Ange Mlinko, from a review of her book Starred Wire, at the Believer:
“Never mind the student loans that went for poetry, reimbursing itself with itself,” she instructs: “When curves of supply rose from the banquette, you were the cause of yourself, not the correlation or the echo of the forms that hugged themselves to end; but broke the surface, like an interdisciplinary dolphin.”
We also thank her for "The vending machine in the rose garden." We are creeping, creeping toward understanding what criticism is. These days, theory qua symmetry, direct relations, inverse relations, are all the rage.
From memory now: He thought that in the beauty of the world were hid a secret. He thought that its heart beat at some terrible cost and that in this headlong deficit the blood of multitudes might ultimately be exacted for the vision of a single flower.
I've been collecting moments. Friday morning, a bolt of lightning that woke me from, seemingly, across the street. Friday afternoon, at the National Arts Journalism Conference reception, the saccharine kiss of flattery after an organizer's sotto voce comment on my being pretty (surely there's a French idiom for this?). Saturday morning, walking down 12th street between Planned Parenthood and about forty pro-lifers in the middle of a Hail Mary. Saturday afternoon, a full rainbow outside Lincoln Tunnel. Saturday night, when I was so happy and dancing so hard I actually didn't care, for a second, what anyone thought. Sunday morning before sleep at 4am struggling to type. Sunday afternoon when I clinched a room in Brooklyn, if I want it. Monday morning when I woke up at 4am and wondered why I felt so comfortable, so at home. Because it's quiet, I realized.
When I learn how to connect all this I'll really have something. Way to go Ester. I can't link to Ross's text message, but way to go him, too. I have to admit that my concept of happiness these days is doing EXACTLY WHAT I WANT. I have a feeling that will eventually change, but I'm going to enjoy my self-absorption while it lasts. It could be years!
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6 comments:
1. i (obviously) collect moments too. i have a whole diary entry about philly moments. philly seems to lend itself to collectible moments more often.
2. Monday morning when I woke up at 4am and wondered why I felt so comfortable, so at home. Because it's quiet, I realized.
yes, ditto.
3. ditto also my concept of happiness these days is doing EXACTLY WHAT I WANT
... that the world's pain and its beauty moved in a relationship of diverging equity, and that in this headlong deficit the blood of multitudes might ultimately be exacted for the vision of a single flower.
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the trick is to figure out exactly what you want.
Thank you! I knew I had skipped that diverging equity bit. I was waiting for your update.
Nice talking yesterday, C.
I don't necessarily mean what I want in a big Life way; I just mean what I want, moment to moment, evening to evening. When I want to go do something, I want to be able to go do it. When I want not to do something, I want to be able to not do it. Liberty and permission.
Sometimes I still have trouble with the moment to moment. I want things like you to be in Philly right now, or to go running in reasonable weather, neither of which is an option. I guess the first will be taken care of soon enough.
I leave you with this disturbing image from my spam today: if you use Penis Enlarge patch, you will be able to use your dick as a scarf.
so are you taking the place in brooklyn?
and may i say that i fully support your current concept of happiness. doing what you want is AWESOME (and will, i promise, be even better in nyc).
Someday I'll be able to use my dick as my entire wardrobe!
I did not take that place in Bklyn. Need to get in touch with Julie about her place in Wash Heights. Or maybe I'll live somewhere else? Decided that I didn't feel comfortable enough in that house. Allergic and worried about the twelve year old.
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