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Last night I got to go see Kaia and Amy at the Bell House in Brooklyn; I took Hunter with me and it was unseasonably warm and light out. Since it was still Pesach and since I knew T. was gonna be there with his new boy I dealt with it like a grown-up by draining two plastic cups of tequila on ice with lime before Kaia had even finished her opening set. That, combined with the gorgeous music and wide net of friends there to love up on me, made it totally doable. Kaia's songs hit me in the heart of course ('remember those times you stole the breath from my gut') even when she sang about puppies and sea-turtles and Amy was amazing, her puppy-print shirt and pure joy in playing. It was so good, accidental Butchies reunion on stage and all. And friends even friends I'd made through T. had
my back and held me in all the ways that count. Then drunk I got to go home and hang out and bake and eat Thai food with Hunter before catching a late train home in prep for roommate interviews this am. Now I'm hazy half-hungover more from sleep dep and a bad nap than anything, settling in at MaxCaffe to wrap up my Irigaray paper G-d willing though I really just wanna lie on my back and listen to Kaia.

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Again at the altar crying as I wrap the tefillin straps tight? My mama once told me never to let somebody tie a rope around my neck, and silly me I took it literally.

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God's Work

Moonlight in the kitchen is a sign of God.
The kind of sadness that is a black suction pipe extracting you
from your own navel and which the Buddhists call

"no mindcover" is a sign of God.
The blind alleys that run alongside human conversation
like lashes are a sign of God.

God's own calmness is a sign of God.
The surprisingly cold smell of potatoes or money.
Solid pieces of silence.

From these diverse signs you can see
how much work remains to do.
Put away your sadness, it is a mantle of work.

(----anne carson)


Oct. 25th, 2011 10:54 pm
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That's right:

I took it down!

It took me so long to admit that I like this song so now I'm wanna (almost-shamelessly) subject you to it too.
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Water! Out from between two crouching masses of the world the word leapt.

It was raining on his face. He forgot for a moment that he was a brokenheart
then he remembered. Sick lurch
downward to Geryon trapped in his own bad apple. Each morning a shock
to return to the cut soul.
Pulling himself onto the edge of the bed he stared at the dull amplitude of rain.
Buckets of water sloshed from sky
to roof to eave to windowsill. He watched it hit his feet and puddle on the floor.
He could hear bits of human voice
streaming down the drainpipe---I believe in being gracious---
He slammed the window shut.
Below in the living room everything was motionless. Drapes closed, chairs asleep.
Huge wads of silence stuffed the air.
He was staring around for the dog then realized they hadn't had a dog for years. Clock
in the kitchen said quarter to six.
He stood looking at it, willing himself not to blink until the big hand bumped over
to the next minute. Years passed
as his eyes ran water and a thousand ideas jumped his brain---If the world
ends now I am free
If the world ends now no one will see my autobiography--- finally it bumped.
He had a flash of Herakles' sleeping house
and put that away. Got out the coffee can, turned on the tap and started to cry.
Outside the natural world was enjoying
a moment of total strength. Wind rushed over the ground like a sea and battered up
into the corners of the buildings,
garbage cans went dashing down the alley after their souls.
Giant ribs of rain shifted
open on a flash of light and cracked together again, making the kitchen clock
bump crazily. Somewhere a door slammed.
Leaves tore past the window. Weak as a fly Geryon crouched against the sink
with his fist in his mouth
and his wings trailing over the drainboard. Rain lashing the kitchen window
sent another phrase
of Herakles' chasing across his mind. A photograph is just a bunch of light
hitting a plate.
Geryon wiped his face
with his wings and went out to the living room to look for the camera.
When he stepped onto the back porch
rain was funnelling down off the roof in a morning as dark as night.
He had the camera wrapped
in a sweatshirt. The photograph is titled "If He Sleep He Shall Do Well."
It shows a fly floating in a pail of water---
drowned but with a strange agitation of light around the wings. Geryon used
a fifteen-minute exposure.
When he first opened the shutter the fly seemed to be still alive.
(---------anne carson, autobiography of red)
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will + surrender, surrender + will:
make it plain.
I think sometimes the key is to tell G-d the necessary outlines of what you want and then turn it over to Her.


Jul. 22nd, 2011 12:58 pm
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like a bad blues song:
woke up this morning, Daddy done left and took the dog.


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