Scuttlebut
I’m shocking at being concise. Really, never use one word when a dozen will do and have had to disable the ‘run on sentence’ judgement on my grammar checker. (Which I was bloody disappointed by when I first encountered it - I expected it to say something like ‘weet old lady smelling of cough drops and cats - yes, it’s a grammar’).
That being the case, I love it when other people are concise. Anyone else think Clint was just a chatty Cathy in those ‘fistfull’ films? Which is why I love haiku.
One thing I have noticed about haiku though is that, well, sometimes they really could benefit from one line more, or one line less. For instance, when the poet nails the sensation of the sharp smell of snow on the slopes of Mt Fuji, but still has a line left, is it really necessary to bang something in about goats?
I was thinking of things Oriental this morning as, emerging from the station, I was confronted with hundreds of umbrellas being opened against the rain. They looked for all the world like an image from a Hiroshoge woodcut, no wonder he called it ‘the floating world’, or a B&W reproduction of the lilies lying in Monet’s pond.
A poet would have a phrase for it, me, I just thought it looked for all the world like a scene from one of those films where the Romans lock shields and storm some city. This being the real word, the umbrellas do not interlock to provide a dry space measuring ten feet by ten feet, rather, the rainwater is channelled down gullies and valleys until it decants in a torrent down the back of some screaming, incredulous commuter.
I, of course, wear a hat. I need to have both hands free.
The other image to assault the senses in the station is the number of glossy magazines there appear to be about celebrities. When I say celebrity I mean somebody in a soap. I think I finally reached saturation point with trivia when a story about a singer going into rehab for the umpteenth time made it to the main news.
I suggest that every time some twat editor proposes an ‘entertainment’ story, the idea is ditched in favour of a story with local importance, like a school or hospital closing, or a dangerous stretch of road, or a local cricket team that’s been shaved to raise money for charity or something.
It’s entertainment stories, bread and circuses, that allow Government to do sneaky shit. That’s why I think that scuttlebutt mags should carry a warning lable, like fags ‘warning - this magazine can severely affect your mental health’, or ‘For the same amount of money you could have bought a really big bar of chocolate - tittle tattle will not make you happy, chocolate will!’.
That being the case, I love it when other people are concise. Anyone else think Clint was just a chatty Cathy in those ‘fistfull’ films? Which is why I love haiku.
One thing I have noticed about haiku though is that, well, sometimes they really could benefit from one line more, or one line less. For instance, when the poet nails the sensation of the sharp smell of snow on the slopes of Mt Fuji, but still has a line left, is it really necessary to bang something in about goats?
I was thinking of things Oriental this morning as, emerging from the station, I was confronted with hundreds of umbrellas being opened against the rain. They looked for all the world like an image from a Hiroshoge woodcut, no wonder he called it ‘the floating world’, or a B&W reproduction of the lilies lying in Monet’s pond.
A poet would have a phrase for it, me, I just thought it looked for all the world like a scene from one of those films where the Romans lock shields and storm some city. This being the real word, the umbrellas do not interlock to provide a dry space measuring ten feet by ten feet, rather, the rainwater is channelled down gullies and valleys until it decants in a torrent down the back of some screaming, incredulous commuter.
I, of course, wear a hat. I need to have both hands free.
The other image to assault the senses in the station is the number of glossy magazines there appear to be about celebrities. When I say celebrity I mean somebody in a soap. I think I finally reached saturation point with trivia when a story about a singer going into rehab for the umpteenth time made it to the main news.
I suggest that every time some twat editor proposes an ‘entertainment’ story, the idea is ditched in favour of a story with local importance, like a school or hospital closing, or a dangerous stretch of road, or a local cricket team that’s been shaved to raise money for charity or something.
It’s entertainment stories, bread and circuses, that allow Government to do sneaky shit. That’s why I think that scuttlebutt mags should carry a warning lable, like fags ‘warning - this magazine can severely affect your mental health’, or ‘For the same amount of money you could have bought a really big bar of chocolate - tittle tattle will not make you happy, chocolate will!’.
1 Comments:
Really, your posts are beginning to be worse than mine with the rambling and jumping from topic to topic. I guess, though, that maybe that's a good thing because if they made sense all of the time, it'd just make me feel like crap.
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