6/8/10

Brave Venus



Old faithful. Old windy. Old scar tissue heart. Old Echo, really. Old reverberation. Working with the Analyst, a very sweet but also very tough (iron ore dipped in honey) older jewish dyke who would be perhaps one third of my height, if we ever encountered each other standing up. New Analyst thinks that probably I am trying to manage to unlearn things I learned in childhood. I'm not so sure, I think the defense mechanisms I am outgrowing came later.


Marilyn Minter, Soiled (2000)

In any case, neither Iron Honey Analyst nor I can figure out yet why I seem to want to harp on a few old wounds. Old closed wounds! In fact:
a) Two boys I used to date are, I think, sleeping together? One of them I mercilessly dumped and the other one mercilessly dumped me and while what they do in their spare time is none of my fucking business, it feels excruciating. I mean, it feels excruciating once I've spent enough time projecting myself into the situation to feel excruciating. And,
b) I really miss my friend Chuck today. I feel like instead of childhood the defining moment, or one defining moment, for me, was losing Chuck. Was Chuck going from a really good friend, someone I kind of was in love with and someone who I know believed himself to be in love with me, to being my friend who I hadn't seen in a few months, to being dead. I still have these letters he wrote me, with copies of his calculus homework on them. He bought a very expensive camera to take pictures of his weird other boyfriends. But he named the camera Steele. I am bumming and not about my childhood. Who has time!? Let's get this show on the road, time-travelers.

Finally found that Anaïs quote I was so obsessed with. For, like, the last ten years, probably. My grandmother (known to me my whole life as Bubbe) knew Anaïs in the 1970s, they went to house parties in LA together and they'd watch jazz bands play in living rooms. I don't know much about their interactions except that Bubbe said Anaïs' hair was walways in a very tight bun and that she was "very sweet, but... French". I think Bubbe used "French" to signify something, but I couldn't tell you what. I do know, though, that once on a trip to Bubbe's house, she heard I was into reading Nin and gave me first editions of some of her books, which Anaïs had signed for her "...with instant simpatico", so in my mind: Bubbe and Anaïs were Lesbo Lovers in LA. Even without this fantasy-fact, this quote has been very important to me, and maybe it will be for you, too:


How to defeat this tragedy concealed within each hour, which chokes us unexpectedly and treacherously, springing at us from a melody, an old letter, a book, the colors of a dress, the walk of a stranger? Make literature. Seek new words in the dictionary. Chisel new phrases, pour the tears into a mold, style, form, eloquence. Cut out newspaper clippings carefully. Use cement glue. Have your photograph taken. Tell everyone how much you owe them. Tell Allendy he has cured you. Tell your editor he has discovered a genius, and turn around into your work again, like a scorpion in his fire ring, devouring himself.
-- Anaïs Nin

Thinking of melancholy and it's use as a color in making something beautiful. I wonder what goes on in Kim Gordon's head when she performs this song, right?

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