Enjoying reading some (of my own) diary entries from earlier this year. A stream-of-consciousness piece on the theme of “mother obsession” and then a meditation on watching cricket at Newlands.
Fifteen men out on the field at any one time
while a few thousand people
sit or stand around in a circle and watch them.
We watch each other, chatter, preen, laugh, flirt,
try and get on TV, admire the players, sun tan.
The mountain holds us in place and the Castle Draft soothes us.
The contest doesn’t really matter.
Caught up in the moment we cheer, curse, watch and wait.
And then we go home.
Here’s the start of a piece on Discourse Analysis:
Pick a book at random. Yes, that one will do: The Book of 1001 Questions and Answers 1981. What are the discursive constructions and subjectivities that are offered? Notice that all the heroes are white. William the Conqueror, Captain Cook, David Livingstone. A few women — Jane Austen, Queens Victoria and Elizabeth. Most are English. … Great Dictators – what makes them great? The First World War, Myths and Legends. Who’s to say that the stories of “fact” are no less mythical than those of Robin Hood, Jason and St George or the Bible? … “They made news” (all men) … “Death came suddenly” (but only to the leaders).
And then I like this piece on running in the forest:
The story divides and now there are two halves that need to work their way back to each other. Like two paths in a wood which meet again higher up. Circles in the forest, criss-crossing each other, here’s a bridge, left and up, up to the contour path, gravel, the sweep of green, brambles, the river-bed impenetrable so you go up higher and higher until the ford where you can cross. The bridge of stones, the mossy bank, keep going, the path through the brambles gets thinner and thinner and then peters out. U-turn, backtrack, running down the slope, blood in my ears and the dog following behind, almost there, there, a clearing, a path. It’s different here, drier, not pine trees but softer vegetation. Then the cool pines again, the well-worn trails, a smiling old man with his crooked back and stick, two girls and their dog, a blind man jogging with his girlfriend, the clearing with the helicopters, the cottages, the car and the tar, home again to rest.