Monthly Archives: January 2018

Things to read

J. E. Pacheco, Morirás lejos.

On James Mill, progressive versus traditional education, and charter schools.

The other Foucault — what led him to politics?

Crackeros, novelists I should read.

I want to read but first I need to calm down. I don’t feel calm in small towns. I’d also like to live somewhere with bookstores, and other signs of intellectual life. On the weekends, I’d like to go out in nature. It wouldn’t be humid, and there would be mountains.

Axé.

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The idea of houses

I sold my earrings at the gold store to buy a silver ring in
the market. I swapped that for old ink and a black notebook.
This was before I forgot my pages on the seat of a train
that was supposed to take me home. Whenever I arrived
in a city, it seemed my home was in a different one.
Olga says, without my having told her any of this, “Your
home is never really home until you sell it. Then you discover
all the things you could do with the garden and the big rooms—
as if seeing it through the eyes of a broker. You’ve stored your
nightmares in the attic and now you have to pack them in a
suitcase or two at best.” Olga goes silent then smiles suddenly,
like a queen among her subjects, there in the kitchen between
her coffee machine and a window with a view of flowers.
Olga’s husband wasn’t there to witness this regal
episode. Maybe this is why he still thinks the house will
be a loyal friend when he goes blind—a house whose
foundations will hold him steady and whose stairs, out
of mercy, will protect him from falls in the dark.
I’m looking for a key that always gets lost in the bottom of
my handbag, where neither Olga nor her husband can see me
drilling myself in reality so I can give up the idea of houses.
Every time you go back home with the dirt of the world
under your nails, you stuff everything you were able to carry
with you into its closets. But you refuse to define home as
the future of junk—a place where dead things were once
confused with hope. Let home be that place where you
never notice the bad lighting, let it be a wall whose cracks
keep growing until one day you take them for doors.

Iman Mersal.

Axé.

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Et Wendy Brown, encore

It is important to read this.

Axé.

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Des idées, yeah

I’ve stopped categorizing posts or posting enough, and it has to do with a family crisis. I’ve considered announcing a hiatus or even declaring an end to the blog! But I haven’t decided yet. If you’ve followed my posts on Facebook you’ll know about the crisis, and about how it is forcing me to cure for once and for all some of the main reasons I started the blog–call it Roots of Reeducation. How to decide not to put oneself into pain, or accept it, is the question. Reeducation said you had to be in pain, which was a new idea to me; once I tried it, became that person, I did not know how to awaken from the bad dream. This blog is written as it were from prison, or from the Sleeping Beauty’s glass case.

I was thinking about how trauma or violence sends you to the survival level of life, or however you want to put it, and how of course you can’t think, then. I’ve got to go on some sort of hour-by-hour reassurement strategy, I think: since Reeducation I have had all anxiety all the time, anxiety I did not know how to name. Perhaps if I can recognize and name it better, I can manage or banish it somehow. I was thinking about how in academia you have to be such a highly developed person to deserve things like food and safety, be a bodhisattva to deserve basics and not to have to live amid constant threats.

There is this new book on Said which sounds dry, yet interesting.

Axé.

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More things I have to do


Create online access to Dad’s Medicare account. His Medicare account number is his Social Security number.

Send Dad’s POA to Medicare.

Print POA and send with letter to every one of his MDs. Introduce myself and say I would like information on his condition. We want to make sure he is getting everything taken care of that needs to be and also make sure we know what all of his diagnoses are, and what the treatment program is.

Axé.

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Atala

I recycled my tattered copy of Atala but found in it these yellowed notes, that I will transcribe and decipher later. I see that I have always been interested in the same things.

Atala: le récit.

1. LES CHASSEURS. Chactas and his father are allied with Spaniards against Muscogles (Indians). Chactas is a prisoner of war, saved by the Spaniard López; he leaves to return to his own people but is caught and condemned again by the Muscolges. Here he meets Atala who has cnverted to christianity. She comes to talk to him every night as they march toward where he will be burned.

Atala tries to release Chactas; he wants her to go (with him? — I have to check on this) but she cannot because she is Christian. She has untied him from a tree, and they take a walk and cry. He feels lost in love, and she wants him to flee.

The name Atala means daughter of the palm-tree country.

Prologue.

Autrefois there was a vast empire in “septentrional” America; Louisiana was the new Eden; nature was powerful and wild (and is described at length). Chactas is of the Natchez people and he has “acheté la vertu par línfortune.” He has been taken as a galley-slave to Marseille and presented to Louis XIV; he has seen plays by Racine, and more. Now he is home, but he is blind. He loves France and wants to help the French, so he is happy to receive René, the civilized man who wants to become Indian.

They go hunting. René asks Chactas to tell his story; his story is this book.

Axé.

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Dziga Vertov

Writings.

Axé.

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