As you’ve probably gathered I’m Laurence Cade. Nice to meet you. I was asked to make a couple of posts before I dived into/at/around the job at hand, and that is providing information on a bit of literature, writing ideas and a sprinkling of lyrics and film reviews. Also a slice of my life will find its way into this blog. Lucky you!
The problem with work is that as with most, I don’t want to be doing it but it takes up most of my life. That and sleeping, which seems sort of pointless because dreams are often nightmares but more importantly make absolutely no sense. Why did she become an entirely different he? Where on earth did that come from? For instance.
Whenever I get home it is just an exercise in the uneasy (often queasy) wasting of time. No focus, no idea how to use it constructively. Worrying and wishing for something better, but seeing nothing bright on the horizon.
I read up on whale sharks today. Not quite as bad as all that and I think the odds are stacked against me getting eaten by one.
Had to take the bus today. I hadn’t realised up until now but Miranda takes it too. She even said hi but I was thinking about what it would be like to be eaten by a whale shark at the time so I had on my face a rotten grimace. Doesn’t matter, she dislikes my kind anyway, if I have a kind. Incidentally I’ve no idea what a whale shark is like or if they can or do actually eat people but they sound both big and scary. Research required.
Have been reading a spot of Camus and his ponderous “The Outsider”. Dreamy, pleasant and unsettling. I’ve been reading bite-sized chunks in the lavatory. This resonated –
She mumbled that I was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day I might disgust her for the very same reason – Albert Camus, the Outsider
A satirical crime-thriller in which a serial killer hunts down and silences the canned laughter fraternity plaguing his favourite TV comedy shows. And his dreams. One troubled detective (world-weary, a bit of a drinker, with belligerent ex-wife), must overcome his own hate for canned laughter to put a can on the increasingly resourceful murderer.