This is the preface for Anne Carson’s book “Eros: The Bittersweet.” I began reading it on the bus this morning and after reading this passage I had an intense lightbulb moment. Not that I really learned anything… it’s just that I relate to experience through metaphor more than anything… and this just happens to be a really good metaphor:

Kafka’s “The Top” is a story about a philosopher who spends his spare time around children so he can grab their tops in spin. To catch a top still spinning makes him happy for a moment in his belief “that the understanding of any detail, that of a spinning top for instance, was sufficient for the understanding of all things.” Disgust follows delight almost at once and he throws down the top, walks away. Yet hope of understanding continues to fill him each time top-spinning preparations begin among the children: “as soon as the top began to spin and he was running breathlessly after it, the hope would turn to certainty but when he held the silly piece of wood in his hand he felt nauseated.”
The story is about the delight we take in metaphor. A meaning spins, remaining upright on an axis of normalcy aligned with the conventions of connotation and denotation, and yet: to spin is not normal, and to dissemble normal uprightness by means of this fantastic motion is impertinent. What is the relation of impertinence to the hope of understanding? To delight?
The story concerns the reason why we love to fall in love. Beauty spins and the mind moves. To catch beauty would be to understand how that impertinent stability in vertigo is possible. But no, delight need not reach so far. To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived, is itself delightful, a suspended moment of living hope.
Suppression of impertinence is not the lover’s aim. Nor can I believe this philosopher really runs after understanding. Rather, he has become a philosopher (that is, one whose profession is to delight in understanding) in order to furnish himself with pretexts for running after tops.

I fell in love with a bad bad man
Ever since I met him I’ve been sad sad sad

June faded into bloom
The September moon waned and grew
Your perfume haunted me long after
I saw the swing of heaven’s gate opening towards me

Luxurious in your arms
Your smile is a cool sun in the dark
Misery rejoices when you’re near
And fever, no sign of sickness
Keeps me burning down in my heart

Winter melts, she shies away
Quiet like the silence a dying star makes
I’m a jailbird to your music
A criminal in your prayer
I watch you in your sleep
Even when you’re not there

Picture this:
Your lips on my lips
A mirror has to do for now
‘Cause you vanished like a cloud

Rainbows wept color
All over the streets
When you went away
Maybe one day we’ll meet

Oh woman you’re callin’ me
Haven’t slept a wink since 1916
I wasn’t born then
But sure feels time’s been tickin’

Shadows parade outside my door
I wish we were dancing across this old floor
Car horns honkin’ down that dirty street
Wish you were yellin’ time time to wash my feet

Lipstick I’d wear for one million years
Just to stop the tears
Your eyes from fallin’, fallin’….

Antony of Antony and the Johnsons reads this poem in the background of Coco Rosie’s “Tekno Love Song”. I like this for its starkness, disconnectedness, and the atmosphere it creates in my mind. I’ve looked for more poetry by Antony and haven’t found anything I like quite so much, which makes me think that maybe it’s not an original, though I’ve been told that it is.

Hear the throbbing of space
it is the steps of a season in heat
across the embers of the year

Murmur of wings and rattles
the far-off drumbeat of the storm
the crackling and panting of the earth
under its cape of roots and bugs

Thirst wakes and builds
great cages of glass
where your nakedness is water in chains
water that sings and breaks loose from its chains

Armed with the arms of summer
you come into my room come into my mind
and untie the river of language
look at yourself with these hurried words

Bit by bit the day burns out
over the erasing landscape
your shadow is a land of birds
the sun scatters with a wave.


“Your nakedness is water in chains” speaks conceptual volumes. It is the perfect metaphor to describe my personal perspective on movement. Thank you, Señor Paz.

Food.

Alison Brady, a New York based artist, recently caught my attention through this photograph.  It produced a pretty strong reaction in my gut, though I can’t say if it was emotional or simply instinctual.  This image makes me uncomfortable…  and if a work of art can have that power, I’ll respect it.

Take a look at her website (linked above) for more interesting images.

An excerpt from Alison’s bio:

“My work is a series of color photographs that work to stimulate unconscious emotions, desires, and sexual compulsions, all unified within a dynamic that vacillates between the real and the fantasized. I explore issues related to madness and alienation as they exist in contemporary culture, concentrating on expressions of neurosis, on feelings of anxiety, displacement, and loss of identity.

These emotions are depicted in terms of visual conflict through my imagery, and manifested in terms of grotesque exaggeration. While investigating issues related to the unconscious, elements such as eroticism, twisted humor, and horror come across. I strive to create dichotomies between the sensual and the horrific, the beautiful and the destructive; the result, I hope, is a body of work comprised of deeply emotional and disturbing depictions of the unknown, staged imagery that functions on a metaphorical level, and inanimate objects and settings serving to illustrate the inner workings of the unconscious.”

Musings

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