Thursday, July 21, 2005
The human mind is incredible. Two weeks later, and here I am, happily getting the tube back from work, dozing off on the journey, NOT checking bags and people and nervous movement in the carriage. I have no choice, I have to take this trip in this manner every day.
I get back from work, and two weeks ago, the first thing I did was turn on the TV in order to find out what had actually happened, and where, and was it still going on.
Today I leasurely go shopping locally, wander home, open my post, check my email.
What excites me even more than all of this, is in fact that I finished a lovely book yesterday, Knut Hamsun's Hunger, and he can be discussed until the end of time, especially the did he-did he not (he did) support the Nazis during WW2. The fact of the matter is that it is an extraordinary well-written text, full of sadness and uncompromising wish to write, only write and nothing else.
Reading in Danish is much different to reading in English - I understanding in a different way; from the back of my spine as opposed to the top of my head. Strangely, though, I find that English texts reach the depth of my heart and the pit of my stomach in a way that Danish writing rarely manages.
Hamsun has touched me and inspired me and this is so rare these days, especially when I read in Danish, that I feel unconquerable today, because I have read something great.
And those little wannabe terrorist amateurs can go f*** themselves.
I get back from work, and two weeks ago, the first thing I did was turn on the TV in order to find out what had actually happened, and where, and was it still going on.
Today I leasurely go shopping locally, wander home, open my post, check my email.
What excites me even more than all of this, is in fact that I finished a lovely book yesterday, Knut Hamsun's Hunger, and he can be discussed until the end of time, especially the did he-did he not (he did) support the Nazis during WW2. The fact of the matter is that it is an extraordinary well-written text, full of sadness and uncompromising wish to write, only write and nothing else.
Reading in Danish is much different to reading in English - I understanding in a different way; from the back of my spine as opposed to the top of my head. Strangely, though, I find that English texts reach the depth of my heart and the pit of my stomach in a way that Danish writing rarely manages.
Hamsun has touched me and inspired me and this is so rare these days, especially when I read in Danish, that I feel unconquerable today, because I have read something great.
And those little wannabe terrorist amateurs can go f*** themselves.
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