The anti-irk

Upbeat is a dangerous mode.

And jocund is a dangerous word.

Featured in line 16 of Wordsworth's 'I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud,' not my favourite poem by not my favourite poet, 'jocund' was discussed three times on in class on Wednesday. It was the only word which needed definition in the poem. Not only that, there were No Allusions to identify. The poem didn't have notes because the poem didn't darn need notes. Common touch, that Wordsworth. Drizzle, daffodils, ennui.

I'm suspicious of jocundity, jocosity, cheer and most aspects of glee. Fortunately, I recognise them all as ephemeral fancies, chimerical chemical effusions into the deeper bleak. Here's some of the things fueling today's novelty mood:

• Memories of crumbed veal marrow for dinner last night. (Chez Mon, avec JJ et al.)
• The knowledge that the narrator of Tim Winton's latest novel, Breath, is named Pikelet.
• Plums.
• No classes till next Wednesday.
• An email from msn and the Sydney Powerhouse about an email archiving project. Not only do I keep most pieces of paper, I rarely delete emails. Freudians have uncomplimentary things to say about these retentive habits. I will nonetheless be able to deliver a significant contribution to the historians of the future.
• Mild sun.
• Why does Snoop Dogg carry an umbrella? Fo'Drizzle.
• Betty Davis.

Chirp chirp tweet.