Saturday, June 2, 2018

Peer Review.

"No you really should look to do a PHD." they say.

 So, after much humming and hawing...

I write it and it.... ho hum....

Well it sounds odd.

So much the better!

"Oh sod it!."

"Odd sod!"

 "OH! Haw haw haw!"

 So, I print out page after page of forms.

I struggle to write myself into their forms.

Is that really me?

"Oh who fucking cares?"

 I am missing the point.

I hadn't read the small print.

I am to be rendered procedurally immaterial.

"We don't accept paper, all applications must be in digital form."

I am an object in an inbox to be processed...................................................................(fucking slowly.)

Enough time to be able to think and to annotate my thoughts and find companions.

I wait.



I wait.



I wait.



I hope.........................................................................................................................................................

"Oh think of the wastage!"

 $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

I, or the executors of my will are to be left with page after page of forms and no ink in the printer cartridge.

"With regards to your application, we have the pleasure to inform you, you have been accepted on our doctoral program. It will cost you/your estate an arm and a leg."

Not hearing anything for the next eight months, I decide I better take things into my own hands.

I write an email.

"Er, what's going on with my application?"

 "Er, yes, we have processed your application, the commission has accepted to validate your experience. You can start applying to get on the doctoral program."

 So, good.

I wait.



I wait.

I wait.


I phone the appropriate number.

I listen to three of Vivaldi's four seasons...

Winter is coming.



"Er, hello, what's going on with my application?"

"Oh, yes, er sorry, there are a few issues with your application."

...................................................................................................................................................................
(more time passes)

More Vivaldi.

Winter is here.



 "Er yes, you have been incorrectly advised, you shouldn't have done a VAP, you should have done a VAE"

 "***********"
(exasperation, passive aggressive non-voiced swearing and insults)

 "So we will send you the forms in triplicate, and you will have to do an interview in front of a jury, who, if we are fortunate, will find you guilty to be charged: a few pounds of flesh, an arm, a leg, your other arm, and other leg, a fair amount of your adomen, oh and your buttocks (you sad fucker).

 Should you die on completion of the program your executors will receive the doctoral diploma with post-mortem as its annex"

 ...................................................................................................................................................................(more time passes)

Peer Review

So, I had just come back from an academic conference where I felt, for the first time, perhaps, accepted by my peers...on my terms.

I feel that I have a role...which I feel comfortable with...in the margins....no, for ever in their margins.

I spoke with my friend Teresa and we laughed about the absurdity of this system.

I spoke with my friend Terry and we laughed about the absurdity of this system.



I go and look back at what I have written.





I shall trust myself to find my way.




I decide that I shall feel my way through the woulds, to find the will that is mine.



I shall not tread the wood that is beaten out for me.

I can not.

That is not, has never been my path.

"Oh we have never had a case like yours."

I don't fit in their fucking forms.



Of course I don't.

I never fucking did.

Neither do you.

That's my point.

That's my role.

That's it.

PEER REVIEW

I peer around in the darkness, take a few deep breaths, a few steps and review.

I am still alive.

And fucking kicking.

Recognition


Just be assured that I am at peace.

"I don't ask for your pity, but just for your understanding - not even that - no.  Just for some recognition of me in you, and the enemy time, in us all."

Tennessee Williams Sweet Bird of Youth

Recognition.

Recognition for me, is a quest for harmony.

I have tried on so many costumes, played so many roles, that I find myself not so much naked but worn. 

If I be worn, I am not for the instant worn out.

If the truth be known, now my friend I am inhabited.

I remember the seduction of theatrical applause.

I don't know about you, but the applause only ever had meaning for me when it came as confirmation; confirmation of a journey, of an emotion, of a struggle shared.

There has to be...there has to be presence.

Recognition is perhaps in communion.


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