Wednesday November 26th 2008, 12:29 pm
Filed under: holidays,Miscellaneous, Truly,poetry,procrastination,sober Tags:

Not quite as delectable as heresiarch, but a seductive term nonetheless. Teaching in 25 minutes, the last class before America’s officially capitalist holiday: consume, mightily, and prepare to consume still more mightily because Christ is coming. Or something. Reading both Coy Mistress and An Horation Ode Upon Cromwell’s Return From Ireland, listening to Morrissey spit on the name Oliver Cromwell with his Irish Blood and English heart, and thinking I might have missed a trick, not working on the English Civil War. I like me some regicide, some climactic change, some revolution, and the poetry of dread and elation that accompanies such moments. We could do with some dread and elation around here, really. Spice up the daily, some.

donne with that shit
Friday November 21st 2008, 11:36 pm
Filed under: blah,Boozy,tired Tags:

I had hopes for the lecture on Donne, for the primal appeal of the impossible poetic contradictions that resolve themselves if you will yourself to leap through to the unresolvable. To accept the unacceptable, the tragedy that is passion, and the passion that is tragedy. All young men, Hamlet, Raskolnikov, etc. Thinking that last night’s shine might be enough to put the poetry in proper perspective. But it wasn’t really felt, wasn’t really meant. Sure, I waxed poetic, excessive and grandiose, on the impossible unresolvable middle. On the “almost, nay more than married are”, and its political implications for this dumb-ass state as well as the wider imperative of the excluded middle, or, as it was once known long ago, the empty center. I don’t think it’s full, exactly, but it stopped being so important to worry about it being empty. It’s not empty, either, but it also stopped being so important to worry about how it was (partially) filled. When did the ink on my back become a relic of something once so pressing it left burns and scars and marks and searing words, rather than a reminder, precisely, of the power that created and caused? So, time enough and love, fine, but the crisis of faith in a man of 30, 40, that lead to those sonnets? I’ll never be a poet; I reconciled myself to that years ago. And I’m not a musician, not an artist, not really a creator conventionally. A professional critic, I’ve described myself as occasionally, but that’s rather an absolution and an excuse. I slice and I dice and I used to care about being smarter than you. How did I get so tired?

Edit/Update: Julie Delpy is hot. I think I did 1995 pretty well, for the original. 2004, I’m not so sure about. Sequels not necessarily my strong suit, but I’m a killer with a trilogy.

i wanna
Friday November 21st 2008, 12:51 am
Filed under: blah,Boozy,seasonal Tags:

I want to care more, write more, play more, create more music. Be alone more, be more together when not. I want it to be 1995 again, and 2003, and neither. I want to be less tired, more creative, less truly jaded, more affectively jaded less effectively. I want to be less guarded, less of a public self, less of the self I’ve become in adapting to being a public person. I wanna be more me. I used to be better at being me, but haven’t been as good since I’ve had the job. It’s not YCT, it’s not happily ever after, even. It’s the adrift of hoops I’ve jumped through, meaning to, but never thinking about, as Ted would say, the second action. The lunge without the remise, the parry-riposte without the counter-parry-counter-riposte, the phrase without a continuation. 1998 to 2006, and although I came up with entirely alternative narratives, with other plans, I never really thought about the second action in the same phrase. And here I am, stalling on the first (book) action, unconvinced by the me that’s preparing to jumps through hoops I’m, well, unconvinced by.

Must be Thursday. Feels refreshingly familiar, and yet pressing, yet not. Balance, baby. And then not.

a new day
Wednesday November 05th 2008, 9:13 am
Filed under: can't make that shit up,something new Tags:

It feels historic, it feels significant, it feels as if we’ve accomplished something. But, everything’s different? Not when one of the more liberal states in the union enacts a new law depriving gays of the right to marry. Prejudice hasn’t really left the building, discrimination isn’t over, it’s just finding new scapegoats, new groups to fear and hate and strike out against.

And, because it’s exquisitely beautiful and whoever truly wrote it should be remembered forever,
“Rosa sat so Martin could walk.
Martin walked so Obama could run.
Obama ran so our children can fly.”