laziness is the mother of invention

Back home in the damage. Toronto is visited and my dear father’s 80th birthday is done and gone. So back to the blogging with a vengeance. I so love your comments gentle readers, and appreciate your reading. I encourage you therefore to leave your opinions and comments so i won’t have to wade through spam only. Links and shout-outs are much appreciated too.

We visited NYC for 4 days and I had the chance with Lovejoy the webmaster to simplify our sister site. That sweet place where the sonnets dwell at www.iloveshakespeare.com. There you will find the sonnetbook for your perusal, edited to retain the original punctuation of Q1609.

You will also find links that deal with the show, which you can hear, see and potentially, book, by downloading the pdf of reviews and specifications. My goal is to get onto the North American Campus Activities circuit with a new show based on my theory of the sonnets. (think a da vinci code celestine prophecy piss-take, instead of those boring old human contenders to Oor Wullie’s throne).

The most exciting aspect of a recent lazy evening after gigging, entails what i consider to be the answer to why there are 154 sonnets. I am working offline to produce a paper on it and will post it when it is ready. It’s the most basic of symbolism and worthy of an ‘I’m dysfunctional, you’re dysfunctional’ kind of thinking.

In the meantime I’ve been thinking about negative capability in language. I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason-John Keats.

The thought that triggered this writing occurred while watching Russel Crowe and David Caruso posturing macho in the movie ‘Proof of Life’. It’s the negative capability of David Caruso as elite team leader, judging his wounded team-member’s chance of survival. Guys hired and trained by himself.

It takes place in the climactic ‘helicopter escape to freedom, riches and renown as the all-time ballsy guy’ scene, alongside his weepy new partner Russel. He grabs the devoted wounded supine hispanic figure by the lapels and says, ‘Who am I?’ to which the reply is, ‘You’re an asshole’.

Butch guys can get a lump in the throat at such negative posturing. But it’s the language twist that I love. It should be an insult but is imbued with love and forgiveness and recovery and continued friendship. It speaks paragraphs and even pages of prior relationship. It smacks of the reality of true brothers-in-arms camaraderie.

Good buddies do the same thing daily in life. They use the negative in language to show their affection. Comics I know do it offstage constantly. It strips the ego and is as honest and true as a good rugby tackle.