| in america 12 part 3 - 2007 january-february | work & days: a lifetime journal project |
24th January Vermont I don't have my pyjamas - my beautiful pyjamas are on their hook in the bathroom at home - the moment last night when I'd unpacked everything and was thinking to go for a shower and they weren't there - I packed too fast - oh pyjamas. Here I'm feeling the way my journal project is making me self-conscious. I'm not alone with what I'm thinking. Do I have anything left from the flight yesterday - staring and longing to be able to memorize - I've kept so little - there was a moment that was so fine - sifted color - pinkish beige - scattered small dark bushes - briefly no roads cutting across, nothing messing it up - texture. [southern Anza-Borrego] -
25th Here is Monica labouring through the schedule - here is our new lovely whose face lights up - here is Campbell squirming - look at Monica's cold skeletal hands - Caryn is dressing better - glitter - she's still dragging on - what a stupid use of time - Susan's annotated bib quoting me on beauty. 26th My beautiful friend. Sat on my floor, lay on my floor, with me last night. What did I see. Her white translucent teeth, her broad flat lower lip that is broad to the corner, her short palm and long fingers, her fine hair so thin it shows the scalp along the part, the fine white skin over the sharp bridge of her nose, her high round rump yesterday showing a white strip over the band of her jeans. Pink narrow feet. (Good conversation with Alex at the supper table. Alex looking so soft and real, like a child. Laura - Laura was like that too, clear and real, young.) When Susan was talking I was hearing something in her excited rush that was Cheryl - I heard Cheryl. I feel diffident with her - I feel physically shabby - and then I say something that interests her and I feel o maybe there is a reason for this superior being to like me - I'm young in my liking - aren't I. She was describing her teaching - what happened when she stepped out of personality - what she was describing was tracking as I've learned it - holding the larger. There was a moment she turned and lay with her head against my right hip - I was feeling a strong flow into that hip and wondered whether she had an instinct - and I feel well even now. -
-
Generous brave playful affectionate honest adventurous clear venturesome informed astute sensitive spontaneous wide mobile wise hindered curious deep original creative self-enjoying present splendid effective secure confident charming blissful independent integral comprehensive responsive hip funny surprising contemporary confident centered energized flair dreamy relaxed concrete employed alert - Watch out for reactive categories, defensive categories like transgressive ideological pious egotistical identified anxious self-sacrificial guilty punitive righteous I want something for the physical world. Mental dangers of now: media triviality, retroflection, self-obsession, social preoccupation, developmental delays, lack of intent, drift, causes - saved by oppositional identity/ideology, fantasy substitution, addiction.
A kind of environmental ism that isn't on the side of Sunday School - the egotistical qualities of deep ecology people - the do-gooder qualities of anxiety and falseness / shadow projection. Does the 'world' - 'natural world' as opposed to fabricated, makes and maintains itself - does contact with the world curb or freeze out these qualities? Awaken them? Invite them? Allow them? Reward them? A culture with revised object relations? Early love, Carol Gilligan. The question of cultural prestige, relation to defensive styles, kinds of art. How a culture can be changed. - Do I need student notes - Justin looked a bit brute, said his sides weren't very different. Jimmy - performing on - Jiminy - rage on his left side. Ian - also - a deep vague side. Darlene - she couldn't do it - I think she can't listen. Polly - one side did not respond - the left - that's the side she wants to live in. Kri - jumping out of core conflict into cute ideas about hands or feet leading. 28 Reading last night - then afterward here with Susan, a small bottle of Korbel mixed with organic peach juice - there's Susan in her tight beige cord Levi's jacket and skin-tight dark pants and socks called Smart Wool. There's me down along from my head in zebra stripe pyjama pants and black sweater. And what. The moment I said "What is brave of me is something else. I've been with people I'm ambivalent about a lot. Ambivalence is hard in its own way, but when I'm with someone I admire I have to be the one there's something wrong with." - I am not remembering what she said but she did get it. "I think you are the only one who has ever understood that." - The state she's in - she's the way I was when I was on acid. Free speed. Her session in the media room. She stood in front of us perfectly fit - wide hips and narrow ribs - energized and on the fly - funny - performing - tracking the room - talking about finding the relation between the larger self and what she called personality - in writing - the way she's a cross between me and Louie - and she's Trudy and Rhoda and Cheryl - how did that happen - superstitions suggest themselves - she has taken my powers, she has absorbed all I've made - those sorts - but I think she has found it all by unusual willingness to be what she is and unusual desperation to grow. Feeling someone supercede me - it says she doesn't - it's a structure to feel so. "Where else will I find anyone like you" I say. "Where will I!" she says. "You're so good with people," I say, meaning, you'll have access to grand people, you'll be at home with better than me. (No it says.) "I'm so careful," she says, "I think about what it's like to be you. You can't imagine that can you." I don't want to say I can't but I say I don't. She was crying. She was next to my right shoulder and I could see a tear track down her pink cheek. When was she crying. I said "I don't feel like I'm growing anymore, I feel like I'm fading." Did I use that word? She said bitterly "I don't think I'll forgive you if you leave me," and went and stood by the window. Was that about Gia? It says no. She doesn't want me to fade. She wants me to work so there'll be more of me to be company for her. People don't bother her anymore, she said, she doesn't want a partner, she isn't looking for that. "What's happening, what is this?" she says. "There are names for it but they're embarrassing" I say. I mean she needn't have a name, she's doing it, it's happening. Can I do it too? Am I doing it already? Can I be what she is, physically immaculate, no, and I can't be what she is socially unless I am that. I can't be what she is socially. If not that, I give up don't I. I give up. I give up. I have always given up. No not always. Miz you - you've come so far, you have so admirably filled out. The piece of tape where you're talking about your father and mother - blowing smoke and shooting the camera a look. You were demonstrating writing. The body writing. I'd like to post that. - Will I remember Susan graduating in charcoal grey power suit and heels. I will say something else first, because it helps me. I was thinking of Justin this morning, does he know The dispossessed. I was at my desk upstairs, at the computer. A man's voice calling loudly in the hall, "Is Susan Moul here!" I step into the hall. It's Justin sticking his neck up over the banister. Toque and parka. I look down at him. "Susan isn't here, she's in Kilpatrick." And then I say "I was just thinking of you, you must have - ." "Materialized" he says. I hesitate. I'll say what I was thinking. "Do you know a novel called The dispossessed? It's by Ursula Le Guin, it's about a physicist whose mother abandons him when he's a baby." He says he resonates to Ursula Le Guin and has read nearly everything of hers. Etc. He's looking up at me from under his cap. A man's face, older than I had thought, 40. I have kneeled next to the banister so I'm not towering over him. I did that without thinking. When I have come back into my room I'm discovering my sex is aching. When's the last time that happened. Then Susan shows up in her fabulously fitted dark suit. The tone of the speakers at grad. Oh the tone. Soft and false, sing-songy. Jim's homily, Goldberg lying on and on, Lise, and then even Susan's half hour second commencement address. Compare the zing of her hour yesterday. There were good things about it. She acknowledged what she'd got from Jim and Lise, I thought. Did I like what she said about me. It was designed for the audience rather than me. She told the story about me telling her some man was wrong. What would I say I gave her. Not what she said - the readings, yes, the framework. I invented embodiment studies and handed it to her - I gave her ways to trust herself, small corrections toward lucid confidence. I endured assault and confusion, seduction and betrayal, fear, diffidence, shame, and am enduring some of them still. At the embodiment colloquium 18 people, one of them a thin pale blond with no fingers. It looks as if she was burned - a scarred face. She is with a large man-woman? I think a female-to-male trans, a fat person with a shaved head. Lise talked about her solar clamping, quaking, I talked about quaking after the chanting retreat, and when I stand into the larger self. Other people talked about Peter Levine and PTSD ... what else - in the end I summarized structure, and then construction. People who want to speak theoretically when all they have are bits of this and that. - Justin after Lise's middles group wondering whether he should do something with more social relevance. I said it's two different things, whether it's alright to live a scholar's life and whether he uses abstract systems to maintain a dissociation. He said he'd like to open up the feeling and speaking more.
- What did I dream - a man and woman packing up to go home - I'm looking down from a second floor window watching them pack a little van. There's a flat-bottomed scow they are going to place on top of it after it's packed. What it is about them is their country quality. They have a bit the quality of Janet's Shirley. Do I have time to track this - a woman who may have known me when I was in the hospital as a little girl. I'm looking at them wondering whether they'll have to go up a river to get home. The scow is shallow, will it be able to withstand chop. Detour and access - strategies of meaning in I Ching and Greece. 31st In the session last night as people were reading and I was following along moving my lips I felt my solar come on and it was on as I woke this morning. Dreamed I was camped with a man, sleeping on the ground, outside a house, a window, where Frank was asleep. Why had I done that, he'd be angry. He wakes. I'm at the wall, which is open, talking to him. A woman, quite a strange-looking crooked odd woman, says she's the wife of the man I was sleeping in a bed with. She's defending me. Later she's a small maybe hunchback in a wheelchair - I'm awkward in helping her onto a chair - she doesn't want me to, she just hops over. Susan scolding me this morning for having raked her after grad for being too much - I was envious - of how perfect her physical presence is, while I have to be this dark thick old thing. The way she fit into her suit was like a sword in a sheath. The way she fits into any of her clothes. I'm watching how even now I want to blame her for making me feel inferior. She does rub it in, though. What do I have - lovely Polly saying she can't work from fairyland, can't work without direction. I say go to fairyland and ask someone there to direct you. Saying my images grabbed her middle, so she saw them breathe. Ian sweet and vague was happy yesterday, he's feeling seen, he says. He's feeling he can do something he'd like. When I induced him he went psychedelic. He liked Artaud. Rachel like a brown lump of coal though two things perked her up - the thought of an own room and the thought of editing a salon. Jimmy - asked him to write his study plan as if he was 8 years old. Justin called me off prying and identifying. He sits there looking manly in his good boots, always wears a cut-off pair of fleece pants over his jeans as if he is protecting or hiding his genitals. Showed me his drawings and explained them some - what did I get as that washed over - grids that show multiple dimensions of relation - other grids showing other kinds of relation. I was wondering whether somehow in his head as he worked on these diagrams he has set up a single complex model that is also a model of physical universe - or something - so he can calculate, so he can intuit, so he is somewhat immersed in physical intuition - wherever he is. The way his face puckers at brow and mouth - two sphincters it seems to me both pursed habitually. The little rabbi woman last night wearing her yamulka. Tiny narrow shoulders. The first night insisting that we make markers to indicate the invisible, for instance god. Last night insisting that the pain in creation has to be from coming apart because there have to be two before there can be one. Some rabbinical formulation of religious numerology I thought. "There have to be two before there can be one" she kept saying. I was saying it was a pain of rejoining - it's nothing to do with abstract principles, it's body. And she was saying of Thoreau that his natural observations are worthless because he was displacing what he should have been feeling for a family - that was Jewish culture, I thought - villagey and thick. We could as well say family feeling is displaced from cosmic feeling. I kind of hate her - she's insisting on what I'm at war against. Who do I have this morning.
Becci - did she feel for any of that last night - no - because it's not her own. So now the question is the session tomorrow. The topic is too particular for these people. They scatter into anything they know.
San Diego 2nd February Saturday morning five o'clock maybe. There have been gusts of hard wind. I was feeling last night - not until last night - that I was ready to write about the res. Stephanie dancing. She had her hair tight to her head and there was her enthralling little face remote and concentrated held still above a soft wide torso naked, rotating and bumping between a black top and black skirt with leggings. Fusion bellydancing it's called. She was very conscious in her arms - arms and head one thing, and torso another. What I felt inchoately, on and on, the way I do, blankly, was, what is this body? The last session of Mind and land - my lovely men who came faithfully to all three, Ian and Justin - the last session held together finally - who else was there - Nina the rabbi, who did not sit at the end [of the table] - Gina next to me - Alex - eight people? ten? - loud Gary, Susan's fan - Patricia. I talked about structure and then dissociation in relation to structure and they were getting it and excited. Attachment theory. The cabaret. Jimmy as the evil wizard in frizzy black wig and elaborate robe, supernaturally tall in his platform boots, later when he was defeated, thrown to the ground, crawling out of his robe in strapless red brocade ballgown and black lace stockings so pretty in his beard and bare shoulders and soft mouth and tender eyes. Who else - Ian - guitar and singing - my sweet Ian - like an Irish young man, brown beard and cap of hair, long nose, pale blue eyes, luminescent and affectionate, not large, modest. When we did the left side room exercise he went down through a trapdoor and was in the dark hallucinating, he said - seeing colors run, something about mythology. Polly - a leggy thin girl - 34 and girlish - dark-rimmed glasses and short chin. Dating older men and in love with a woman who lives elsewhere, far away, while she lives with her mother and stepfather on a farm. The two of us in night meetings in the office, sitting on the floor, intimate. She has young brightness, a good hug goodbye, long. The moment at the end of a meeting when I was sitting on the floor in my corner, she standing with her back to the door putting on her scarf, and I said I like you without knowing I was going to, and she said in the sweetest rush Oh I like you too. Kri - warrior Kri - crying because she can't protect her mother - a confused chair dialogue, one person a rush to action and holding off because she doesn't want to hurt the other. That never got clearer through I think I was right to say the one she thinks needs protecting should be learning to look after herself. - Why didn't I do better with that dialogue - I wasn't very bright - and then later with Stacey I didn't remember until later how to answer her "I'm embarrassed," "I feel awkward" schtick. (The right answer is don't pay attention to the language, just feel the sensation.) As I'm writing this - remembering how earlier I couldn't concentrate on the lectures too - I wonder whether I'm in early Alzheimer's. I don't think I'm doing this as well as I used to. Minna in makeup like a Jewish wife but standing on stage with feet apart, wide belt on her broad hips, so centred and should I say fertile. Impressive. Gillian the tall thin person with long thin red braids playing an electric fiddle with exquisite musicality. Her own composition it turned out. Deena - beautiful Deena - jeans and plaid shirt, curly blond hair and a white elfish lit-up face - what is it about her - a lightness - she's a tallish boyish body though at 39 a grandmother - full of brightness - she shone through Susan's presentation - on stage playing an electric banjo and singing The blue angel. Professional musician, lives in Cambridge NY, consciousness studies because she believes in marvels. Wonderful strong squawking voice, a humorous tilt in her. Rachel my blank one. Darlene my spook. Justin hawk-like in his eyes, but blue under them, standing outside the cafeteria to say goodbye, the wide-open quality he has, narrow wide-open. I haven't said it - as if he's gaping behind a screen, dilated. Speech very controlled coming through a bottleneck from a wide vibratile space. His little scowl between the eyebrows and balancing it below, the small tuft of beard. "Can I give you a hug?" (he said). Putting our arms around each other. "You've opened me up in so many ways." The dance after the cabaret. I sat on the lower steps of the bleachers and watched my students' bodies. Kri, Minna, Jimmy with his red dress down to his waist. Stacey. Ian. Deena. 5th Early Monday. We had a wonderful weekend. Tom was waiting on the bench, new haircut, his best kind, military. I came down the chute in my red cotton zipped hoodie over black linen pants and black T and my docs, with green Levi's bag. (I got better looking at the res, after my solar came on probably.) I put up my arms to Tom and then had my feelings hurt because he was embarrassed and cut off the hug. But he was there and he said he'd bring the jeep to me, which was evidence of more good will than he used to show. So then as we started up the hill on Laurel I said I was punishing him for the way he cut off the hug and had I done it enough. We laughed. He carried my suitcase upstairs for me. I got my laundry together and we went to his house, which was in beautiful order with floor waxed. It was the first time I'd called him every couple of days through the res. We sat on the blue couch with the venetians up to see the moon and he listened me through the tale of the res. There was supper in the fridge. He had Dr Zivago for us to watch. We cuddled up on his bed to see it. He'd made a speech about how it was the best film of its era. Julie Christie with her eyes like lamps. Omar Sharif's quietness. Tom was twenty years old, had been a poet, was in the army. His mother had died. A small boy standing at a graveside. He saw the film many times. A few days after he saw it the first time he married Dee. At the end of the movie Lara has disappeared into some work camp, Zivago has died of a heart attack on the street, his poems are loved by the people, their daughter, lost, is part of the new Russia. The movie was not seen in the USSR until 1994. I fell asleep with my arm around Tom somewhere near the middle. We saw the end of it next day, yesterday afternoon. Tom was crying at the gentle poet's death. The way the film had shown the whole arc of a poet's life from little boy at the graveside to death on the street. As we lay together watching the sun had got far enough west to shine through the bathroom window so the little anteroom was full of gold-colored light. There were iris buds in Tom's blue vase on the mantle. There was white light on the kitchen's black and white floor. Tom doesn't have to go to work this morning. It's a happy season. Then when I stepped out the door to go home I stepped into the hot dry air of a Santa Ana.
- Found a computer. I like the way I did that. I'm good at finding. Don't waffle. I just decide and move: this is the one. (I do ask the string.) A large house on West Lewis, around the corner from Scott. Front entrance courtyard, wide front door standing open, huge high-ceilinged Egyptian room, grand piano, circular table. A lovely boy - he looks 18 and 7 feet tall - little-boy head up there above a long narrow body. Graceful. Nicholas Reddy. "I grew up on sets."
Software:
7 I don't like it. I don't like its shape or color, aluminum silver, like rocket metal. (I love the G3's curves and skin-like feel and strength.) I hate its stupid application icons that jump. I hate the gun-metal grey of Final Cut window frames. I hate the hard navy blue of the Word background. I hate that it dings when I put a file into a folder. It has a hard unsensory feel. It's tech-male. I have to re-learn so much - the whole operating system, a browser, a new version of Word. I don't know whether it'll do Pagemill. I don't know how to set up wireless. I detest the dumb facetiousness of the manuals for all these things. Final Cut Pro is going to be massive learning. The background aqua isn't good. I'll have to buy an external modem if I want to connect it to my land line. - Don't ever want the G3 to quit for the uses it already has - to edit video will need another monitor and a lot of money. It irritates me. I went to Reddy's house about 4 yesterday to pick up a cord and as I arrived there was a golden fog creeping in from the west, from the end of the street, so that trees were forms swimming in light. By the time I was driving home from Tom's in the dark, waiting for a turn signal at Robinson and 6th, I was immersed in thick air diffusing wide glows, red, amber, white-gold of parking lot arc-lights, marvelous. Juliana writes that over New Years she was reading my journal for company. "So beautiful." Ah if Juliana thinks so. 8 Exasperated hours learning OSX - disk that doesn't exit, Final Cut not opening, worst, trying to open what's on the external drive in FCP I get a message saying the files are too new for the version I have. Will that be fixable? More hours twitching little things in AG8. 9
I came back from the res connected - talking to Susan, ready to talk to Louie, excited with Tom - looking good - and already am shutting down - is it? - wanting to just be home alone day and night. Also people are not returning emails. Students, Juliana, even Monica about my libe fees and Les about the saw. Susan was guessing wrong about the new computer - and didn't reply to what I was more interested in - the style of her grad presentation, which I had written a good paragraph about. Her emails have been polite. I junk those, they're the ones that enquire nicely about something she isn't interested in. Am not wanting to go to Tom's where he'll be lying in front of the TV with a round tub of belly balanced on his torso.
The uncon body as the repressed, but integrated it is also expanded perception.
Dreaming - at the end of a longer dream - something about a room in a hospital - a golden wood, maybe 30s modern, very built-in and fitted, maybe like a ship's cabin, a small room. The feel of having seen it as a child in the real hospital - that was as I was waking, I don't think it's actual - but it might have been that in the hospital when I came into a so-much larger building than I had ever seen, I was struck by what looked beautiful to me? I've never thought of that, architecture and the hospital - although I do remember in later visits looking at the floors - I didn't know they had a name - they were terrazo - terazzo? - and where they met the walls they wrapped up in a curve. Heavy high doors that sighed shut on a massive bronze mechanism overhead. A sort of rotunda where wings met, that was a wide empty space with a circular pattern in the floor material itself, not painted on. Elevators. The height of the ceilings .[>>2014] What else I was thinking about as I woke, something about the brain, and then to the thought that I could do Orpheus in that mind, which is my best intuition. And then to the thought of how long it will be before I have any ease with this computer. But I have Work and days to finish. - But yes - that would be the place to go on from if I can get there. The settling sense of the right direction.
[notes on OSX] 12 Susan dreamed she saw two birds flying overhead with something white between them. She understood they were mating, the whiteness was maybe sperm, and it afterward becomes a nest in which the young are carried between them. Then she was somewhere at a café table sitting with me. I was all white, skin, clothing, everything, wearing a 40s dress with my hair up under a hat. What she felt when she woke was white witch. Weekend at Tom's. It was raining. I bought a bundle of mimosa branches for the mantle. We watched 42-up. In the morning when we woke together Tom was looking at me, said "How did we get here? We don't have sex but we have ..." I said "We don't have sex but we have gender." Loved my joke, laughed a lot. I meant for instance the pleasure I take in the way he looks these days standing in his wine-colored fleece jacket, blue jeans and work boots, so long-legged and manly and fit.
13 What did I dream about Rowen. A car I couldn't start. Had the starter in my hand in pieces, a small round thing. Trying to line up a screw to put it together. Where's Rowen, who is supposed to come with me. There he is passing in a sort of procession, a troop of people. I run after him, he's in the back of a truck - drugged, is he? His head falling back, out of it. Wake frightened. 15 Christian Omar Manzilla Corona turned out to be beautiful. Small, very small, fine-featured, brown, Indio, a Mayan prince, hair down his back. He didn't like us. I wanted to know all about him. He said classical music in Mexico City. A life I can't see further into. He said "I'm going to go now" and walked quickly away through the mall's bare street. Tom looked red-eyed today, rough. I don't say, I'm wondering whether you're using. I liked the computer. I wonder why I have to buy it, all the money he has spent in the last months, why hasn't he bought his own. Am I calling his bluff, or does he need me for some reason to -. [I buy Tom a used G3 I find on Craigslist] 16 [Final Cut Pro notes] Got into a computer fit today. First had to get Word onto Tom's computer - my 9.2 version didn't work - went home again, remembered the new computer has Word on disk - back to North Park - it takes a long time to load - but it works, he has Word, he's set. Then I go home and read about OSX for hours. Then in the end I open FCP. There's a note from tech support at Video In saying I should be able to import Quicktime files - this is laborious - short version I do open We made this files in the viewer window. Trying to open Quicktime I saw its ten-item history. I'm stopped here, there's nothing to say. Someone had been using this computer to watch a snuff film. This moment watching a tiger shark tear into a dying blue whale.
17 Last night I didn't have the writing voice - that firm steady voice I hear leading my hand. I was erasing in a muddle. It comes again in the mornings. It isn't a willed or thought I. I'm wondering where my shot list is. The bad greens in all of that video - why didn't we figure out how to fix them at the time. Such a lot of bad video. They're grey, very dead looking. 18 Susan on the phone - bragging about people saying after her classes, that was the best class I ever ... I fell into fear - I can't teach anymore - she stole it from me. I want to flee. I confess carefully. I say "I know you know how to not take this personally." I say those women in Vancouver accused me of stealing from them and I was stunned. She said she has learned things in teaching from me. I said it's not about learning, with learning the other person still has it. She says she thinks I do still have it. I say hesitating that I have a structure, I have always had it, not always but in memory, that says I'm less than I was. I have felt it in times when I as very flourishing. I say why I have the structure. From one moment to another when I was two. It's nonverbal mostly. She says she feels like a young child when another child is sad. 19 It's wet. Monday of my last free week. Jibbing at tasks. Posted the index and first vol of AG this morning hoping it would make me more interested in the little last tasks for the 14 vol I've got formatted. Looking for new volumes to transcribe. Start DR, should I? I begin the last vol of London - London will be brief. Transcribing it, feeling the callowness of the writing, thinking that understanding London will tell me why I had to go through the messes of DR to get to the writing in GW. I'm slowed down in AG because I'm in the Louie years and there is so much misery again, I hate her when I read them. There was escape into power and pleasure with Rob and the garden, and then she's the bog that seizes me again. The question will be, was it worth it, was something worth it. Turns out Ansuman Biswas is a British artist, well-known, Calcutta-born, on a residency at Hewlett-Packard in Bangalore. I was his Dec 7 blog entry. What I saw today with a passage that was so mean I didn't want the person it was about to want to see it, was that I could make it more accurate rather than censoring it. 20 Dreamed Cheryl said in the journal I'm so passive, meaning I write about perceiving not about action. Boondoggle. In the night I was dreaming something and I heard the word, it was a description of whatever I had been dreaming, which now I don't remember. I got up to look it up. Was interested to know whether something in the dreamer knows a word I don't. It means useless work. I really didn't know that. Across the room my Ralph Lauren blue shirt - so blue. Phoned Rowen some nights ago. He was happy to talk about computers. Doesn't want to be working to earn his computer, wants to be video gaming.
Tracking beauty and power - that - the unending anxiety I wake with, I'm not living right - what should I be doing. Opened some pages back to brain as pagan fairyland and sighed. "Something about the brain, and then the thought that I could do Orpheus in that mind, which is my best intuition." Book first, film later. - Pushing AG 2 and 3 online. Impatient. Starting to transcribe 1979 because it's in a volume that has AG also. So brief and bare - should I transcribe it as it's written, unpunctuated. It's not worth reading and so how is it worth transcribing. It's a notation. As I transcribe I compare the notes with what I remember. I like recalling everything I've lived but think I shouldn't, it's junk. What came of this time with its bare unformed writing though was the notes in origin text and later the lovely form of play of the weather and winter interference. So what I should be looking for is the intention and effect of the bare-plainness. Yes but so much of it.
I want something here, want to be something, but don't want this dull unworthy trace -
[many pages of FCP notes on right-side pages]
|
