“We insist, it seems, on living. Then again, indifference descends. The road of the traffic, the passage of undifferentiated faces, this way and that way, drugs me into dreams; rubs the features from faces. People might walk through me. And, what is this moment of time, this particular day in which I have found myself caught? The growl of traffic might be any uproar— forest trees or the roar of wild beasts. Time has whizzed back an inch or two on its reel; our short progress has been cancelled. I think also that our bodies are in truth naked. We are only lightly covered with buttoned cloth; and beneath these pavements are shells, bones, and silence” (The Waves, 113).
I love it, it’s relevant, but I can’t seem to gloss it just now.
“What is it about a group of people ordering an Indian or Chinese or something that it is somehow unexpectable to eat your own food that you order yourself?”
But if one day you do not come after breakfast, if one day I see you in some looking-glass perhaps looking after another, if the telephone buzzes and buzzes in your empty room, I shall then, after unspeakable anguish, I shall then—for there is no end to the folly of the human heart— seek another, find another, you. Meanwhile, let us abolish the ticking of time’s clock with one blow. Come closer.
The ostensible “point” of May Morning: to listen to a choir atop Magdalen College (that’s pronounced “Maudlin,” dearies) sing the Hymnus Eucharisticus at 6 in the morning. If you’re lucky enough to be within earshot I imagine it must be wonderful to hear live. Last year we got stuck in a mob of drunken students and couldn’t hear a thing apart from their feigned Estuary accents.
For more jolly stories of May Morning, I refer you to Badaude.
So there’s this Tumblweeds thing that bills itself as “a user-generated community directory that rates Tumblr bloggers by their number of followers.” In case you care, you can find me listed in #books, #paris, and #academia, because there was no category for “the pedantic musings of the late-stage dissertation-writer.”
In Britain, the defence of public goods can feel like a deeply conservative mission. Library supporters need to embrace reform and innovation as boldly as let-it-rip free marketeers.
I’ve just booked my tickets to go to Oxford for May Morning after receiving an invitation from a group of Morris Dancers to join them for a special guest performance.
I would like to thank Dick Van Dyke for inspiring my life-long passion for odd folk dances involving sticks.