:: cat'log ::

(semi-)daily scratching

on my bedstand:

edipo alla luce del folclore - v. propp
russian folktales - f. afanasyev

on my list:

el buscon - quevedo
libidinal economy - j.-f. lyotard

friends:

cockykitty

genoa's forts

monday, april fifteenth - cool, stormy/sunny

yeah, weather today is like that: a bit of shine, a bit of downpour, which is exactly what we had been missing. trees and plants seem so joyfully vivid, shoving their bright flashes against my eyes. vibrating. real.

mixing readings with dreams. fairy tales are wonderful stuff. i wonder, tho', if they should be appropriate for young children. i don't agree with those who consider them improper on the basis of the violence and gore that often is present in tales (folk or fairy). i don't think there's any risk in children learning violence from books. i'm thinking of something different. that is, if, as it results from propp's and other fabulists' studies, folktales testify to an ancient, forgotten past (so as it would not be forgotten?), some sort of residue that refuses to go away, then this past would survive in our minds (subconscious) only if we keep telling tales to younsters. the question then is: do we want to preserve some memory of this ancient, forgotten past?

>> if and when you solve this immemorial problem, will you then give me some of my precious little biscuits? i mean, get real, girl! there are people who are starving on this planet, you know? and there are people who are versing in really lousy conditions, dying, fighting for their life, freedom, security, in case you hadn't noticed. why waste your time and brains on issues which don't offer the least opportunity of bettering our fate on earth? ergo, get your butt in gear and get me some biscuits. got it? <<

example: sometimes the hero finds a hut in the middle of the forest; this hut shows no windows nor doors, but upon more close inspection, the hero finds a little crack, or a tiny door semi-hidden inside a pole. this makes perfect sense if we consider the substitution of pile-dwellings with ground- dwellings. if you can visualize the situation, place yourself in the position of he who no longer needs to climb on a pile-hut but sees one nevertheless, because the initiation ritual requires you enter it, somehow. (it is at this point that i get a weird feeling, almost of déjà vu). according to propp, it's a simple matter of mental association of the old with the new that generates something unreal, fantastic, magic. same applies to flying horses: having replaced birds in the sacred ritual, horses have acquired an aviatory characteristic.

thursday, march twentyfirst - very pleasant and mild

had to interrupt clyto's fable for bad news have struck here. not so much my ferocious migraine which disabled me for over a day, but the new tragedy which has struck again in this mad country of mine, right here in my town.

as it usually happens vultures crowd in to share the spoils or discharge any responsibility, secretary of the interior first of all. berlusconi (sorry if i toss in some politics, but politics tends to intrude in your everyday life, you know?) is acting the most obnoxious yet. he's blaming protesters against the government for fomenting "hatred and lies". dissensus cannot and shall not be shut on any account. we can all stand firm against terrorism, but that's because the worst effect of terrorism is to shut up democracy. and we won't allow that. no to terrorism, and no to berlusconi's blatant mismanagement.

>> you spoilt my fable, you shall pay for it. i mean you, berlusconi you dirty rat! may all the roman cats scratch your face into next year. augh, i have meowed. <<

tuesday, march nineteenth - very pleasant

very much into fables and fairy tales. sipping slowly thru' thompson, wishing i had all texts under my nose. ever since we humans devised a language, we never ceased speaking! weaving stories, true or imaginary, handed down from generation to generation. sometimes molecules of action, sometimes something more complex. stories to pass the time, stories to learn from the past, stories to forget the present. once we've learned how to write, we still didn't stop telling tales. the globalization of knowledge since time immemorial; each movement of people, from migrations to commercial routes, stories travelled across lands and centuries. stories fed literature and literature fed stories. it's hard for an amateur like myself to tell the difference between a literary fairy tale and a popular folktale. but oh, it's so fascinating!

>> once upon a long time, there was a cat, an old cat, who had three kittens and nothing to leave them when he died. on his deathbed he called upon his beloved kittens and said that he had nothing for them, save for a mousetrap for the eldest, a bowl for the middle one, and a little boy for the youngest. each went his own way to seek fortune. all save the youngest, who remained at his father's deathbed and wept and wept and wept. then, moved to tears, the little boy thus spoke to the kitten. "don't be sad, master, i'll take care of you. just stay here while i go a-hunting."

the cute little kitten sat waiting while the little boy went chasing. he captured a few mice and brought them to the king of cats. pleased with the offered made to him by the seigneur of calico, the king gave the boy an invitation to feast at his court. promptly the boy returned to his master to deliver the news. stupor and joy mingled with fear and insecurity in the heart of the little kitten. "what am i to do? i'm no baron..." "never mind, leave everything to me. just do as i tell you and you won't regret it." so the little boy again went... <<

saturday, march sixteenth - sunny and pleasant

been away for a while, flying through space on my magic carpet :-) and speaking of fairy tales (have been very into it, recently), i suggest you read this one, about man and woman exchanging roles in the household. seems like this issue is not altogether new!

and on my various travelling around, have been in rome for the big national demonstration against this ridiculous government. oh boy, over half a million people gathered, all ages (bet. 5 and 90), all classes, all political beliefs. peaceful, cheerful, all that energy blossoming from the streets and the buildings; people cheering and waving flags all around... it just gives one hope that it doesn't end there.

>> if you ask me, spring is the best season of all. once freed from those annoying toms (save for the smelly black one, which she seems to love nurturing... bah), it's just wonderful to be able to go out and explore explore explore! lucky so far that it hasn't rained like it usually does. and people are so nice, for a change: food aplenty everywhere, i think i'll start putting on some weight, he! <<

saturday, february twentythird - sunny and crisp

you may not know this, but clyto is an intellectual cat. these days she's shown particular interest for the news, especially in the form of newspapers. this new trend started just three days ago, when i returned home and found old papers scattered all over the place. since then i've caught her several times searching and browsing through issues and finally biting into the saint valentine book section. coincidence?

>> purr purr, this is the saddest time of the year, you know? i don't get any fancy for toms, as you well know, but... i don't know, some strange feeling, like melancholia at times, i need to be cuddled and petted and regaled with something special, like... say, biscuits, hein? i know you've got plenty in stock, so... get the drift, sweety pie? i do love so much spending the evening with you, while you're watching that stupid box with the images moving. i don't really mind the noise, and i need to have something to lick. yeah, you're bathrobe is quite yummy. purr purr... <<

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