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| I wasn't really very happy with the result of yesterday's entry. It didn't help that I had had one too many sherbets: the distorted text of the second paragraph was supposed to represent the confusion of the inebriated state of mind, but it just looks confusing and out of place. Never mind. After a sneaky revision of it this morning, I'm not really allowed, under the terms of reference of the Daily Mikeograph to make any further amendments: this is supposed to be a blog, after all. So to the business of the day. I made one of my periodic visits to the Tate Modern. where I normally find something to interest me. I've often said that I find a third of so-called Modern Art interesting, a third of it just completely over my head, and a third of it is, not to put too fine a point on it, a load of dingo's kidneys. I took the two photos here in the Turbine Hall: above is a collection of sculpted heads; viewed from the gallery the visitors seem to merge into them somehow...on the right is a giant spider, called, I think, Maman by Louise Bourgeois: anyone with a domineering mother ought to take a look at it. Elsewhere, there was a great collection of Soviet propoganda, and I found that I actualy cottoned onto what Rachael Whiteread is trying to show with her casts of internal spaces. I saw her Untitled (nine tables) which consisted of nine identical concrete casts of the shape of the volume occupied by the underside of a table. Fine idea, I thought, to show the inverse of objects we just take for granted, but once she gets that one idea, aren't we all a bit daft for indulging her fixation and commissioning her to day the same thing over and over again, with just the object changing? Or is everyone just happy getting served with the same thing over and over again, Campbell's soup, for example? I was quite taken with Mondrian, though, and I've knocked up the animation on the left as a tribute. Well, I suppose it must have appeared shocking in the 30s, and it has the advantage of being easier for me to copy than anything by Constable. Those haywains and cathedrals can be so tricky to get right. Link: Tate Modern |
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| The original plan for today was to visit the Tower of London, but unfortunately that all fell by the wayside. By the time I got up, everything was decidedly post-meridian, so I decided to forget about the Tower, decided not to tidy up my bedroom, and opted to spend a languid afternoon in Lloyds park, just up the road from the latest Chez Mike. I didn't feel too guilty about abandoning my room to its fate: I could easily cart it down to the Tate Modern and exhibit it next to Tracey Emin's, I suppose. You see? Walthamstow can almost be pretty sometimes. As expected, I did very little in the park- I managed a confusing chapter of Gunter Grass's The Tin Drum before I fell asleep for a couple of hours on one of the lawns.All very restful. As parks go, it was no great shakes, but it made me forget about the Tube and the Council Tax for a while. ..Doh! Like a bird on the wire, Llike a drunk in a midnight choir I have tried in my way to be free. Well, do those birds in the park look happier than Leonard Cohen? This evening it was my turn to clean the kitchen, but under the Eco-nazi regime currently in force in this flat, I am only allowed to use soda crystals. I have suggested to my sister that we dispense with the washing machine as it is clearly a waste of electricity. I only worry that she'll take me up on the idea. |
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| My mother was quite impressed with the black Monday squashing me in my bed the other week, but I won't be able to afford such costly special effects again. I arrived at work to find Saturday's Eurovision Song Contest to be a hot topic of discussion. People seemed aghast at the "political" voting, but I really thought it was quite reassuring to see that all those Balkan neighbours can quite happily vote for each other, when some would have us beilieve that they all hate each other as much as we British hate the French. I just hope the European Union constitution doesn't get decided in a similar way. Anyway, I was rather pleased to see Albania do so well. Click on the flag for the BBC Eurovision site to acess the video. Not I'm saying the song was any good, you understand, in fact it's reassuringly catchy and terrible. Welcome to Europe, Albania! Sweet dreams, Enver! Iam indebted to Mike Brown, one of my other Mikes' Worlds from last month for preserving this little ditty on his website. You can find the full version here, but here are the first three verses, as sung to "If you're happy and you know it". It's called "Bomb Iraq". If we cannot find Osama, bomb Iraq. If the markets hurt your Mama, bomb Iraq. If the terrorists are Saudi And the bank takes back your Audi And the TV shows are bawdy, Bomb Iraq. If the corporate scandals growin', bomb Iraq. And your ties to them are showin', bomb Iraq. If the smoking gun ain't smokin' We don't care, and we're not jokin'. That Saddam will soon be croakin', Bomb Iraq. Even if we have no allies, bomb Iraq. From the sand dunes to the valleys, bomb Iraq. So to hell with the inspections; Let's look tough for the elections, Close your mind and take directions, Bomb Iraq. And finally, after his recent sex scandal, click on Clanger to see him being admonished, and to listen to his apology in full. He does sound sorry. |
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