Studying spiders in the garden — that glittering mist of webs strung across backyard bushes each dawn! — and attempting to photograph a delicate and fierce whip scorpion that is neither a spider nor a scorpion and quite harmless.
On this day in 1941, the Modernist writer, scrounging genius and ‘more than a little unpleasant’ alcoholic James Joyce died in a snowy Zurich at the age of 58..
“All Moanday, Tearday, Wailsday, Thumpsday, Frightday, Shatterday.”
Personalised and customised my CV for a possible publishing client and read it over marvelling how unlike me it sounded. Every word, fact and date verifiably true but none of the skills or achievements things I would usually bother to mention, the emphasis falling in the wrong place, bragging about a stranger. People must feel like this when they photoshop or retouch their portraits or selfies or dating sites online. Here I am with dazzling whiter-than-white teeth and chemical-solvent green eyes and look! a dimple on that bronzed and awesome chin, a single arched eyebrow, my frowny creases smoothed just a little. But the old CV didn’t reflect much of the real me either, it was just a familiar and tediously chronological story. What would happen to CVs if we told the truth and let in a few quixotic or uncanny revelations?
“Factual information alone isn’t sufficient to guide you through life’s labyrinthine tests. You need and deserve regular deliveries of uncanny revelation. One of your inalienable rights as a human being should therefore be to receive a mysteriously useful omen every day of your life.”
- Rob Brezsny via whisky river