" . . . I summon thee. Speak! Let me see thy face." [linked]

Magic Mirror: "What wouldst thou know, my Queen?

Queen: "Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?

Magic Mirror: "Famed is thy beauty, Majesty. But hold, a lovely maid I see. Rags cannot hide her gentle grace. Alas, she is more fair than thee.

Queen: "Alas for her! Reveal her name.

Magic Mirror: "Lips red as the rose. Hair black as ebony. Skin white as snow.

Queen: "Snow White!"

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)

I was remarking the other day that I have placed a mirror, either large or small, in every room of our apartment, including the corridors. Now lest you think that either Devi or me is excessively vain, rest assured that is not the case, even though the mirror in the salon has "gentil miroir" written upon it to inspire reflection (pun entirely intended). The mirror placements are intended to give an exit for any wandering spirit that may happen into any particular room. "Wot?" you say to yourself, "'as the guv'nor lost 'is mind?" Indeed I have not, gentle reader, for it has long been known that mirrors are magical things, not merely giving back a reflection but acting as numinous gateways to other realities, states of being or consciousness, fantasies, dreams, even shifts in time/space or psychology (read your Lacan). For me, however, they function primarily as exits for influences or spirits that may enter a room or space by other means and are then trapped therein with no way out - thus the mirrors. Portals for the non-natural (I do not really like the word 'supernatural' as it implies 'better than natural') elements in our world, our cosmos, to leave easily and freely without feeling constrained or claustrophobic. Imagine a wild animal trapped in a small, enclosed space and you will have an accurate simile; it will do anything, including harming itself, to escape, or more importantly, harming any other living thing within the same space, as it may/will see the 'other' as the cause of its distress. This will, of course, raise the question, "What others, what spirits?" If you have never experienced the feeling that something is in a room with you that you cannot see, or glimpsed something out of the corner of your eye that is not three-dimensionally there in plain sight, then it is nearly impossible to explain, but it does happen regularly and often to a majority of people. Your pets notice this more often than do you. I do not necessarily speak of ghosts but rather 'elements', or perhaps 'elementals', that come and go and shift and glide through our inhabited dimensions with the ease with which we pass from the inside of a building to the exterior, from an air-conditioned space to natural atmospheric conditions. I have noticed these 'comings & goings' all of my life and through long experience have resolved the issue by placing a mirror in every room or space to provide egress. There is one spirit that even seems to have an affinity for me which I have seen frequently since the age of seventeen. It appears as a kind of triangular black sail that will circle round me a second or two and then depart; it is neither slow nor rapid and when I was young it gave me great foreboding, but I have become accustomed to its visitations and while I will not say that it is a friend I have come to accept it as a "companion", for lack of a better term. In my more sombre moments I have even imagined it as my death, calmly and patiently waiting for me to shed this mortal coil so that we may sail away together, but as I say, those are my darker moments; more often I see it as simply my companion. It has even crossed continents with me because, of course, what can geography actually mean in its reality? All of which leads me to contemplate 'La Galerie des Glaces' at the chateau of Versailles. The room is a globally recognized work of art and indeed, it is resplendent, breathtaking in its beauty, elegance and sheer sumptuosity. Yet there it is, an immense hall with one wall composed entirely of mirrors, the facing wall of windows, the ceiling with glorious works of art and yet the floor is curiously plain, simple wood parquetry without pattern or decoration. It has long been known that the gardens at Versailles are actually gigantic encryptions of esoteric significance, according to the philosophic and metaphysical learning of the day, yet no one seems to apply this same acceptance of metaphysical application to the most stunning feature of the chateau itself, la Galerie des Glaces. It would make a fascinating, fabulous doctoral thesis for some enterprising student of philosophy, architecture or history.
Writing of France and the French, I contemplated the other day the deplorable state of my French language skills. When I first moved here permanently in 2003, my French was, of course, less fluid and encompassing but I do feel that it was more elegant, more academic. Now after 5 years of residence and 4 years of marriage to a Frenchwoman, I speak French more fluently but with a great deal less elegance, I speak "street French", if you will. I suppose this was inevitable but I do regret that it had to occur. On the other hand, I well remember being regarded as something of a novelty or freak by the French when I first arrived, akin to a talking winged monkey at a circus sideshow, as I not only spoke French but my vocabulary was extremely "pissy" for the normal everyday Frenchman. Imagine a Shakespearean actor arriving in an average American city with only his 16th century English and you will have an approximate idea. They were amused and a bit offended at the same time. Our friend Oona (not her real name, of course) has no such problem. Oona is a French professor at an university in Texas (her picture at left) and recently departed after a ten-day holiday here in Montpellier with Devi and I, a visit we deeply enjoyed and believe she did, too. Oona speaks clearly and concisely with the autochthones, as if she were teaching a French II class to bright students and everyone here simply adores her communication and has absolutely no problems with her French at all. Now I have known Oona a long time and am aware that she can toss around academic French with the best of them, yet she sails along quite nicely, thank you, here in the south of France without making a ripple. I do admire her for that skill, as well as for her philosophy of "do it all, do it now, you can always regret it later." Poor Oona, however, had one or two run-ins with some of our more 'colorful' friends, whose French is nearly incomprehensible, even for Devi, and I daresay she was a bit dismayed by the sudden intrusion of the openly neurotic into her otherwise peaceful visit. One of our friends, Latifah (let's call her thusly, shall we?), even had what I would term a fit of wild jealousy and caused a public spectacle, deeply distressing to both Devi and Oona, who nevertheless sailed along with that day's itinerary without further dismay. Oona took advantage of her European stay to jet over to Greece for a few days, where she visited Delphi to breath the fumes and then motored down to Sparta to consult the Ephors. She had little to say about the jaunt when she returned, but did look a bit wild-eyed. She also told us that the apocryphal film, "La Fin Absolue du Monde", is quite real. We decided that perhaps she had breathed a bit too much vapor at Delphi. Oona is a gracious, lovely lady and Devi and I are extremely fond of her even though her past is filled with mysterious lacunae about which, if queried, she will respond in a clipped, brittle voice, "Let's move on, shall we?", tapping her long jade cigarette holder nervously against an ashtray. Another lady of mystery - sigh, my life is filled with them.
Lest you be deceived, there are men of mystery as well. One of them is our upstairs neighbor, Fang Wong, who also happens to be a member of our rather extended "family" as he married our houskeeper's daughter, Myongsong (her picture in far left column, his just below). We know little about him, in fact, and that he runs a "smoking establishment" upstairs in his large F5 apartment does nothing to ameliorate or clarify the mystery. Yes, opium dens are alive and well, even here in the south of France and it must be said that he seems to make quite a good living at it, despite "le thon" he must give to the police each week in order to stay in business. What we do know is that he was forced to flee Macao in the early 1990's due to an unfortunate series of incidents centered around his grandmother's smoking establishment. It seems that continued opium use provokes sporadic diarrhea amongst its habitués, unlike other drugs which provoke constipation, and a young Fang Wong thought it a good idea to sell anti-diarrhetic suppositories to the clientele. Unfortunately, what he was selling were gelatin capsules filled with Superglue, which soon caused severe legal problems for his grandmother and arrest warrants to be issued for him. His story becomes vague at that point; there are references to Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and eventually a boat trip to Marseille and thence to Montpellier. Here he met and married and drawing upon family situations moved in approximately one month after us, relocating to a larger apartment on the 4th étage, needing the extra space for his establishment. He has been here more often in our modest apartment recently in order to watch the Beijing Olympics, as a television would not suit the ambiance of his establishment. Devi and I have even remarked an occasional tear in his eye (sadness? regret? homesickness?) as he watched the television, but Fang Wong is extremely close-mouthed. He has, however, a good heart. Many are the times when he has invited me upstairs for a free smoke and although I rarely avail myself, I have been known to visit from time to time, simply out of politesse, as one would say. Also, he is very good to Myongsong, denying her nothing, except a television, which does not inconvenience her greatly as she often visits her mother and can watch it there to her heart's content. He is also punctilious in his business dealings and one does not see "trash" drifting in and out of the building at all hours of the day or night, as he closes his establishment precisely at 12 o'clock each evening, and opens again at 4 o'clock the following afternoon. As well, I understand he charges a hefty fee for the privilege of visiting his business, thus lower-income types are discouraged. If a client finds himself (Fang Wong does not allow women in his establishment, his theory being that women who smoke opium should do it in the privacy of their own homes with the assistance of a trained maid) unable to depart at midnight, the client is obliged to stay in one of the private cubicles until the doors are opened at noon for his departure, closed again and then re-opened at normal business hours. Obviously, his Macao disaster has taught him a great deal about discretion and good business practice. On top of this, he is gifted at homeopathic remedies and has helped me greatly with a recent oedema in my right foot, for which he concocted something called ' compound hamamelis' (witch hazel) which aides me greatly.
In writing of the natural world of herbal remedies and flower-derived drugs, I am reminded of a recent segment I saw on CNN International about the worldwide disappearance of frogs and other amphibians. It seems that scientists have isolated at least one cause of this, a skin fungus which spreads rapidly amongst said frogs and amphibians and causes their deaths by epidermal suffocation, much like the dead gold-plated blonde at the beginning of the James Bond film, "Goldfinger." The fungus is spreading and surviving at an alarming rate due, of course, to global warming. If the amphibian population continues to decline, the insect population will correspondingly rise, especially mosquitoes, thus provoking worldwide epidemics of malaria, yellow fever, etc. Personally, I believe that if frogs, salamanders and other amphibians are going to continue to die at such alarming rates, we should mandate a substitution in high school biology classes. And what better way to substitute for the dissection of frogs than with the one species that continues to multiply at an equally alarming rate - human beings. Shades of Jonathan Swift, I hear you thinking - but consider it - it makes perfect sense, does it not, and from a scientific standpoint as well? Our children would learn so much more, so much quicker, so much more efficaciously.
Segueing into epidemics, I understand that the epidemic of violence in Pakistan shall soon reach new heights. After the ouster of President Pervez Musharraf, the new popular party candidate for president will be Asif Ali Zardari, the widower of slain ex-Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto. Surprise, surprise. He is being opposed, naturally, by his until freshly-recent ally, Nawaz Sharif, an ex-Prime Minister himself. The issue seems to be the reinstallation of the judges dismissed by Musharraf, with Zardari saying that is a secondary issue and Sharif saying it is primary. If you are wondering why I would possibly care one way or the other, let us not forget that Pakistan is a nuclear nation and yes, it matters. Centered as it is between India (nuclear), China (nuclear), Afghanistan (Taliban) and the rest, do you really want to see that region go completely unstable? And as for Musharraf, he received a lot of praise from his Western allies upon his resignation for his co-operation during the "war on terror." I think if they were all that grateful then one of them should have offered him asylum, as I am sure his future in Pakistan is short-lived, to say the least.
More nuclear news. The USA and Poland have agreed to and signed the missile defense shield deal, designed specifically to piss off Russia, extend NATO's reach, and transplanting our Star Wars technology (oh yes, it exists - were you naive enough to think that it did not?) deep into the heart of Eastern Europe. Poland's enmity with Russia is historic and I believe there is still a kind of 14th century voivode vs. boyar mentality reigning in that part of the world. "Hmmm, how can we piss off Russia today?" The Russia/Georgia crisis is not helping at all, either, while the West rattles its largely ineffectual sabres against Russia's policy of "it's our backyard, back off." Condolezza Rice, Robin to G. W. Bush's Batman, may yet go down in history as the most damaging politician of this century. And then there is the news of Iran test-firing two-stage rockets, which the USA pooh-poohs as "a probable failure" - well, perhaps, but I guarantee that Israel will not take such a sanguine stance and if it believes that Iran is even close to succeeding with such tests, will not hesitate to turn large patches of Iranian sand into vast lakes of nuclear glass. Jesus, and Mohammed (pbuh), wept.
Here in the civilized West (ahahaha), I notice that Qantas reports that profits are up by 44% this quarter. Good heavenly God, what is the matter with people? Why does the business ethnic require that profits MUST ALWAYS rise? Does one not eventually reach a plateau where you cannot go higher, adjusting for inflation? To continually go higher and higher requires a bigger and bigger marketing population (6.5 billion and counting), as well as unlimited greed. Is it corporate sin to say, "We are stable, we are making enough, it does not get better than this unless we colonize the solar system"? The oil corporations are out of control, the airlines are crying poverty (but apparently not Qantas), the pharmaceutical giants are profiting from disease and global catastrophe which arms dealers promote for gain, good heavens, it goes on endlessly, people profiting upon the backs of the suffering and dying, but that is not news, is it. We are a sin on the soul of God, I do not know how else to phrase current human conduct.
And what a cheery note upon which to conclude this peroration. If you are out there reading this, and there is even one, small, little thing that you can do to redress the balance, please do it. Heaven knows, our racial karma needs it. Please visit the bottom of the page and participate in the poll. Until the next,
Leducdor

" . . . until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside." [linked]

Gandalf, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002)

I have not updated in a little while but you must excuse me as I have been suffering from Entropic Cascade Failure. For those of you not familiar with Entropic Cascade Failure, it results when you, yourself, arrive from a neighboring membrane universe (I hope you are up on your String Theory physics) into this membrane universe. The two of you may co-exist for a short time in the same universe without problem but shortly thereafter ECF begins to take effect. You find yourselves wavering in and out of reality like a faulty radio wave and it is extremely painful. I noticed the effect most disastrously last week when I ended up in the hospital after a night spent celebrating a friend's fortieth birthday. On the way home, I began to have difficulty breathing, then sharp pains in the chest, then no breathing at all followed with cold sweats, inability to stand, etc. I collapsed in a doorway on one of the grand streets here in Montpellier with Devi, my wife, observing in a controlled concern and my first instinct was, "Oh, this will pass. I just need to get home." However, several young people stopped and said something on the order of, "Hey, Mister, you don't look so good. We'd better call an ambulance for you." I did not want that but could not breathe enough to voice my objections, while hearing Devi telling them yes, please, call the ambulance. So, soon I was being whisked away to a hospital, Devi at my side, and I knew I was not completely in reality because rather than being concerned about my state, I could only marvel at how very young and goodlooking the ambulance staff was. In the back of my mind I knew this was not correct thinking on my part, but just could not stop marveling at how young and beautiful they all were. A night spent in the hospital finally resulted in the assurance that no, I had not suffered a heart attack but rather an acute and serious asthma crisis coupled with too much partying at the birthday fête. This sounded strange to me, as I have never suffered from asthma in my life but they assured me that that was exactly the case, having taken ecgs and x-rays and etc. I finally reached home the next afternoon, weak as the proverbial kitten, and thought, "You really do need to send your other you back to his own membrane universe." That me loves to party, drink and smoke and even though he is the same as me in all logical respects, he simply does not behave as considerately towards himself as I normally do. No, this is not schizophrenia, it is just two versions of me existing in the same reality. The original me, the one writing this blog, has not yet suffered the most drastic effects of ECF, but that will eventually occur as well if I do not manage to send the other me back. On a side note, I would like to remark that the two times when Devi and I have needed outside help due to crisis, on both occasions it was young people who stepped up to the bat and lent support, concern and help at the critical moment, once for her and once for me. Kudos to the young people of Montpellier. At any rate, to finish the tale, I contacted my primary care physician the day I arrived home and asked him to come by (yes, doctors in France still make house calls). He looked at the materials the hospital had provided, examined me again and told me that perhaps it was not asthma after all but rather acute bronchitis aggravated by the events of the evening, saying, "I can, of course, treat the consequences, but not the cause. That is up to you." Drole fellow. Thus, the necessity of sending the other me back to his own universe, but that is harder than you may think; access to a giant thorium proton accelerator is easier said than done and nothing is as slow as European bureaucracy.
Speaking of "slow" reminds me of my niece's first trip to Paris, oh, fourteen years ago (good heavens! Has it been that long?) and her first experience with escargots. She had watched in fascinated horror when during several meals I had ordered escargots and consumed them with evident relish. She quivered in disgust when I offered to order her a plate of her own but could not resist staring at me while I ate them. Then, one night at a very nice restaurant on the Champs Elysées, she mustered all her courage and asked me if she could try one, just one. Keeping an appropriately serious face, I replied, "Why yes, of course, and if it helps just think of it as a rather strangely flavored gummy candy." She raised an eyebrow, being too clever to buy that, but nevertheless gamely ate one. After several seconds of thoughful, studious chewing and then several more of reflection, she pronounced them "not bad, not bad at all." I was secretly delighted, but refrained from showing my pleasure as that would have spoiled the moment, instead just nodding and continuing with my plate. Later that same week we went to a restaurant that specializes in escargots and frog's legs, among other delicacies, and she gamely ordered a plate of each, telling me that they were of priceless worth for "gross-out value" when she arrived home and told her friends what she had eaten - but she did enjoy them nevertheless. To this day she complains that you just cannot find a decent croissant in the United States, and this from a woman who has traveled very extensively at home and abroad.
Has anyone ever noticed how often upstate New York occurs in the news, stories, novels, film etc.? It seems to be the stomping grounds for every escaped lunatic, cannibal, sex criminal, on-the-run thug and serial killer on the entire eastern seaboard. Not that it has any bearing on anything, I just happened to notice it the other day during a newscast and catalogued it amongst the plethora of odd facts residing in my brain. On another part of the globe, the citizens of the island of Lesbos, Greece, have lost their case in the Greek High Court to have the word "lesbian" strictly copyrighted and restricted from universal usage except when referring to a citizen of said island. That made me roar with laughter. I can think of many correlatives for this idiocy, but suffice it to say that this one took home top prize, as far as I am concerned. At any rate, Hail, Lesbians! And you can take that any way you want. One of my friends of the lesbian persuasion (no, not a Greek citizen) once told me of a curious phenomenon known as "lesbian bed death", apparently widely recognized in the lesbian community. It seems that sexual interest dies phenomenally fast in a lesbian relationship and that the remaining values are companionship, friendship and shared interests, all of which I find perfectly reasonable. She, however, was jealous of her gay male friends for whom sexual interest remained high on the list of necessary values in a relationship. I advised her to think twice about that, as high sexual interest may, I say may, indicate an absence of interest in any of the other attributes, although not necessarily, of course. On top of which, men led primarily by their genitals prove remarkably boring at an equally phenomenal rate. What about simply aiming for an equitable balance between all of the qualities in a relationship? If sexual interest dies in the long run, it is hardly a disaster nor the worst thing that can happen to any couple - one might even say it can take the pressure off and leave the couple free to deepen their friendship.For a different trope on lesbians, find and watch the Masters of Horror episode "Sick Girl" - after watching that, lesbian bed death will be your very last concern.
The Masters of Horror series was quite amusing, interesting, horrifying and fascinating all at the same time. I believe it ran during the 2005 & 2006 seasons, two seasons only, each season containing thirteen episodes, each episode written and directed by acknowledged masters of their crafts and genres. My favorite episode occured during the first season, John Carpenter's "Cigarette Burns", an eloquent and hauntingly beautiful yet terrifying meditation on our fascination with film, violence, secrets and destruction. An absolute coup de génie in the film is the film-within-the-film, "La Fin Absolue du Monde", of which we catch only glimpses but which lead to some very dark imaginings on our part. The images of the tortured and mutilated angel are especially disturbing, signifying whatever you may wish to imagine. For my part it was very particular as, until recently, I had a pair of Halloween angel's wings hung upon a wall with a specially printed plaque that read, "Ylaliel - - - 0 - 2006 A.D. - - - my real name", implying that the wings were a hunting trophy. They no longer hang upon the wall and I keep the plaque in a drawer in my desk. For some obscure reason, all of that reminds me of a classic little tale about the frog and the scorpion: One day, a frog was hopping along when he came upon a large pond. Preparing, without concern, to swim across the pond, he was suddenly halted by a scorpion waiting at the pond's edge. The scorpion asked the frog, "I cannot swim. Would you be willing to carry me across the pond upon your back?" To which the frog replied, "Certainly not! For all that I know, once upon my back, you might sting me and I would die." The scorpion answered, "No, I would not do that. If I were to do so, you would die and I would drown. That would defeat the purpose of my getting to the other side. You have my word." The frog thought about this and then said, "Well, I suppose you are right. Alright then, climb up on my back and we shall cross the pond together." So the scorpion climbed upon the frog's back and they began the swim across the pond. Suddenly, in the middle of the pond, the scorpion stung the frog, causing its agonizing death throes. The frog gasped, "Why? Why do that? Now we both die." The scorpion responded, "Because, that is my nature."
Just as it is the nature of the Internet to be full of hackers, identity thieves, rogue virus creators, etc., I would advise everyone who owns a computer to be fully protected. It need not cost a fortune, either; as a matter of fact, you can do it quite effectively without any cost at all. I would recommend AT LEAST the following: Avast! anti-virus protection (free); SuperAntiSpyware (free); ZoneAlarm firewall (free); and Bootvis.exe, a kind of check-me-out and improve my performance utility (free). I also use several other performance improving and registry cleaning utilities, but you can find those yourselves, again, free of charge.
On a final and more serious note, two very dear friends in the US have very recently lost a dear and loved mother/mother-in-law to a relentless cancer. To these friends, anonymous though they must remain (J & C), I hope we can all send a thought of condolence.
Until the next,
Leducdor