There are things I'm not grasping. They are eluding my understanding as though lubed with a bucket of still-warm-thus-viscous bacon lard. One is frangipani scented air freshener and the other is Virginia Woolf. Let us explore these mind-baffling phenomena.
1. Frangipani scented air freshener. I get that some people like to have those battery operated devices that intermittently send a scented spray through their domicile. It can be for whatever reason - an enjoyment of the scent or maybe to mask the mustiness of some old houses. But here's the thing: there are some floral scents that assail the nostrils like a wrecking ball and leave you begging for mercy. The real plant pumps out its scent at night to attract insects. The automatic air wick thing sprays this wretched mist - with which the Hun could have felled the troops in the trenches once the mustard gas ran out - for no discernable reason other than to make those in its reach suffer. I enjoy a subtle light fragrance, but this cloying pong beats me into submission and leaves me with a foul headache.
2. Now for the highly esteemed Ms Woolf. I actually understand the theory behind the stream of consciousness writing style. But understanding does not automatically lead to enjoyment. I understand how to prepare trifle but I detest the damnable dessert. Reading the prose of Ms Woolf, which I currently must do in the finalisation of my degree, makes me want to bang my head against a brick wall. The stream of consciousness makes me think of viewing a movie without a non-diegetic soundtrack. Whilst it is realistic that we don't hear the telltale tight strings of the violin in a tense or suspenseful situation in real-life, by jinkies it adds to the mood and enhances the experience when we are viewing a movie. Virginia Woolf is boring. I said it. Fight me if you must.
Chat soon.
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