Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…

Cloud Atlas

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Watched Cloud Atlas, the movie, today.  Masterpiece.  I laughed, I cried, I tensed, I marvelled.  The book is more detailed, of course, but the film managed the necessary transmutation with great finesse.  If anything, the film gave the work a more intense thematicity (thematic-ness? theming?).

I feel like I should write more about it, but I haven’t much to say, really.  It’s not that I’m confused about it, though.  (And, Cloud Atlas reentering my consciousness again in the last few days, I’ve got a desire to read Mitchell’s latest novel, the one with Jacob in the name.)

Finished Letter 207 (208 was omitted).  I meant to read a good twenty or thirty letters today, at least.  Damn it!  I had so much time spare, so much time when I could’ve given over some solid hours to reading, and what did I do?  I wasted it.  Waste, waste, waste.

The problem is, too, that I can’t sit down and read for more than about two hours.  More than an hour is pushing it, really.  (Strangely enough I can write for two to three to four hours in a row, I think – though it’s hard to know, because the passage of time becomes very deceptive when one writes, and one doesn’t like to be strict about timing it, because that might scare the muse away.)  I get distracted easily, I think.  And Clarissa is work, after all.  Enjoyable work, yes, but it requires a lot more concentration than The Tales of Beedle the Bard did.

To be able to read for ten hours or so in a day seems like an unattainable feat at the moment.

I started to read The Hundred Year Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared today, too, but didn’t get very far.  (30/394.)  It only took a few pages to realise that the book was merely an inconsequential pleasure (not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course), and I believe the Literature-guilt reared its papery head.

Watched a fair bit of tennis too, today.  The Hopman Cup.  And Cloud Atlas took at least three hours of my time.

And got myself five more scratchies as a Christmas present from my aunt.  Nothing won the scratchie I, well, scratched today.


Written by epistemysics

December 30, 2012 at 1:15 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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