Happy birthday dear blog….


Happy birthday dear blog….
I almost failed to notice that I have been writing this blog for a year now. Seems hard to believe and even harder to believe that it’s been looked at more than 25,000 times!

Someone recently wrote that in my bog I “talked a lot without saying anything”. Hopefully not everyone who has dropped in has felt that way. I’ve certainly enjoyed the process of doing it.


Does matter matter? While watching

Does matter matter?
While watching a TV documentary on the collapse of the twin towers I was amazed again at how the planes appeared to atomize on impact. Particularly the second one which appears to go into the building as solid matter and leaves the other side as no more than a streak of flame across the blue sky.

I found myself thinking that there wasn’t enough left of those poor people on the plane to be dead. In an instant, the same matter had gone from being in human form and considered alive, to being in the form of pure energy and being dead. It somehow doesn’t seem as straight forward a transition as when a body, a dead body, exists to be dead.

Mike Sanders is exploring the same territory and writes…

So we could see that the real you is not your body or brain, but the information contained in your brain – your memories, personality traits and thought patterns.

When a person dies, the body and brain cease to function but what happens to the real you – the human personality. When a computer is destroyed the information is destroyed. Does the same thing happen when man dies?

If we understand the universe’s Creator as omniscient, knowing all and not forgetting then we can see how the information comprising the human personality can continue to exist, at least in the Creator’s memory.

According to some mystical traditions, the spiritual world is a realm whose substance is information. It is an arena where information can interact without being attached to or dependent on matter.

This gives us a simplified explanation of how a person’s soul consisting of their memories, personality traits and thought patterns could continue after death.

Blogging as music I’ve often

Blogging as music
I’ve often thought that blogging has a different rhythm from IM, newsgroups, e-mail, etc. It is chopping up the global consciousness into time based chunks – weaving themes and melodies into the bits and bytes of daily life, giving context to the noise and nonsense, making more meaning from the spaces than from the notes, coming together in the jazz band of Metafilter, held together by the notation of Blogger …damn…..I’m getting pretentious….too much Mozart not enough Limp Bizkit……

more drink…….

Blogging to music? I just

Blogging to music?
I just wondered how many bloggers blog while listening to music?

I’m listening to “The Chillout Album” from the Ministry of Sound really loud through iTunes at the moment and love any Pete Tong Dance compilations. The dance/trance rhythms really suit getting into a semi meditative state, flitting in and out of other people’s narratives, picking up bits and pieces and stringing them together into new themes.

Eric Norlin has compared blogging to rap but I’m not so sure it’s not more of a sampling, synthesizing thing….

Does offline blogging count? Well

Does offline blogging count?
Well I couldn’t post to my blog on holiday because there was no phone and no mobile signal but I couldn’t help myself jotting down the following thoughts….

Never happy…..
The holiday was great but a couple of things troubled me. The first was our proximity to one of the major US air bases in the UK. Here we were in this rural idyll in the midst of a pine forest, clear skies and sunlight sparkling on the surrounding lakes…. all to the drone of vast bombers taking off and landing. There was even a Vietnam style helicopter went over this afternoon. Although it hasn’t been constant enough to spoil the holiday it did make me think…. all those boys playing with big toys so close by.

The second thing was the “add water and stir” nature of the nature. The holiday centre is very well run especially if you have kids and it is all done very tastefully. Yet when you cycle along one of the paved paths through the woods you know that the meandering line you are following started out as a line on a draftsman’s drawing board. Every apparently natural element of the centre has been meticulously planned. It’s a bit like Iiving in a modern town development with all their roundabouts. On one level they make sense but on another they eat away at your soul.

I was recently watching a documentary about archaeologists digging up Roman remains in Italy. I found myself thinking, yet again, how I wish I had found my calling in life. The archaeologists were working in a part of the world, the mediterranean, which I love doing something which obviously excites them yet appeared to be without stress or anxiety. There are so many lives to lead and yet I always seem to be dissatisfied, wishing I was someone else, somewhere else, doing something else, with someone else.

During our holiday I was dropping my kids off at a playgroup for the morning, meant to be a welcome break for Mum and Dad, and found myself not wanting to let them go. I was reminded of two particularly painful experiences from my youth when my Mum dropped me off at school and Cub Scouts.

On both occasions I was very afraid and didn’t want to be left by her. I’m not sure whether she got annoyed or embarrassed by my protests but I felt totally rejected and even more scared. I still remember getting very emotional as a child whenever I thought about my Mum. I would be so worried when she gave a birthday party for me to which other kids were invited that they wouldn’t like our, her, party, that she would have tried so hard and “failed” For some reason, even as young as eight, I would feel very melancholy, as if we were all trying hard but it somehow wasn’t enough.

Both my girls were quite happy to be left and I found myself trying not to transfer my apprehension to them. It is really hard not to pass on your fears for the previous generation to the next.