(no subject)
writing this from the very crowded library at smu.
i'm crampy and i haven't eaten enough today.
it's nice out- i'm going to take my homework to the park somewhere
i try to sort out a coherent presentation about the postmodern allegorical
(i'd explain but i have a big fear of speaking when i don't know what i'm talking about)
this weekend:
friday-
discovered the joy of eating at the little thai restaurant in park lane.yum.
saw "closer" in grainy black and white about the sad life of ian curtis. sad. sad.
fantastic performances- oh the glory of samantha morton. she's always lovely and sad.
i didn't realize he was only 23 when he died. nor that he was epileptic. or a fan of manchester united.
beautiful stark cinematography.
afterwards- ran into laura temple unlocking our bikes and we were both
laughing manically- out of necessity. too sad.
went home to call peggy
good long gossipy chat-
so necessary.
been reading atwood's "the robber bride"
good- stark- darkly hilarious- hyper dramatic- i've been reading it slowly-
enjoying it immensely.
losing time for fiction- needing to spend more time reading for school- dictionary at my side.
for the last little while i've been trying to say yes to more things-
the other night my friend leslie-
who sang happy birthday very loudly when i turned 26 in nscad cafeteria- and i was simultaneously mortified and a
wee bit flattered.
anyway.
this past monday i was leaving studio around 10 and she hollered
"Hey! we're going to my house for gin and tonics. you should come!"
and because i have resolved to say yes to things i want to do more often
i did.
it was lovely- in leslie's bachelor apartment - four of us women drinking gin and tonics
cathartically spewing stories of love and torment- trying to give each other advice.
leslie remarked at my heaving sighs and the clickety click of my frustrated knitting-
again it occured to me- somehow, i live here. i have a life here.
i am content .
as opposed to the state of misery that was last year.
slinking home to curl up to tom baker and his glorious scarf- again and again.
so on saturday when maya-
a theology student who also lives in residence invited me on a long bike ride to long lake
i said yes, emphatically.
i think that was my longest haligonian bike ride-
weaving through back streets to get to the arse end of quinpool-
through the rotary- up st.margaret's bay road.
it was a nice day-
a bit overcast-
steep hill-
and i made it almost to the top without stopping.
and the leaves are turning-
it was the first day of fall- the end of summer
and we were going to swim.
having never really spoken to this woman before
i was shocked at sudden friendship-
we talked again about love and torment
families- theology- church politics-
our lives-
there was lots of laughter amidst all that talk of pain
and all around us
were tall trees
dark green moss
and bright leaves on the ground
crunchy and yellow and bright red and dark red and green and sometimes even a bit orange
wet dogs running with twigs in their mouths- wet and dirty from the lake and running through the woods
and at one point in a conversation about the nature of human relationships
we walked by this enormous tree with an upturned root system
and hanging from the roots were all of these clumps of dirt
suspended and still and i said
isn't that hilarious- isn't that exactly it-
can't separate out the dirt and the shit and the fungus that is existence from the rest of it-
to cut it out would be to cut out the experience of being human
and there it is just hanging there-
how funny is that.
she said i'd probably enjoy theology school quite a bit.
and then we slid down this flat rock wall-
i changed into my bathing suit and the water was cold-
but swimmable-
and when i opened my eyes
all i saw was endless brown
like a guiness brown
endlessly beneath me
despite it being freshwater it seemed pretty easy to float
and i lay on my back
put my arms out and stretched my legs out
and i thought about my mother
in north river
that's what she would do
float out there
not moving flat on her back
floating in that salty river
and if we said something there was no way she could have heard us
she was floating in an intensely private world
of which we had no part
just looking up at the sun
and frankly those times were the only times when i did not feel the
weight of it- the intensity of it-
where is that intensity now then
that feeling of how important everything was
every day some declaration
That Things Were Different
different from whatever happened in that intensely private world of her own childhood
that would seep out in random stories
that no amount of yelling from on shore could ever translate
on the phone on saturday morning
about to hang up the phone on my mother
pause
pause
i love you
pause
i love you too she says
no intensity
no weight
it easy to take presence for granted
but absence of something is always noted.
those three words could have been about the weather
or anything
it is awfully difficult these days trying to figure out
how my family
went from there to here.
i see it now quite ridiculously as being analgous to the rise of postmodernism
postmodernism according to lyotard is about the collapse of grand narratives
for so many of us in nuclear families in this allegedly postmodern age
the grand narrative of how we were supposed to work
erupted in violent explosions- fissures and rips in the mythology we propped up
to maintain the idea
that this was contentment
when the only contentment was to be found later in confession
i was miserable, you were miserable, we were all miserable together
my sister says she doesn't remember anything.
i don't know that i believe her
other narratives, now
from the cracks and fissures.
micronarratives-
whispery, disruptive,
hilarious and necessary stories.
leif on the phone saturday morning-
" i didn't want to interupt- but you never told me half this stuff..."
me " i know, i know- and i talk about everything- well maybe not everything"
we are all happier now.
everything is better now.
nobody's miserable now.
let's just not talk about it shall we?
let's just talk about how good things are.
this is different then denial somehow.
this is maybe all we are capable of.
we proceed.
and it's not a lie.
we are happier.
life is actually good.
let's just not talk about it, okay?
repeat the mantra;
Things Are Different Now.
in class the other night with david howard
talking about the state of the world and the rise of postmodern thought and the connection between that and the
rise of religious fundamentalism
occured to me how brilliant the marketing around "the secret is"
a fusion of the worst ideas in popular culture uniting in such a way
that gives individuals a sense of agency
legitimizing their desires
along clearly broadly defined lines
of endless want mediated in a capitilist society
so easy.
if you can think it.
you can have it.
it is yours
you deserve it.
75% of americans think that "god helps those who helps themselves" is in the bible.
benjamin franklin said that. not jesus.
ate cookies last night with some roomates at theology school.
including michael-
who is allegedly united
despite never ever going to church
claiming to be quite unholy
and also apparently "ruined" thoroughly by tolstoy
who is one amusing snarky bastard
who may or may not be flirting with me
this morning made a mad scramble to church
now it is official. now we are truly affirming.
i know i cut the cake with three year old claire in my arms
(when i asked her old she was-
she looked up at me at stated clearly-
fwweeee. fweeeee.)
daughter of a same sex couple
her hand on my hand
i don't know if there was a camera
but someone thought it was important that that happen.
james and eliott standing together nibbling post-church reception food-
probably the two most important people to me in halifax
moved immensely by both of them sitting in church with me
eliot suddenly during the service "what are they doing with the children"
it's ok- it's just the children's sermon- they're just going to sunday school
it's ok- they're going to be fine.
and rev. linda reading the story about the gay penguins in the new york zoo and the baby they reared together
and rev. darlene young from metropolitan church giving the sermon - giving context about how this
was all a long time coming.
and this was all very necessary
and suddenly i'm standing up with the committee
apparently having some credit in everything that happened
when i know my presence is about
my age
and looking somehow 'visibly queer' in the eyes of the congregation
and that's ok.
i don't mind.
went to the hospital afterwards to see david hatcher
the big geek from north sydney- the one and only
he was yelling and cranky and being a jerk
and in a terrible amount of pain
and yet this man has some small amount of my heart
there is no bureaucratic system that exists that would account for the
need for this man to be loved and cared for
there is endless paperwork about him somewhere- in miscellaneous filing cabinets
and on the wall above his bed
in bold letters on neon green paper
"CONTACT MEASURES"
a cue to all staff-
danger below.
contact indicating a threat of violence.
peter kyte sitting with him
laughing- making jokes
and this is it
this is how we proceed
you don't sweat the small stuff
or even the big stuff
it's just stuff.
and when david laughed that dark chuckly laugh and smiled-
god was there
and when he yelled again
five minutes later
god was still there.
it's just stuff.
i'm gonna quit procrastinating now. but this is what happens when
a) i don't have a phone
b) i forget to write livejournal for a long time.