Memory is your greatest ally

Memory is your greatest ally and your primary source material, because memory is your body as it was in the world and the world as it was and will be; memory is the people you have loved or wanted to love in the world, and what are we if not bodies filled with reminiscences about all those ghosts in the sunlight? 

The artist’s memory is a dangerous, necessary thing. Never disavow what you see and remember—it’s your brilliant stock-in-trade: remembering, and making something out of it. Artists remember the world as it is, first, because you have to know what it is you’re reinventing; that’s a rule, perhaps the only one: being cognizant of your source material.
-Hilton Als, in a commencement speech for Columbia University’s School of the Arts, republished at the New York Review of Books

Mood Rings and Magic Carpets

We had a yard sale over the weekend on Saturday and it sprinkled then poured rain throughout the day despite a weather forecast of partly cloudy with 20% chance of rain. It may have been May 31, but we and all our early arrivals were all in long sleeves with hoods up, and shivering. Our first sale was for .50, a scrap of silk from an Indian sari I'd sewn into a scarf.

One of our early customers was a woman of approximately my same vintage, in a mini van who was particularly interested in the antique hand-knotted wool Hamadan 2'10 x 9'7 hall runner on sale for $200. The price was too high, it was early in the day, so she left without the rug and I forgot all about her.

Why I Write

Because I can't paint.

A Hinge Moment

"“It’s O.K. You’re with me now. Everything will be O.K. Cry for your father. What man doesn’t cry for his father? Let it out. Caperton cooled his forehead on the window. The Beast stroked his back. “They say it’s a cycle, but there is no cycle. You get jerked in and reamed out. That’s all.”

Caperton could not cry again. Also, he thought he might be onto a new phase. Lumped nullity. Drool drooped from his lip. He looked up and saw that the plane was empty. “I’m sorry,” one of the flight attendants said. “But it’s time to leave.” 

“We’ll leave soon,” the Beast said. “When it’s time.” 

“But it’s time now.

No, it’s not!” the Rough Beast shouted, cocked his hand for a karate chop. “This man’s in the middle of a fucking hinge moment! ... One of the flight attendants called security on her walkie-talkie. The others dashed for the door." - from The Naturals, by Sam Lipsyte

Women's Magazines

I'm an old now but when I was young I quit reading women's magazine's (when I was premenstrual especially) because they made me feel shitty about myself. Not surprised - but still mad and sad - to see that few things have changed. So You Think Women's Magazines Aren't That Bad? Bullshit - The Vagenda

I still don't read women's magazines for pretty much the same reason(s) though thankfully, premenstruality new word is a thing of the past. The through-line is that women's magazines - in fact pretty much most media- is designed to arouse desire in their readers, which translates into ad revenues. In other words, as my dear Dad used to say, "FOLLOW THE MONEY".

Furthermore, the name of the website where I found the essay, The Vagenda, is such gorgeously punful new word wordplay that it brings tears of delight to my eyes.

Harbingers

Sanity