so, i am down in texas. it is quite hot, flat and ugly, as anticipated, but also good in a lot of ways. for instance, there is a pool right outside my door. also, the sky has some amazing shades of blue, lavender, even, grey, and i'm sure more during storm season. speaking of which, i love thunderstorms and am excited about them. we've had one or two little-ish ones already.
the chapel on campus is about the most traumatizing, iconoclastic building ever. it looks like an auditorium, and even the stations of the cross have been removed to little titled tiles on the floor. the Tabernacle is in another room completely, off the foyer. it is equally distressing. on the other hand ... latin Mass daily at a Church downtown, and on sundays at a carmelite convent, which is exhilirating. beyond excited about that.
i have four classes--three is full-time, but i'm hoping a) to keep myself out of trouble, b) apply for the doctoral program at the end of the year, and c) finish relatively quickly (that's not a multiple choice, btw). i'm taking classical rhetoric, victorian literature, english renaissance, and american literature.
as for the irony ... have yet to address the large pink elephant in the corner of the room, as it were. it has been an interesting study in psychology, however; perhaps i am beginning to understand what happened last summer. but she is a great girl, my other two roommates have been so welcoming and absolutely wonderful in general. so God is good, despite His very peculiar sense of humor. it really is the most fitting next step to a situation that has been absurd and farcical from its beginning (or ending?). i was joking, God, joking. i guess He thinks that i am spiritually aenemic.
well, i'm heading off for a walk with roommates and the puppy (yay!), so more later of a more objective nature.
pax!
29 August 2006
art and addiction
i was reading a book called addictive thinking before i left for europe. it was quite fascinating: the addict's concept of time, their reverse logic (starting with the conclusion and building a syllogistic argument to support it, even if the first premise has to be absurd. that way, the argument is logically coherent, even if irrational. they just have to get the conclusion that justifies their addiction). one thing it said is that the majority of addicts drink or use to just cope with reality; to ease social situations, to relate to other people, to feel more comfortable with reality. i was then reading lost in the cosmos, which i had started a while ago but then loaned to a friend. percy was talking about the artist's, i.e. musician/writer/poet/painter &c., creative genius, although he doesn't use that term, and the seeking for transcendence from reality. because of the displaced self, one of percy's biggest themes, the artist (he says about the scientist as well, but i am most interested in the artist. or perhaps the best thing to do would be to include them both as subspecies of philosopher) both as a necessity and as a remedy views reality as an objective subject; that is, a thing apart from one's self. this removal from reality leads to creation through discovery of truth, which in turn leads to a transcendent euphoria. the problem is that this state is impossible to maintain; the artist must return to reality at some point. percy calls this the problem of "reentry", and posits that this is why so many artists are alcoholics, amorals, suicidies, and so forth. what interests me, of course, is the addictive way of coping with reentry. addiction numbs the shock and disappointment of reentry by physically numbing the brain, thus lessening the overall perception and awareness of reality.
a friend of mine is an artist, and we have discussed how art is a result of the fall. saints also seek this truth and transcendence, but seek it as an actual Being. saints, too, especially the mystics, write about the agony of this life and the flat disappointment and almost intolerable inanity of reality. saints, however, are not suicides or addicts. some are artists, but only, it seems, as a sort of by-product of seeking the transcendentals not in themselves, but in God. seeking after Beauty is a dangerous pasttime. Beauty cannot be sought after as its own end, but must be sought as the quality of a thing or Being, namely God. otherwise, Beauty itself becomes god.
i have returned to different aspects of this topic again and again. last night it was sparked by reading dylan thomas and my roommate expressing frustration over poets and writers who drank themselves to death. i am trying to see if i can combine the philosophy of language, the moral hero, and the purpose of art enough to write ... well, hopefully my PhD dissertation on it. i think i may see a way, although i would certainly have my work cut out for me! focus on the present for now, and pax tecum.
a friend of mine is an artist, and we have discussed how art is a result of the fall. saints also seek this truth and transcendence, but seek it as an actual Being. saints, too, especially the mystics, write about the agony of this life and the flat disappointment and almost intolerable inanity of reality. saints, however, are not suicides or addicts. some are artists, but only, it seems, as a sort of by-product of seeking the transcendentals not in themselves, but in God. seeking after Beauty is a dangerous pasttime. Beauty cannot be sought after as its own end, but must be sought as the quality of a thing or Being, namely God. otherwise, Beauty itself becomes god.
i have returned to different aspects of this topic again and again. last night it was sparked by reading dylan thomas and my roommate expressing frustration over poets and writers who drank themselves to death. i am trying to see if i can combine the philosophy of language, the moral hero, and the purpose of art enough to write ... well, hopefully my PhD dissertation on it. i think i may see a way, although i would certainly have my work cut out for me! focus on the present for now, and pax tecum.
26 August 2006
lone star
i couldn't remember, as i drove down my family's driveway this past wednesday, why i was leaving. my sisters were standing outside crying, except for margaret who refuses to watch me leave anymore. my nephew was standing with them, waving and yelling with all the might in his little 2-1/2 year old body, "BYE, JAHMAY! BYE! SEE YA 'MORROW!"
the drive was long, to say the least. a lot of cornfields in northern illinois, but the southern part is beautiful. i stopped at a rest stop that happened to be on a lake shore; the sun was setting in brilliantine reds and the reflection on the lake was blinding.
i stopped in missouri after almost 12 hours, thanks to mary anne, who ordered me to instantly get a hotel room and go to sleep. i was a little focused: Must Get to Dallas Must Get to Dallas was imprinted on the inside of my eyelids, i think. the next day, i drove through arkansas, which is a singularly unpleasant state. but i realized, too, why i love virginia. as much as i love the countryside, i was born in downtown detroit and raised in the inner city as a wee one. consequently, the vast and endless expanse of sky and plains and sky intimidate me a lot. i miss my sweet, sweet virginia (what compels me to go?). the blueridge mountains, especially in the shendandoah valley, are like remnant of middle earth. they are the comforting arms of ancient, wise old mother earth, protectingly encircled around the little ones who fled to her bosom. "i turn my eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help."
dallas is, indeed, hot flat and ugly. but it is good to be here. hopefully this is where i am supposed to be. i start classes on wednesday, and i am very excited. i don't know exactly what i'm taking yet, but i am excited to be reading and writing again. and my flippant, flighty little mind will be forced to focus and sharpen and all sorts of other good, useful things. bottoms up to liberal arts!
the drive was long, to say the least. a lot of cornfields in northern illinois, but the southern part is beautiful. i stopped at a rest stop that happened to be on a lake shore; the sun was setting in brilliantine reds and the reflection on the lake was blinding.
i stopped in missouri after almost 12 hours, thanks to mary anne, who ordered me to instantly get a hotel room and go to sleep. i was a little focused: Must Get to Dallas Must Get to Dallas was imprinted on the inside of my eyelids, i think. the next day, i drove through arkansas, which is a singularly unpleasant state. but i realized, too, why i love virginia. as much as i love the countryside, i was born in downtown detroit and raised in the inner city as a wee one. consequently, the vast and endless expanse of sky and plains and sky intimidate me a lot. i miss my sweet, sweet virginia (what compels me to go?). the blueridge mountains, especially in the shendandoah valley, are like remnant of middle earth. they are the comforting arms of ancient, wise old mother earth, protectingly encircled around the little ones who fled to her bosom. "i turn my eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help."
dallas is, indeed, hot flat and ugly. but it is good to be here. hopefully this is where i am supposed to be. i start classes on wednesday, and i am very excited. i don't know exactly what i'm taking yet, but i am excited to be reading and writing again. and my flippant, flighty little mind will be forced to focus and sharpen and all sorts of other good, useful things. bottoms up to liberal arts!
19 August 2006
cleanth brooks on vile bodies
found this quote while sorting through 11 boxes of books, trying to decide which are coming down to dallas with me. i used this quote in my thesis (on The Waste Land). cleanth brooks is one of the school of new critics and i like him a lot.
"Love is aesthetic of sex; lust is the science. Love implies a deferring of the satisfaction of the desire; it implies a certian asceticism and a ritual. Lust drives forward urgently and scientifically to the immediate extirpation of the desire. Our contemporary wasteland is in large part the result of our scientific attitude--of our complete secularization. Needless to say, lust defeats its own ends ... 'the change of Philomel, by the barberous king' is a fitting commentary." (cleanth brooks in modern poetry and the tradition, 1939)
the Church maintains a balance between aestheticism and ascetisim, producing both the desert fathers and the high renaissance. She has both the solemn high feast days and long seasons of celebration, but these mean very little without the periods of fasting. the culmination of this paradox is the Blessed Mother, ever Virgin.
so much more could be said but, as usual, so little time.
"Love is aesthetic of sex; lust is the science. Love implies a deferring of the satisfaction of the desire; it implies a certian asceticism and a ritual. Lust drives forward urgently and scientifically to the immediate extirpation of the desire. Our contemporary wasteland is in large part the result of our scientific attitude--of our complete secularization. Needless to say, lust defeats its own ends ... 'the change of Philomel, by the barberous king' is a fitting commentary." (cleanth brooks in modern poetry and the tradition, 1939)
the Church maintains a balance between aestheticism and ascetisim, producing both the desert fathers and the high renaissance. She has both the solemn high feast days and long seasons of celebration, but these mean very little without the periods of fasting. the culmination of this paradox is the Blessed Mother, ever Virgin.
so much more could be said but, as usual, so little time.
17 August 2006
vile bodies
i was flipping through the tv channels at my brother's house last night before settling down to watch pink panther, and came across this show that is like "american idol" but for dancing. stellar, think i, i love dancing so i'll check this out and it will be some groovy moves. basically it was women writhing around on the floor and shaking things that should not be shaken. last time i checked you didn't have to be a dancer to do that, just a whore. i went on a tirade of traumatized sensibilities and otto listened very patiently. and then i thought of wendy shalitt's excellent book return to modesty. yes, ms. shalitt, you are exactly right. this is supposed to be women's liberation? what, did one of the now tiresomely infamous bra-burning fore-runners of the modern fem movement walk up to all the prostitutes and say, "you're liberated! you can do this all you want and not get paid! and even if you try to still charge, no one will want to pay because we're going to do the same thing but for free!"
europe is very sad for similar reasons. i was amazed at the seemingly infinite variety of ways that italian women have found to share their intimissimi with the world. now that's classy and self-respecting, ladies, let me tell you! i swear if you dress like that the men will NOT look at you as just a body. and if they do, well, you're liberated anyway so have at it.
i am reminded of my first attempt at college, when i was a 17 year old theatre major. johann, a highly promiscuous jamaican chappie, would not stop touching me so i finally threatend him. he responded with, "oh, please let me touch your body. it would be such a privilege to touch your beautiful body." yes, johann, it is a privilege. leave me alone, johann, and go fondle your girlfriend. it should be common knowledge that with any privilege comes responsibility. the intimacy and beauty and pleasure of touching bodies is a gift given in trust, love, security, and selfless vulnerability, not for the visceral satiation of some selfish child; a satiation that is only temporary anyway, and truly does turn what should be beautiful into an encounter of vile bodies.
i could keep going for a very long time about this, but i will stop now. i would HIGHLY recommend, however, wendy shalitt's book, as well as alice von hildebrand's the privilege of being a woman.
also, these fellows are truly excellent and should be listened to on a regular basis to keep away the doctor. i think they're norwegian, but don't hold that against them.
europe is very sad for similar reasons. i was amazed at the seemingly infinite variety of ways that italian women have found to share their intimissimi with the world. now that's classy and self-respecting, ladies, let me tell you! i swear if you dress like that the men will NOT look at you as just a body. and if they do, well, you're liberated anyway so have at it.
i am reminded of my first attempt at college, when i was a 17 year old theatre major. johann, a highly promiscuous jamaican chappie, would not stop touching me so i finally threatend him. he responded with, "oh, please let me touch your body. it would be such a privilege to touch your beautiful body." yes, johann, it is a privilege. leave me alone, johann, and go fondle your girlfriend. it should be common knowledge that with any privilege comes responsibility. the intimacy and beauty and pleasure of touching bodies is a gift given in trust, love, security, and selfless vulnerability, not for the visceral satiation of some selfish child; a satiation that is only temporary anyway, and truly does turn what should be beautiful into an encounter of vile bodies.
i could keep going for a very long time about this, but i will stop now. i would HIGHLY recommend, however, wendy shalitt's book, as well as alice von hildebrand's the privilege of being a woman.
also, these fellows are truly excellent and should be listened to on a regular basis to keep away the doctor. i think they're norwegian, but don't hold that against them.
14 August 2006
home, sweet home?
after for sitting in a plane for fifteen hours, it took two and a half hours more to get our luggage and then: yes, you're right; you caught me! i was going to explode america with an unopened bottle of limoncello and some face cream! but not with my perfume or ink pens, so it's a good thing customs missed those.
as i waited for my flat tire to get fixed this morning (ah, virginia and my cars), i was reading an essay from percy's signposts in a strange land. he is discussing as usual the state of modernity, the nature of its malady and the problem of perceiving reality and sanity. nietzsche (darling seductive philosophies of nieztsche) first stated that life is nausea, but insisted that the antidote is art, specifically music. sartre tacitly refutes this in nausea, because if life is nausea, then too is art because true art is an imitation of life. the problem of modern man is the autonomous, isolating narcissism. without objective, impersonal truths greater than the individual, reality will cease to have any meaning and the resulting state is percy's main character (all the same; just variations on a theme), who all attempt to discover and address the fundamental problem of the unhappy success. percy, a convert to Catholicism, approaches these from a dynasty of suicides--he frequently implies he is an "ex-suicide"--and struggled with this his whole life, along with alcoholism. recovering alcoholics are some of the most marvelous individuals. they have no patience for lies, equivocation, or rationalisation. of necessity they have learned to see reality for what it is and deal with it on their own terms. i've known more addicts than i care to think about. they are usually brilliant, either scientifically or artistically, and are always beautiful. a poet may be the most wounded of men, but it is the wounded man who has the best view of the battle (percy). and so it goes around again to the fundamentals: love and suffering. until one is willing to suffer for love, and until one realizes the value and beauty of suffering and ceases to fear it, one will be caught in the nauseating stratosphere of life ... and i know i'm rambling now but how very cathartic it is ...
as i waited for my flat tire to get fixed this morning (ah, virginia and my cars), i was reading an essay from percy's signposts in a strange land. he is discussing as usual the state of modernity, the nature of its malady and the problem of perceiving reality and sanity. nietzsche (darling seductive philosophies of nieztsche) first stated that life is nausea, but insisted that the antidote is art, specifically music. sartre tacitly refutes this in nausea, because if life is nausea, then too is art because true art is an imitation of life. the problem of modern man is the autonomous, isolating narcissism. without objective, impersonal truths greater than the individual, reality will cease to have any meaning and the resulting state is percy's main character (all the same; just variations on a theme), who all attempt to discover and address the fundamental problem of the unhappy success. percy, a convert to Catholicism, approaches these from a dynasty of suicides--he frequently implies he is an "ex-suicide"--and struggled with this his whole life, along with alcoholism. recovering alcoholics are some of the most marvelous individuals. they have no patience for lies, equivocation, or rationalisation. of necessity they have learned to see reality for what it is and deal with it on their own terms. i've known more addicts than i care to think about. they are usually brilliant, either scientifically or artistically, and are always beautiful. a poet may be the most wounded of men, but it is the wounded man who has the best view of the battle (percy). and so it goes around again to the fundamentals: love and suffering. until one is willing to suffer for love, and until one realizes the value and beauty of suffering and ceases to fear it, one will be caught in the nauseating stratosphere of life ... and i know i'm rambling now but how very cathartic it is ...
06 August 2006
gravagna montali
florence is enchantingly beautiful; rome is awe-inspiring and profound, but this is what i have been waiting for. gravagna is idyllic and so peaceful and healing and everything else one could possibly want. angelica remembers me and we have been having a blast; ben and i hiked up about seven waterfalls to day and i am all-over bruises which is very satisfying. and being with anna et al. in the tuscan mountains is just about the most wondeful thing ever. gotta run ...
02 August 2006
for display only
my first impression of rome was german. german graffitti, cheezy american 1980s movies dubbed into german, german tourists. LOTS of german tourists. including one very tall very blonde laddie singing of all things God Save the Queen in just about the most german accent ever.
after that: art, churches, roman ruins.
gipsies of course quite a different connotation over here than in america, but ... maybe when i actually hold down a job and address ... the women beg and steal and the men play music. perhaps not so different, after all.
saw keats & shelley museum as well, which was wonderful. santa maria maggiore is the 'best' church; my favourite, anyway.
it's all a bit overwhelming. and they play shakira everywhere. suddenly 'my hips don't lie' is the theme of italy. the clock is counting down; must fly ...
darling do you want to live again the broken parts will mend ... everybody always breaks your heart it makes you who you are ... pax tecum ...
after that: art, churches, roman ruins.
gipsies of course quite a different connotation over here than in america, but ... maybe when i actually hold down a job and address ... the women beg and steal and the men play music. perhaps not so different, after all.
saw keats & shelley museum as well, which was wonderful. santa maria maggiore is the 'best' church; my favourite, anyway.
it's all a bit overwhelming. and they play shakira everywhere. suddenly 'my hips don't lie' is the theme of italy. the clock is counting down; must fly ...
darling do you want to live again the broken parts will mend ... everybody always breaks your heart it makes you who you are ... pax tecum ...
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