My update before writing. I'm too tired at this second to write what I want....should come...perhaps after that first cup of coffee? I need to start sleeping again...remembering that my body is not twenty-0ne anymore. My weeks have been interesting. New friends to hang out with, drinking, talking, laughing, listening to music. The precious hours spent with H whose regularly scheduled work takes him away from me more than I prefer. And trying to work but feeling so unmotivated towards it. Trying to be excited about academia when really I just want a break....
Today I'd like to just lounge. Spring is peeking her lovely face at us after shrouding herself in cold, gray rain. Yesterday we saw the sun, hung outside, despite a ferocious wind just because we saw the sun. But today will be good. J.Z. Smith is speaking at our school, and I can my inner fan girl getting excited. I may even get to do a faculty dinner...even though I'm kind of not really faculty yet.
I am falling in love with Allen Ginsberg...again. A few nights ago, with H's head in my lap, I read "Howl." And then last night, we spent some precious moments with his poems. Moments which should have been spent doing work but instead got lost in the poetry, and then sent us spiraling. No sleep for poetry is a sacrifice that might actually give one a greater portion not just the accursed share. Although perhaps it is a poverty. A poverty to sink into the golden language, to feel one's very body licked, beaten, and thrown to the wind, only to have to emerge to the same old shit.
1 comment:
that last line in the post is poetry... and at the same time "the same old shit" is holy, as intense, sometimes, as the best Ginsberg line.
you'll have to tell me everything about J.Z. Smith when you come back.
l&l
H.
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