HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Sunday, February 10, 2008
the republic
outside is anniversary weather. wind that slaps your cheeks, cars riding through the blizzard.
he had to leave on a birthday, then new year's day, or was it new year's eve? i forget. my friends mythicised my life. no, i let them mythicise my life. i let my history be written by those i eventually fell in love with. so everything formed a teleological path that led to the present. i was safe the way i was safe in a republic, and also afraid. i wrote poetry because poetry was equivocation. i wrote, with guilt. and i started demanding others to write with guilt. that wasn't right.
what is the theoretical meaning of hiatus? foucault, the space between life as lived, and life as conceptualised. that impossibility of conceptualization.
if i had to fall in love again. i would only fall in love with someone who would not write my past for me. that love would not judge the past based on the conditions of the present. or i would rather not be in love, than to be subjected to forgetfulness.
i would not fall in love with someone who was afraid of my writing. the theoreticians of tragedy always say that the privilege of the great is death. but i was (am) not even near a mature writer--technically and emotionally--, my writing (especially the writing then, goodness) did not deserve the threat of death. it was why the first told me to leave. like the men of the british renaissance, he told me my writing was a sign of promiscuity, and threatened to show my writing to the world. the second one was more political, he presented me with a hegelian ideal that i should aspire towards in my writing.
now i live in america, which really does not exist, america is the gap between a theory and lived experience. i want to construct the gap between concept and life, so that i can live and love without self-betrayal.

[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators

[people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel .

[other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc

[me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca.

[yesterday] from wikipedia, under the keyword search "biopower...
Joyas Voladoras
duck time
a certain violence
superbowl
slush and snow
the strangest thing
hopes and dreams
stone soup
random book trivia

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