Hatless, I remove my bicycle clips ...
Philip Larkin, 'Church Going'

Something about that line resonates with me. Might be the hatlessness and the bicycle clips, or just the overall tone of awkwardness. Philip Larkin was a librarian from Hull, and my spiritual brother in misanthropy. I genuflect to his memory.

Today, I feel scungy, because I rushed myself out the door without showering. The modern concept of hygiene is more about illusion than actuality. People don't care if you actually wash your hands, provided you leave the bathroom shaking them as if to remove excess water. There is a lot to be said for fastidiousness, nevertheless overdoing it can be ill-advised. There are good reasons why fastidieux is the French word for tedious.

I'm currently hemming and hawing about whether I'll make it to UniSFA Karaoke this evening at the pub. Against it stand my manque d'argent, my ever-increasing workload and my previously noted uncleanliness. For it stands my burgeoning desire for release in the form of total public humiliation of the mutual variety. The balance is delicately poised, but if I don't get enough work done today it will certainly finish in the negative.

If I do go, I'm contemplating a performance of Cream's version of 'Born Under a Bad Sign'. The first verse:

Born under a bad sign, I been down since I began to crawl.
If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all.

Seems apposite at the moment, not that I want to go into that pathetic self-pitying mode that afflicts so many university students at this time of semester. Sadness and struggle is nobler than sadness and stagnation.

Just played Chris Gorham at Go. I was leading him by a small margin for most of the game, but then he lost his train of thought and went into yose (endgame) without properly containing a massive leak of mine into his territory. This resulted in a fifty or so moku gain for me, leading to a crushing victory. On top again! James comments that I should call this web-log the 'Tom beats Chris' log. I'll think about it.

Just played Chris Gorham at Go. I eventually won when he conceded ('I have nothing', Hikaru No Go style). However, the match was significantly closer than others I have played recently. After an initial advantage to me, we staked out territory, with him beginning an invasion first. I connected perhaps a little too solidly, giving myself no chance for a small sacrifice to hold him out, and as a result on two separate occasions nearly lost groups of ten to twenty pieces, surviving by an advantage of precisely one liberty in the second case. Having finally finished his chances, his morale was broken and I played through his line destroying a single-eyed group of his whilst his attention faltered. Thus the game ended. I should probably have played a little more conservatively throughout, but all's well that ends well.

There is no culture is my brag ...
The Fall, 'The Classical'

In the circle of my acquaintance of late there has been much talk about the proliferation of web-logs and phenomena associated with same. Some have opined (even on said web-logs) that this will allow people to be more open about their true feelings. I would like to stand in the negative. This place will never represent the true me. It wouldn't do so even if I were to try. I'm sometimes of the opinion that there isn't a true me at all, and that honesty is just a flawed approach to an unreachable ideal of personal essence.

I've railed about the horror of habit. And I've meant it. Have you (any of you) ever felt yourself moved by forces beyond your control? Forces impelling you to behave or act in a certain way, simply because precedent demands it? I know I have. To submit to such forces is to fail as an individual. Sometimes it's hard to tell whether the passenger, travelling through a horrid environ without control over the vehicle, or the driver, grimly holding to a course despite the protests from the cabin, is closer to the real you. This split is apparent when one attempts to instigate a personal change - a change of habit. Personal change is just a pretence that eventually becomes a reality. Until one's new routines are actually routine, a certain degree of discomfort is inevitable.

In the midst of life we are in death. Aaron's grandmother. Rae's poor cat, Mouse. Nothing drives home the transitory nature of the self better than reaching a terminus. If you're reading this, I implore you to go and use your time for something interesting. Preferably a means of reaching immortality. I'm not one of those types who'd shrink from eternal life.

Flames grow higher, yeah the flames grow higher, erase my name from your lips as we kiss
Higher, yeah, the flames grow higher, now there's one less soul on your fiery list!
The Triffids, 'Hometown Farewell Kiss'

Did I say, in the midst of life we are in death? I meant, in the midst of life we are in Perth. It's a tidy, pretty place, but sometimes it's so anodyne it breaks my heart. At those times I think I'd rather be starving to death in a swamp than walking the seamless bitumen streets of this toy town. I must leave at some point just so that I can come back happily.