Affirmation

Dorothy Allison, “The Future of Female: Octavia Butler’s Mother Lode” in Reading Black, Reading Feminist edited by Henry Louis Gates Jr.

The Oankali represent Butler’s solution to the sexual horrors she details in every novel — a people who honor the act of procreation so greatly they are incapable of rape, and who enjoy sex so much they treat all sexual acts with matter-of-fact honesty, an approach that appalls the kidnapped humans.

And she tells a good story too.

And so for day 450
07.03.2008

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Counting and Ubiquity

This verse from Gwendolyn MacEwen “Letters to Josef in Jerusalem” lends itself to a reflection upon synchronization.

It is countdown; it is the same time everywhere.

The time of countdown where anywhere risks becoming a nowhere.

And so for day 449
06.03.2008

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Contentment, breathing and perception

From an undated hand written page of blue ink on blue paper with on the recto an annotation, perhaps later, in black ink “The days of calm bring / something. that I can / group and hold / and release. / like a breath.” Most remarkable is that attached to the sheet is a yellow stickie set as a diamond and conveys a distinctly erotic question: “How / do you hold on / to the wings of an / angel who’s / sucking your / dick?” Oddly and prominently placed and somehow poised as a variation on the theme of contentment and how to hold on to the ungraspable.

There is a certain kind of contentment that descends upon me. The kind of contentment I mean is not one that subjects me to lassitude. It is not contentment that leads to inertia. Rather it is a way of being that lives in the moment and is able to sustain itself from the joy it takes in the subtle sensual shifts. It is a type of contentment that satisfies the will to experiment and it is a contentment that is fine-tuned upon particulars. Detail is what it will thrive upon. and it is also a pleasure in maintaining — simply sweeping the floor.

it is the direction of its arrival that intrigues me. It descends. it comes through the head. this may be a result of the sensory receptors located in the head. For the contentment I speak of is based upon a life of the senses, a paying attention to the environment of self and surrounding. Must be the phonic relation between “head trip” and “hedonism”.

Contentment is also related to the intake of breath. To be able to breathe deeply.

Now that is a nice definition of contentment. and it gives a different directionality. To breathe in, to let the lungs fill and then to exhale gives the body a sense of welling up. The spine straightens [arrow indicating continuation on the overleaf]

Contentment : a richness in the interplay of the senses.

contentment : an ability to breathe.

What is the connection between breath and the play of the senses?

I don’t know the answer to the question but I am ready to imagine the heaving of shoulder blades as the stubs of wings…

And so for day 448
05.03.2008

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From Pun to Satire

Piers Anthony Yon Ill Wind is a novel full of puns. Indeed the puns propel the plot. It was published in 1996 and has this passage in which a character, the husband of a woman sucked almost dry by a vampire is seeking revenge upon the vampire. The character creates a dummy to snare the vampire but the attractive dummy attracts undesired attention:

Soon a man came along the path. He was a cool character, which was obvious because he wore snowshoes. But the snow almost melted when he spied the lovely dummy. “Well now,” he said, and took a step towards her. […]

But this was the wrong man. He wasn’t the vampire. He was just a typical sexist lunkhead whose elimination wouldn’t make any difference to anyone. It was necessary to make him go away in a hurry.

“Oh, thank you, kind sir!” the husband cried in his cracked falsetto voice. “I never thought a man as handsome as you would take an interest in me. I’m just one of several aides to the cruel vampire.”

The lunk paused. “You’re a what?”

“One of the aides,” the husband cried. “Aides! AIDES!”

“That’s what I thought you said! I’m not touching any aides. I’m outta here!” and the lunk took off, leaving behind chunks of snow from his cold feet.”

For me the shout out capitalization clinches the interpretation.

Interesting to note that full capitalization of the acronym is not universal. In the UK only the initial letter is presented in uppercase (Aids). Either way, the passage is “capital”.

And so for day 447
04.03.2008

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Any time

I used to confuse Valerie Miner with Isobel Miller, author of Patience and Sarah. Must be the cover art of Winter’s Edge in the Crossing Press 1985 edition — two women conversing by a window at a cafe … in any event I’m intrigued about the possibilities of Winter’s Edge being adopted into an opera just as Patience and Sarah has been. It wouldn’t be a grand sweeping affair; it might be more like an oratorio focused upon a meditation on friendship and jealousy, a meditation framed by one’s sense of mortality.

An important voice in such a work would be that of the character, Chrissie, who pauses in her work day as a waitress to offer some musing that given the workplace setting of their delivery inspire a sense of quotidian thoughtfulness rather than morbidity.

Yet as she grew older, it was hard to sleep in the mornings. Maybe the body’s timer was saying, “You’re closing in. Take as many hours as you can.” Death was a curious shadow, a kind of companionable silhouette nowadays rather than the dark pathway she imagined as a girl. When she was younger, she would stare at old people and feel melancholy, thinking how sad that life was almost over for them. Now sometimes she looked at young folks and felt great sympathy for all the miles ahead. Doubtless, she would leave fighting, but she no longer felt any panic about her own death. Occasionally she regarded the notion with a certain serenity.

It strikes me now in transcribing this that the novel itself is serene in that the narration can end at any point in time along the way and one would still have a satisfying aesthetic experience as if one were browsing a set of snapshots.

And so for day 446
03.03.2008

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Pack Rats and Control Freaks

Jennifer Bennett in the “On Earth” chapter of Our Gardens Our Selves

Despite my calling this place mine, I had come to realize that I was a visitor. I had only a temporary influence upon a place with its own secret agenda.

It sounds like an apt description of my desk and study where stacks of books and papers are the most common mode of information storage and retrieval — all saved up for sorting. Like the plantings in a garden, sometimes parts of the ordered mess gets moved about and yield surprising and inspiring combinations.

They say that sorting and clearing is about letting go. Perhaps more precisely it is about blocking curiosity and the urge to explore more. In a sense it is about being a good visitor — exerting temporary influence. “Letting go” seems a bit too permanent. The task of sorting and clearing is better served by a notion of trust (which some people think that “letting go” is all about). The good visitor trusts that what is needed will be at hand when needed. The good visitor stops to observe. The life of a good pack rat is also composed of stops.

This is not a laissez faire attitude. It is about enabling the joyous juxtapositions that continue to marvel one. The pack rat is disposed to depositing and observing the effect.

I am reminded of Virginia Woolf’s biography of Roger Fry. I like how Woolf quietly related his influence as a critic to a certain humility without naming it as such. A theme that emerges is a return to seeing the picture: there is no end to explaining or of testing one’s observations for the approach is very scientific. Likewise there is no end to being a pack rat and the testing of combinations and posing for a moment as a visitor to assess the effect.

And so for day 445
02.03.2008

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Dance Partners

The General in His Labyrinth by Gabreil Garcia Marquez translated by Edith Grossman supplies this delightful anecdote that relates a swipe at snobbery.

One was different from the rest: Jose Laurencio Silva was the son of a midwife from the town of El Tinaco, on Los Llanos, and a fisherman on the river. Through his father and his mother he was a dark-skinned member of the lower class of pardo half-breeds, but the General had married him to Felicia, another of his nieces. During his career he had risen from a sixteen-year-old volunteer in the liberating army to a field general at the age of fifty-eight, and he had suffered more than fifteen serious wounds and numerous minor ones, inflicted by a variety of weapons, in fifty-two battles in almost all the campaigns for independence. The only difficulty he encountered as a pardo was his rejection by a lady of the social aristocracy during a gala ball. The General then requested that they repeat the waltz, and he danced it with Silva himself.

And so for day 444
01.03.2008

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Hope

It has travelled on a torn piece of yellow sticky whose glue is no longer effective. It was found tucked under a paper clip in a gathering of similar short sequences that might be suitable to incorporate into some longer poem. It is composed of an invented compound word followed on a separate line by the name of a game . . .

handtouch
hopscotch

. . . in a retroactive sense the game informs the nature of the touching: it’s not an even smooth caress but more like a hop, skip and a jump: the exploratory prelude to a smooth glide over skin (or being swotted away).

I juxtapose here thoughts on “H”. It has struck me that the fascination with the letter “H” in the poetry of bp Nichol may be connected to his use of the MacIntosh computer (his machine is now housed at Simon Fraser University) for on that machine in the classic simple text application Command+H triggers the voice synthesis that produces a reading of the text.

and touch
op scotch

: )

And so for day 443
29.02.2008

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The Art of Dying

Somtow Sucharitkul. Starship & Haiku.

This isn’t how it should be! she thought. Each death should be a moment of supreme individuality, a moment before the dew drop joins the ocean

Notwithstanding the odd notion of a dew drop directly wending its way to the ocean without either evaporating and falling as rain or seeping into groundwater and into a stream or river, I am touched by this character bemoaning the machinery of a post-apocalyptic amusement park that carries the masses to cookie-cutter suicides.

Come to think of it, condensation can accumulate on the hull of a vessel so there must be cases where dew joins the ocean. The novel can be read not so much as a condemnation of the dying as a rebuke to the witnesses. To observe truly is to practice a ritual which is not simply to repeat a form. To observe is to be open to the uniqueness of the moment. And yet when faced with quantities of unique moments what is left is the sameness of their passing. And yet again the passing happens in a host of unique ways however minute the uniqueness.

The character’s “should be” can evolve into the reader’s “necessarily is”.

And so for day 442
28.02.2008

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Courteous memory and friendship

One theme that pervades Anne McCaffrey’s Killashandra is the occupational hazard of forgetfulness.

It is directly linked to politeness.

“[…] I can’t help it if singers lose their memories . . . and every shred of common courtesy.”
“I’ll program eternal courtesy to you on my personal tape, Bajorn.”
“I’d appreciate it. Only do it now, would you, Killashandra, before you forget?”

And directly to friendship…

Antonia shrugged. “One establishes a friendship by sharing events and opinions. They remember nothing and consequently have nothing to share. And less to talk about.”

And thus indirectly are courtesy and friendship linked.

I am reminded of David K. Reynolds’s description of Naikan therapy as a practice that “leads to a deep sense of gratitude for the concrete and specific ways in which we are supported by our world” (Flowing Bridges, Quiet Waters: Japanese Psychotherapies, Morita and Naikan). Via Reynolds we come to understand ourselves as creatures of care.

The recognition of this [parental] care provides a template for viewing the specific ongoing care our surroundings (including other humans around us) provide in the present. This recognition, in turn, prompts us to evaluate the actual ways we return these favors and cause trouble to those who provide them. […] Attempts to begin to repay our debts are beneficial, although we accumulate debts to the world faster than we can ever expect to repay them.

It is a type of accounting that is similar to that traced by the narrative arc in McCaffrey’s novel. And if I credit myself for the juxtaposition, I am but vaguely aware of all the various circumstances that contributed to having the two books cross my awareness in a time and place that permit me to remember to make a record of their similarities.

And so for day 441
27.02.2008

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