The last day in the Pyrenees. Will it rain? Will Andy Schleck make up the time he lost to Contador ? Will Team Philosophe regret the pies they gobbled yesterday? These are questions Simone and Belle have not yet thought to ask.
Simone de Beauvoir: I was interested to hear your story yesterday.
Belle et Bonne: And why not? It is quite interesting.
Simone de Beauvoir: Yes, but I also discovered that you and I have something in common.
Belle et Bonne: You are adopted?
Simone de Beauvoir: No. But you were sent to a convent because your parents were too poor to afford a dowry, and I was told by my father that I would never marry, for the same reason!
Belle et Bonne: What? But you lived in the twentieth century!
Simone de Beauvoir: Nevertheless, it is true. My family were middle class, but my grandfather went bankrupt the year after I was born, and was unable to pay my parents my mother's dowry.
Belle et Bonne: Bizarre! But you didn't care, did you?
Simone de Beauvoir: Of course not. I didn't want to marry. Jean Paul didn't want to either.
Belle et Bonne: He's a funny old thing, isn't he.
Simone de Beauvoir: Well it is difficult being an existentialist. It is hard to explain to people exactly what it is. He has never really been able to do it satisfactorily.
Belle et Bonne: But I thought everybody knew what it was.
Simone De Beauvoir: People only think they know what it is until they try to put it into words.
Belle et Bonne: I'm sure I could do it! Existentialism is just about how irritating life can be, if we let it.
Simone de Beauvoir: Oh my dear, that's good! You must tell it to Jean Paul. Oh no! It's starting to rain! How irritating. Let's stop and shelter under a tree.
Showing posts with label tree. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tree. Show all posts
Friday, July 23, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Tiu
I don't like to be critical, said Pliny the Elder, but...
You're going to be, I said. Is it about Tuesday?
Yes, said Pliny. I thought you were going to tell us how it got its name, or some other interesting facts about Tuesday. Not that you thought it looked like a tree.
So did I, I admitted, but I really did think it looked like a tree.
In what way exactly? asked Pliny. TUES looks like branches to you, does it?
Yes, I said, just look at the letters. And imagine if they were printed in a sort of curve.
No, said Pliny. I can't see it.
Look! I said, getting out a piece of paper and a fish topped pencil and drawing the letters TUES as a curve. Then to prove my point, I drew the letters DAY coming down from a point in between the U and the E.
Oh yes, I see ! said Pliny. It does look somewhat arborial. However I still think you ought to have been less subjective. Did you not think to Google it, or look it up in Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable?
I thought everybody would already know how Tuesday got its name, I said.
They wouldn't, said Pliny. It's the one that hardly anybody knows. Do you know?
I do now, I said, I've just looked it up. And no, I didn't know before, although I thought I did.
What did you think you thought it was? asked Pliny looking interested.
Oh I never got that far, I answered. But anyway, now I know that it's named after Tiu the son of Odin. He had his hand bitten off when chaining up the wolf Fenrir, I added gratuitously.
Hence his name, said Pliny.
You're going to be, I said. Is it about Tuesday?
Yes, said Pliny. I thought you were going to tell us how it got its name, or some other interesting facts about Tuesday. Not that you thought it looked like a tree.
So did I, I admitted, but I really did think it looked like a tree.
In what way exactly? asked Pliny. TUES looks like branches to you, does it?
Yes, I said, just look at the letters. And imagine if they were printed in a sort of curve.
No, said Pliny. I can't see it.
Look! I said, getting out a piece of paper and a fish topped pencil and drawing the letters TUES as a curve. Then to prove my point, I drew the letters DAY coming down from a point in between the U and the E.
Oh yes, I see ! said Pliny. It does look somewhat arborial. However I still think you ought to have been less subjective. Did you not think to Google it, or look it up in Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable?
I thought everybody would already know how Tuesday got its name, I said.
They wouldn't, said Pliny. It's the one that hardly anybody knows. Do you know?
I do now, I said, I've just looked it up. And no, I didn't know before, although I thought I did.
What did you think you thought it was? asked Pliny looking interested.
Oh I never got that far, I answered. But anyway, now I know that it's named after Tiu the son of Odin. He had his hand bitten off when chaining up the wolf Fenrir, I added gratuitously.
Hence his name, said Pliny.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Tues-day
Well, Pliny the Elder, you said you were looking forward to Tuesday. I look forward to Tuesday too, in a way. And this is how.
I wasn't aware I did this, until last Monday. You know how sometimes you catch yourself thinking? I caught myself thinking on Monday.
What I was thinking was something I don't usually think until Tuesday afternoon. Which is, hurrah! it's whole week till next Tuesday. The weird thing was that I was thinking it on Monday. I thought, wait a minute it's only Monday! And then I realised I knew that already, and I still felt just the same. Although of course there was an extra Tuesday in between.
Tuesday. It's like a sheltering tree. I was walking home from the shops this morning thinking about Tuesday and what I would write for this, when I saw a tree in front of me. Well, not directly in front of me but slightly to the right. It was a tall eucalyptus with spreading branches and yellow blossoms that had fallen to the footpath, so were no longer part of the tree. Although they were no longer part of the tree, they were there, so I'm just saying. Maybe it was because I was thinking of Tuesday at the exact moment I saw the tree, but suddenly I believed I knew that Tuesday was a tree. It looks like a tree. 'Tues' is the top of the tree, and 'day' is the trunk. It's funny but it's true. None of the other days of the week could possibly be trees.
I wasn't aware I did this, until last Monday. You know how sometimes you catch yourself thinking? I caught myself thinking on Monday.
What I was thinking was something I don't usually think until Tuesday afternoon. Which is, hurrah! it's whole week till next Tuesday. The weird thing was that I was thinking it on Monday. I thought, wait a minute it's only Monday! And then I realised I knew that already, and I still felt just the same. Although of course there was an extra Tuesday in between.
Tuesday. It's like a sheltering tree. I was walking home from the shops this morning thinking about Tuesday and what I would write for this, when I saw a tree in front of me. Well, not directly in front of me but slightly to the right. It was a tall eucalyptus with spreading branches and yellow blossoms that had fallen to the footpath, so were no longer part of the tree. Although they were no longer part of the tree, they were there, so I'm just saying. Maybe it was because I was thinking of Tuesday at the exact moment I saw the tree, but suddenly I believed I knew that Tuesday was a tree. It looks like a tree. 'Tues' is the top of the tree, and 'day' is the trunk. It's funny but it's true. None of the other days of the week could possibly be trees.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Mysterious Encounter - Part 3
Here we are now, I say to Pliny. This is the third poem, which I wrote a week later on the 20th of June 2009. Pliny? Are you listening?
Yes, says Pliny. I am listening.
I read aloud:
The Continuing Adventure of Old Mr Sherlock Holmes.
I saw him again last night
In the same dark place,
But I had misremembered Toby,
Who was brown, with a black face.
The old man was the same
Slow, twisted and lame.
I spoke to him this time: Hello! Perhaps too loud.
He turned towards me,
Straining to see,
And bowed.
Hah! says Pliny, that still doesn't prove.......
Wait, I reply. There is a second part.
A second part! Are you by any chance stringing me along?
No, certainly not. There is a second part, with a separate title. Pay attention, because it contains a revelation:
Old Mr. Holmes Muses by the Fire.
You know Toby old chap,
Sometimes I think I see
On winter evenings,
Walking,
The woman, and even he.
Tonight I was almost sure
I heard her voice
Say Good evening Holmes, to me.
I strained my eyes
But nothing palpable
Could I see.
And you Toby,
Seemed to be
Sniffing around the wrong tree.
Remarkable! says Pliny. I am impressed. This does indeed seem to prove that he was Sherlock Holmes. But who is the woman?
Pliny! I say, crossly, haven't you understood anything?
Yes, says Pliny. I am listening.
I read aloud:
The Continuing Adventure of Old Mr Sherlock Holmes.
I saw him again last night
In the same dark place,
But I had misremembered Toby,
Who was brown, with a black face.
The old man was the same
Slow, twisted and lame.
I spoke to him this time: Hello! Perhaps too loud.
He turned towards me,
Straining to see,
And bowed.
Hah! says Pliny, that still doesn't prove.......
Wait, I reply. There is a second part.
A second part! Are you by any chance stringing me along?
No, certainly not. There is a second part, with a separate title. Pay attention, because it contains a revelation:
Old Mr. Holmes Muses by the Fire.
You know Toby old chap,
Sometimes I think I see
On winter evenings,
Walking,
The woman, and even he.
Tonight I was almost sure
I heard her voice
Say Good evening Holmes, to me.
I strained my eyes
But nothing palpable
Could I see.
And you Toby,
Seemed to be
Sniffing around the wrong tree.
Remarkable! says Pliny. I am impressed. This does indeed seem to prove that he was Sherlock Holmes. But who is the woman?
Pliny! I say, crossly, haven't you understood anything?
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Communications of Birds 2
The parrots, if they were parrots, in the tree, if they were in the tree, on Saturday morning were probably talking, very fast.
I know this now because I have visited the site of Ryan B Reynolds, Parrot Intelligence Researcher, called A Journey into the Mind of a Talking Parrot.
Ryan, who has studied his talking budgies for years, has recorded some of his conversations with Victor, and Betty, his best talkers. Victor ( now sadly deceased) in particular was a legend. He made jokes, he complained about stale bird seed, and he worried about making people feel sad.
And Victor believed in God.
The recordings have been slowed down a bit because parrots talk very fast says Ryan and this is because they live life at a faster rate than humans. Victor sounds in the recordings a little like Ryan talking in a funny voice but I suppose that is only natural.
I know this now because I have visited the site of Ryan B Reynolds, Parrot Intelligence Researcher, called A Journey into the Mind of a Talking Parrot.
Ryan, who has studied his talking budgies for years, has recorded some of his conversations with Victor, and Betty, his best talkers. Victor ( now sadly deceased) in particular was a legend. He made jokes, he complained about stale bird seed, and he worried about making people feel sad.
And Victor believed in God.
The recordings have been slowed down a bit because parrots talk very fast says Ryan and this is because they live life at a faster rate than humans. Victor sounds in the recordings a little like Ryan talking in a funny voice but I suppose that is only natural.
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