towards a Literature that refuses hierarchy but also sees "the clump" as potentially more commanding than orderly motion
To wake up with the clock and to look forward to coffee and toast. To take pleasure in making Loulou's little teenager breakfast: a small piece of toast folded into a sandwich, fruit in a tiny grey cup, coffee with milk and cinnamon and honey. To think about when the light will make erasures. To scan my bus card. To text a person whose son has just committed suicide.
I hunch over a book I assigned and scramble to do my own homework on time.
The light coming through the windows of the door of our enclosed porch, silver March.
Sometimes an asleep child looks like an asleep spouse and vice versa: long pauses in my own voice.
The cat at the little heeled slipper: a mind's image that gets traded for suffering.
An iconography that points instead of portrays.
Amanda Goldblatt texted me to compliment that line on iconography, but I think I might have half-stolen it from Gustaf Sobin (via Jeffrey O'Malley): https://www.ucpress.edu/books/ladder-of-shadows/paper
ReplyDeleteI'm a good notetaker but not a very good recordkeeper.
DeleteJust saw this in my notes & it's rel'd to this (https://peripetyandortronies.blogspot.com/2025/03/built-world-trembles-with-strain-of.html): Gustaf Sobin: "It's as if history, like some kind of wind disseminating so many semantic particles, had blown into the deepest recesses of human consciousness and entirely fresh set of cognitive signals."
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