Business Genius

I moved to Denmark from the UK, this is my blog.

Monday, May 08, 2006

Charlie and me

A lazy day today; sunbathing in the Assistens Kirkegard (cemetery) over the road, dinner at the deli round the corner. Copenhagen is sweltering. It must sound odd, sunbathing in a cemetery, but it's a popular spot for housewives and the unemployed. I lay and read my book, Humboldt's Gift by Saul Bellow, and tried to burn off the top layer of skin on my face. I'm 27 and I still get spots. Anne thinks I have a virus, my mum thinks I eat too much cheese. I think omniscient women make me suppurate. At any rate there is something a little peculiar about graveyard sun-worshipping. The thought of thousands of human bodies interred six feet below you is not eerie as such, just a little disconcerting. One's thoughts turn naturally to mortality. Coincidentally, death anxieties are currently making things difficult for Charlie Citrine, the protagonist of Humboldt's Gift. His belief is that our earthly lives are just one phase of existence, preceding our souls' escape into some other plane of being. I am not so sure. But this is not the time for my amateur theology. In other news, I have been asked to become involved in a project a friend of mine is starting around the theme of social sustainability. She envisages a website with occasional printed editions featuring quirky, affirming stories with a credo which revolves around successful social experimentation, creative communication, ecological tools, positive integration. She wants to create something stylish and unique and I would like more than anything to be involved. At first I could not get a handle on what her niche was but we have fleshed a few things out and I think she's onto something. Stay tuned for updates.


At 7:53 AM, Blogger Imo said...

I'm glad to have found someone reading Humboldt's Gift at the same time as me.

I'm a hundred pages into it and find it Charlie's reoccuring memory of seeing Humboldt on the street is such a snore.

I can see this could be the whole Proust thing on memory but its boring.

Nice touch with reading in the cemetary. Creepy but fitting.


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