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De File
Does Collecting Make You Feel Dirty?
I'm Once Again Living That Scene in Das Boot
It has been one hell of a week. My belief in our government's ability to carry out its most basic function -- protecting all its citizens -- has been more thoroughly shaken than ever before. And it was extremely threadbare to begin with. Bean's surgery seems to have worked wonders for her breathing, but the anxiety that filled us beforehand is now exacting the price we deferred, with interest. Kim is totally stressed out with her deadlines at work and feels like the only energy she has left to give must be held in reserve for her daughter and worries that even so she might not have enough. Bad Subjects is driving me batty. I have hundreds of things I need to read and even more I need to write and no powers of mind for either. But I need to inhale deeply and remember how good we have it, then give myself a short break for inconsequential thoughts that could make me feel better, such as the prospect of Barry Bonds playing his first game of the season tomorrow or the prospect of seeing Bloc Party play in Boston Thursday or the prospect of suddenly finding a way to make all my latent brilliance manifest in an explosion of insight. None of these things are likely to happen, mind you, but musing on them provides a flimsy bulwark against existential despair.
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From: thewhitaker Date: September 6th, 2005 06:15 am (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
Breath entering, leaving the leaf,
the lion tense on the branch luxuriant,

the ten-foot drop to
earth, the sail out away, the God-taste--

that's what lights it up,
Nature, and Art: your skin feather to feather
scale to scale with my skin

and the airy sleep, like wine ...
Two soft old children's books
with red and blue and green crayons still warm on us.

-"Home," Jean Valentine
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: September 6th, 2005 06:17 am (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
That's amazing. And a writer I don't know at all. Care to elucidate?
From: thewhitaker Date: September 6th, 2005 06:34 am (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
To be honest, I know very little about Valentine. The poem comes from the beginning of one of my favorite memoirs: STAY HERE WITH ME. I often read the poem when I'm feeling exasperated. The language gives me a jolt. My interpretation of the poem is that it serves as a kind of inspirational reminder of the importance, and the rewards of, trying to explain the world. It can apply to art, life, whatever. As you know, the pursuits for meaning in art often lead to more questions than answers.
Your post carries a frenzied hopelessnes, and I thought you may like the Valentine poem. Maybe it can help keep you steady, if just a bit.
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: September 6th, 2005 06:45 am (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
Words always help. I'm too tired to sleep.
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