As anyone who knows me (and i assume that the very small amount of people who read this blog do know me, because why else would they be interested in my inane ramblings) will undoubtedly know, i have a fetish.
This fetish is not anything to do with rubber, whips, chains, animals or children (despite what i may sometimes allude to when bored or in the mood to shock or offend). No, my fetish is much more severe. Not recognized by society, shunned to the backwaters and byways of sexual misconduct, it is my burden alone, a lust i must carry around furtively, lest i am discovered for the deviant i undoubtedly am.
"What is this twisted fascination for?" i hear you whisper (you little perverts, desperate for your latest taste of the taboo!). Well, my little chickadees, let me tell you now, gather close, this must travel no further. My object of lust, that which i cannot live without, which i crave regardless of the strain on my wallet and my social standing, is none other than the humble notebook.
This may sound tame, but think of it this way; looking around my roughly 6 by 12 foot university dorm room i can see no less than 11 notebook, obviously not including those which i use for my classes. These 11 books are purely for extra curricular note taking, and have been painstakingly chosen by me, taking into account how they look, what the paper inside is like, whether they are lined or blank, if they are lined, how close and what colour the lines are, and most importantly whether they are a pleasant weight.
There is no real reason for this mildly perverse post other than to share some notes from these vaulted tomes; quotes and notations which make me smile or think or remember. Some of them i've had written down for years, some of which i may have written down yesterday. It makes no difference, they are mine to share with you.
My smallest book, which i bought while at NYFA in Paris, and which consequently makes me think of Karima and Zane, has mainly quotes, mostly from art pieces in the Centre Pompidou. A select few include:
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth.
Every society honours its live conformists and its dead troublemakers.
Cursing and fumbling
cleaning up flesh
smiling at flesh.
Into some dessicated realm of beauty
the hand desired
but the heart refrained.
Something good will happen.
Another notebook of mine, dating from just before i moved to Bahrain, and containing embroidery and drawing as well as writing, contains the following:
"He who approaches the temple of muses without inspiration in the belief that craftsmanship alone suffices will remain a bungler and his presumptuous poetry will be obscured by the songs of the maniacs." Plato.
An A5 sketchbook which i stole during my first week at Frensham, which is full almost to bursting with stuck in photos and articles, contains more wise words, such as excerpts from Romeo and Juliet:
"If i profane with my unworthiest hand
this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,
my lips two blushing pilgrims ready stand
to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
And from the great American novel, The Great Gatsby:
"I wouldn't ask too much of her" i ventured. "You can't repeat the past."
"can't repeat the past?" he cried incredulously, "why of course you can!"
A description of Marylin Monroe from the last photo shoot:
"she was the wind,
that comet shape that Blake draws blowing around a sacred figure.
She was the light,
and the goddess
and the moon.
and the dream.
and the danger
A quote i loved from "The Wide Sargasso Sea"
Made for loving?
Yes, but she'll have no lover,
for i don't want her
and she'll have no other.
And very finally, a Mel Brooks quote, which i think sums up everything quite nicely:
Tragedy is when i get a papercut.
Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die.
Enough rambling, it's past 3 and i have a lecture in the morning, for which i get to break in a whole new notebook!