Forgotten?

94,939 - 103,588

http://www.iraqbodycount.org/

Remembrance

Small, forgotten
Unremembered
Insignificant
It could be said

Lost
Bereft
Lamented
Treasured

Small, remembrance.

There you are(n't)

I draw a square and place you there

A List of All the People I Have Forgotten

Here is a list of all the people that I can't remember:-


















Feel free to add any of your own.

On the Map

Somewhere on the map - we may locate ourselves. By the patterns of our comings and goings we are written into, on to, the geography of which we are part. Whether or not we consciously make ourselves aware of our own part and presence, we are on the map. Others may map us without our knowing, just as we map those who are not the 'I' that we take our viewpoint from - often without their knowledge. In searching the map we may hope to find those who are, seemingly, lost to us. In searching the map we may hope to find ourselves. Neither eventuality is certain but we are always at the point on the map at which we stand. Our location is determinable; we may always be found. A map is a tangible testimony to both faith and trust. We place our faith in the skills and knowledge of those who have mapped the territory before us and we trust in our own ability to follow the map. In this way we may find our route.

Found Objects

Found, not lost; discarded. Traces, remnants, fragments - collected, logged and placed with due care. Caring for those things to which no duty of care applies - not necessarily forgotten, but no longer required. Each object with its own history, its own threads of attachment, its own story to tell. Embodied presence signifying absence - a loss, a rupture in the relationship of things; a material memory; a memorial.

A Slight Return

Of course, when other blogs begin to take over the mantle of 'we've got the most posts', its time to make a response. The holiday is over and the gloves are off; major re-profiling of the staff team has taken place here at the Institute and some of the dead wood has been pruned away - that cunt Humble has gone for a start - what a twat. Check back soon for the 'new look' Institute - less funding, greater efficiency - you know it makes sense. (And no more shite about owls and cheese.)

Questions, Answers? IV

What if the choice were between owls and cheese? A world without owls, or a world without cheese - which would you choose? (Choose may be an etymological construct between the phonetics of owl communication and cheese - interesting?)

Questions, Answers? III

What would the world be like without owls and cheese? Bereft and empty, I think you might find.

Questions, Answers? II

What if there were?

Questions, Answers?

What if there were no more questions? Could there still be answers? Does an answer rely on the existence of an appropriate and related question and, if not, is it still an answer - or a simple statement of fact? What if there were no more?

Fruit VII

Redcurrant, Banana, Nectarine, Blueberry, Violin?

Fruit VI

Tangerine, Guava, Pomegranate, Pear, Mallet?

Fruit V

Passion Fruit, Clementine, Blackcurrant, Melon, Bassoon?

Fruit IV

Lemon, Gooseberry, Mango, Damson, Spanner?

Fruit III

Plum, Cherry, Blackberry, Pear, Cello?

Fruit II

Pineapple, Raspberry, Lime, Satsuma, Monkey Wrench?

Fruit

Apple, Peach, Strawberry, Orange, Piano?

Beyond Knowing

.................then I wandered over the other side of the fence for a while - different perspective from here and yet familiar for all that; not exactly deja vu, but certainly a sense of having seen (or felt) this before (perhaps just drawing on previous memories). Some hours probably passed before I made my way back and continued along the usual route. Sometimes its these unscheduled detours that provide unexpected insights............

Not Knowing III

.........and there are times of simply not knowing; is this a crisis of faith or a lack of belief - or simple ignorance? If ignorance is really bliss, then not knowing should be some kind of comfort instead of a gnawing sense of incompleteness and inadequacy..............

Memoir III

Of course that paled into insignificance compared to the Ceausescu / Cheesy Wotsits / Dr. Pepper debacle - now that was a real 'side-splitter'..................

Not Knowing II

Something else that I don't know is whether or not to believe in agnosticism.

Memoir II

...........and then there was the time that I managed to knock Pinochet's red wine all over him - how we laughed...........

Not Knowing

There are many things that I don't know - the real words to 'American Pie', for example.

Memoir

Sign in, sign out; check in, check out - just keep walking. A dead pigeon and a pile of vomit; two train journeys, one conversation and several readings of the same piece of writing. Yep, just keep walking.

Spot the Difference - Solution

Generally speaking owls do not make a good accompaniment to Cream Crackers. Equally, cheese makes a fairly poor flighted predator (apart from Gorgonzola, of course.)

Spot the Difference IV

Spot the Difference III

Spot the Difference II

Spot the Difference

Lifted

"Ranting and raving - ya raggy-arsed fucker ya, get in the fuckin' van before I kick the fuckin' shit out of ya.............see the big bastard, he's got a head like a sack of shite 'n a mouth to match - the other fucker; wiry and steely-eyed - he doesn't give a monkey's; all twitching facial muscles and just looking for half an excuse to wade in; don't even look at the bastard - those eyes, they'll nail ya to the fuckin' wall man..........." (Memoirs of a Disillusioned Solipsist, part IV)

Fifty Ways........

On the subject of 'goodbyes', Paul Simon once sang a song titled 'Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover'. Frankly this was a fucking lie - the cheating bastard only detailed five, to my count. Even this is over-stating the case really, because when it comes down to it, no matter whether your name is Gus and you hop on the bus, or Stan and you make a new plan - it really only entails one thing and that is walking out of the door. I guess one could argue that all of this is poetic license, or being less than generous with the truth for the sake of art - taking fucking liberties is what I call it - fucking songwriters...........

Goodbyes III

Or maybe the Digestives were harder to let go - parting is such sweet sorrow..........

Goodbyes II

Saying goodbye to my Cream Crackers was probably the hardest thing I ever had to do.........

Goodbyes

Saying 'goodbye' to anybody, particularly after many years together in a happy friendship or close personal relationship, can be a difficult business - how to articulate all those complex parting emotions and feelings; it can be really tricky. Why not make it even harder by doing it with a mouthful of Cream Crackers or Digestive biscuits?

Twat II

Loss III

Sometimes we may fall over the edge ourselves - then we can always console ourselves with cheese sandwiches; lost - but with a tasty snack.

Hope

........then again, there may be hope.

Loss II

Sometimes things just fall over the edge - no matter how precious; we reach and grab but our reactions are just too slow, our grip too weak and our efforts futile. That which we treasure the most is gone, lost in an instant of distraction, an inadvertent moment of inattentiveness - a permanent loss; irreplaceable. This is how my cheese sandwiches went.

The long way home

Shite - should have taken the no.28, not the 37.

Party Party Party!

Here at the Institute the party is in full swing as we celebrate the fact that this venerable and hallowed organisation has been on the go for a month and six days. A bottle of cheap Belgian lager has been opened and maybe some cheesy Wotsits will be circulated. Personally this kind of hedonism is beyond me and I intend climbing through the window of the gents at the earliest possible opportunity, catching the number 37 home and tucking up with my cocoa. Maybe some of you party animals might like to post details of your favourite party tipple, though? (Flaming Sambuca with a Creme de Menthe chaser, anyone?)

Nothing

Yesterday - nothing; last night - nothing; today - nothing. Just nothing.

Sum Total

Two empty Grolsch bottles, a dirty cup, a wristwatch, five CDs, a letter and three feathers. That's all.

By what means?

By what means do we seek to justify our various appropriations? Need, desire, greed, want? Is genuine need sufficient justification for theft? By what means do we come to believe in the consensus of a notional 'moral majority' - that we willingly accept the yoke of conformity (and condemn those who choose not to); that our innate rebelliousness is quelled, quashed and palliated, that we accept ourselves as failing aspirants to an illusory 'normality' which has no evidence of its own existence? By what means do we allow ourselves to be branded, labelled and villified - how does fear of that which is not ourselves come to be the instrument of our own governance? How are we blinded to the manner of our own subjection?

Loss

"God knows I tried, I fuckin' did - something must have distracted me, I don't know what fer chrissakes - but something fucking must have; I turned around and ya were gone - fuck 'n shit 'n bollocks - just like that, in a fuckin' instant. I took my eye off the fucking ball for a second - and I lost ya." (Memoirs of a Disillusioned Solipsist, part III.)

Sometimes

Sometimes there is nothing; always there is everything; sometimes there is everything; always there is nothing.

Empty

Sometimes the head is an empty vessel - nothing; we may find ourselves devoid of ideas, inspiration, creativity. Bereft and hollow - it may feel like the wellspring of fresh thought has dried up; the fear may be that we may never produce or make again. Personally I have never invented a cure for all ills, never devised a recipe for world peace, never dreamed up the perfect vision of beauty. Unfortunately stationery cupboard re-organisation duties here at the Institute prevent further interrogation of this issue, but do feel free to post ideas that you may never have had.

Twat

Yesterday I saw you

Staring out, looking - registering; do you see me, like I see you? Do you see me like I see my myself; do I see you the way you see yourself? Looking out, staring; watching what comes and watching what goes - focus on this moment and then the next; keep breathing, keep watching - do you see me, like I see you? Just keep breathing - say nothing..............

The unfamiliar

Many of you may be familiar with the concept of 'das unheimlich' (the unfamiliar, unhomely, or uncanny) as elaborated by Sigmund Freud. This may be manifested in a number of ways, for example seeing a hat-stand as a threatening person lurking in the shadows in that brief moment of non-recognition before its real identity becomes evident. Several days ago I was attacked by a hat-stand, which also stole my DVD player - the fucking bastard. You may also have similar experiences which you are very welcome to share here.

Owls, ownership and commodification

Owls, contrary to popular misconception, cannot rotate their heads through 360 degrees. Should you find that your owl is capable of this feat, the chances are that its head has become detached from its body for some reason. Owls do not make good pets - I don't speak with any authority on this subject; I have never owned an owl - but it is a belief of mine. I guess I could be persuaded otherwise by someone of greater experience (or indeed any experience) in the business of owl-ownership - I am still of the conviction, however, that to try and treat an owl as an object of ownership is against my ethical nature and, possibly, morality. I would suggest that this poses a question of the ethics of ownership and commodification in general terms, but furniture moving duties and night security here at the Institute prevent me from delving further into this issue. Do feel free to post details of your favourite avian species, however.

Special Needs

Y'see, I never really had a clue, ya know - all these things just came 'n went - never really touched me in any kinda way. I always thought I had it all sussed - like I really knew the fuckin' score, ya get me - like I was this fuckin' 'special one', but recently I've come to realise that pretty much like you, I know fuck all - d'ya see? (Memoirs of a Disillusioned Solipsist - part II).

Meagre means

Three pieces of cheese, a dried up slice of sopocka, two slices of stale bread

Beware

Beware of those who would persuade you otherwise; beware of empty rhetoric - beware of those who have the answers, beware of those who do not know. Beware those who would apply labels, beware those who do not opine. Beware the planners and schemers, beware those who would dub you paranoid; beware the shallow and morally bereft, beware the ethical - beware those who seek to lead, beware those who are afraid of power; beware men of vision, beware those who refuse to see; beware all impostors, beware those who believe themselves to be genuine; beware ego, beware self-effacement. Beware the truth, beware deception; beware those who seek to confine - beware those who would tear down the walls; beware revolution, beware those who preserve the status quo; beware those who have faith in the system, beware systems in themselves - beware the autocrat, beware the anarchistic. Beware those who administer, beware those who withhold, beware contact, beware withdrawal - beware the handshake, beware the smile - beware the familiar, beware the strange - beware all; beware none.

Classification of Cheeses

There are many different kinds of cheese, emanating from a multitude of different countries of origin - I won't be listing them here due to the various demands of running the Institute. Please feel free to post your favourite cheese, however.

Is This You?

Broken, damaged, shattered and splintered - worn, torn, dishevelled, detached; disparate, separated, distanced, disenfranchised. Unknown, unconcerned, untouched and uncaring - impassive, dispassionate, disdainful, ignorant; cynical, exploitative, thoughtless, crass............etc.

The aesthetic of appropriation

Is it wrong to covet other people's ceramic ornaments - would it be unacceptable to pretend they were our own, if only temporarily? What if a shelf were put up or a small display cabinet constructed and for five or ten minutes, say, we might cravenly exhibit or display these appropriated objects and indulge the pretence of ownership - would that be so wrong?

Two sticky labels and a rubber band

Dog Turd (Reprise)

Then again, standing in a dog turd is an act that requires some consideration once it has occurred - and, it could be argued, it is lamentable; perhaps, also, not silent.

Dog Turd

Small, unconsidered and unthought - an insignificant thing, unworthy of due concern; no duty of care may apply here. Left, unheeded, the elements may wash you away - a silent passing; unlamented - how many other losses, just like yours - no bell will toll, no pyre will mark your final exit - an unremembrance; forgotten.

Drawing the Abject

Disrupted Progress

The other day whilst walking home my progress was disrupted by an apparent tendency for my left foot to adhere to the pavement as if an additional, supplementary, gravitational force was inexplicably pulling on the left side of my body. This disturbed me slightly and upset my customary sense of equilibrium. Perturbed, but not terminally distracted by this eventuality, I stoically and steadfastly continued on my journey - determined not to be put off course by this unforeseen circumstance. Finally I arrived at my destination and upon taking off my left boot I discovered that a piece of discarded chewing gum had become stuck to its sole - this took several minutes to remove with a kitchen knife.

Socks, like swans, pair for life - this makes the loss of one half of their eternal partnership, for example somewhere in the maelstrom of the washing process, an unbearable disaster. One that is, for the most part, ignored by the thronging masses - too frantically engaged in materialism and rampant consumerism, pushing inexorably towards a dystopian ideal; oblivious to the plight of the lone sock as it pines and mourns for it lost soul (sole?) mate.

Finding Myself

54deg35minN,01deg13minW;53deg47minN,01deg45minW;53deg58minN,1deg6minW

'See, the big words - they're far away; 'n these small guys, well they're much nearer. This is what ya must understand - 'cos unless ya do, some clever fucker'll just mess with yer fuckin' head - ya get me? Don't forget; I'm always watchin' ya.' (Memoirs of a Disillusioned Solipsist)

Looking for the Disaffected

Making things and doing stuff may seem the perfect remedy for those amongst us who endure perennial discontent and disillusionment with the world at large and the specific vagaries, inconsistencies and disappointments of what we deem to be our daily existence. There are times when things and stuff do not suffice however, when the act of making becomes a hollow palliative or a meaningless routine; what then?