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Monday, September 15, 2014

but wait!

don't we have different personalities and mindsets in what one would consider the middle of the night, from our "ordinary" (what indeed is "ordinary") life and interaction during the daytime? Is one not freer and perhaps simpler and downtoearther, whateever that is, when in principle one is lying down elsewhere and not sitting up somewhere as I am now? Are we  not exactly, Jeckyll (2 l's?) and Hyde, but us and then another us? Surely, and happily. I am certain of this, a sure belief. To be discussed, perhaps. 

snippets of time

Isn't it peculiar, and riveting, how small things save small but valuable amounts of time? If you live on the 12th or the 6th floor, think of the elevator time over, say, a year, that you save or spend going up and down? I have been reflectiing on how shorter hair, for example, saves 30 seconds or so of brushing or combing! my husband quips when some car goes speeding by that the lady must be having a baby or someone is due at the hospital, but you can, in your heart of minds, imagine how great it would be to RUSH BY. To say nothing of the nonlickng of envelopes and writing of addresses trhat email spares us. Of course, I love, almost beyond memory, the part in Le petit prince about if you had more time, you would walk to the spring. I would do that, and do the equivalent, even in Manhattan, all the time in fact, which is really about time. But the snippets are fun to consider, even for a snippet of in the middle of the night time. Like Peter Brooks' Carmen iin 40 miinutes... I am reading Wittgenstein with  my students, and love Zettel because of aphoristic brevity: not just Pascal, and Char, but all fragmented intensity. 

Monday, September 8, 2014

frustrational aesthetics

so when you really need a book and you notice your students have removed it from every single bookstore you should be happy, right? ah, I found one, ok, am off to Union Square, ooof, this is that kind of blogging

Saturday, September 6, 2014

madness at midnight

So why iin the world do I accept readings in places I know naught of? I LOVED reading in New orleans, would do that like a shot again, but without looking at a map, I seem to have accepted something  in Manchester, thinking, oh you know, Manchest-by-the-sea, as in where my frien dLee lives or Manchester, Vt or somewhere, but this one turns out to be about 3 hours drive from my tiny home town of Manhattan and I won't be through reading and signing and all that until late at night AND of course I don't drive AND of course why did I accpet, except that I accept ALL  readings, I think whether from my beloved modern art cookbook or any traslated book because I love reading from poetry, etc., oh heavens above, AND it will be near Thanksgiving and various children of ours may be arriving and why iin the world, oh, that kind of I should go back to bed except that I am reading all these nex to unreadable things for my modernist singularities course and will replunge into Gide (oh you know, Paludes and Voyage d'Urien and Strait is the gate - course in English, oof) etc and would rather stay up except that we are leaving EARLY in the morning to get to Ossining (here is that?) to get on a Riverkeeper boat with a friend so I am lucky to live the way we live, really, will get back to reading and unworry about that thing people do when they lie flat and pass out, I'd rather read anyway, aloud to just plain with a glass of rum and some nuts, oh yes, I am LUCKY to live the way I do

Sunday, August 31, 2014

translational aesthetics

WHAT, say WHAT? yes, we are running a panel for the Friday Forum in the English Ph. D. Program at the CUNY graduate school where I teach, on what we are calling (bizarre, right?) TRANSLATIONAL AESTHETICS on Jan. 30, and I think we can talk about the way art translates itself into something else, and the rest, with Wayne Koestenbaum and Josh Wilner and Alyson Waters, wow, yup

everything is like everything

so here I am watching Roger Federer who is probably going to lose in the Opens, but the ominous skies may do things to the game... am thining how it is like Pascal, and the point of the roulette thing was who would win what if the game was stopped before the end
how is it that every damned thing you work on or care about or talk about turns about to interdigitate with the rest?

do you think?

is it necessary or enviable that someone has to say, oh, "why didn't you..."
it seems to me that happens n my life: like: why didn't i... but you know what, I didn't...
oh well, here's to what I didn't do and tried to do my best at and did as I could and you know what? that's the way it is