missing the point...

On a day like this (or to put it better days like this) I should have been writing about a whole bunch of things. Antonio Machado's verses on the hot, dry summers of Andalusia, Serrat's songs about being Mediterranean (see Soundtrack), how Kastoriades understood the ancient Greeks (see Wordtrack) in a way no Greek had ever done before. Or more down to earth stuff like running onto Woody Allen and Scarlet Johanson having beer in Barceloneta, Arcade Fire preparing for Summercase festival or simply strolling down -staying at the shady parts- the sunny, quiet streets of the Gotic like the one you see in the photo.

But unfortunately I can't tell you about these things, simply because over the last few days, all these rather important stuff have been set aside and "work" has occupied my time in -lets say- a bit excessive way. I am not in a position to wine about this, having just recovered from a long overseas journey, followed by a short trip back to Greece. But still, it is the idea of it that pisses me of. Summer is here, -although not as warm as I might have expected- and my mind tends to drift more and more to the "labyrinth paths" (another reference to Kastoriades) that have to do with the ergodic literature of Milorad Pavic, the elegant melodies of Radiohead (good old stuff revisited), daydreaming strange stories that could have been written by Marquez, daywatching goals that were actually scored by Messi, talking about the history of the Balkans (an issue not to be taken lightly I can assure you), in general an incredibly variable amount of things that sadly does not include the keywords "nucleosomes", "microarrays" or "hormone-induction".

Nonetheless, it is keywords like these last ones that occupy most of my (precious) time and my even most precious little mind. It is funny but sometimes you find yourself squeezing out all the energy within towards tasks that look completely useless. Am I missing the point here?
Before I totally flip out, I should better pack my stuff and head home, have a glass of wine and watch a good film. And maybe just for the fun of it -and after having read Feyerabend's views on scientific method once more- I try once more to think about how to solve some problems, just before going to bed. A bit dizzy, after having read some more of Machado's verses, listened to a little more Radiohead and a lot more prone to thinking that science is not that much different than art.

And then maybe I come up with a solution that is not optimal, but at least beautiful.