My mind couldn’t settle last night. While I was not sleeping, it turned over and again like I did trying to find a position that didn’t hurt. I found myself thinking that the (ts elliot) line was wrong.The world does not end with a whimper. It ends in conflagration, drowned at sea in the search for a haven, crawled up on banks of rock or sand or mud, with no prospects, holed up in bed with the drapes closed, racked with pain and hopelessness, in the crass bombast of a demagogue turned now on flesh to flesh out a terrible world. I couldn’t settle because my hands hurt too much. And it hurt my hip to lie on my right and it hurt my shoulder to lie on my left. These are the only two positions available to me. it is an apt poetic fallacy of the wider worlds I inhabit, not my choices, but the choices. this all sounded better in my head last night than it does here, staled by having to reconstruct it.
People have been writing to me after reading things I put in this space. It is gratifying, but also makes me sad. Catalyst got back to me today to ask me to submit an abstract for the special issue. I didn’t expect that. So I need to think on it now. What to propose. What I might be able to do. It was a nice letter. I’d like to think of something. Not this blog, but maybe some kind of sequential short essays on the topics they list. It might work. I’d have to hope I remember enough of what I already know to do it. I can’t research as I did before. L and I are skyping tonight so maybe that will help me decide. She has done that for me before, letting me talk incessantly about my writer’s block until i finally got past it, advising me against taking the job at UOIT. She was right; it would have been a bad move.
I’m going to give up on capitals as it is too hard to reach the shift key. and i don’t feel like going back over everything to correct those mistakes. very ee cummings. it reads differently without the conventions of good grammar and punctuation. update: actually i changed my mind. I’ve tried to do the corrections after all.
I just watched one of Michelle Obama’s speeches for Hilary. Inspirational rhetorics of hope that resonate for me and i used to be involved that way. Calls to action, community, togetherness and mutual recognitions. It makes me think about how hope itself is framed and in turn frames or filters its own objects: better worlds. better prospects. better than this. and what we can achieve. Hope’s normativity in this call to mutual arms and this visioning of some kind of justice, equality and love, is it reparative. or does it assert what can be repaired as its promise of what will be repaired? A faith based epistemology. and not clear what position it really occupies if one thinks about it through the lens of object relations. Is it an interesting transaction or transference or transubstantiation that is summoned and made in and through the rhetoric of hope? Does it refuse to mourn? i felt it too as I watched, even as i have personally parted with hope. Is it an analogous transactional space offered as the counter? — the gaping space for hate and self regard, for the feeling of entitlement — the standing in of this for actually being entitled. Or the standing in of the assertion of hope for its possible realisation. This latter feels real to me too.
N and M visited me earlier and we talked department politics and politics. It was a nice visit. It made me forget about my deficits. I recall my investments in that earlier life and I miss it. It is good to feel useful, even to feel put upon in some ways.