Vague thoughts here. I am slightly ill (phenomenal amounts of phlegm have emigrated from my nose) so I blame that for the disjointedness of this. And also for the fact that I'm not revising.
Firstly, is there any way to delete memories on LJ? I have a random post by Sarah as a memory because it showed me how to cut, but I no longer need it.
In other news, I really wish I was more musical. I'm surrounded by such talented musicians in RL - people with their own bands, writing their own songs, which are actually very good; people in jazz bands who sound amazing when put together; people who play several instruments - and on LJ - Sarah's amazing on the piano, Fea is one of those multiple-instument people and I'm not even going to mention Encai.
As Nogrod recently posted, music has this amazing ability to touch people. I don't think poetry has quite the same effect and is, in any case, not the most popular medium. I suppose I'd be content with getting some rhythm into my poetry à la Baudelaire, and I think I'm getting there, but there's a long way to go, especially considering how infrequently I write.
Speaking of poetic French people, here's a bit more Camus for the Camus-hungry:
Il est bon que l'homme se juge quelquefois. Il est seul à pouvoir le faire.It's good for man to judge himself sometimes. He is alone in being able to do so.
"Tout est permis" s'écrie Ivan Karamazov. Cela aussi sent son absurde. Mais à condition de ne pas l'entendre vulgairement. Je ne sais si on l'a bien remarqué: il ne s'agit pas d'un cri de délivrance et de joie, mais d'une consatation amère. La certitude d'un dieu qui donnerait son sens à la vie surpasse de beaucoup en attrait le pouvoir impuni de mal faire.Le choix ne serait pas difficile. Mais il n'y a pas de choix et l'amertume commence alors. L'absurde ne délivre pas, il lie. Il n'autorise pas tous les actes. Tout est permis ne signifie pas que rien n'est défendu."Everything is permitted," writes Ivan Karamazov. He also feels the absurd, but only on the condition that one does not interpret him vulgarly. I don't know if you remarked: this is not a cry of deliverance or joy, but a bitter statement. The certainty of a God who would give His meaning to life far surpasses in attraction the ability to do evil unpunished. The choice would not be difficult to make. But there is no choice, and so the bitterness commences. The absurd does not deliver, it binds. It does not authorise all acts. "Everything is permitted" dos not mean that nothing is defended.