Tuesday 31 July 2012

Tweeting: That's Barking, Surely? (Animal Farm)





'So, we've now been told we have to get tweeting; the powers that be are tired of our bleating. We have to twitter our every success, but I hate all this crowing;  prefer mooing and lowing. After all, I'm a cow, and HE is a mess.'

'Really? (She's alluded to her bovine status previously, I believe.)'

'Yes.'

'Well, I own that I'm prone to carping and braying but I confess that these days my nerves are just fraying.'

'Bless. . .  (He's definitely repeating himself.)

'There are those that chit-chat and those that cluck, but it's the latter who always pass the buck. You've spotted, I'm sure, it's the ones with the trotters who turn out to be the absolute rotters? It's the ones with their snouts dug deep in the dirt who manage to get you just where it hurts.'

'Meow. . . 

'I say, something's really got your goat. You've only been asked to boast some, and gloat. If you don't, be careful, you may miss the boat.  There are plenty more fish in the sea.'

'So I see. But, really, don't you think we ought to warn the small-fry they're just lambs to the slaughter? In the meantime, don't count your chickens before they're hatched. Remember your tweets will need to be matched by proof that what you've done has had significant (REF) impact.'

Saturday 28 July 2012

Emotional Insecurity Alarm (Batteries Not Included)



Burglar alarm
Car alarm
Smoke alarm

False alarms?

So precious is our property.
This God-forsaken society;
Driven by insecurity.

But, it's the emotional,
Not the material,
Attachments that concern me.

An aside:
I confess
It's quite disarming
To discover
Time's alarming.

To be woken from my dreams
And things.
A plastic clock:
Vibrates and rings

Reminds me
That it's time for work.
Work like a Turk.
(A Capitalist quirk.)

Alarming, Darling.

Now

There's a strategy
Not yet patented.
Indeed, I have
Created it.

It delivers us
From psychic harm.
Permanently levelled,
Balanced and calm.

Whenever I am feeling blue
Tired and depressed.
When bed's my only sanctuary;
When I just can't get dressed,

I tend to have
A little bounce.
It cheers me up,
Helps shed an ounce

Or two,

Too.

Yes, there's nothing better:
A skip and a jump
To overcome
That melancholy hump.

But what society is lacking
(Beyond compulsory slacking)
Is a mechanism
To read the signs;
The furtive onslaught
Of those desperate times.

I offer that, when once made
It's as essential to the modern home,
As was the Teasmaid
For those who live alone.

It should need no batteries,
Gas or electricity.
Be informed by Mindfulness
(Buddhism combined with CBT):

The Emotional Insecurity Alarm.


Tuesday 24 July 2012

Under The Cloak, Or, Some Rollicking Old Bull


'Alchemy, black magic, top hat and a white rabbit. Oh, and some smoke, just for effect. I'm now
5 X 4 lecturer-elect.'

'Really?'

'Yes, the birdie whispered in my ear. It's that time of year; was loath to hear my schedule for the Autumn semester. Do the brains of our leaders whither and fester?  The decisions that they've made . . . let me call a spade a spade. We're no longer subject specialists, we're just Jacks-of-all-Trade.'

'But . . .'

'Indeed! I believed that I was qualified and employed to teach the theory, but it seems I'm now obliged to demonstrate large-format photography. I suggested to my manager that this felt like an affront; turns the order of things upside-down and also back-to-front. I opined it was short-sighted but it didn't take her long to explain my vision lacked clear sight, because my aperture was wrong.'

'Please come out from under the dark-cloth.'

'So, she took me to the darkroom; the visionary leading the blind. I thought I could smell chemicals, but was damned if I could find the light switch to the cubicle where a print lay in a tray. I was feeling claustrophobic, and had turned a shade of grey. I started to explain that I lacked the constitution for working in the dark when (in my myopic confusion) it dawned on me that this might be a form of prostitution. The lurid glow from the safety light did nought for my complexion.'

'You need a north-facing studio at your age.'

'But, my cries - they went unheeded.  For, the seed is 'ready seeded. Photo-history, it's not needed, but I have to have a use. So they're tightening the noose. I can play their game, and all is fine. Or, dig my heels in and bide my time.'

'Hang on.'

'I will. But for now and, please, forgive me if I'm sounding like a bore, but can anybody tell me what this dark-slide might be for?'


Images from (ed) Jay, B (1994) Some Rollicking Bull: Light Verse, and Worse, on Victorian Photography, Germany: Nazraeli Press

Sunday 22 July 2012

Song Of The Undressed Crab



I'm yet to get dressed,
I'm safe in my shell.
Don't consider me sadly;
I'm feeling quite well.

I'm legless, I'm stranded;
The tide is now out.
But, the sea will return,
Of that, there's no doubt.

And, while some may deem
I appear denuded.
Let me venture a thought.
(Please don't think me deluded.)

Of course, there are problems
Incurred by separation
Of the limbs from the torso,
But, I call it liberation.

(Encore)

So, I'm yet to get dressed
But, I'm free from the swell.
Don't believe me depressed,
I'm feeling quite well.


Monday 9 July 2012

Selective Negligence



'Now it seems, after all, there are signs of intelligence; our students have mastered "selective negligence".  They have learned to be discerning when it comes to our benevolence: the pearls of wisdom we dispense.'

'What?'

'O yes. Indeed. The statistics are bleak. It's a fact full-time students study less than 20 hours a week. They only attend class when a grade is at stake. They've no concept of education for education's sake. If the lecture doesn't aid a summative assignment they'd rather be shelf-stacking or auditing a consignment of goods delivered to Aldi or Waitrose. Terrible, but one suspects they're not interested in critical prose.'

'Really?'

'However, I've just been to a conference and, thank God, help is at hand. There are plenty of books to enable us to understand that - for now - formative assessment exorcises the ignorant and bland. It's a loop-hole in the modular system.'

'Right.'

'While I have the floor, let me address the issue of feedback. We're spending too much time on it; it's breaking one's back. But, despite the energy we expend in responding to student work, according to the National Student Survey (NSS), it's something that we shirk. Now, the NSS is a nuisance and a bore; believe me, collating its data is a dispiriting chore. But the mothers and fathers of the children we recruit take note of that information, so we must to boot. If we're going to succeed as a profit-making organisation, we have to respond to this new form of contagion, where the customer decides the quality of the goods s/he wants to buy. If we don't, the institution will implode and die.'

'Well, that's all fine and good and I could wish them well. But I'm sick of this role and they can all go to hell. However, the notion of selective negligence has a certain resonance. Does this also apply to staff: we eternal artists-in-residence? I mean, is this a ploy that we could, and should, employ? Is a limited perspective necessarily qualitatively defective? If we focussed our attention on the things that truly matter, like research and the creative interpretation of data, perhaps we would end up doing our jobs a little bit better. It's just an idea, after all.'




Saturday 7 July 2012

Being Boring



'I'm trying to sort out my nomenclature; I'm determined to determine from what it is I suffer. I thought it was boredom, but it may be from torpor. I'm currently skimming the literature.

'I read Bertrand Russell in a fit of idleness; an excellent essay free from any kind of dullness. To appreciate it required that I lie in repose. (My preferred position when it comes to good prose.)

'I tackled Adam Phillips from the psychiatrist's chair, where the unconscious and subconscious were gradually laid bare. I learned a Ms Spacks links the novel to tedium; a pertinent discovery for one who loves the medium.

'Carol Mavor's Reading Boyishly is a damned good book. I flicked through the index and then took a look at the pages that referred to boredom and labor [sic]. The stuff, apparently, that made Proust and Ackerman tick.

'It was in a state of ennui that I yielded and gave in to the knowledge that my accidie was, in fact, a cardinal sin. I renounced the modern, espoused Medieval scholarship. Believe me, it's hard to beat self-flaggelation with a horse-whip.

'But, my lassitude's flagging; I'm beginning to get lazy. My aversion to working is driving me crazy. My apathy is starting to make me feel weary. If I don't engage soon, life might begin to get dreary.'


Monday 2 July 2012

From No Id To Just Say No

The Id is driven by the pleasure principle, which strives for immediate gratification of all desires.

If these wants are not satisfied, a state of tension and/or anxiety results. 

A baby's impulse to cry when its needs are not immediately met ensures -  in the right (mother's) hands - survival. 

In time, the young child develops the Ego (the reality principle that enables the individual to attempt to obtain what it needs by means which are deemed socially acceptable); and, later, the Superego (a sort of moral map, gauge or guide).

In adulthood, the Superego can become highly-developed, usually as a consequence of childhood needs being ignored, or of some terrible trauma. The adult no longer screams and wails (as a baby would do); instead, she may become pathetically compliant or mute.  Simultaneously, she loses touch with the Id, except through nightmarish dreams where death and destruction reign.



Despite the chronic condition (both causes and symptoms) of an over-developed Superego, the disease is neither progressive nor terminal. Indeed, an external trigger (such as a sympathetic, long-term companionship or collaboration) can jolt the Ego back into action and within months, the individual will find an increased ability to articulate, once again, her desires and wants.

The subsequent articulation of what is - to all extents and purposes - self-presevation manifests itself in numerous ways, according to various controlled experiments and psycho-analytic case-studies.

The Ego may speak eloquently and subtly or more bluntly and simply; expressing itself by a vehement 'no' to all unreasonable and selfish demands. This act of defiance further enhances the Ego's growth: a pleasure in itself.