HOLD ON TIGHT

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 Wednesday, March 12, 2008 traveling influenced by agamben, modeled on his ideas of sovereignty and life. if the basis upon which love can be founded is speech, insofar as the speech is contingent upon the voice (perishable, mortal), the lover is he who cannot be silenced, but can stop speaking. in that sense then, the lover who promises is he who is constantly undone by his voice. does that work? maybe not. it was just an idea though. / on another note, wasn't a very easy day to get through. but people were lovely. like walking through west campus with chandhni, seeing the most beautiful home i have ever seen, the man who gave us free tickets at the arts center, so i hilariously ended up sitting with yutao at stephen petronio dance company, jm asking if i wanted dinner, walking to willard straight with tywanquilia to get dinner, me and yutao making everyone laugh at the public service center. receiving eric's beautiful poetry manuscript. re-reading the email i sent to duana, and realising that my own voice makes a lot of sense, when i think it's gonna fail me. speaking to other people is precious, because everything you say to other people may not strike you at the moment you talk to them, but they come back to you, like little tealights, to take you back to where you wanted to be. now i'm eating oats heated with old apples and soymilk, with kafka open before me. i want him to take me to a place i've never been before, and then set me back where i started, so i can realise the magnitude and the distance i've travelled in a day. posted by dawn # 1:22 PM Comments: Post a Comment << Home		[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] memories beautiful sunset mister sun beautiful so sweet, and so cold the raven science and biology i try to say goodbye and i choke sunday brunch at the carriage house! and homemade ... metaphors [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

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

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

traveling

influenced by agamben, modeled on his ideas of sovereignty and life. if the basis upon which love can be founded is speech, insofar as the speech is contingent upon the voice (perishable, mortal), the lover is he who cannot be silenced, but can stop speaking. in that sense then, the lover who promises is he who is constantly undone by his voice. does that work? maybe not. it was just an idea though.

/ on another note, wasn't a very easy day to get through. but people were lovely. like walking through west campus with chandhni, seeing the most beautiful home i have ever seen, the man who gave us free tickets at the arts center, so i hilariously ended up sitting with yutao at stephen petronio dance company, jm asking if i wanted dinner, walking to willard straight with tywanquilia to get dinner, me and yutao making everyone laugh at the public service center. receiving eric's beautiful poetry manuscript. re-reading the email i sent to duana, and realising that my own voice makes a lot of sense, when i think it's gonna fail me. speaking to other people is precious, because everything you say to other people may not strike you at the moment you talk to them, but they come back to you, like little tealights, to take you back to where you wanted to be. now i'm eating oats heated with old apples and soymilk, with kafka open before me. i want him to take me to a place i've never been before, and then set me back where i started, so i can realise the magnitude and the distance i've travelled in a day.

posted by dawn # 1:22 PM

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