I don't normally post cute/funny pictures. But it's 22:20 on a Friday night and I'm still sitting in the same f*cking mixing studio that I've been sitting in since Thursday morning, so humour me. In any case, I like the subtle brilliance of this.
From the Globe & Mail:
NEW YORK — Charles Taylor, a Canadian philosopher who says the world's problems can only be solved by considering both their secular and spiritual roots, was named Wednesday as the recipient of a religion award billed as the world's richest annual prize.
Dr. Taylor, a professor of law and philosophy at Northwestern University, has won this year's Templeton Prize for Progress Toward Research or Discoveries About Spiritual Realities. The award is worth more than $1.5-million (U.S.).
In a career spanning more than four decades, Dr. Taylor, 75, has investigated a wide range of issues, including how it is that the search for meaning and spiritual direction can end in violence. He contends that relying only on secular analyses of human behaviour leads to faulty conclusions.
(read the rest)
Not only am I happy that a nice Canadian boy won the prize, but that a well-measured and (dare I say, in this fractured age of ours) balanced look at the price society pays, being the lost children in the divorce between the strictly secular social sciences and the often inflexible tenets of religion.
I will definitely check out this man's work - please read the full article.
It creeps up on you like nausea mixed with fire. Your stomach muscles tighten as if someone has just thrown cold water on the back of your neck. Beads of sweat form on your forehead; your skin feels both cool and feverish. You can't hear clearly or focus on peripheral tasks.
A rollercoaster you never paid to ride, there is no visible end to the loops in the rails.
You take notice of everything around you that invokes hatred and irritation: crying children, inconsiderate drivers, the playlist on the radio. You try to ignore the rupturing stream in the hope that you can keep it from igniting a base fury rumbling in the darkness of some primal ancestry.
You cannot sleep. You cannot pay attention.
You are immobilized and nothing anyone can say will help.
You will survive.
There is no devil manipulating things behind the curtain of consciousness; no wheel of fortune spinning capriciously against you. The day will come when you will wake up and the sun will be shining and you will realise that your world, while unpredictable, isn't likely to combust as you have feared.
You learn to breathe; you wash your face of worry and watch the dirt whirl down the drain into the blackness of limbo. You realise that the future is full of new days, both dark and light, and that those who succeed are the ones who see clearly, who manage to allow the darkness to pass around them and not through.
My 85th post is to thank everyone for their feedback, comments, intermittent visits, and occasional votes of support.
They don't write books like this anymore.
The Magus was published in 1965, after the success of John Fowle's The Collector. However, The Magus was written first. As a writer - especially as a novelist who has placed his first novel on a shelf so that he can focus on new work - I can empathize. The Magus is big, ambitious, and in many ways (especially for its time) controversial - this in spite of the fact that it largely takes place on a Greek island and features only a handful of characters.
Meet Nicholas Urfe, an English Oxford-educated drifter whose parents died when he was young. It's 1953, and with nothing holding him to the ground (neither a sense of mortality nor morality), he spends his time hooking up with women and moving without direction. Needing a job, he happens upon a teacher's position on an obscure Greek island, called Phraxos. He takes to it as any man in his mid-20's would: with abandon and a sense of escape from duty. But there's something to take care of first - the girl he just met, Alison. Despite feeling closer to her than anyone previous, he tells her he's off and thus ends a relationship whose occasional torridness masked a begrudging love.
In Phraxos, Nicholas learns quickly - due to the desolate environment, the stale classroom, and the lack of female comfort on the island - that he's made a huge mistake and feels he's reached a virtual and philosophical cul de sac. It's at this point when he happens upon Maurice Conchis, a shadowy European millionaire who lives on the far side of the island. What at first begins as a budding acquaintance based on Nicholas' curiosity of the old man's life, slowly turns into a devilish (and dangerous) game.
Enter Lily - a mysterious young guest of Conchis who at first appears to Nicholas like an erotic Siren projected from his host's nostalgia. He becomes obsessed with her, first sexually and then emotionally, and begins to spend his free weekends with Conchis as the old man relates, bit by bit, the fascinating and sometimes horrific story of his life. Conchis soon reveals an elaborate live theatre which he has put on for Nicholas' benefit. All is comfortable (in the most guiltily voyeuristic way) until he discovers that the theatre doesn't end on the weekends, and every calculated move he makes to thwart Conchis' control over his life on the island and his attraction to Lily, he finds himself pulled deeper into an intellectual and emotional labyrinth.
The Magus deals very specifically with the raw rebellion of youth - in this case, a generation of post-war well-educated British men - and those who disingenuously eschew the seeming hangman's noose of middle-class responsibility in favour of an existential aloofness. The book is beautifully written, blackly funny in the right places, and - considering it exceeds 650 pages - makes for the one of the fastest and most voracious reads I've had. There is so much going for this book: a story that slowly wraps around you, characters you can clearly visualize, a sumptuous eroticism, and plot twists which don't feel tacked-on or pretentious. Sprinkle with a dash of the occult for good measure.
The Magus, by John Fowles (ISBN-13: 978-0316296199) is available at a friendly independent bookstore near you. Or online at any number of vendors
One last note: this review concerns the 1977 revised version. Yes, it was first printed in 1965, but the author wanted to clear up a number of elements that he felt were either ambiguous or, well, messy. First novels, eh?
Yes, Planet Kensington, the venerable punk/rock venue and cheap drink haven is closing at the end of February.
Rumours are swirling about what the new owners of the space will do, but knowing that gentrification and niche-obsession are the current trends in Kensington Market, my hopes are not optimistic.
As before, I ask people visiting this blog who live in or near Toronto to come down and see the fabulous surf-rock outfit, the Z-Rays, as they play their last Saturday residence gig at this fine, fine establishment on February 17th. They play from 3pm to 6pm. Bring ear-plugs and money for alcohol. It can't be anything less than boss.
I hereby raise a glass to yet another piece of Toronto's character chipped away by weasels.
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Update: The band is only playing the 17th - there is no show on the 12th as previously noted, due to unforeseen circumstances.
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Update #2: Okay, there will be a show tomorrow (the 10th). It will not be the Z-Rays proper, but rather some sort of open jam with two of their members - which could be really fun. In any case, it's one more chance to enjoy the venue and listen to live music on a Saturday afternoon.
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Update #3: Second show added! Aside from tomorrow, there will be two Z-Rays shows to round out the end of Planet Kensington. As mentioned, Saturday the 17th is still on - their second show will be the following Saturday (Feb 24th). The very last day PK is open will be for "Death Metal Brunch" on Sunday the 25th. Yum.
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Yeah, yeah - everyone's got a contest. However, there are few competitions as unique as NotBean's Philosophy Blog War. Yes, damn relativism: four contestants with philosophically-oriented blog entries...and only one winner. And you vote for the champ.
And guess what? I've got an entry this round, so I hope you'll judge wisely (and vote for me).
More info about the PhiBloWar (my phrase) here.
Too lazy to cruise over there and decide? Then just vote for me by pressing this button. Easy.
P.S. No, I haven't forgotten about the NYC photos - I'm very busy these days with things that pay rent, but promise to have some new pics up soon.
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