I’m the sort of roaring hungry that legitimates having dessert first. That bagel I ate on the main green while waiting for a Clinton ticket? That ran out about halfway through the discussion of VS Naipaul and inherent the shame of writing (the incommensurability of self and other; the medium of language leading to the performance of inability). ( Read more... )

So this was Demuth's week to have her ego stroked. On Wednesday, I won first place in the Preston Gurney Contest for Literary Criticism (Poetry), which disproves the financial uselessness of the humanities by netting me $3000.00 ( Read more... )

2500 words or so on addiction and beholding the pain of others. There are few topics I’d rather write about less than ( Read more... )

I remember Stanley saying to me once when we were sitting around the fire after the caribou kill : you’re one of the last white people whose gonna get to see this.

Then he stopped himself and said no, you’re one of the last people to see it.

No one mentions people in the articles, nevermind what people may or may not be able to see.  ( Read more... )

I saw a dog once grab a raven by the wing as it dipped low, dipped into jaws that grabbed it and with one decisive jerk snapped its neck.  The bird had dipped with the vanity of its kind -to scavenge a piece of shiny metal, to take that bright scrap aloft for itself.

So today I write my 36th comparative literature paper since arriving at ( Read more... )

1. So I’ve been in Paris and London for two weeks ( Read more... )

 

1. So it is the New Year.  Everything covered in ice.  I walked the mile to the neighbors for breakfast because the roads are impassible.  Woods like crystal, sun through the clouds and all lights break and crack against a lowering sky. 

1. Paris and London, beginning tomorrow.  I haven’t even really ( Read more... )

It occurred to me today, while I should have been thinking about something else, that photography in the sense that I once practiced it (nature, color) is a creative endeavor that has thus far escaped massive bodies of theory. All that talking plagues black-and-white stuff, and photojournalism, but if you snap scenery you’re still safe. It is ( Read more... )

Independent Concentration: accepted today.
The committee: demanded no changes or revisions.
Holy Fuck: now all I have to do is pull it off.

1).  I’m starting to think it all has to do with who is speaking, and how.

2).  It’s been long enough that I actually miss writing.  The desire to stretch words is there, prickling at the back of the head.  The fingers scramble.  I wonder when.

3).  And then there is the bending in gratitude ( Read more... )