13 December 2009
i've had a battle in my mind going on for a while, regarding architecture, houses, skeletal systems, constellations and keys. somehow in my mind they very much go together, yet when i step away from what i've worked on, i feel the need to prove it more. today was the first time in a while where i've been able to put things together that make sense to me in all ways. i'll have to thank wikipedia and the authors of all entries related to keys.
sometimes the more obvious things still need to be pointed out so that you can really let them sink in. the concept of the skeleton key was my obvious check for now, since i've been holding on to several for a few years now, and wondering what it is that draws me.
to sum it up quickly, it's the concept of a bare bones tool that allows access to all rooms in a house. in my mind, keys are interchangeable with words (other tools for access) and houses/homes are interchangeable with a person. structures and tools to construct and move between ideas.
(i can't help also trying to draw some connections to Beetlejuice, and Lydia gaining access to the attic with her skeleton key.)(and at one point trying to open the door, but the key is forced out from the other side.)
the fascinating thing for me was realising, that all depictions of key holes from my child hood (cartoons, movies with peeping toms and pictures of my own i drew) were from the kind of lock which consists of wards, and is the same kind related to the skeleton key. after my mini crash course in understanding how locks and keys have evolved over time, i was able to identify the difference kinds of keys i have from cleaning out the garage and poking around my grandmother's place. there is a treasure of skeleton keys, each totally different, yet possessing the same function:
to provide access to a specific set of locks, where the skeleton key is interchangeable with only one other key for each lock it encounters.
and i guess this is a good point where i can segue into what this really means to me, rather than blathering on and on about keys.
the stories i've been trying to write for a few months to start building more literal constellations off of have been a back and forth battle of sorts as well. trying to fit words here and there, trying to not sound entirely self indulgent and i guess, more importantly, trying to make it all fit together easily. image with text. meaning with words. etc etc.
this idea that the master key will fit all points of a given set while sharing only one point with an outside key provides a fairly decent direction to move in. one story for all points, with tangential arcs only associated with one point.
and another interchangeable defining point is added here: stories for people, points for bodies, all of it for structure.
and here's where i stop for now, because i think those ideas are too big for me to carry all of them right now. and i should also figure out if it even makes sense just yet.
15 February 2009
in the Valkerie Mountains
among the strutting peacocks
I found a flower
as large as my
and when I reached in to smell
I lost an ear lobe
part of my nose
and half a pack of
I came back
the next day
to hack the damned thing
but found it so
26 January 2009
Any episode of language which stages the absence of the loved object--whatever its cause and its duration--and which tends to transform this absence into an ordeal of abandonment.
I have returned to this text several times, and have not gotten very far into it for many reasons. But this venture, I got stuck in this discussion of absence. Ghosts, absence, shadows, skeletons, fossils--all of these things have been clamoring around and I think I have found a great question for myself.
"Now, absense can exist only as a consequence of the other: it is the other who leaves, it is I who remain. The other is in a condition of perpetual departure, of journeying; the other is, by vocation, migrant, fugitive; I-- I who love, by converse vocation, am sedentary, motionless, at hand, in expectation, nailed to the spot, in suspense--like a package in some forgotten corner of a railway station. Amorous absence functions in a single direction, expressed by the one who stays, never by the one who leaves: an always present I is constituted only by the confrontation with an always absent you," (13)
My main interest in this passage comes purely from the basic understanding that "I" is defined by "other" and how that relationship pans out in human interactions. Putting aside the broken heart's longing, I see this in terms of physical bodies moving through space. One body, the "I", is the point of reference so that the literal "other" body is the one that consistently stays in motion, stays in absence. But stepping away from this for a moment and thinking in terms of my own travels for the days/weeks/months/years, I have to see the point of reference not being the "I" or the "other" but being a location where the two bodies interact.
If it is a space/location/place that becomes the reference point, then what happens to the "I" in relation to the "other". It would seem that I have become just as transient and absent as the other. In fact, if the other has stronger ties to the location than I, it can be said that I am the absence as I continually depart and journey away.
My question in essence then becomes, where is the I and where is the other if both fit the model of the transient? Is there a point where I and the other intersect and both become others? Or would that not happen if I-other must exist as opposites?
I am intrigued by this switching of identities because it seems to be less hopeless than barthes suggests. Essentially he sets up the Lover-I to be in constant anxiety and agony over the vanishing Other. Again, setting aside the heart's longing, I feel this back and forth may be changed if the projection of self is changed.
Rather than define I based on a vanishing you, I feel an interesting take is to define I on an intended location for both I and other. One location, with one time and in one space.
But after all of this is said, I'm not sure if I'm far off from what Barthes was getting at in the first place.
I suppose this is just a thought about how I consider myself to be the dynamic, transient entity in this mix and in my pattern of travel and life, it is I who leaves the others. And if I buy Barthes' logic, then I've become other. It's got holes, but I can't get it out of my head.
11 January 2009
1. Monsters (it's been an uphill battle, indeed.)
2. Swallowing Quarters. I've gotten some place, i have no idea where it is, but it is a place and i plant to run with it.
Would you please tell me what swallowing quarters means?
"swallowing quarters is when you eat those $1 words that you don't want to mean. those words you say to him or her (or him and her) that are nothing but trouble for someone."
"swallowing quarters is like keeping solid syllables from stumbling out like leachy, peach-pit, (little) verbs. (imaginary nouns, too. although some opt for abstract.)"
"swallowing quarters is for vending machines. don't forget that."
03 January 2009
Today I complete my essay for grad school applications. Tomorrow I will finalize the portfolio. And later on I will post all for the world to see. 1st goal of the new change-- show your wounds.
Next goal? Let my work mock me.
And after that, do the impossible--accept my successes as well as I do my failures.
I have a lot of plans outside of these vague mantras. A whole list that needs to be written down so it's no longer an idea, but a plan of action. Here's to crossing off lists.