goodwill hunting

"Standing, I pray to understand the transports and infirmities of my flesh"

Who said that, and when?

It does sound very ancient. Maybe Augustine? Nah, it was actually Cheever, and the full quote is: "Standing on the porch..."More contemporary, was this: "I am tired of this thread of love and whiskey, of courage and memory that is the only thing to hold my world together." But there are other times where you're drawn back to what seems to be very old, perhaps one might even say 'perennial' concerns: "Reason cannot instruct the carcass to be cheerful". Carcass?!

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There's something to this; the notion that good spirits, a good will, and good health are simply given-or not. And if they are, then all seems right in the world and there is no use for speculation or memory or philosophy. The idea that one cannot work towards achieving this and that tranquility of the mind is as random a thing as the weather. A short burst of light, darkness and gold and silver. The awful thought: the parceling out of human fates...

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Too much introspection is bad for you. You can only imagine unhappy people blogging. Today you turned on the shower and there was a sudden gush of fresh air followed by a burst of Spring-clean cold water. Gradually the pipes above your head started to creak like an old ship and there was hot water, the glazed windows rapidly steaming up, producing a kind of insular world that is at once comforting and impossible to leave. The beauty of invisibility!

As you shaved you noticed how sparkling clean the edges of the mirror were, more crystal-like than the dull central space. You thought back to all the faces you've seen over the years. You get to see a lot in this profession and sometimes you think you can pick out telltale signs of dark depression, or a strange unknowing sadness. Other times you think you can discern the 'aunty-ness' of some of the girls, the bovine acceptance of things already exhibited in their late teens.

Yesterday a group came swaggering into my room; all three had unique names, very distinct. And there was this brashness and arrogance about all of them which meant they looked straight through you. You could tell straight off that there was this slight contempt in their eyes and it was so refreshing to see that! "No, it's spelt with an 'E', not an 'I'", said one of them.

"What was the relation between Smith's and Hume's ideas?" another asks. It's all so charming, this desire to see me fall flat on my face, to make me look like a fool (of course, there's no fooling an old fool). How the fuck would I know what the relation is! The young girl, with her small and dazzling face. None took notes, and none were interested in anything I had to say. Life is elsewhere.

You don't really remember many of the faces. But now and then there's a 'goth' who you recall with fond memories, or someone who has some striking or peculiar features. Yesterday, one of the boys who came in to discuss his paper...sworn he could have been a young Afro-Caribbean man. Even the way he wears his clothes. Or S from a few years back; not only very beautiful, but very European. You could tell by the way she did her hair that there was something that set her apart.