It's Friday
Bill’s on the phone talking to a workmate as he hits keys on his laptop …he’s saying things like “just shoot me that email…let so and so know about the status of that report…I see so and so’s in the system…” He’s doing that as I check up on all the blogs/ljs I frequent. Now I begin to do my own...shooting, that is.
Who ARE we? And when did WE become this way? I’m sitting here next to a pda, a list of tv shows I want to see, Big K cola and my husband…each of us is in front of a laptop as the desktop hums merrily a foot away. Dogs lay and pant at my feet, cats weave in and around our gadgets. They stop now and then to stare at us, puzzled, I imagine, as to why we hunt in the little glowing boxes.
It’s Friday morning and I’m beyond exhausted. My level of motivation is at an all time low and my list of things to do is totally unmanageable. From brushing the stinky mouths of my canine companions to waxing philosophical on matters of art and education, there’s nothing I actually care enough to move for. Admittedly, I stopped with the meds a week ago, thinking I could become with-child any day now (I suppose that’s more of an excuse than anything else, I just hate taking the meds).
~
Last night we went to see R-‘s poetry reading to promote his book. I’m disappointed Borders didn’t have enough copies of the text. We were technically second in line but quickly a slew of young people with bejeweled shoes and navels lay claim to the space around us. I decided it was too hard to breathe and slowly backed away.
R-‘s presentation was quite endearing. His manner of pulling people in is effective. His facial expressions are dramatic and his presentation of self was rather effacing. The poems selected were fairly familiar. I’d read some of them on LJ before…and, for me, they were much better heard than read (the idea of a cd/dvd with the next publication is terrific). I had a number of questions I wanted to ask but I’m always a little uncomfortable speaking aloud in a space that is ambiguously un/defined…we’re in the middle of a Borders (in the business section, my business little bee couldn’t help but be distracted by), the audience was a hodgepodge of veteran scholars, poets, partiers, and bookstore pedestrians. So I kept the following to myself but have asked R-to check this out when he can:
ENSEMBLE: First, nice outfit. I am curious about the amulets you wore around your neck. You opened with a testament to this text’s inspiration of a spiritual re-evaluation and I wondered if the amulets were related to any of that.
DIVERSITY: Second, I agree that diversity (“vary in approach”) is vital to the success, and efficacy, of any great writer (or any great anyone), my question is: how do you negotiate that shift in persona from a gay male voice to what seems to be a sort of “everywoman’s” voice? How does that shift get activated (what do you read/think/want to read/think to find that voice?)
BODY’S INTENTION: Third, what is your intention with ‘The Magician’s Assistant?” and has any female fitting the “call” ever approached you about it? I agree with calling attention to the injustices at our borders (geographical and metaphorical) but personally, as someone with “brown skin, shoulder length dark hair” and just barely but still within the “age” range you spoke of, I felt a bit disempowered. Is the piece designed for non-“dark” bodies housing non-“dark” minds to heed a certain “call”? I hope to see A--’s piece tomorrow so I’m sure there will be more questions then - but I am curious how you experienced your piece/your voice as part of a collective with which your body doesn’t allow you to identify? Regardless of how I do/don’t identify, my body signifies what it will (“we are as others believe/perceive us to be” - from one of Mark Orbe’s students)
IDENTITY: Fourth, do you think it is possible to completely be a scholar - artist & activist simultaneously? Each identity seems to necessarily privilege something the other 2 do not. If you DO privilege one identity in your work, which is it? And if you are critiqued as something other than you understand yourself to be, what do you do with that critique?
SIGNAGE: Fifth, after I order the text from amazon, will you still sign it? : )
~
The Trader Joe strudel is in the mini oven (our range/oven is still broken…as is the AC) - I hear the strudel dough crinkling…it’s strangely comforting.
Who ARE we? And when did WE become this way? I’m sitting here next to a pda, a list of tv shows I want to see, Big K cola and my husband…each of us is in front of a laptop as the desktop hums merrily a foot away. Dogs lay and pant at my feet, cats weave in and around our gadgets. They stop now and then to stare at us, puzzled, I imagine, as to why we hunt in the little glowing boxes.
It’s Friday morning and I’m beyond exhausted. My level of motivation is at an all time low and my list of things to do is totally unmanageable. From brushing the stinky mouths of my canine companions to waxing philosophical on matters of art and education, there’s nothing I actually care enough to move for. Admittedly, I stopped with the meds a week ago, thinking I could become with-child any day now (I suppose that’s more of an excuse than anything else, I just hate taking the meds).
~
Last night we went to see R-‘s poetry reading to promote his book. I’m disappointed Borders didn’t have enough copies of the text. We were technically second in line but quickly a slew of young people with bejeweled shoes and navels lay claim to the space around us. I decided it was too hard to breathe and slowly backed away.
R-‘s presentation was quite endearing. His manner of pulling people in is effective. His facial expressions are dramatic and his presentation of self was rather effacing. The poems selected were fairly familiar. I’d read some of them on LJ before…and, for me, they were much better heard than read (the idea of a cd/dvd with the next publication is terrific). I had a number of questions I wanted to ask but I’m always a little uncomfortable speaking aloud in a space that is ambiguously un/defined…we’re in the middle of a Borders (in the business section, my business little bee couldn’t help but be distracted by), the audience was a hodgepodge of veteran scholars, poets, partiers, and bookstore pedestrians. So I kept the following to myself but have asked R-to check this out when he can:
ENSEMBLE: First, nice outfit. I am curious about the amulets you wore around your neck. You opened with a testament to this text’s inspiration of a spiritual re-evaluation and I wondered if the amulets were related to any of that.
DIVERSITY: Second, I agree that diversity (“vary in approach”) is vital to the success, and efficacy, of any great writer (or any great anyone), my question is: how do you negotiate that shift in persona from a gay male voice to what seems to be a sort of “everywoman’s” voice? How does that shift get activated (what do you read/think/want to read/think to find that voice?)
BODY’S INTENTION: Third, what is your intention with ‘The Magician’s Assistant?” and has any female fitting the “call” ever approached you about it? I agree with calling attention to the injustices at our borders (geographical and metaphorical) but personally, as someone with “brown skin, shoulder length dark hair” and just barely but still within the “age” range you spoke of, I felt a bit disempowered. Is the piece designed for non-“dark” bodies housing non-“dark” minds to heed a certain “call”? I hope to see A--’s piece tomorrow so I’m sure there will be more questions then - but I am curious how you experienced your piece/your voice as part of a collective with which your body doesn’t allow you to identify? Regardless of how I do/don’t identify, my body signifies what it will (“we are as others believe/perceive us to be” - from one of Mark Orbe’s students)
IDENTITY: Fourth, do you think it is possible to completely be a scholar - artist & activist simultaneously? Each identity seems to necessarily privilege something the other 2 do not. If you DO privilege one identity in your work, which is it? And if you are critiqued as something other than you understand yourself to be, what do you do with that critique?
SIGNAGE: Fifth, after I order the text from amazon, will you still sign it? : )
~
The Trader Joe strudel is in the mini oven (our range/oven is still broken…as is the AC) - I hear the strudel dough crinkling…it’s strangely comforting.