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It's the coolest grayest Beltaine-tide in a while, but I'm not complaining [while bracketing whatever chaos factors of anthropogenic effect probably shift our weather systems this way alongside more harmful changes]--- it seems peaceful, and dreamy, and a suitable cauldron for all the big gentle changes and creative work in my life right now.

For those who don't know: I've been working on my own Tarot deck, a deeply magical, elemental, Jewitchy deck with a zinester aesthetic. It's called the Hidden Light, and if you want to preorder a deck and make a pledge to help get it into the world you can do that here:

Today is my last day teaching at Stony Brook (and also the last day of my retiring feminist philosophy prof/diss. committee member with the lemon meringue hair who's seated next to me on the bus, typing away after our conversation about the imagined Retired Itinerant Philosphers' E-ssociation), last day schlepping out there 'til diss defense (if I can't do that in the city) and graduation. My final paper for my last bit o' wags (women&gender) coursework is a zine that I'll finish pasting and photocopy at school. A good time to end.

Then, this month I'll finish my last diss. chapter and send it out, start revising, write an intro & conclusion, defend in the fall. The end of an era (called what, institutional student? I'm always learning but this is something else, a shift to the other side).

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

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From Lauren Berlant:
Most of the writing we do is actually a performance of stuckness. It is a record of where we got stuck on a question for long enough to do some research and write out the whole knot until the original passion and curiosity that made us want to try to say something about something got so detailed, buried, encrypted, and diluted that the energetic and risk-taking impulse became sealed and delivered in the form of a defense against thinking any more about it. Along the way, something might have happened to the scene the question stood for: or not.
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Reading David Abram on the train today made me wonder what forces am I out of balance with? what's causing this sadness? )

* * *
And then last night picking through the rapidly-wilting greens to make a salad, I remembered that as one of my least favorite kitchen tasks, picking through the huge plastic sacks of mesclun that go so quickly and smell so foul. Picking through with my little nimble fingers I realized, I don't *make* anything in my job. ) Immaterial indeed.
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"Endurance," writes Rosi Braidotti, "is also an ethical principle of affirmation of the positivity of the intensive subject, or in other words its joyful affirmation as potentia." And then, I swear to G-d, Iggy Pop comes on the radio singing about his lust for life with that bopping AEGD throb. I think my thesis is diverging significantly from the outline I made a couple months ago, but what's most promising is that the threads I seem to be pulling out were there all along and my focus is sharpening, however slowly.

Even though it's been dark for 3 hours and it's cold, I'm settling into it. Sweatshirt and slippers and an unopened can of diet Coke to my left, fuel for the next few hours and note-taking and, G-d willing, writing. Write write writing.

And how are you all, barely more than a month away from midwinter?


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January 2017

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