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Showing posts with label library. Show all posts
Showing posts with label library. Show all posts

Saturday, 8 December 2012

Library Fashion, and Poetry Readings.

Since I last wrote, I managed to get a job! Hurrah! Rejoice! It's only a teeny tiny job, but it's employment nonetheless, and we can't be picky. I'm now a part time library assistant. What a wonderful title!

librarian style
So rather appropriately, I am dressed in a very librarian-ish style in these photos, especially with my big bun. I have absolutely no idea how I managed to do that bun, and I WISH I did, because I think it looked pretty good with all that volume. I've not managed to recreate it since! You can't quite see the bun itself in these photos, but trust me, it was a satisfying bun.

japanese tea mug
 This is my absolute favourite mug. Actually, that's a lie; I have two favourite mugs. Dan likes huge, huge mugs that hold a pint of coffee, whereas I prefer a nice medium size. It'll hold a satisfying amount of tea, but it still looks fairly dainty, and I won't sprain my wrist trying to lift it! This one is from a Japanese pottery/crockery shop called Doki. We also have a set of bowls, but I want
EVERYTHING from this shop. Everything is so beautiful and unique, and it's all so well made.

librarian fashion

 * Peter Pan Collar Dress (worn as top) - YesStyle * 
* Tartan Skirt - Vintage *
* Teal Cable-Knit Tights - H+M * 

In addition to my new job as a library assistant, I suppose I could tentatively call myself a poet, as I've now taken part in my first ever poetry reading! This was an event to raise awareness of the incarcerated members of the Russian Punk band, Pussy Riot, and it was curated by a new friend of mine whom I met on the Golden Hour tour, a poet called S. J. Fowler. My poem was probably the least political of all those read at the event, so I was extremely nervous beforehand. As each poet got up to read their piece, it dawned on me again and again that I am just NOT a political poet. Nevertheless, my poem was well received, and I would very much like to do something like that again. I have a lot to work on, but ultimately, I want to be a writer, and this is a step towards my goal!
Have a quick peek at my reading here, if you'd like. Also, have a look at the other poets if you have a moment.


See you soon!

Tuesday, 29 March 2011

Pissertation.

Ohoho, I am such a punner.

So, my dissertation has got to an odd stage. I rattled off 2400 words in just over an evening, and over the last three or four days, have added about 600-700 more words. I am just over half way towards the minimum word count. I sent my 2400-word version to the boyfriend of one of my closest friends. Her boyfriend is in the first year of his PhD, and he wanted to give it a once over, out of kindness and interest.

I just got his feedback back (back back. Just thought that sentence needed even more backs), and I am just awestruck. Each little nugget of feedback is like a chunk of gold! I know that it is worth an awful lot, but I have no idea how to make it into something useful. It's a shit analogy, but it kind of works in a way. He has given me lots of ideas for other people to read, and given me a heap of suggestions of ways to develop my argument. Any normal person would be delighted at this level of feedback and encouragement. I just don't know what to do with it! I feel like my argument is going nowhere, and I worry that I will be unable to salvage it. I can't change my title as it is too late, but I don't feel like I am addressing the titular themes at all...

Dan's mum asked me what my "opinion" on Electronic Literature was. Six months ago, I might have said it was "Innovative", "collaborative", that it "opens doors to new territory and modes of communication, yet unexplored"... However, when she asked me the question, the night before last, I had no idea what to say. Admittedly, it was a very open-ended question indeed, but really, I think my lack of coherent approach to her query was that I don't even know what to think anymore. It isn't as though the advent of the internet suddenly sparked cries of "Oh! Finally literature can be truly interactive and collaborative! We were trapped by books before! There was no way to express a sentiment through temporality or spatiality!" That wouldn't be true at all. My research for my dissertation, particularly in recent weeks, has shown me, if nothing else, that the tropes of electronic literature go way back to before computer technology existed. Bob Brown conceptualised the "Reading Machine" in 1930, and sought to revolutionise the way that literary works were perceived, as well as the way in which they were written. B. S. Johnson ruptured the idea of the linear narrative in the 'book technology' long before randomization and coding on a computer was used to create any artistic work. Cinema was used as an artistic and literary outlet for a century... I just don't know what I am doing anymore.

I am in the library, and this counts as serious procrastination. Back to work with me.

Thursday, 17 March 2011

Overheard Conversations

I had to renew six books today as well as taking out five more, from two separate libraries in Cambridge today, so I decided to take a big "re-usable" Sainsbury's carrier bag, in which to carry my ridiculous pile of books. Having completed this errand, I was faced with a choice; to take my book-heavy bag back to my college on the bus, or to walk to town. I stared up at the departure board at the bus stop outside of the English faculty, and decided that nine minutes was just too long to wait, and that I'd have to walk to town (the opposite direction to my college/home). There was clearly some kind of masochistic subconscious thoughts going on, as I already had a splitting headache, and had sprained both of my ankles earlier in the week.
I set out in the direction of town, knowing as I went, that I had made the wrong choice, but relishing the schizophrenic rebellion that I was enacting. Walking through King's College, I was in too much pain to appreciate the little ducks pattering around in the bluebell covered banks on either side of the pathway, but I just about managed to smile at the daffodils that have all popped up out of nowhere. Every year I think to myself, "I don't notice the daffodils until they are flowering! Next year, I vow to notice them before they open their bright yellow heads!", but of course, I never do.
I got to town, and thought, "Now what?" as I really hadn't thought past getting there. I felt like window shopping to congratulate myself for having been so productive in renewing all of my library books, but I was in no position to do so. My head pulsated. Defiantly, I walked to the Post Office to buy stamps that I don't need, just because I could. I was on FIRE. There wasn't NOBAWDEH who could tell me what to do. I was my own man. Blowin' in the wind, etc. If anyone wanted to tell me to stop, they could SUCK MY BALLZ. You get the picture. I bought the stamps, twelve of them; an arbitrary number that I decided upon from a shortlist of seven, twelve, and fifteen. With that task completed, I felt empty and directionless, so I let my battered feet do the navigating. I limped to Boots to see if my friend Liv was working that day, and to buy some paracetamol to subdue my pounding brain. Liv wasn't working when I went there, but I managed to buy paracetamol, and summon enough saliva to swallow two of them, "dry". I couldn't really see in a straight line by this point, and all of the ground had turned into a series of rolling hills, undulating before me. I staggered to the bus stop, and sat waiting for the bus. As I waited, consuming a nut and grain bar that I had purchased on the way, I overheard the following half-a-telephone-conversation:

"...So now I'm in a load of shit, and they think I did it. Sarah's on my side, and told the others it weren't me, but I think they still think that it was...........yeah............ But now my mum's in on it too...............mm................ I refused to vote, I wasn't going to get involved with their bitching....... Just left............... Apparently they killed them, and dragged them all around Cambridge............. the gypsies............... Gypsies................ You know, travellers............ So they killed them, and dragged one of them all around Cambridge......"

You'd think that at this point, my ears would prick up further, but the haze of my headache made me zone out for a bit. When I tuned back in to this girl's conversation, I heard:

"...And threw them all on a fire............ At least one of them, anyway............ The gypsies............ And had a massive party.............. And I really, REALLY wanted to watch........... Like, really............ but I went home because I thought it was disrespectful............."

At this point, the conversation changed completely, to the girl talking about how her dad wanted to charge her £75 for driving lessons. I felt like I had experienced some sort of shift to another plane of existence, where people habitually had gypsy burning parties, and then slipped back into this dimension seamlessly, between bites of my cereal bar. It was odd indeed. I made it home, and tried to explain to my flatmates what I had experienced, but they didn't quite seem to understand. Dear reader, do you think that I am going mad?

I am sorry for the text-heavy posts of late. I will post more photos soon, when I have debugged my laptop. :)