June 29th, 2011

baby i'm a big star

an undesirous jones: an oxy-moron, so to speak

i finally got round to reading stoppard's arcadia (i also have an audio recording of the original cast to listen to, soon). it's got a nice correspondence to the adjustment bureau.

one of the characters (a peacock even) describes my counterpart hermit (i lack a gazebo) as:

not one of your village simpletons to frighten the ladies, but a savant among idiots, a sage of lunacy.


from page 47: "the unpredictable and the predetermined unfold together to make everything the way it is."

from page 47 (& other pages also): "a method whereby all the forms of nature must give up their numerical secrets and draw themselves through number alone."

a piece of actual dialogue, somewhat divorced of context:

1: a coincidence then?
2: what is?
1: (reading) 'he died aged two score & seven'.


a not-really-spoilerish spoiler beneath the cut:

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also among the wonderful lines:

"it's wanting to know that makes us matter."

how nice if that were true.
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    if you know the answer, don't tell me anyone / i don't wanna know
home

speaking of peacocks

when, the other day, in the story i haven't told yet, i and my mother visited (the exterior) of her childhood home, in a fairly urban neighbourhood, we encountered, randomly wandering about on the sidewalks and driveways, a peahen:






how bizarre.


and then i see that just yesterday an article was posted about some uptight country clubbers who are suing an organization they allege is wrongly feeding these unexplained peafowl visitors who are bringing the neighbourhood character.
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    they will not control us / we will be victorious