Wednesday, March 6, 2019

Back to first person pov

I am back to first person pov, as it works best. (maybe) So back to the drawing board.



I have a son, I remind myself, bore him at midnight, Sirius was bright in the sky, and Timon, he suckled for months, and I recall it now to feel lucid and present, and then I switch, decide I am at risk, and Litchfield Hills and Headfort Home, even the sound of it, is menacing, unforgiving, old woods, ancient, familiar only in some lurid sense, lush, teeming with furtive creatures lurking in crevices, dashing here and there, and I see them now from his perspective, as if I were his eyes, the tall window, deep in there, shadows playing, dashing like woodland gnomes or fairies, and even behind a closed window I smell the fecundity and deference wafting upwards and outwards. One could get lost in one’s mind, just considering the depth, these woods.  Trembling, I can’t help pining for Tennessee, even if the air seems thicker, suffocating, at times, but still the  paths were finite, reasonable, led to a crick and Emile was always there, my Emile, waiting, and if I strayed, Emile saved me, and it was always Emile saving me from this and that.

Saturday, March 2, 2019

Simone de Beauvoir and domestic martyrdom and Sartre

Rereading Simone de Beauvoir (SdB) for Josi’s Exile   the marriage section in The Second Sex– and I recall well domestic days, horrid cleansers, fixation on stain removal, returning dirt, those sacred cleaning rituals. Now, I’m all green products and clean spontaneously when the need arises. But I know that frenzy, desire to wipe away,  achieve some obscure glory from a clean house, and the prize…what?  Once,  I was a homemaker, domesticity was my charge. It was a mindless task, infinite. That’s not to say anyone expected it, that love or affection rode on it. But I do think it was more an internal drive, as SdB suggests. And still some part of me is convinced a clean and ordered room reflects one’s mind and mood. How can one think straight amidst clutter? So I have removed most clutter  (with the exception of books) by tossing out nonessential  items that are of no practical use. One might say I’m a pseudo-minimalist. Interesting, too, how SdB alludes to a a sort of masochism to a woman’s cleaning  and I’ll add martyrdom. Suffering the pains of domestic chores, seeking perfection, an escape from self, from…? I’ll admit I never knew one should clean beneath bureaus or clean windows in the spring …happy to say. Spring cleaning for me is merely dusting a desk, removal of clutter, extras, a new idea, or manic pursuit.
Love many quotes from SdB but here’s one:
“Housework in fact allows the woman an indefinite escape far from herself. Chardonne rightly remarks: Here is a meticulous and disordered task, with neither stops nor limits. In the home, a woman certain to please quickly reaches her breaking point, a state of distraction and mental void that effaces her.* This escape, this sadomasochism in which woman persists against both objects and self, is often precisely sexual.”
Hm. Not sure about all that. I wonder what Freud might say?

Annointing up in Sleet Magazine and other

New publication here Sleet Magazine    And cute pic of Jack, the greatest showman And excerpt... Ro was a good boy, Josi felt.  She n...