Hello, my name is Richard. Welcome to my website. Here is my photograph, taken in September 2000, on a trip to New York City. I first put this website together as an exercise in using HTML. Consequently, much of it leaves a lot to be desired. However, there is quite a good anthology of poetry and song lyrics. There are also some photographs of street art, which might impress you. There are some photographs of Julian Beever's pavement art. There are also some photographs of wall paintings, most of which I discovered in the area around Hoxton Square and in Brick Lane, in the East End of London. This art work, which I believe was performed by students of Art Colleges local to the region, is, in my opinion at least, rather splendid.
I have also tried to provide a window into the wealth of literature available on-line. Regrettably, my ego got in the way, in this task, and I was unable to refrain from adding some comments of my own. However, if you are willing to pick your way through my pretentious clap trap, you may find something of interest. For example: The Whole of the Bible, together with All of the plays of William Shakespeare, are available online, if you know where to look for them.
If you have any comments of the website, please contact me by e-mail, by clicking here: e-mail Richard Gillard.
Thank you very much for taking the time to read this introduction.
Yours Truly
Richard Gillard
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Here are some of my favourite links to other people's websites:
Here are a few real life links to the unusual, the exotic, the sublime and the strange.
I have just watched a TV documentary on Aubrey de Grey.
At least, I just caught the end of it. This has been one
of those mornings on which I have needed to get up at
5:00 AM, attend to certain biological functions and then
graze on carrots, bread and houmous. I sometimes find
that, if I turn on the TV at such times, I will find
something fascinating, something I cannot take my eyes
and ears away from. This morning a certain documentary
on one Aubrey de Grey was just such a documentary. I
thought I would see what I could find on the Internet.
For example: What does Wikipedia have to say about the man?
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A strange lady. Wikipedia has a full history. See below
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Fresh water pools in the Yucatan Peninsula, many of which are connected to an underground waterway that leads from deep inland right out to the sea. The cenotes were used by the Maya as a source of fresh water. This may seem odd when one considers that the cenotes are linked to a deep underground river, which connects with the sea. The fact is however, that there is a well defined interface between the fresh water and salt water within this underground water system. If one enters a cenote, one is entering a fresh water pool. However, at a certain depth one encounters salt water. If one goes deeper still one encounters dissolved hydogen sulphide, produced by rotting vegetation. Apparently, at a certain depth, the concentration of hydrogen sulphide is strong enough to burn any exposed skin, should a Scuba diver choose to dive to this depth.
The links below will tell you more about this strange and mysterious natural phenomena:
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The reader might wonder why I have included The Cutty Sark in a section headed Stranger than Fiction. The Cutty Sark is after all simply a sailing ship, a Tea Clipper now in dry dock in Greenwich. The reason I have included the Cutty Sark in this section is that it gets its name from a poem about a Witches' Sabbat. The Poem in question is The Tale of Tam O'Shanter by Robert Burns.
The ship was unfortunately damaged by fire on Monday 21 May 2007. The fire was not a small one and the damage was extensive. Fortunately however, the ship was undergoing maintenance at the time. For this reason a large part of her equipment, including her figurehead, her masts, et cetera had been removed for maintenance work. This means that these items at least were fortunately undamaged.
The cutty sark from which the ship takes its name was an item of clothing worn by a particularly good looking young witch whose dancing is so magnificent that it causes Tam O'Shanter, the hero of the Poem, to roar out "Well Done Cutty Sark!" This spontaneous act of approbation was very nearly fatal for the said Tam O'Shanter. By expressing his enthusiasm in this way he alerted the witches to his presence. They were not happy to find out he had been observing their celebrations and set out in pursuit of Tam who, fortunately for him, is astride his horse, his grey mare Meg. Also fortunately for Tam there is a stream nearby and, apparently, witches cannot cross running water, at least in the context of the Robert Burns poem. Maggie jumps the stream just in the nick of time and both horse and rider are safe. However, Maggie is forced to sacrifice her tail in the adventure. This is because Nannie, the witch who is wearing the cutty sark is foremost among those chasing Tam. At the instant Tam and Maggie reache the stream Nannie is all but upon them. She reaches out and grabs Nannie by the tail. Maggie is able to jump the stream but Nannie is left holding her tail.
If you visit the Cutty Sark at Greenwich, please take a few minutes to look up at the figurehead at the front of the ship. The figurehead is a young woman holding a horse's tail. The figurehead represents Nannie just as Maggie has effected her escape and Nannie is left holding her tail.
There is perhaps one more point I should make about the name of the ship. I said that a cutty sark was an item of clothing. Strictly speaking a sark is an item of clothing. Cutty is simply an adjective meaning short. The following links will tell you more, both about the ship and also about the poem, The Tale of Tam O'Shanter, by Robert Burns
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Who was Aleister Crowley? To me, in my younger days he seemed like an old friend. He died in 1947, five years before I was born. However, when I left home in 1972, at the age of 20, I had his biography tucked under my arm and listening to his reminiscenses (O.K. reading them, I wax poetic from time to time) was a bit like having an older, wiser friend with me. He introduced me to George Bernard Shaw (In his incarnation as Bernard Shaw - Playwright), he introduced me to the English Lake District and Scar Fell Pike he even introduced me to Henrik Ibsen. To many people Aleister Crowley was an evil man. All I can say is that in reading his autobiography I have come across much of value. I have already mentioned Shaw, the Lake District and Ibsen. As I have often been fond of joking with those who question my interest with this man, "After George Bernard Shaw and The Lake District, I find that I can forgive him Ibsen". Of course those people who advise that one should give the likes of Aleister Crowley a wide birth are not referring to his love of Ibsen. They are referring to his experiments with Magick (Mr Crowley always spelt it that way). The thing is though Mr Crowley was interested in a lot more than magic / Magick. That is what makes reading his autobiography (or at least the first 100 or so pages of it - I have never got further than that) so interesting. Was he a Mountaineer, a writer, a critic, a poet or a magician. The short answer to these questions is that he was all of these things and more. Was his magic / Magick, black or white, was he a good man or a bad one? These are interesting questions. Certainly I remember one extremely unpleasant chapter in his novel Moonchild in which a magic ceremony was recorded and cats were tortured to death at four corners of a magic circle. Had that chapter, of that particular book, been my first experience of the work and writings of Aleister Crowley I suspect I might have closed the book and never gone near Mr Crowley's works and writings again. However that was not my first experience of Aleister Crowley. My first experience of Aleister Crowley was reading the first 100 pages or so of his autobiography (To which some 1970's publishing wag had given the title: 'The Spirit of Solitude - Subsequently re-Antichristened, "The Confessions of Aleister Crowley"'). As I say Mr Crowley introduced me to George Bernard Shaw and the Lake District. At different times in my life George Bernard Shaw and the Lake District have been very precious to me, a source of great comfort, stimulation, pleasure and joy. It is hard not to like the man who opened my heart and mind to such things. As for what you will make of the man, my dear reader, I will leave it for you to decide. Here are a few Internet References for you to be getting on with.
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If you watch the movie Casino Royal, the 2006 version not the 1967 version, you will see Daniel Craig chase a man who can run up a vertical girder and all but fly from the top of a building. That man is Sebastien Foucan. He is the inventor of free running. Free running is a sport where people quite literally run over buildings and rooftops and jump from building to building in ways which defy belief. Mr Foucan is featured on several websites, including his own website and Wikipedia. You can find out more about this amazing man, below.
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Both hero and monster, or so reputation would have it, this man was on one hand a comdrade in arms to Joan of Arc, on the other hand he was reputed to have committed some of the foulest crimes imaginable. I will say no more. I can tell you nothing about this man that you cannot find out by reading his history on the following websites.
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It is doubtless as a result of his literary works such as Justine, Juliette and The 120 Days of Sodom, that the Marquis de Sade gave his name to the sexual perversion known as Sadism. However, this man seems to have something of the enigmatic about him. For example: When a patient in the Asylum at Charenton, he assisted the other inmates in putting on a number of plays, i.e. theatrical entertainments, which were perhaps very therapeutic for them. As a French Nobelman he nevertheless rose to power in revolutionary France. With his views on religion he may perhaps be considered as one of the leading figures in enlightenment thinking. For example: In his play, Dialogue between a Priest and a Dying Man, he debates whether God or Nature is the guiding force of creation. He comes down firmly on the side of nature. However, taking his own nature into account he could hardly do otherwise.
In the last paragraph, mention was made of the plays which the Marquis de Sade staged at the Asylum in Charenton. The playwright Peter Weiss wrote a play about the staging of one of these plays. This was subsequently made into a film by the director Peter Brook. The title of the film was the same as the title of the play. It was: "The Persecution And Assassination Of Jean-Paul Marat As Performed By The Inmates Of The Asylum Of Charenton Under The Direction Of The Marquis de Sade". For the sake of brevity this is usually referred to as The Marat/Sade.
After seeing the movie of The Marat/Sade for the first time, I was very taken with Patrick Magee's extremely sympathetic portrayal of "The Divine Marquee". I decided he must have been rather a nice old guy. How, I wondered, could he possibly have received such a bad press over the interveing centuries? Armed with this delightfully naive assessment of the man I went off in search of some of his work. I found and purchased Juliette. For the first 60 pages or so I found nothing to disabuse me of my positive assessment of its author. I found it a quite delightfull one handed read. The mental visions I was entertaining of all those beautiful and lascivious young nuns pleasuring each other seemed quite delightful. However, by about page 60 I noticed that the proceedings were starting to take a much darker turn. A few pages further and I started to experience something, which I was unable to express, until I read one of the reviews at the start of the Arrow Books edition of Justine. The writer, concerned suggested a comparison between De Sade's work and the Bible. He suggested that, just as the Bible represented a Gospel of good, De Sade's works represented a gospel of evil.
I still enjoy The Dialogue between a Priest and a Dying Man, I still have affectionate memories of the movie, The Marat/Sade and I very much enjoyed a recent viewing of the movie Quills. Nevertheless, Juliette, The 120 Days of Sodom and, too a lessor extent, Justine must represent some of the darkest literature known to man. Pasolini's movie, Salo, which is based largely on The 120 Days of Sodom, makes for very uncomfortable viewing. Academics sometimes comment on the writings of the Marquis de Sade. I am more than happy to leave the matter in their hands. I do not like to make such judgements on works of literature; however, I fear that to attempt to read much of the Marquis de Sade's written work is to venture into a dangerous and unsavoury landscape.
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Its too, too weird dear reader. Go on, you decide. I will say one thing though, walking down Swains' Lane late at night, especially on a Halloween Night, is an eary experience. Do so and you may begin to wonder, if this whole thing might not perhaps be true after all!
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More than a decade ago I went to Egypt for the first time. I went there on a guided tour with a tour company called Exodus. I remember that the holiday cost me a little in excess of £750. At the time, that seemed like a lot of money to me. However, the holiday was so fabulous that, after about the third or fourth day, I found myself sitting in the front of our ship, what to call it? A yacht? I don't know. It was nice, whatever it was! I was looking at the marvellous scenery in from of me, the bright blue skies, the greenery, the Nile stretching out before me, and I suddenly started thinking: "Am I really getting all this for just £750?
Our tour guide was a gentleman by the name of Hany Iskander. A resident of Cairo, Mr Iskander was quite literally the best tour guide you could ever hope to have. For example: It was very unusual to have a "free day" on this trip, but our last day was just that, a free day in Cairo. There was an optional trip to Mephis, but I had elected to go off on my own and visit Alexandria. I had read and been captivated my Lawrence Durrell's book, or collection of books, The Alexandria Quartet, and I felt I would die of shame if I missed the opportunity of visiting the location in which the book was set.
Anyway I happened to mention to Hany that it was my intention to go to Alexandria and he said along the lines of, "You will need to take a taxi to the appropriate bus stop. I'll give you a note to give to the Taxi driver." He then gave me a note, written in arabic. I was very glad of it, because:
Hany was a wonderful boon throughout that holiday. On this first day, for example, he took us to the Cairo Museum in the morning and, being an Egyptologist, he did not need to arrange a museum guide for us he was able to show us around himself. He told us of all the Pharaohs, whose artifacts we viewed, and he told us the names of all of the Gods and Goddesses whose statues and portraits we saw throughout the museum. I was amazed at the very great plethora of them. Before I went to Egypt I was aware of the existence of Isis, Osirus, Horus and Ra. Hany also told us of Hathor, Nut and many others besides.
On the afternoon of the first day we went to see the Sphinx and the Pyramids at Giza. On the way between the Museum and the Pyramids Hany took us all to a restaurant for our lunch, where I enjoyed the best Meze I have ever tasted in my entire life! Every time I have gone to a middle eastern restaurant since that far off time (nearly fourteen years ago at the time of writing) I have tried to find a combination of food that would come even close to the culinary wonder we experienced on that day. So far I have not even come close!
Looking back now on those two weeks I think that Hany was more than a human being. He was a force of nature! Not only was he extremely efficient and extremely knowledgeable, he was easy going, friendly and a lot of fun too. His attempts at break-dancing, at the restaurant and disco he took us all to on our final night in Egypt were a sight not to miss!
Anyway, Hany told us many stories about the Gods and Goddess's of Egypt and one of them has stayed in my mind ever since. I regret that, looking back on his story, after such a long period of time, there is one point I am confussed about. Hany mentioned three Gods / Goddesses as the major protagonists in this drama. I am not sure whether the chief of the male Gods mentioned was Horus or Osirus. I seem to remember Hany saying Horus but, in more recent years I am sure I have heard that it was Osirus who took part in this drama. Either way the two other protagonists in the drama were, The Goddess Isis and the evil God Set. In telling you this story I am going to assume that it is Osirus in this role. That seems to make much more sense.
Anyway the story is as follows, Isis is the lover of Osirus (or if it should be Horus then it might have been mother and lover) who is killed by his brother the evil God Set. Isis is heartbroken and turns herself into a bird so that she can however over the dead God and by flapping her wings over him, breath life back into his body.
The really magical thing about this story however is that Hany mentioned a connection between the God and the Constellation of Orion and between Isis and the bright star Sirius.
If you look up at the constellation of Orion on a clear dark night you will notice that the bright star Sirius is very close by. Indeed, if you imagine an invisible line running between Orion's Belt and Sirius, you will notice that Orion's belt seems almost to point to this bright star, which could still be said to represent Isis hovering over the constellation which represents her lover.
Now here is the really spooky thing. If you look at Sirius you will notice that it is one of the brightest stars in the night sky. Indeed, only the Moon, together with the planets: Venus, Jupiter and Mars are brighter. You will also notice that it twinkles and that it does so more than any other star in the night sky. If you look at it patiently for a little while you will find that it is not hard to imagine it as a little humming bird flapping its wings. When you see it like that, you can think once again of the myth of Isis, flapping her wings to bring the life back into the body of her lifeless lover, now represented by the Constellation of Orion. If you stay very quite and very still, you may notice a very pleasant tingling sensation, running up and down your spine, as you allow yourself to be totally captivated by the wonder you are now witnessing.
I had nearly forgotten all about this, until the other day, while searching the Internet for something else, I came across a reference to the "Egyption Book of The Dead" on Wikipedia. While looking through that article I came across another reference to the Myth of Osirus and the Creation of The Constellation of Orion. I have included links to both of these articles below. I have also included a link to the full online text of a book by Lucius Apuleius, known as The Golden Ass. I have included it here because, in Chapter 47 of The Golden Ass the Goddess Isis comes to Lucius to help him in his hour of need in answer to his earnest and most desperate prayer. Regretably, I cannot find the Robert Graves' translation of this work on the Internet. That is a great pity. In Robert Graves' translation of Lucius's wonderful book, The Goddess's address to Lucius is possibly the most poetic most magical speech in the whole of literature!
I leave you now with the four links mentioned above. Enjoy:
Warning: The links in this section are to web pages containing some sexually explicit images. If you are likely to be offended by such material, or if you are under 18, please click here.
(See www.digits.com for details)