsius (the centre of the sun is about fifteen), lasting for five to twenty milliseconds and confined by a magnetic field. The current flowing through the plasma reaches a peak of about 200 kA. I'm going to finish off what I was working on, then go home. It's just coming up to 4pm. Stephen P.S. For the good of the internet, don't open .pif, .scr or .exe file attachments, whoever they appear to be from. (Comment on this)
Thursday, August 14th, 2003
5:23 pm	The middle of August Dear all, I think I got to work too early today. It's 9.45, but no one's here. I have been planning to write this email for a while now, but several things have been preventing me from doing so. I remember I sent my last email on Friday morning, so I'll start from there. After I sent that email, I went into the control room and found out that I was missing out on some very interesting plasma shots. For the rest of the day, I was going to and fro between the lab and my computer with the latest temperature and velocity readings for that day's shots. In addition, a professor called Dennis is visiting from Princeton. I had a long chat with him about the sudden torodial velocity changes caused by coaxial helicity injection plasma pulses. To be honest, I don't know what it means either. But he was getting very enthusiastic about this confirming his suspicions about hollow current profiles, etc. I must have sat there for at least half an hour nodding along; I think he mistook me for a engineering graduate student. Sometimes people are surprised that I'm doing the same work as the UW engineering undergrad and grad students, but usually they take it as a matter of course that I know what I'm doing, just as they assume that all the graduates of physics and engineering working here know what they're doing. And I do, sort of. It's simply that my area of expertise is a bit more limited. If Bristol has an exam on Ion Doppler Spectroscopy, I would like to take it. I had no plans whatsoever for last weekend. If there were only one weekend per fortnight (if that were ever possible), my weekends would be filled with various different outings and adventures that could be considered exciting in anyone's book. As it is, I usually spend the time reading and wandering, which I think is exciting only in my book. But on this Saturday, Emily called me at 10am and asked me whether I would like to go to the University Arboretum and Japanese Gardens. I made sandwiches (lettuce, tomato, cheese, mayonnaise, salt and pepper) and she brought a cous cous salad and some green tea. The Arboretum reminded me of the grounds of a country house (but with more trees and less grass). It reminded me of Hagley Hall, gardens I wandered through at twilight near the broads in Norfolk, parks I went to as a child, and many other half-remembered places that I may only have dreamt or read about. We lay down on the grass, and talked and talked, mainly about the past and those things that never change. She was also kind enough to give me a back massage. I know what many of you will be wondering. Well, Emily has a boyfriend. This makes things much easier for me, because I know exactly where I stand with her. But she's recently moved into a new apartment near where I live, and is now living alone, so I hope we can spend more time together before I leave. Upon arriving home to an empty house early in the evening on Saturday. I was stuck. I felt very happy, but did not know how to spend the rest of the day in a way that would not make me forget the garden, the sky; it is far too easy to get bogged down in some innane, irreflective activity, and once again return to small-minded worries and cares that ideally would never occupy the mind. Well, this time I found a solution to the problem. I rented Schindler's list, and watched it for the first time. When falling asleep that night memories of green, violin music, and a man crying over his car and gold pin occupied my mind. Early in July, Griff held a big party. He's holding another one this Saturday; I am looking forward to it. It is there that I see people that I do not know well enough to know their phone numbers, but well enough to have no problem remembering their name, and feel assured that we are not going to be wasting time on polite small talk. On Friday night I hope to visit my friend Josh. I called him the night before last; we talked for an hour, which surprised me; he's always told me that he doesn't like talking on the phone. I called him because we are good friends, and I will only be in Seattle for another three weeks now. My housemate David often told me that I reminded him of what he was like a few years ago. Well, Josh reminds me of what I was like a couple of years ago; that is, he thinks that the day will come when everything is known and all problems are solved, this being achieved by relentless progress in the sciences. Now, I think that while the sciences will continue to answer many different questions we have about the world, they will not give us answers to our most pressing questions. They won't even come close. To be sure, we will be manipulating our mega-terabyte hard drives with the greatest of ease, but death, time, music and beauty will continue to be incomprehensible. Hmm. They're not running today; by that I mean that they're not doing anything in the lab that I need concern myself with. I will have to spend the day looking for other titanium ion emissions to look at and tidying up my code. But without music. Last night was strange. I came home to find several notes scattered round the kitchen, all left for me by my housemate Steve. There was one on the microwave (there had been a plate there), one on the table (I had left a breakfast bowl there), one on the counter (there were crumbs there), one on the oventop (there were stains there), etc. One of them said "I am not your mother". Later, after I had cleared up and gone to write this email, I found a note next to Steve's door. It said "I don't want you going in my room and using my computer. You have shown us no respect for us or our things. You are an adult, you are 20 and you have responsibilities." Or something like that. I didn't mind too much about the other notes; I found them funny, and thought the complaint was justified, although I would have preferred him just to say something to my face (he'd never mentioned it before). But the last note really got to me. Believe it or not, I had been using the laptop the night before (just writing an email) when he got back from work, and he said nothing about it. I didn't expect it him to, as he had given me permission to use his laptop while he was out. Around 11pm, he arrived home from work. A peculiar conversation followed where we were both apologising at once; he was apologising for getting so angry that morning, and I was apologising for letting the kitchen get messy. But he also mentioned that I could use his computer; apparently, the last notice was just put up as an angry impulse. Very strange. That night, I had a lucid dream (coincidentally, I had been talking to Josh about lucid dreams the night before; I told him that it had been years since I last had one). This morning, I heard the unique sound of a car crash and listened to the first movement of Chopin's first piano concerto. I am making plans for the last two weeks of my stay in the USA. So far, I know that I will be leaving Seattle on the 7th September, and that I will be travelling by train. Details to folllow. I hope you are all well. I'll send my next letter from home; I've spent about three hours today not working. Stephen P.S. I'm happy. Current Mood: happy Current Music: None, unfortunately. (Comment on this)
Friday, August 8th, 2003
10:52 am	Friday Morning Dear all, I'm a bit miffed this morning. I made a special effort to arrive on time for the physics meeting today; hence, I set my alarm clock ten minutes early. As usual, I slept for thirty minutes after it went off. I rose at 8.20am, yet managed to arrive on time by skipping breakfast and taking the bus rather than walking the thirty minute walk to work. Well, it turned out that there is no physics meeting today. There's also not much I can do; I'm waiting for new data. So I am writing again; maybe it will make up for my protracted silence. A Beethoven Symphony is playing on the radio. It doesn't matter so much to me which one it is; but music of that sort does come as a bit of a shock. Ten minutes ago, this office was silent, except for the sound of slow typing, and I was overly conscious of the slowness of time and an empty space inside. But now... I am reminded of the night before; turned out it went quite well, just not in the way I expected. I did not leave the house, nor did I eat with anyone, but I returned home, in a manner of speaking, when I read just a few lines from a few different books... I think I do know how I ought to live. At least, at times like that, I do. Most of the time, I've forgotten, I get confused when trying to answer the question. You know how certain violent films are labelled 18, as they are said to be not suitable for children? The idea is that they are inappropriate; children are not mature enough to deal with the images contained within the film, they might be adversely affected in some way. I don't know. Well, I think Beethoven should be labelled 'not suitable for offices'. Such music is entirely inappropriate in such a setting; a person who is focused on their work, be it a program or a paper, should not be exposed to material of that sort. It's dangerous stuff; it may cause someone to set aside their program and leave the workplace. We'd probably be okay with some early Mozart. Maybe instead of leaving the workplace, I'll simply take a long lunch. Leave this place (but take the Beethoven with me, in my head), go to a cafe I haven't been to before, sit alone, observe, and think. Of course, I'll have to return sometime; then the Beethoven will fall out of my mind, displaced by the people around me and lines of matlab code. There's work that needs to be done (but then again, there always is, everywhere; I'm only working so I can be abroad without getting seriously into debt), and so I will always have to return from lunch. In a month or two I'll have to return from Seattle and get back to work at Bristol. But at some point, I will have graduated from Bristol. At that point, I hope to go where I have not been before, observe, and think. I hope to arrange things in order that I may do this while maintaining some sort of income. If I am lucky, I will hence be able to live, but not forget.. the Beethoven will not fall out of my head, every day shall remind me of the night. Well, back to work. Stephen Current Mood: melancholy Current Music: Beethoven (Comment on this)
Thursday, August 7th, 2003
5:07 pm	Some Time Dear all, I've recently come to realize that quite some time has past since I last sent out an email. Soon it will be three weeks since the weekend I went rock climbing. I'm still going to work five days a week, but it's all so relaxed I hardly notice. Sometimes something odd happens to break up the flow; I may read a book that sends my thoughts off on a new direction; a couple of weeks ago I recall that for the second time this summer I ate my lunch with Anna (a girl from work). I have had time to make plans. In the evenings, I lie on my bed while the sun is setting, I think about what I should do in July 2004 (and then onwards). I have also been circling all the cities of the USA west of Chicago that have both train stations and youth hostels. On the same day, I searched for all the Masters courses in the UK that have the word 'literature' in the title (as far as I'm concerned nowadays, philosophy is optional, but literature is not. I used to think that while physics was optional, but philosophy was not. I like to think that I'm slowly homing in on my fundamental interests). It's so much easier to describe what I do in Seattle. But whenever I try to describe the undercurrent of every day of every week of my stay here; that is, the colour and direction of my thoughts provoked by my surroundings, the music I hear, the books I read, I'm at a loss. Yesterday, I was admitted to hospital. At work, half the computers were down. We were waiting for someone else, in some other department, to sort it out (I couldn't, because I don't have admin privileges). In the meantime, I couldn't do any work. I was just about to head home when I accidentally offered to help one of the technicians in the lab. This involved grinding down some bolts; I assumed that it would involve some machining in the machine shop, and was reluctant to get myself involved, when he pointed out I could do it in the lab with a hand grinder. I set to work, but within five minutes a bit of metal flew up into my eye. Strangely enough, it wasn't painful, just annoying. But I couldn't get it out; I gathered that it was somewhere under my upper eyelid. I decided to go home to try to get it out. My personal efforts with water were unsuccessful. I went to the local pharmacy to ask for advice.. I really didn't know what to do. The pharmacist there sold me some eye wash and told me that if that didn't work, I would need to see a doctor. It didn't work. When Anna came home she drove me to the University of Washington hospital (a very big place just across the road from where I catch the bus home), where I filled out about three forms and sat down to wait. During the last half hour of my one and a half hour wait (not much better than British hospitals) I got the distinct impression that the foreign body was no longer there - it had fallen out by itself. So when I finally saw a doctor, it was simply so that she could check that there was indeed no foreign body in my right eye. Then I went home and watched "The Usual Suspects". I quite often go to read in the teahouse. I know most of the girls who work there, and occasionally they pass me free tea (I usually ask for cold water, or bring a tea bag and ask for hot water). Most of the time I sit quietly, occasionally chatting to Jessica. They play classical music, it's a pleasant place and it gets me out the house. One night last week was a little different, however. I was sitting nearby two other individuals. All three of us were reading something or other; but then I heard one of them mention (I don't know why) a chapter in one of Nietzsche's books entitled 'why I am so clever'. I couldn't resist joining in. Directly behind me was girl/woman/lady (not sure which one to use) from California, reading a mexican novel; to the side of her was a software engineer reading an introduction to philosophy. They too had only just met. She had some strange ideas about nature and food (being concerned with health and philosophy, but not so much science), and he had recently brought a three bedroomed house. He also agrees that it is a good thing when one can fit all one's stuff in a large car - he has a desk, a chair, and a mattress, but not much else. I think he said that he plans to buy another chair or two so he can receive guests. Later that evening Jessica introduced me to a girl named Brook. I gave her a short story to read ('A world of stone', in 'This way for the gas, ladies and gentlemen'); then we talked about bubbles. For some reason, nearly every ordinary philosophical conversation I have turns into a discussion of why truth must exist, or the nature of the box/bubble/cage/game that is everyday life. This was the latter; a guy at work was asking about Nihilism and Relativism yesterday, and that was the former. I recently received an unexpected phone call from Emily, my former housemate from 20 Ashley Road. She is living with her dad, who immigrated to Seattle after a job offer from Microsoft, and working on a student visa. I called the week before, asking for Emily, but she wasn't in. The phone call was unexpected because I didn't expect her to call back. She never was very talkative when I knew her in Bristol; she was instead quite often cold and hostile. Occasionally she felt like talking, but only ever small talk. She broke up with her boyfriend shortly before I arrived at Bristol in September 2002; she found a new boyfriend shortly after she arrived in Seattle. In between she seems to have spent most of her time watching tv and being moody. But on the phone she was quite chatty. She may come round with her boyfriend sometime. (He has a car). Nowadays, excitement is not scaling a 100ft wall; it is being unexpectedly messaged from the other side of the world by someone I haven't spoken to for months. Then I hear about who is resitting and who is not, and who got a 1st and who nearly failed. I'm also in touch with some of the nine people I will be living with next year; up to this point, I've talked with them more on msn messenger than in person. Hopefully that will change in September. I'm thinking about what will happen tonight. I don't expect much; I hope not to resort to watching tv, but I don't want to read too much either. It would be nice to eat with one of my housemates, although I don't know what I shall eat; I need to buy some milk and pasta. Hope to hear from you all soon, Stephen Current Mood: Retrospecting and anticipating (Comment on this)
Monday, July 21st, 2003
9:47 pm	Three Days Dear all, Sometimes chance has it that the events of a day become far more than ordinary, and strange, unusual things happen that one could never have predicted, not even an hour beforehand. So, as chance had it that Seattle has become almost a second home for me (due to a unexpected encounter at a downtown bus stop a few years ago), chance also caused me to end up in lots of interesting places this weekend. It began on Friday. I had been informed about a party (Cheryl's and Cynthia's, apparently) that evening, and arrangements were being made to head north the next day to a bay in a State Park where high rock faces could be found a few steps from the sea. Having spent a pleasant afternoon cleaning vacuum ports on the new spheromak (it's similiar to a tokomak), I left work and headed to the local thrift store (kind of like a charity shop). After all, one can't climb rock faces in trousers, or wear boots on a beach. The shop was very big, but most of the shorts were too wide and long, and there were not many shoes. But there were one pair of shorts that was just my size (28 inch waist) and one pair of new looking trainers that didn't look silly. They were $7 and $16 respectively. Now, I call that a perfect shopping experience. I didn't get lost in a maze of racks of clothes, they didn't have twenty different kinds of shorts and a hundred different pairs of trainers to choose from, and it was cheap. There should be more shops like that. Near the thrift store was a second hand bookshop. I didn't find what I was looking for (it's still fun browsing the shelves, though), but the store owner suggested I check the four other second hand bookshops in the area. I postponed going home and set off on a small trek across uptown Seattle. It was very hot, so I popped into a supermarket to buy a drink. I didn't like that shop; it was too big, the cold bottles were incredibly well hidden and I didn't recognise half of the brands. After too much deliberation, I settled for doctor pepper then bumped into Cheryl and Cynthia. Cheryl's a professor of microbiology, and Cynthia does something also. I met them for the first time through a friend last year. They were halfway through inviting me to their barbecue, when I cut in (which may have been rude of me, in retrospect; I'm not sure), and told them I had already heard about it, and was planning to come. But that wasn't entirely true; I had been planning to go to a party around ten, but now I was going to a barbecue, starting at seven. I went on my way, and soon found a *huge* second hand bookstore. It's kind of annoying; in England, I generally browse the literature from A to Z, which can be completed in a half an hour or so in most bookshops. In the U District, however, I have to do it in stints; I've done A to H in one, A to M in another, but I haven't even attempted to look through all the books of the largest one yet (I will, though, and I predict that the postmen at Dover docks will be dispatching a very heavy box of books to Bristol in about two months time.) I just checked the philosophy section this store. There I met a yoga teacher; she had also been at the last bookshop, and was looking for texts about buddhist and hindu scripture. I couldn't resist recommending some of my favourites. We chatted, and the usual questions came up - 'what brought you to Seattle?' and 'what do you plan to do when you finish studying philosophy?' I was glad to meet her; it reminded me that some people actually do do jobs that.. well, can be taken personally. Apparently, she earns enough to get by, with enough left over to buy books. Sounds good to me. I would like to take a yoga class that does not involve a lot of nonsense about the physics of spiritual energy (of which the base of the stomach is a focal point); it sometimes occurs to me that it is good to be well connected; that is, able to move and stretch in many ways without meeting resistance by muscles that are too used to sitting in an chair, walking along a street, lying in a bed, and nothing else. She gave me a number. After talking, and a successful book hunt (I found a course text for $2, would cost normally around ten pounds. Also an anthology of papers in continental philosophy - apparently feminity and psychoanalysis are fields of the subject. News to me. Also books by Rand and Borges.) it was around 7.30. Dear me, I'll have to finish this some other time. So far I've been paid $12 to type this email, and I'm about to go for lunch. Plus I arrived an hour late. Total of $24 for doing bog all. I created compound Gaussian spectral intensity curves from values for emissivity, velocity and temperature, and my program successfully deconvolves them and returns the original values of emissivity, velocity and temperature with less than 0.5% error, so now I'm finishing this email. To continue. therefore there was no point going home. The barbecue was good fun; there was a dog, a Brazilian guy who loves Borges and hates George Bush, a good few people I recognised from last year, and a group of people who won't stop talking about how much they hate politics, especially George Bush. Everyone seems to like Tony Blair though. Also lots of biologists, physicists, etc. Towards the end of the evening my housemate Anna and her boyfriend turned up. This was very handy, as they didn't stay for long and I got a lift home. The next day, Griff, my workmate, and a girl called Adrienne picked me up in order that we may drive eighty miles up the freeway to the rocky bay. Parts of Washington State look like Italy; our final destination, on the other hand, smelt like Rockcliffe (lots of seaweed) and looked out onto multiple uninhabited forested islands. The sky was clear, the sea was warm; the cliffs at the beach were high, but without overhangs; round the bay point there was another rock face and lots more rocks. The three of us met up with ten others at the beach. There were a few graduate students, but in the main they were employees of Microsoft, Accenture, and Expedia.com, and, strangely enough, mainly female. Or perhaps I just didn't notice the guys. I climbed the one hundred feet, and my arms are still sore. I accidentally took the hard way up, and the climbing shoes I borrowed were too small, I slipped a couple of times, but it was great fun. I was then about to go round the point to the other face when someone suggested I take one of the kayaks. I don't know where they came from, or whose they were, but I didn't think it important; I paddled out of the bay and grounded the boat where the others were climbing; I didn't quite make it all the way to the shore, and so made a good attempt to stand up, and jump out of the kayak onto wet rock. The attempt wasn't quite good enough, as the kayak tipped over as soon as I lifted a foot off it, and so I went for an early dip. I didn't get the chance to do any more climbing as my feet were bleeding a little (result of barefoot rock clambering). It's not polite to get blood in other people's climbing shoes, and they were too small anyhow. I think that Saturday was the first time I've spent a day on the beach without my family. Hence it was a bit different. My parents never packed harnesses and ropes or beer, there were always far less pretty girls around to talk to, and certainly no kayaks. More food though. Such is the way of the world. In the evening, we proceeded to Austin's parent's house. This was the first time I, and many others in the group, had met Austin, but he was very hospitable. The house was in the park (the Snowdonia sort of park, btw, not the Hyde sort of park), in the midst of the trees, overlooking the water; they had a dock and grand piano. They have a license to catch crab; they had caught about twenty of them. We took it in turns to pick up a live crab by its back two legs, place it tummy down on a metal edge sticking out of the dock, and bash on the shell with a clenched fist until it split in two (quick death, apparently). The guts, gills, and excess shell was discarded, and the rest cooked with salt water and butter. We prepared far too many; it really was an eat-all-you-like seafood buffet. There was also salad, fresh bread, and rosemary roast potatoes. And lots of beer. After dinner I sought out the piano and found some Chopin. I play better after I've had a drink; the increased degree of relaxedness more than compensates for less than optimum coordination. I also had a chat with Austin's dad about Wagner, Shakespeare and electric cars. I'm always glad to meet Americans who possess minority interests such as these; I think they appreciate it too. Then it was eleven and time to go. We got back to Seattle around 12.30; I went to sleep around 2. The next day, I woke up feeling tired, sunburnt, sore, hot, dehydrated, dirty and a little hungover. I got up at 8, left the house at 8.30, and walked for half an hour. At nine I arrived at an apartment I'd never been to before, and met two people I'd never seen before. We got into a car and drove north. Jessie, the Chinese Professor and I arrived at Canan island around 11am. The island is nearly uninhabited, but the chinese professor owns a little shack, and five and a half acres of land there. He has planted over a hundred kinds of bamboo, and many species of Jades, Lotuses, Orchids and Gingkos; but there are also plants native to Washington, as well as a dandelion and a daffodil. All are labelled in Chinese and English. He showed us his library; he has hundreds of books on Taoism and Buddhism, and on many other things too, but I couldn't read the titles because all they were all in Chinese. We ate lunch in the library; we had tuna sandwiches, banana nut loaf, and milk. Jessie and I helped him water the plants; it's the quietest place I've been to in a very long time. He's been tending the garden for thirteen years now. He's built Buddhist and Taoist Pavilions in the forest. The house itself is pretty rundown. He told us lots of things about the plants, and about China, and showed us his peacocks. He gave me some feathers to take home. After the work was done we went down to the shore. The tide was out, and the beach was deserted; piles of driftwood - whole trees - lay at the high tide mark. The sight of the sea, and the untouched shoreline gave me a strange feeling; it is simply inhuman. If I were able to choose the place to die, I would choose a place like that (still Venice for a honeymoon, though). We could not stay long; it turned three and we returned to the garden and got in the car. Jessie drove me home. After missing out on sleep the night before, and still being sore and tired, I decided that it would be a good idea to rest. But there is no easier way to make myself discontent here in america than to turn on the tv; commercials come on so frequently. every time I sit down them, I come to realise with complete certainty that there are many, many better ways to spend my time. At nine, I left for the teahouse. I had decided that this time I would drink tea; usually I just read and drink water. Jessica was working there last night. I have spoken to her a couple of times before, and have discovered that we have a great many interests in common; she studies literature. The teahouse stays open until 11pm every night. Last night, it was empty; and so Jessica and I sat at a table, drank tea, and talked. I can't remember the last time I thought about Primary school, or PE lessons, or realised that most Americans have never been inside an old church or cathedral. At eleven, she started closing; we carried on talking. It was 12.30am before she was done. After that, we went for a walk, sat on a curb, got a bit lost, walked in circles. At 1.30 we arrived at the bus stop. I got into bed at 2, and rose this morning at 8. I have decided that I need to catch up on some sleep. but last night I decided that I needed to rest. I may or may not sleep well tonight. It is also very hot. the thermometer in my room is currently registering about 31C. It is 9.30pm. I am acutely aware that Jessica is at the teahouse right now. Does absence make the heart grow fonder? Does the rarity of a happy occurrence play a part in determining its value? Perhaps. As always, there is too much to think about. I often decide that it is best to forget and relax. I don't think I will, though. I hope you are all well. Stephen Current Mood: mellow (Comment on this)
Wednesday, July 16th, 2003
3:31 pm	Hello Dear all, Well, I've been meaning to send another lengthy account of my activities here in Seattle, but I never do. Things have settled down a little, work is becoming more routine, yet there's still a lot to think about; my mind keeps returning to the same problems; people and how to spend a life. I've come to the conclusion that talking to people is often bad for my mental health. I haven't been feeling as courageous as usual these past days. Instead, I've been worrying about people, myself.. unconstructive things of that sort. It's funny, because the sky is still blue; I periodically notice it, try to reconcile the reality of the world to my personal aims... I cannot, but the sensation of the undisturbed existence of the wider world can serve to pull me back to where I belong. I have a home, but it is not a physical place. Some personal worries are honest ones, though, and I think are making progress. In a year's time, I will be living alone, working to live and living to... well, I can't write that in one word. But for the first time, without a purpose. I will only work to pay bills. I can't imagine doing it for any other reason. But the wide world of human people scares me. The real stuff of philosophy matters a little to people at university; not enough, though - but outside, what is the real stuff of philosophy to those (the rabble, the mob, the masses, the base, as they have variously been called by various philosophers, not just Nietzsche, interestingly) who just.. get on with life (half life)? I am happy today though. I have concluded that there is no fault in my program; I am not processing good data wrongly; I now think that I am processing bad data rightly. So that's good. Now I'm looking for good data to process rightly. I've had lots of people round for dinner recently. First Dina and Kevin came over - I realised I've missed them, life in Seattle certainly has a very different timbre, texture, living with the two of them in Dina's house. It's hard to describe, but because of the different company, every act (getting breakfast, drinking coffee, sitting and doing nothing) takes on a whole different meaning - as a person, I am treated very differently in Dina and Kevin's house to my current home in Wallingford. Next, my friend Josh came over. We had dinner, then went to see Terminator 3. I must be honest, it was a relief to talk to a male friend; there were some things that I needed to get out of my system. He is much disposed to attempting far flung eloquent argument, which is often amusing to listen to. I think we both know when we are being foolish. But other than foolishness, we share a common interest in.. and once again there is no word. I would use the t word, but I overuse it (truth in my philosophising is like love in hollywood movies). Last night Emily came over. She is a genuinely lovely girl (I met her in Seattle last year; she introduced me to Hermann Hesse, for which I have forever after been very grateful). She appreciated the curry, and I appreciated the wine. I've just been trying to think what else I can say about Emily, but I can't think of anything. She is simply a genuinely lovely girl. But she has a thing for the idea of compassion for all human beings, a kind of buddhist sentiment. Now, I don't personally believe it's possible for anyone to love 6.5 billion people, or even everyone they've met, but she has a respect for beauty and people that I admire. There are no problems, really. Kind of disappointing. If there are problems, then one has a mission - the solution must be found. But as it is, people live, then they die. No problem, no quest. One and a half hours left till 'quitting time' as they call it here. And since no one ever leaves at five, say one hour. Then time to think some more. Stephen Current Mood: Not as courageous as usual (Comment on this)