Watching the Question Time with Nick Griffin.
Abhorrent policies aside, this was an entire programme Godwin's lawing the BBC. Sigh.
Sometimes change happens. Get over it.
Logged on to facebook this evening and saw they've split News Feed from Live Feed. I don't quite understand it, but I'm sure I will.
But, as ever, there are about 1/2 million groups already called "CHANG FACEBOOK BACK 2 NROMAL" or "NU FBK IS SHITT" or "MY 2 BRAIN CELLZ CANT HANDEL ANY CHANGE". Christ, these people annoy me. Keep your complaining to yourselves, you loud, aggressive, obnoxious retards.
Sometimes I become exasperated.
But, as ever, there are about 1/2 million groups already called "CHANG FACEBOOK BACK 2 NROMAL" or "NU FBK IS SHITT" or "MY 2 BRAIN CELLZ CANT HANDEL ANY CHANGE". Christ, these people annoy me. Keep your complaining to yourselves, you loud, aggressive, obnoxious retards.
Sometimes I become exasperated.
So busy
I haven't blogged in a long time.
That'll be because I've been, remain, and shall be for a little while, helluva busy.
Seriously, I'll get 'round to it soon.
That'll be because I've been, remain, and shall be for a little while, helluva busy.
Seriously, I'll get 'round to it soon.
Leaving Tonight on a Plane
Except not on a plane so much as in a car. And not so much leaving as coming home. Also, leaving tomorrow not tonight. So, "Dan is coming home tomorrow in a car". Since my parents temporarily have one car only, poor mother must complete the trip between Caitlin being dropped off to work and being picked up therefrom. So we set off c. 09:00, therefore my stuffs, they are a-packed and awaiting car-packing. Apart from some Greenbelt tent-like things and this here laptop.
My mother's quiet frenzy of nagging has almost made me forget how busy I shall be when I actually get home!
But I'm so looking forward to seeing my dear friends, going to that greatest of festivals, and then getting on with church-interning. It is all going to be fantastic!
My mother's quiet frenzy of nagging has almost made me forget how busy I shall be when I actually get home!
Feeling for/with Fiction (and Bree)
When I began this blog, it was with the intention of writing a few posts with at least some profundity to them. Naturally, a fair proportion of those will be philosophical — I have spent five years studying it, and some of what I studied really gripped me. Of course, in my degree I became used to (rather reluctantly) writiing academically on set philosophical topics, but now I hope to utilise the freedom of style and content inherent to writing non-academically.
Several weeks ago, I watched an episode of The Bill (which had recently received a highly successful (to my mind) makeover) which centred around an investigation into the cold case of a young woman's rape at the hands of a family friend, in her own room after a family party. DC Mickey Webb is the main investigating officer after the girl, Caitlin (which he consistently pronounces "Cai'lin", which was bloody infuriating), accuses her boyfriend of rape. It turns out that she had repressed the trauma and confused it with her boyfriend. As a main character, we see a lot of the case through Mickey's interaction with it — Mickey himself was raped several years ago, and it is interesting to observe how this effects his dealing with the case (and his colleagues' perception of how he deals with it). I texted a friend expressing my sympathy for the girl, and was swiftly reminded that it is, of course, merely fiction.
Which brings me to a topic I studied in my second-year unit on philosophical aesthetics — feeling for fiction. Feeling for fiction is basically the area of philosophy of art which is concerned with the audience's emotionally repsonses to works of fictional art. Now, as I look over my old notes, it seems that philosophical concerns with feeling for fiction is based in the idea that there is an apparent paradox:
Now, the way to defeat a paradox is to deny one of the two conflicting assertions. A challenge against (1) is posed in a work by my former professor, Dr Alex Neill: that while an audience must believe in order to respond emotionally, that belief is not necessarily in the existence of the fictional world — rather, as my aesthetics professor, Dr Daniel Whiting, put it, the audience can instead hold "beliefs in what is fictionally the case". Others deny premise 1 through the idea that not all emotional responses require belief — such as fear of a native under attack by aliens, of whom he has neither concept or belief. It's easy to challenge (2) — audiences simply suspend their disbelief in the fictional world in order to temporarily invest emotionally in its happenings. Some challenge (3), suggesting that there is a sort of displacement occuring — that an audience responds not to fictional events, but to real counterparts.
Now, of course philosophers of aesthetics will usually talk about paintings, music, theatre and film, but I've always watched a fair amount of TV. I have to say, though I wrote in my draft notes for this post "I easily feel for fiction", I must revise my claim — I feel easily for certain fiction. Because I watch a lot of television, I watch a lot of television that is not sufficiently well-crafted as to make me respond emotionally — but I happen to watch quite a lot of good TV. My prime examples come from the American production company Mutant Enemy. They're behind Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly & Serenity, Dr Horrible's Sing-along Blog and Dollhouse. In each of these shows, I have become deeply emotionally invested in the central characters, simply because they are beautifully and thoroughly crafted into realistic personalities, and placed in real-seeming situations (sometimes despite involving demons, vampires or spaceships!).
I wonder perhaps if emotional response to film media (including here television) is more common, or easier, than reacting to other artistic media, due to the more realistic nature of motion picture and sound together. I watched Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince with Mr Todd and Emma, and found myself feeling deeply saddened by the ending of the film — I wasn't surprised, because I've read the book several times — but the adaptation of those scenes was spectacularly well-done, enough so to recall to my mind emotions for characters who are long-established in my mind as people. One thing I did note though was that Emma responded perhaps more than I (or perhaps just much louder as opposed to my stoic silence).
Anyway, when I texted my friend after The Bill, I wanted to say that I empathised with the fictional Caitlin nonetheless. But then, being the precise sort of person I am, I looked up the difference between sympathy and empathy:
So, it seems, it did not empathise with the fictional Caitlin, but sympathised with her. There, I shall draw a distinction in our main philosophical concern: I was feeling for fiction, not with fiction. Just like I feel deep sadness for Amos Diggory when he is confronted with his son's death in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. This leads me to wonder — can one empathise with a fiction character? Would the way I interact with Amos' reaction change if I were to, heavens forbid, lose a child suddenly and tragically?
My draft also read:
-Does too much TV mean less life experience?
-or do I just happen to have a reasonably boring/sheltered life?
But I can't think really what I'd write about those, and besides, I think I've written quite enough!
I'm receiving my (first) new laptop tomorrow (if I don't, blood will be spilt!). My current computer was the first to be mine alone, so I named her — Annie, because the motherboard box she came with says A8N-E. Now I must name my new computer, and I think she shall begin with a B. Currently, my favourite idea is Bree (having heard friends' tales of themed device names), but I want your suggestions!
Several weeks ago, I watched an episode of The Bill (which had recently received a highly successful (to my mind) makeover) which centred around an investigation into the cold case of a young woman's rape at the hands of a family friend, in her own room after a family party. DC Mickey Webb is the main investigating officer after the girl, Caitlin (which he consistently pronounces "Cai'lin", which was bloody infuriating), accuses her boyfriend of rape. It turns out that she had repressed the trauma and confused it with her boyfriend. As a main character, we see a lot of the case through Mickey's interaction with it — Mickey himself was raped several years ago, and it is interesting to observe how this effects his dealing with the case (and his colleagues' perception of how he deals with it). I texted a friend expressing my sympathy for the girl, and was swiftly reminded that it is, of course, merely fiction.
Which brings me to a topic I studied in my second-year unit on philosophical aesthetics — feeling for fiction. Feeling for fiction is basically the area of philosophy of art which is concerned with the audience's emotionally repsonses to works of fictional art. Now, as I look over my old notes, it seems that philosophical concerns with feeling for fiction is based in the idea that there is an apparent paradox:
- Emotions require a belief that their object exists
- Audiences do not believe in the existence of the fictional object
- Yet audiences do respond emotionally to fiction
Now, the way to defeat a paradox is to deny one of the two conflicting assertions. A challenge against (1) is posed in a work by my former professor, Dr Alex Neill: that while an audience must believe in order to respond emotionally, that belief is not necessarily in the existence of the fictional world — rather, as my aesthetics professor, Dr Daniel Whiting, put it, the audience can instead hold "beliefs in what is fictionally the case". Others deny premise 1 through the idea that not all emotional responses require belief — such as fear of a native under attack by aliens, of whom he has neither concept or belief. It's easy to challenge (2) — audiences simply suspend their disbelief in the fictional world in order to temporarily invest emotionally in its happenings. Some challenge (3), suggesting that there is a sort of displacement occuring — that an audience responds not to fictional events, but to real counterparts.
Now, of course philosophers of aesthetics will usually talk about paintings, music, theatre and film, but I've always watched a fair amount of TV. I have to say, though I wrote in my draft notes for this post "I easily feel for fiction", I must revise my claim — I feel easily for certain fiction. Because I watch a lot of television, I watch a lot of television that is not sufficiently well-crafted as to make me respond emotionally — but I happen to watch quite a lot of good TV. My prime examples come from the American production company Mutant Enemy. They're behind Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly & Serenity, Dr Horrible's Sing-along Blog and Dollhouse. In each of these shows, I have become deeply emotionally invested in the central characters, simply because they are beautifully and thoroughly crafted into realistic personalities, and placed in real-seeming situations (sometimes despite involving demons, vampires or spaceships!).
I wonder perhaps if emotional response to film media (including here television) is more common, or easier, than reacting to other artistic media, due to the more realistic nature of motion picture and sound together. I watched Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince with Mr Todd and Emma, and found myself feeling deeply saddened by the ending of the film — I wasn't surprised, because I've read the book several times — but the adaptation of those scenes was spectacularly well-done, enough so to recall to my mind emotions for characters who are long-established in my mind as people. One thing I did note though was that Emma responded perhaps more than I (or perhaps just much louder as opposed to my stoic silence).
Anyway, when I texted my friend after The Bill, I wanted to say that I empathised with the fictional Caitlin nonetheless. But then, being the precise sort of person I am, I looked up the difference between sympathy and empathy:
empathy ability to identify with person or object
sympathy sharing of another's feelingsThey seem, on the surface, to be the very same thing. Deeper investigation has given me this understanding of the difference, though: empathy requires me to have felt exactly the same as the object of my empathy, whereas sympathy does not — rather I am simply sharing those feelings as if I have.
So, it seems, it did not empathise with the fictional Caitlin, but sympathised with her. There, I shall draw a distinction in our main philosophical concern: I was feeling for fiction, not with fiction. Just like I feel deep sadness for Amos Diggory when he is confronted with his son's death in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. This leads me to wonder — can one empathise with a fiction character? Would the way I interact with Amos' reaction change if I were to, heavens forbid, lose a child suddenly and tragically?
My draft also read:
-Does too much TV mean less life experience?
-or do I just happen to have a reasonably boring/sheltered life?
But I can't think really what I'd write about those, and besides, I think I've written quite enough!
I'm receiving my (first) new laptop tomorrow (if I don't, blood will be spilt!). My current computer was the first to be mine alone, so I named her — Annie, because the motherboard box she came with says A8N-E. Now I must name my new computer, and I think she shall begin with a B. Currently, my favourite idea is Bree (having heard friends' tales of themed device names), but I want your suggestions!
Of Chelmsford & Harlow
T
his week I have been Quite Busy. I've been back in the town I grew up in, Chelmsford, and back in the town in which I was born, Harlow.
I've been here in Good Easter for many weeks now, but this week I've been actually into Chelmsford for two full days. The first was Wednesday, when I met Graham, Siggers and Malton for lunch etc. Twas a bon occasion — went into Phones 4 U, where they broke out a live 5800 for me to play with (all I had to do was sit through them trying to sell me it). Graham also presented me with his gift to me for my 21st. They're Dr Who cufflinks (the red diamond logo from Tom Baker's era), tres bon, and they'll be treasured and oft-worn, so many thanks indeed to Mr Rutland!
The second of my trips was today, to help Malton out at KEGS (my dear old school), where he and Craig are nearing the end of a summer-long installation of 220 brand new computers (that's very nearly every one in the school!). It was great to see inside the brand new Sixth Form Centre, and it was particularly great to see Vicky, Lorraine and Roy, from whom there were surprise visits. That image is the 2nd floor Common Room. My brief thoughts about it are on facebook: 1 & 2
Also, this week: upgrades! As I mentioned, I tried out my new phone (& music player), the Nokia 5800, and I'm very happy with my choice, so now I just have to run out of credit and order my new contract :D More importantly, I've been gifted my choice of laptop as a 21st gift — I'm very, very thankful, and am actually quite impatient for its delivery. Relatedly, Thursday was a visit to my Nanna in Harlow, with Mum, for gardening and furniture moving — twas good to see her, to help her out, and to get away with some nice bits and pieces into the bargain! Including a fantastic carriage clock, which, like my signet ring and cufflinks, I shall be keeping very carefully indeed — as one does with special gifts for a milestone birthday.
But soon...
...back to Southampton!
Huzzah!
I've been here in Good Easter for many weeks now, but this week I've been actually into Chelmsford for two full days. The first was Wednesday, when I met Graham, Siggers and Malton for lunch etc. Twas a bon occasion — went into Phones 4 U, where they broke out a live 5800 for me to play with (all I had to do was sit through them trying to sell me it). Graham also presented me with his gift to me for my 21st. They're Dr Who cufflinks (the red diamond logo from Tom Baker's era), tres bon, and they'll be treasured and oft-worn, so many thanks indeed to Mr Rutland!
But soon...
...back to Southampton!
Huzzah!
Quite busy (inc. the scale of groping)
I haven't blogged in more than a week. At first, it was because I had nothing new to say and little inclination to type up one of my ideas languishing in drafts... In the last few days, though, it has been because I've been... Quite Busy.
Two things have primarily made me Quite Busy: the first is my Quest for a New Phone, the second, Shiny New OS. I've had my Samsung D900 for 2 years now, which is twice as long as any previous phone. But a recent change in my pay as you go tariff, and, methinks, a coinciding increase in friends, drove my monthly top-up level to new heights. So i've looked into and chosen a contract and spanky new phone (Nokia 6800), for which I pay an initial sum. Being of little financial substance these days, I decided to use a free voucher from my current network to get a handset to sell. It's an LG KS360, and it's now on eBay, and already has a bid! Hoorah for capitalism!
I also joined the Windows 7 Beta programme and got me the Release Candidate (in both 32- and 64-bit versions). I've just installed the 64-bit version of the Windows 7 Ultimate RC — it took a bit more than 20 minutes start to end, and, what impressed me most was that, when it was "completing [the] installation", it detected my dual screens and adjusted itself them to the right resolutions! It's gorgeous, and it runs speedy. Actually, it runs speedier than its dualboot sister XP x64... Je recommend.
I've also watched through all of the American university drama "Greek", which I just love. I love the characters, the drama, and particularly the dialogue, which is at almost Joss-like standards. I recommend it, particularly for the Cappie-Casey relationship (and Cappie himself, really). Here's a quote from a last night episode designed solely for soppy awwww-inducement:
— "Social Studies" (Greek 2x19)
N'awww...
Time for a funny quote to round off the post. This is a later-night sleepy exchange between myself and a certain Mr A.T.:
Next time: who knows, or dares to dream?
Two things have primarily made me Quite Busy: the first is my Quest for a New Phone, the second, Shiny New OS. I've had my Samsung D900 for 2 years now, which is twice as long as any previous phone. But a recent change in my pay as you go tariff, and, methinks, a coinciding increase in friends, drove my monthly top-up level to new heights. So i've looked into and chosen a contract and spanky new phone (Nokia 6800), for which I pay an initial sum. Being of little financial substance these days, I decided to use a free voucher from my current network to get a handset to sell. It's an LG KS360, and it's now on eBay, and already has a bid! Hoorah for capitalism!
I also joined the Windows 7 Beta programme and got me the Release Candidate (in both 32- and 64-bit versions). I've just installed the 64-bit version of the Windows 7 Ultimate RC — it took a bit more than 20 minutes start to end, and, what impressed me most was that, when it was "completing [the] installation", it detected my dual screens and adjusted itself them to the right resolutions! It's gorgeous, and it runs speedy. Actually, it runs speedier than its dualboot sister XP x64... Je recommend.
I've also watched through all of the American university drama "Greek", which I just love. I love the characters, the drama, and particularly the dialogue, which is at almost Joss-like standards. I recommend it, particularly for the Cappie-Casey relationship (and Cappie himself, really). Here's a quote from a last night episode designed solely for soppy awwww-inducement:
CASEY: Why can't you find someone else as perfect for you?!
CAPPIE: Because no other girl in the world compares to you
— "Social Studies" (Greek 2x19)
N'awww...
Time for a funny quote to round off the post. This is a later-night sleepy exchange between myself and a certain Mr A.T.:
And that is the origin of the scale of groping.
DBD: well, that explains it
a teacher who's the child of a teacher is like a
*flounders for simile*
very rare thing indeed
dodo egg!
damn.
fail.
[...]
hens' teeth!
that was the one i was groping for
AT: careful :P
DBD: dw, I am alone in my room
any literal groping would, alas, be of myself
AT: not sure if that's better or worse
DBD: worse than consensual groping of a ladyfriend, better than any groping of a manfriend, much better than nonconsensual groping
AT: well there is the scale of groping
Next time: who knows, or dares to dream?
This Summer I am Mostly...
Today's post feels a little forced. Maybe because it's essentially a complain, the writing of which is at odds with the euphoria of organising my music but being distracted by listening to Disney...
Anyway, this Summer, I am mostly... ...doing nothing. I failed to get a summer job and a place in Southampton, so I moved back to my parents' and... ...failed to get a summer job. And, Lord, how I wish I was back in Southampton doing the same nothing. Because there, I have friends and Chaplaincy, and any level of activity I wish in walking distance. Constant textual contact with a few friends (one much more than others) has of course been a great comfort, but I still long for September to start.
I think in my first and second years I did tend to do, by and large, as little as I am now — but then at least I still had friends, coursemates, flatmates, GameSoc, pubs, etc. etc. I think I've changed in this respect — I have to be reasonably busy now — sure, I can curse busy-ness when I have it and it makes me fail to watch TV I want to, but really, I crave it. I certainly do now.
But thankfully, a few weeks ago, there was an oasis of activity in this long stretch of boredom — a jolly to London with some of my very dearest friends. But I think I'll write that up tomorrow, when I'm not sleepy, sweaty, dopey, warm, or any of the not-positive dwarfs, so as to do it proper justice. It'll probably cheer me up no end also. So...
...next time: the jolliest of jollies.
Anyway, this Summer, I am mostly... ...doing nothing. I failed to get a summer job and a place in Southampton, so I moved back to my parents' and... ...failed to get a summer job. And, Lord, how I wish I was back in Southampton doing the same nothing. Because there, I have friends and Chaplaincy, and any level of activity I wish in walking distance. Constant textual contact with a few friends (one much more than others) has of course been a great comfort, but I still long for September to start.
I think in my first and second years I did tend to do, by and large, as little as I am now — but then at least I still had friends, coursemates, flatmates, GameSoc, pubs, etc. etc. I think I've changed in this respect — I have to be reasonably busy now — sure, I can curse busy-ness when I have it and it makes me fail to watch TV I want to, but really, I crave it. I certainly do now.
But thankfully, a few weeks ago, there was an oasis of activity in this long stretch of boredom — a jolly to London with some of my very dearest friends. But I think I'll write that up tomorrow, when I'm not sleepy, sweaty, dopey, warm, or any of the not-positive dwarfs, so as to do it proper justice. It'll probably cheer me up no end also. So...
...next time: the jolliest of jollies.
Concerning My Kin
Today, I unpacked my books. I put the ones I'm leaving here at the homestead on my bookshelves here then repacked the ones I'll take back to Soton. So, as a background for the task I decided to put on a DVD. I rifled through the creates of DVDs and found The Lord of the Rings, and thought "why not?". So I watched The Fellowship of the Ring.
As I acknowledged in my tweet, it fills me with joy. I've often been compared to a hobbit (only because I'm short — I don't share many typical halfling characteristics), and somehow the scenes of the Shire and all the little folk just make me happy. Maybe I just have a love of the simple life, of countryside and community. Particularly, I enjoyed the song in the Hobbiton public house:
Soon, serious things again. Maybe.
As I acknowledged in my tweet, it fills me with joy. I've often been compared to a hobbit (only because I'm short — I don't share many typical halfling characteristics), and somehow the scenes of the Shire and all the little folk just make me happy. Maybe I just have a love of the simple life, of countryside and community. Particularly, I enjoyed the song in the Hobbiton public house:
Hey ho! To the bottle I goSee it on YouTube
To heal my heart and drown my woe
Rain may fall and wind may blow
But there still be
Many miles to go
Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain
And the stream that falls
From hill to plain
Better than rain or rippling brook
Is a mug of beer inside this Took
Soon, serious things again. Maybe.
Not the First
Usually an introduction comes before anything else. I decided against that this time. Instead I thought my second post could address why I've returned to keeping a web log.
Yes, I've returned — I have kept two previous 'blogs. The first was as part of my Sixth Form website, FirePretty, with my dear friends. Over about two years, I made 53 posts, which is average two a month. I then moved on to my own private blog for the beginning of uni, and made a dozen posts in four months. But, the thing is, a lot of that was utterly rubbish — inane, inconsequential, and just poor quality. I made a few good posts, like a review of a House competition at school.
And then I spent more than two years without blogging, and didn't miss it at all. So why start again?
I graduated (with a 2:2 BAHons in Philosophy) last month, but I've had to move back to my parents', since I have no job and therefore no place in my home, Southampton. But in September, I move back home, to take up an internship at my church. My new supervisor asked me in one of our chats to keep an internship blog. I thought that'd be pretty cool. Also, I'm now very, very bored at my family homestead, so I thought I could share things with unnamed, unfaced internet readers. Or, hopefully, my friends.
I'm not going to going into great depths about hardships of being here (that's another post), but, instead, I'm going to consider what my reasons are for blogging. Boredom's not enough justification. Is this a sort of personal therapy? I suppose it is somewhat. I think I also just like to write. I can also talk about me loads. And, even if no-one reads, I've talked. Hurrah. Maybe it can help me feel like I'm connected to my home and friends, somehow. Maybe I'm contributing something to humanity by sharing my thoughts. I very much doubt that though.
I've typed this all in one go, and now I'm going to take darling's advice and publish it without editing. See what happens. By the way, if you read, do let me know by commenting (preferably, facebookites, on blogger)
Next time:"This Summer, I am Mostly..." ...doing nothing, apparently... unscheduled Hobbit-y madness
Yes, I've returned — I have kept two previous 'blogs. The first was as part of my Sixth Form website, FirePretty, with my dear friends. Over about two years, I made 53 posts, which is average two a month. I then moved on to my own private blog for the beginning of uni, and made a dozen posts in four months. But, the thing is, a lot of that was utterly rubbish — inane, inconsequential, and just poor quality. I made a few good posts, like a review of a House competition at school.
And then I spent more than two years without blogging, and didn't miss it at all. So why start again?
I graduated (with a 2:2 BAHons in Philosophy) last month, but I've had to move back to my parents', since I have no job and therefore no place in my home, Southampton. But in September, I move back home, to take up an internship at my church. My new supervisor asked me in one of our chats to keep an internship blog. I thought that'd be pretty cool. Also, I'm now very, very bored at my family homestead, so I thought I could share things with unnamed, unfaced internet readers. Or, hopefully, my friends.
I'm not going to going into great depths about hardships of being here (that's another post), but, instead, I'm going to consider what my reasons are for blogging. Boredom's not enough justification. Is this a sort of personal therapy? I suppose it is somewhat. I think I also just like to write. I can also talk about me loads. And, even if no-one reads, I've talked. Hurrah. Maybe it can help me feel like I'm connected to my home and friends, somehow. Maybe I'm contributing something to humanity by sharing my thoughts. I very much doubt that though.
I've typed this all in one go, and now I'm going to take darling's advice and publish it without editing. See what happens. By the way, if you read, do let me know by commenting (preferably, facebookites, on blogger)
Next time:
Sometimes I Think
One of my very favourite songs is The Who’s “Baba O’Riley” (sometimes erroneously called “Teenage Wasteland” for its refrain — those not sufficiently educated in Rock History may know it as the theme from TV’s CSI: NY). When I moved back to the Barnes-Davies homestead at the beginning of July, one of my crappy old 2.1 speakers died (the wiring inside one of contact became irreparably disconnected). I’d had to chop the contact off the other speaker the previous week, so I immediately ordered a new speaker set, which, when it arrived, turned out to be basically an upgrade of my previous set. Yes, upgrade, because it’s 5.1. Ever since, I’ve been enjoying some fantastic surround sound (although the upmixing isn’t exactly great). Now, back to Baba — when I listen to music, I generally just open WMP and play my entire library on shuffle. Yesterday, Baba O’Riley came on and I happened not to be doing anything else — so I just listened…
I don’t know about anyone else, but when I’m listening to music (as in properly listening, rather than using as background noise), I usually pay slightly more attention to one broad element — such as lyrics or music. This time, I really felt the lyrics of this song, so I thought I might reveal my thoughts on them, and what they mean, and have meant, to me.
My faith isn’t always a shout-from-the-rooftops euphoria or an overstated religious experience any more. As a young Christian, I had occasional moments of loud and enthusiastic proclamation, balanced by being, in general, everyday life, pretty much unchanged in myself. Since I’ve started attending my church (which is very dear to me) and the Chaplaincy (even dearer), my faith has become more of an integrated part of me. I don’t mean that it’s no longer important — by far the opposite — rather, it is a vital and inextricable part of myself — my actions, my views, my emotions, etc. etc. In short, I actually don’t need to fight to prove I’m right. Nor do I need to be forgiven by any person I know or don’t. My Lord forgave and forgives me, and His spirit guides me always. I can and do make mistakes, but somehow, it all comes right.
Next time: "Not the First", why I've resumed blogging...
I don’t know about anyone else, but when I’m listening to music (as in properly listening, rather than using as background noise), I usually pay slightly more attention to one broad element — such as lyrics or music. This time, I really felt the lyrics of this song, so I thought I might reveal my thoughts on them, and what they mean, and have meant, to me.
I don't need to fightThese words have always somehow made me think. I recall that, when I was a teenager, a little while ago, I interpreted this as a sort of cry of defiance — “I’m right no matter what you think” and “I needn’t justify myself to anyone else”. I now regard that interpretation as somewhat childish — apparently I actually have matured (who’d’a thunk, eh?). Yesterday, my conception of the same lines was that, even though I still don’t set great store by others’ opinions of me, it seems now less a cry of defiance, more a placid statement of confidence — both in myself and my friends. I think this shift has been caused by a few major factors in my life that are different (one of those is the people I now know, but they'll surely be praised in good time). As I mentioned, I’ve apparently matured (although, of course, one is never finished doing so) — most of all, I’ve matured as a Christian man.
To prove I'm right
I don't need to be forgiven.
My faith isn’t always a shout-from-the-rooftops euphoria or an overstated religious experience any more. As a young Christian, I had occasional moments of loud and enthusiastic proclamation, balanced by being, in general, everyday life, pretty much unchanged in myself. Since I’ve started attending my church (which is very dear to me) and the Chaplaincy (even dearer), my faith has become more of an integrated part of me. I don’t mean that it’s no longer important — by far the opposite — rather, it is a vital and inextricable part of myself — my actions, my views, my emotions, etc. etc. In short, I actually don’t need to fight to prove I’m right. Nor do I need to be forgiven by any person I know or don’t. My Lord forgave and forgives me, and His spirit guides me always. I can and do make mistakes, but somehow, it all comes right.
Next time: "Not the First", why I've resumed blogging...
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