On a lark, I started reading Faust from a book beneath the windowsill bench, covered in old dvd’s, compact discs, old sheet music, jars, buttons, and memorable stuffed toy dolls. It was at the initial bequest heard while listening to a Youtube of a Berkley professor from the 90’s. Job well done teacher. He described the story of Faust; how Faust started out having all these magical perceptions and an ability to co-create with the world. Faust meets all these characters and through the interaction they examine what happens. In the end with out making a spoiler, as-if, because this book it turns out is about the journey and not the end; it’s tragic that Faust ironically decides to work at building low income housing to create a thing in the world and provide a social service of noble worth.
The lark continued with a scrap booking of images to follow that don’t come from the post here, but from the feelings of flow and idea. There could be a spell to these things. The magic wand that Faust engages remind me of the magic wand of TV. So often a TV character reminisces and lo and behold relatives from the past step out from behind the corner and have a dialogue with the TV character. A fairytale becomes real to the heroine.
￼ She dances and dresses like she is in the story. The characters in the introduction of Faust beg the poet to tell a story. Telling a story brought to life magical memorable characters, memories of a table next to the chair where she sat, a column with a statue in the background that evokes a worshipful mindset, more statues on a table and the fine dress of fancy living. Poetry was TV for the Middle Ages. Poetry can be TV today, if we take time. If you like poetry.
I got twined up, spending two hours, in Simcity having so much fun, and wanting to get to the next point. But it never ends. Playstation is debuting their new game Bloodborne of role-play in a Europe release. Imagine Faust standing at the table preparing his co-creation, a spell as they called it, to make real, divining something mythical but natural at the same time. There was no malice as much as this was just business. We explore these mysteries in the many ways and means of Playstation. What Faust had made, we make academic. The games we can play mimic sorcery, swordplay, sex, lies, cards, the accumulation of money just to touch on few of the virtues and vices. Just business of the game.
The book’s magic dances in your mind and shows this author was a thinker and master of the things protean that would take a lifetime to express. Goethe started writing Faust at age 25 and finished the year he died 77 years later. Correspondence from friends during his lifetime inquires if he will put this ethic or that character into his story. A chore and delight, he would reply that he doesn’t care about ethic, as if he would even know. He considered what he wrote to be allegory and he did not “much care whether what I made were pots or dishes.” Read more from Henry Bernard Cotterill’s book. The slow formation of the book led naturally to a many sided understanding of things.
The final comfort of putting a thing out there, laying to rest coincided with physical perception. Life was art. Imagine each day pasting a note, or writing a sentence to be used in this part of the narrative. Do that for 77 years, until you die, and there is a comfort in it. Language has a life of its own which brings the things we forget back to mind.
￼ The letters fall all around the place from a click clack machine only to be gathered up by a pour souls and assembled into words. Thank you Berkeley professor for that image. Revelation to yet another wretch adds maybe just a faint picture, and ideas. A second slave puts words into sentences that tilt haphazard and knock together into paragraphs. A book exemplifies these paragraphs in a way that shows how an organized mind put the chunks together in a way that appeals to the times. So soon we perceive and reply with oooh, that’s so cute, or indeed, lo! and we have a book. The indubitable process makes it a revelation and all the more appealing, or appalling. Sometimes a book lasts over generations. Most of the time old books go underneath the windowsill bench likely to not be seen, and they get stuck in proverbial bottle; the wood box or clay jar until time untold they again come out of the pile.