Mirror Mirror

Posted in Pretensions toward cultural theory, trauma with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 19, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

‘I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful‚
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.’

‘Mirror’

By Sylvia Plath.

Todd Sampson is full of shit.

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‘Simplicity is the Last Step in Art…’

Posted in Boxing, fighting with tags , , , on August 30, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

Training other people’s children is one of the most significant responsibilities I’ve undertaken.

It’s a huge moment of trust when a parent leaves you with their child, and I feel as if me and the kid are enveloped in a white-hot spotlight of attention. Everyone can see everything I do, and they’re watching in relation to the child.

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Ex Machina

Posted in Film, Pretensions toward cultural theory with tags , , , , , , , on August 26, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

2.

Bluebeard is the grisly tale of a powerful, wealthy nobleman who marries a young, innocent peasant girl. She discovers, while he is away, that her new husband has beheaded his previous wives once they have ceased to amuse him. In part, it is a cautionary tale about a rich, powerful man’s objectification of a young, naive woman.

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Ex Machina

Posted in Film, Pretensions toward cultural theory with tags , , , , on August 24, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

I tend to peruse my Netflix and Stan accounts with dismay. Firstly, they clash with the portrait I paint of myself socially, as someone who ‘doesn’t watch television.’ Secondly, I find that I’ll open an account with a streaming service because I want to see something specific, like Parasite, for example, and then I’m confounded by the volume of crap I don’t want to see that comes with it.

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The Neon Demon

Posted in Film, Pretensions toward cultural theory with tags , , , , , , , , on June 14, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

“Evil floats, weightlessly across the landscape of Los Angeles in Nicolas Winding Refn’s new film, The Neon Demon, co-scripted with TV writer Mary Laws and British dramatist Polly Stenham. It is a reverie of such sheer satanic rapture that Refn could be on danger of taking Bret Easton Elis’ crown as the Aleister Crowley of the 21st century.”

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A Promising Young Woman

Posted in Film, Pretensions toward cultural theory, violence against women with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 18, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

I was fairly horrified by the film ‘A Promising Young Woman’, especially the murder at the end.

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The Heavy Bag is a Koan

Posted in Boxing, Fitness, Muay Thai with tags , , , , , , , on April 28, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

‘There must be rites,’ [the Fox said].

‘What’s a rite?’ asked the Little Prince.

‘It is a thing too often neglected…’

The Little Prince,

Antoine De Saint-Exupery

p.61

I have a young man coming to see me for boxing training. His older brother bought him a ten-session package for an eighteenth birthday present, because learning to ‘handle yourself’ is considered one of the quintessential rites of passage.

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The Dark Side of Unconditional Love

Posted in Observation with tags , on April 8, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

Anyone who has been abused by a family member, or a partner, understands unconditional love.

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You Embarrass the Roses

Posted in poetry on March 22, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

You embarrass the roses

I see them leaning together, whispering, looking,

Murmuring in spiteful, jealous consensus

As you pass by

The authority of your stride moving through your skirt

with the subtlety of a breeze

You’re wearing your Mona Lisa smile

And I know

That the secret that fills the vortex

at their centre is darkness, emptiness –

Their petals shamefully shroud this painful secret

Until time undoes the strings of their bodice

and they are dissolute

The roses know

That your eyes, your centre, is filled with liquid electricity

that is ever lustrous

That liquidity, that electricity

Is the current that animates your animal grace

So potent that, at forty-four,

It’s begun to scorch the filaments of your jet-black hair

And the roses know I ache for you,

and they also know

that your light

and my ache

are the same.

Flannery O’Connor Hates You

Posted in Observation, Pretensions toward cultural theory with tags , , , , , , on March 20, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

I’d never read Flannery O’Connor until lockdown. I’d seen her listed as one of the outstanding writers of the twentieth century, specifically in terms of her short stories. I had time on my hands, so I bought her collected works.

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