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 Saturday, April 12, 2008 when the thunder called thanks to everyone for their opinions on forgiveness--yeah pak, maybe we can talk soon (i haven't spoken with you forever.) i did talk about forgiveness again last night. it was a wonderful conversation, one of those crazy 2am conversations, despite the fact that he was back from some law party in the city probably flat out in bed where he was, and i was tired. i talked about how the idea of forgiveness, immediately places the forgiver in a position of power, the forgivee(?) in a position of willing sacrifice of power, the power is that which is structured by a system of morals in which we are living in. this mutual consent and reciprocity (i remember what we said, "forgiveness is like a kiss") is the cementing of a kind of power dynamic, this is what i meant by "forgiveness is the closing of the system, that ultimate foreclosure." and then i had all these questions, is forgiveness a negation of what you've done, an alteration of memory (remember that aphorism "to forgive is to forget"?); and if we argue --like he did that forgiving isn't forgetting--if it doesn't change what you've done, how is it so that there is that mysterious, enigmatic process where suddenly everything is ok? i honestly believe that to some extent forgiveness is impossible, forgiveness itself implies the paradoxical attempt to remove the anger and disappointment you felt, from the act itself. but the truth is, the anger and disappointment is what constituted the act for you. forgiveness is like repression, that attempt to smooth out the edges through self-persuasion. and if you disagree and say, some wonderful thing, some process of translation, reconfiguration is taking place through the command, "i forgive", what on earth is that? he didn't diss my crazy stuff on language and power, but put things in perspective. he agreed that we're structured by arbitrary morals, and language does encode the categories good and bad (thus the moment we enter into the symbolic space of society and language, we are guilty, that's original sin, it's not the mythical category that we tell to the children) then he said, but the notion of forgiveness suggests that moral categories are in flux, there's something very fluid within language that disallows congealing of right and wrong within language itself. (if i forget everything in this conversation, i'll remember that. but there were lots of moments to remember in that conversation.) forgiveness is that ambivalent drive, what was the word he used, the intangible, and then some annoying french phrase, which basically translates to "the i don't know." and he told me that forgiveness might actually not be a speech-act, and it transcends language. then he started talking about animals, and there was that open question, do animals--without words--forgive? maybe they just forget, i said. my dog was put down last night cos both his kidneys failed. my parents called me, heartbroken. i am secretly glad they are heartbroken. at least they have something to latch onto, now that i'm not at home. maybe i am cruel that way. i am glad he doesn't have to be limping around, undignified and pathetic. we were sitting in my room, listening to the thunder (there was lightning, and it felt like a tropical storm, did you know?), when they called. i felt nothing. when i went back in december, one of the sadder things was that my dog--ailing, 12 years, arthritic, had forgotten me. the other sadder thing was that my grandfather started mistaking me for other people. i don't know how it all comes together, language, memory, forgiveness. it is such a secret. i have forgotten people, i have mistaken people for strangers too. i have not forgiven, merely forgotten, and in my failure to forgive, i have started breaking down the concept of forgiveness, wearing it down, waiting for it to walk out on me. if i have failed to understand, forgive me. posted by dawn # 8:59 AM Comments: Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . 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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

Saturday, April 12, 2008

when the thunder called

thanks to everyone for their opinions on forgiveness--yeah pak, maybe we can talk soon (i haven't spoken with you forever.) i did talk about forgiveness again last night. it was a wonderful conversation, one of those crazy 2am conversations, despite the fact that he was back from some law party in the city probably flat out in bed where he was, and i was tired. i talked about how the idea of forgiveness, immediately places the forgiver in a position of power, the forgivee(?) in a position of willing sacrifice of power, the power is that which is structured by a system of morals in which we are living in. this mutual consent and reciprocity (i remember what we said, "forgiveness is like a kiss") is the cementing of a kind of power dynamic, this is what i meant by "forgiveness is the closing of the system, that ultimate foreclosure." and then i had all these questions, is forgiveness a negation of what you've done, an alteration of memory (remember that aphorism "to forgive is to forget"?); and if we argue --like he did that forgiving isn't forgetting--if it doesn't change what you've done, how is it so that there is that mysterious, enigmatic process where suddenly everything is ok? i honestly believe that to some extent forgiveness is impossible, forgiveness itself implies the paradoxical attempt to remove the anger and disappointment you felt, from the act itself. but the truth is, the anger and disappointment is what constituted the act for you. forgiveness is like repression, that attempt to smooth out the edges through self-persuasion. and if you disagree and say, some wonderful thing, some process of translation, reconfiguration is taking place through the command, "i forgive", what on earth is that?

he didn't diss my crazy stuff on language and power, but put things in perspective. he agreed that we're structured by arbitrary morals, and language does encode the categories good and bad (thus the moment we enter into the symbolic space of society and language, we are guilty, that's original sin, it's not the mythical category that we tell to the children) then he said, but the notion of forgiveness suggests that moral categories are in flux, there's something very fluid within language that disallows congealing of right and wrong within language itself. (if i forget everything in this conversation, i'll remember that. but there were lots of moments to remember in that conversation.) forgiveness is that ambivalent drive, what was the word he used, the intangible, and then some annoying french phrase, which basically translates to "the i don't know." and he told me that forgiveness might actually not be a speech-act, and it transcends language. then he started talking about animals, and there was that open question, do animals--without words--forgive? maybe they just forget, i said.

my dog was put down last night cos both his kidneys failed. my parents called me, heartbroken. i am secretly glad they are heartbroken. at least they have something to latch onto, now that i'm not at home. maybe i am cruel that way. i am glad he doesn't have to be limping around, undignified and pathetic. we were sitting in my room, listening to the thunder (there was lightning, and it felt like a tropical storm, did you know?), when they called. i felt nothing. when i went back in december, one of the sadder things was that my dog--ailing, 12 years, arthritic, had forgotten me. the other sadder thing was that my grandfather started mistaking me for other people. i don't know how it all comes together, language, memory, forgiveness. it is such a secret. i have forgotten people, i have mistaken people for strangers too. i have not forgiven, merely forgotten, and in my failure to forgive, i have started breaking down the concept of forgiveness, wearing it down, waiting for it to walk out on me. if i have failed to understand, forgive me.

posted by dawn # 8:59 AM

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