Futility Now

Last weekend we went early-birthday shopping, and Hazel bought me a record player from the nice if poorly-named Fred’s Sound of Music.

It’s all archaic and German, meaning that it’s heavy and sounds great. The first things I played on it was this:

which I have been carting around with me un-listened to for years. The story behind this is that I received the record at a goodbye party for myself at the end of 2004 (if I recall correctly), and hadn’t been near equipment I judged up to the task since. I think it was worth the wait.

Speaking of early birthday presents, I got a camera in the mail this morning (from the mum.) I’ve been sort of bemoaning the lack of precision in my current camera for ages, meaning I’m really, really excited about this. So naturally the first thing I did when it arrived was break out the old camera and take a picture of it all zoomed in because it sort of looks like a dick.

Artist at work, folks, artist at work.

But once that was done I got back into being intrigued by everyday objects seen through the lens, which is something I always find rewarding.

When, jaded with the rush and glare
Of the interminable hours,
Our eyes can in another’s eyes read clear,
When our world-deafen’d ear
Is by the tones of a lov’d voice caress’d—
A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,
And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.
The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
A man becomes aware of his life’s flow,
And hears its winding murmur, and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze..."
--from Matthew Arnold, "The Buried Life"


August 13th.  Happy anniversary, jmags.