Directory of Lost Causes (By Quentin S. Crisp)

My Policy

First published on Opera, Tue 6th Apr, 2004

As I sit upon my dizzyingly high throne of ennui and gaze out across the seething hordes of the human race, I sigh to myself. Really, what is there to say? And who would hear me above this din, anyway? They're far too intent on tearing each other's throats out. So, I suppose I'll just mutter a few things to myself here, to pass the time, even though those things may well not have any relevance to anything. Ennui is so difficult to express directly. It is hinted at in sighs and gestures between words.


I think I mentioned having trouble with one of the fractals I posted a link to earlier. I thought it best that I should explain my policy on this, and, in the meantime, also explain why the content of my weblog might shift in such a way that its continuity is disrupted, references being made to images that are not there, and so on.


It went like this... I wanted images of worms, and so entered the word 'worms', into the Google search engine. I was fascinated to find a fractal called 'Can-o-Worms', since fractals have been such an influence on my novel The Sex Life of Worms. I posted a link to that fractal. The link went on the blink. In the meantime, in my next post, I used images of more fractals. At least one of the images I linked to jammed my link, sending a message instead of the image. The message said something like, "No direct links!" Later, a similar message appeared in place of the blinky 'Can-o-Worms'. I had spent a great deal of time in setting up these posts, researching the images and so on. I heaved a great weary sigh to find I had to edit these entries yet again. Why do these sites feel they have to block 'hotlinking,' as it appears to be called? Are they part of the internet, or aren't they? Let's look at the word 'internet'. It appears to mean 'a network created by interlinking'. And they are shunning the very principle on which this is built. Personally, I want people to link to my part of the internet.


Okay, so they're worried about copyright, being ripped off, and so on. I understand these worries. I am a writer. I don't want people to pass of my work as their own - god knows I came very close to that experience recently. However, anyone who is interested can tell where a hotlink has come from. Just put your cursor arrow over it and it will give you the URL. Failing that, right-click it and then click 'open image'. All the images in my blog are 'electronically tagged' with the address of their copyright. I am not using them commercially. I am not trying to pass them off as my own. And then, there's something else... If these people only said on their sites, "Please do not use these images without permission", then I would respect that request, but I rarely find any site in which the owner bothers to state their policy. In case anyone's interested, 'Can-o-Worms' came from a site called Fractal Domain, the URL is in my list of links. There are some great fractals there.


Anyway, when I was looking for a replacement for 'Can-o-Worms', I found a great fractal site called 'Maria's Fractal Explorer Gallery.' I liked these fractals even more than the ones at Fractal Domain, even though there wasn't a wormy theme anywhere in sight. I also noticed that, joy of joys, Maria stated her policy thus: "All fractals and spot files are free for non-commercial use. Please ask me if you wish to use any of my work for commercial use." I thought to myself, "I love this person!" Tell me your policy and I will respect it! Even though I did not wish to use any of her images commercially, I wrote for her permission anyway, because I appreciated this so much. The URL for her site is in my list of links.


"Wouldn't it be nice," I thought to myself, "if the whole world were like that, if a person could simply state their policy and everyone else would respect it?" Much as I hate to sound supercilious or self-righteous, if everyone was like me, the world would be like that. What a wonderful world that would be!


I suppose I should cast around now for something to stop me feeling superior. Well, one thing is, I suppose, that I haven't really stated my own policy in my weblog. Unfortunately, I'm only really borrowing this space on the internet from Opera, and I don't know enough about how it works to put my policy in a prominent place, so I shall write it here instead, as follows: IF THERE IS ANY STRANGE PERSON OUT THERE WHO WISHES TO USE ANY OF THE TEXT I HAVE WRITTEN HERE, WHICH IS COPYRIGHT TO ME BY THE VERY ACT OF MY WRITING IT, PLEASE CREDIT THE QUOTE TO ME. IF YOU WISH TO USE THE TEXT COMMERCIALLY, PLEASE GET IN TOUCH WITH ME FIRST (nopperabor@hotmail.com). NONE OF THE IMAGES HERE ARE COPYRIGHT TO ME.


Well, not that I have to worry too much about people stealing my text...


Now, to change the subject entirely... Being the writer and philologist that I am, I subscribe to an e-mail group called A-Word-a-Day, and, although for a long time I have found little that really inspired me, recently I was sent two words of particular interest. Here is the first:


resistentialism (ri-zis-TEN-shul-iz-um) noun


The theory that inanimate objects demonstrate hostile behavior against us.


[Coined by humorist Paul Jennings as a blend of the Latin res (thing)+ French resister (to resist) + existentialism (a kind of philosophy).]


If you ever get a feeling that the photocopy machine can sense when you're tense, short of time, need a document copied before an important meeting, and right then it decides to take a break, you're not alone. Now you know the word for it. Here's a report of scientific experiments confirming the validity of this theory:


Completely valid and serious scientific experiment


Well, I've certainly had experience of resistentialism. It's even something of a theme in my novella, The Haunted Bicycle. Perhaps resistentialism should be divided into general resistentialism, and the more pernicious form of animistic, pantheistic, or possibly synchronicitous resistentialism, which emphasises the conspiracy aspect of the theory, that not only objects, but events and the universe generally, are conspiring against you. I've certainly been getting that feeling a lot of late. Searching for literary agents, I find myself taking arms against a sea of rejections, to mix metaphors in the Shakespearian manner. But that's not all - I suppose I feel that... but why put it into words? I am misunderstood. There's little doubt of that in my mind. When people like me, it makes me uneasy. I know I am headed for a fall. In the playground the shame of being misunderstood, the constant, head-hanging ache of it, was nothing other than what I was and where I lived. It shouldn't surprise me that I return here so often in adult life, that I still, all too often, find events conspiring to place me on The Outside.


When I first started this blog, I also started another one with Live Journal simultaneously. But the resistentialism of Live Journal was such that I never managed to post more than one entry on it, and gave it up. However, there was one feature of Live Journal that I liked. (Actually, no, I didn't like it at the time). Anyway, there was one feature that I wish Opera had. There were boxes for each journal entry in which you would write 'current music' and 'current mood.' I would like to combine the two now, by expressing my current mood with a quote from my current (or it has been current, anyway) music. From 'For the Dead,' by Gene: "Everyone's just walking away from me. Am I really that nasty?"


Now for the second word:


petrichor (PET-ri-kuhr) noun


The pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a dry spell.


[From petro- (rock), from Greek petros (stone) + ichor (the fluid that is supposed to flow in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology). Coined by researchers I.J. Bear and R.G. Thomas.]


"Petrichor, the name for the smell of rain on dry ground, is from oils given off by vegetation, absorbed onto neighboring surfaces, and released into the air after a first rain."


Matthew Bettelheim; Nature's Laboratory; Shasta Parent (Mt Shasta, California); Jan 2002.


First we have the pain, then the consolation. The smell of rain on a hot pavement (or rock) is one of my favourite - call me Julie Andrews - things in the whole world. Now I know that name for it. But then I began to think, it's not just the smell that I enjoy. It's the sound and the feel of it, too. Maybe there should be aural petrichor, or petrichor gooseflesh.


I was also reminded of a passage from one of my favourite stories, 'Quiet Rain', by Nagai Kafu. I will copy out a passage here, from Edward Seidensticker's translation:


"The rain beating against the window, flowing from the eaves, dripping from the trees, pouring over the bamboo thicket, is a stronger agent to move men's hearts than is the wind moaning in the trees or water roaring down a mountain valley. The voice of the wind is an angry one, and the voice of the water a wail. The voice of the rain does not rage and does not complain. It but speaks, pleads. Human emotions are forever unchanging; and who, alone in bed listening to the rain, is not moved to sadness? Who, in particular, when he is ill?"