edgy shit
anne carson, de la soul (again!) and your bibliomancy forecast for the week of dec 15
the five of pentacles and a line from Anne Carson’s Eros the Bittersweet:
In the next section we will observe the Greek alphabet at very close range and consider how its special genius is linked to a special sensibility about edges.
the aleatory
Edges get a bad rap. Like the edge of the church that keeps out the suffering church mice in the snow—on the face of it, a sad thing. Or the edge of the window that keeps the lonely roamer apart from the orange feast happening within as he walks by outside. Everything would be a soup, there would be no words, there would be no people, there would be no radio stations. There wouldn’t even be a glittering sea.
the forecast
You will either be the street urchin in the alley or the fancy man inside hanging on the cross.
writing prompt
Take the backing off of a picture frame and hold it up to your life until you find a piece of art that lingers with you. Note that you are not looking at an abstraction (probably, I don’t know your life, maybe you have a Robert Indiana sculpture in your living room or something). You are looking at something small and particular, probably also dirty and broken. Cherish it. Write something about it that shows your respect.
a chune
“En Focus” by De La Soul
I know!! The chune of the week never repeats artists back to back like this. But genuinely, DREAM-FM has been playing nothing but De La Soul, all night, every night. In all truth, it’s pleasant but a little disorienting—as you’ll see below, I’ve had Covid for a minute now and my fever flavor is 100% Buhloone Mind State. Like having a song stuck in your head, except it’s pastiche of them all. Not that I’m complaining! But it’s a little bit wild, what’s been going on in the brain pan. I dig it, I dug it. I wiz it, I was it.
credits: small spells tarot deck by rachel howe
Eros the Bittersweet by Anne Carson
Buhloone Mind State by De La Soul
dear diary, oh my god I have been having covid since last Wednesday and I am so BORED of being sick. so bored, bored, bored. I have eaten SO much soup, I can no longer find it charming. I think I drank three or four gallons of water yesterday, and I missed a party where everybody made latkes. Pray for me. Although it has been a great excuse to watch an incredible and really lavish amount of Mad Men all at once. The thing is, though—it makes me sad to realize, in contrast, how meager and see-thru so many entertainments have become since this one. Even on the big-boy prestige networks, you can’t beg more than eight or ten episodes of a show. Every episode of Mad Men is stuffed with beautiful compositions and truly funny jokes that don’t try to explain themselves. I think it’s easily the most literary show that’s ever been on TV. So Cheever! So Salinger! Boy the 20th century was really something. But please don’t mistake my mood here for defeat. I remain convinced that we are still capable of richness. The mistake is in trying to resurrect it where it once was. XS
Feel better soon. I am on the tail end of a cold. I was trying to buy a bra today without re-checking my measurements and ended up finding a snippet of fiction I wrote in 2014 that I emailed myself at 3:44 am, that happened to include the phrase “Victoria’s Secret.” Dare I say it’s not terrible? I have eaten 4.5 bowls of pho and I can’t bring myself to finish the last 1/2 bowl. I need to go back and rewatch Mad Men, I quit sometime in season 2 because we got rid of cable.
My snippet of short fiction is apparently titled “Teeth, said Gramma. He's gotta have good teeth.” Hope the ‘rona’ leaves you soon.