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I think you posted a video from this same fellow before. His accent is unique, and difficult to place to the point where it began to bother me. So I looked him up. Turns out he's an American who has lived in England and is now in Ireland. Some people let a local dialect slip into their speech, like a sponge that soaks up influences; others resist it, perhaps out of stubbornness or regional pride. Living outside of my own native soil, I have found I am not the sponge type. At any rate, Roger Buck was doing okay here until he mentioned he believed in the lab leak theory. Basta!

Thank you, Mr McFate. Something about you impresses . . . as does, strange as you may think, your ‘nemesis’ here @Malarkey.

Buck, I believe, is English but born in America.

Sometimes I wonder not only how you lost your faith but what specifically that means for you. That is, does it mean out-and-out atheism, as in no faith in anything (except of course atheist certainties/dogma) does it mean agnosticism or might some kind of theism/belief in a Higher Power (for lack of better terms) persist and thus what has collapsed is mainly the specific narratives of the Church wherein the "HP" becomes personalised . . .

No expectation you answer and should you do so I shall be most interested, but may take some while in responding.

I repeat my verb 'impresses'.

Often.
 
Sometimes I wonder not only how you lost your faith but what specifically that means for you. That is, does it mean out-and-out atheism, as in no faith in anything (except of course atheist certainties/dogma) does it mean agnosticism or might some kind of theism/belief in a Higher Power (for lack of better terms) persist and thus what has collapsed is mainly the specific narratives of the Church wherein the "HP" becomes personalised . . .

Put me down as an "agnostic atheist": I don't believe in a god, but I allow for the possibility that one exists. But I think it would be more likely an inscrutable and impassive god than a god who has revealed itself in a specific religion. The goodness of a creator god is the sticking point. I like the Platonic notion of a demiurge—that the supreme god is a perfect and unperturbed divinity, and therefore the creator of this imperfect world must've been a lesser god, well-intentioned but ultimately inept. From Malarkey's compatriot David Hume:

This world is very faulty and imperfect, compared to a superior standard; and for aught anyone knows, it was only the first rude essay of some infant deity, who afterwards abandoned it, ashamed of his lame performance: it is the work only of some dependent, inferior deity; and is the object of derision to his superiors: it is the production of old age and dotage in some superannuated deity; and ever since his death, has run on at adventures, from the first impulse and active force which it received from him.

The problem with Plato's hypothesis, however, is: if a perfect god wouldn't create an imperfect world, why would it even yield an imperfect creator?
 
I have Tinnitus. I guess from listening to music too loudly as a kid wearing headphones. I woke up this morning and the ringing is so loud - which gets like that when I’m stressed out. Jesus, I hope I don’t have a meltdown today!

Hmm…I wonder if Morrissey has Tinnitus from being on stage without earplugs. I don’t think he’s ever wore them. That I could see, anyway.
 
so i was supposed to go meet the lady of the new house today to get the keys and pay rent, etc, but i decided i didnt want to take the place so i texted her an hour before we were supposed to meet to tell her i had changed my mind and gave one of the reasons being the lack of rental agreement. so then i turned off my phone and was just going to leave it off all day and was relieved to have finally made a decision, and felt like a thorn that had been in my side for the last two months was gone and i was free, even though i felt slightly sad about passing up a good opportunity. then i decided to turn on my phone to see if she had replied, and she had, saying that a rental agreement would be no problem. so then i was relieved that the option was still back on the table so i asked her if i could change my mind and apologized for being a jerk, and she said yes, she would still love to rent the place to me. then she suggested that i come down and see it again before i make up my mind, which was very nice of her, because how she wasnt so annoyed with me, i dont know (and by this time, i was already starting to regret changing my mind and wished i hadnt turned on my phone after all and wanted back that feeling of freedom and relief). but nonetheless i went down to look at the place just now and it's really weird because the house is just like i remember it, very spacious and clean and sedate and lovely, but the room and the bathroom are completely different from the image i have in my mind. i couldnt conceal my bafflement that the bathroom was nothing like i remembered--i remembered a small dingy bathroom with a mousepad sized mirror, but this one was bigger and brighter and with a larger mirror than i remembered, and even the position of it in respect to the room was completely different than the fully formed image i had in my head under which i was operating (where had that image come from?)--and she must have thought i was really a mental case when i insisted it wasnt the room i had seen previously (turns out, it was). but while the bathroom was better than i had remembered, the room itself wasnt anywhere near as nice as i remembered: it's big but the walls are definitely dingy, and i just wasnt impressed. so i have until 10pm tonight to make a decision and im still not anywhere closer to deciding, except that now, rather than feeling like a lot rides on the decision i make, im more of the opinion that it's not really a big deal whether i take it or turn it down.
 
this whether or not to move thing has given me an idea for a novel/memoir though, so at least there's that.

i have a bunch of ideas for novel/memoirs now, enough for what may be considered an oeuvre, revolving around the speaker's (my) interesting psychology. they wont be strictly memoirs though because im going to embellish or change endings to make them more satisfying. for example, the novel/memoir im currently working on is about someone whom the gods love (which is the biographical part) going to london to give a novel she wrote to a sexily aging 90s brit pop star only to find that the address she had for him is outdated and realizing that actually she has no idea where he is, if he's even in london, if hes not living a depressingly pedestrian life in some little backwater hamlet somewhere, and so she drifts around london, becoming increasingly desolate, and then after a bit of this kills herself after happening upon him on the tube looking ever so pretty in his own little impenetrable world and realizing that to kill herself for him is the ultimate show of allegiance to the poetic life and that a reason to die is what she really went to london for in the first place . it's going to be funny.
 
i ordered some more mishima books @Aubrey McFate ! i also read The Swimming Pool Library by alan hollinghurst that we talked about, and i liked it even better than The Line of Beauty! just so you know, if you read one of his, go with that one! i dont know what it is about his writing because im really not into descriptions of gay sex in the 80s and it contain plenty but theres something about The Swimming Pool Library especially that left a deep impression on me and stayed with me long after i had finished it and that makes it one of my favourite books.
 
i ordered some more mishima books @Aubrey McFate ! i also read The Swimming Pool Library by alan hollinghurst that we talked about, and i liked it even better than The Line of Beauty! just so you know, if you read one of his, go with that one! i dont know what it is about his writing because im really not into descriptions of gay sex in the 80s and it contain plenty but theres something about The Swimming Pool Library especially that left a deep impression on me and stayed with me long after i had finished it and that makes it one of my favourite books.

The Swimming Pool Library it will be, then (even though The Line of Beauty is a better title). Thank you for the review. I think I’m okay with descriptions of gay sex in the 80s, as long as it’s not the kind of thing Robert Mapplethorpe was into at the underground sex club he became addicted to in the 80s (or maybe it was the 70s). Which Mishima books did you get?
 
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The Swimming Pool Library it will be, then (even though The Line of Beauty is a better title). Thank you for the review. I think I’m okay with descriptions of gay sex in the 80s, as long as it’s not the kind of thing Robert Mapplethorpe was into at the underground sex club he became addicted to in the 80s (or maybe it was the 70s). Which Mishima books did you get?
It may be the sort of thing Robert Mapplethorpe was into, I don't know! It's men at a fitness club all checking each other out in the showers (with the concomitant endless descriptions of the members members (one being described as looking like a mushroom)) and hooking up in adult cinemas and that sort of thing! But there's something oddly touching about it all, especially when the main characters friend, who is in my opinion the true hero of the book, a thoroughly decent and hardworking doctor who loves classical music but becomes he's not overly good-looking has trouble getting a lay, gets himself up in mascara to go out looking for someone to take home, and assesses himself when made up as rather a nice boy or something like that! Something about that, about the idea of a man standing in front of a mirror in mascara assessing whether or not someone could find him loveable, just broke my heart.

The Mishima books I got were 'The Sailor who fell from grace with the sea' and 'the temple of the golden pavillion.' 'Confessions of a mask' wasn't available. Which is your favourite mishima?
 
It may be the sort of thing Robert Mapplethorpe was into, I don't know! It's men at a fitness club all checking each other out in the showers (with the concomitant endless descriptions of the members members (one being described as looking like a mushroom)) and hooking up in adult cinemas and that sort of thing! But there's something oddly touching about it all, especially when the main characters friend, who is in my opinion the true hero of the book, a thoroughly decent and hardworking doctor who loves classical music but becomes he's not overly good-looking has trouble getting a lay, gets himself up in mascara to go out looking for someone to take home, and assesses himself when made up as rather a nice boy or something like that! Something about that, about the idea of a man standing in front of a mirror in mascara assessing whether or not someone could find him loveable, just broke my heart.

The Mishima books I got were 'The Sailor who fell from grace with the sea' and 'the temple of the golden pavillion.' 'Confessions of a mask' wasn't available. Which is your favourite mishima?

The Sailor Who Fell From Grace is a favorite—of the ones I’ve read, it takes its inspiration from Nietzsche the most. And that I like. But it also contains a scene of unforgivable cruelty to a cat. My favorite might be either Confessions of a Mask with its queer coming of age, or Spring Snow, which is very autumnal (despite the title), Buddhistic, and pagan.

I can definitely deal with the sexual component of The Swimming Pool Library as you’ve described it. Seems comparatively tame; Mapplethorpe’s persuasions were pretty depraved, like the material in that movie Irreversible that I want to delete from my mind. I guess his bullwhip photo says it all.
 
There's an interview with Liam Gallagher somewhere he talks about the breakup of Oasis, and one factor he listed is that Noel was getting too hoggish with the lead vocals. In fact, he never should've started. Liam Gallagher said, with a motion of brushing someone annoying aside, "you're the guitarist, you stay over there and do your thing and let me do mine." Plain wisdom, but N.G.'s ego got in the way. Along with Don't Look Back in Anger, Mucky Fingers is the song where an AI 1994 Liam Gallagher needs to saunter in and finally do it justice. A live version, of course. Some feedback, a brief profanity-ridden tirade, the fuzzed-out Velvet Underground homage riff, and finally that voice. The masterpiece would be complete.

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