Love, Like Water

Love, like water
tumbling from some far-flung cloud
into your bathroom alone, to sleeve
a toe, five toes, a metatarsal arch,
it does its best to feign indifference
to the body, but will go on creeping
up to the neck till its reading the skin
like Braille, though you’re certain it sees
under the surface of things and knows
the routes your nerves take as they branch
from the mind, which lately has been curling
in on itself like the spine of a dog
as it circles a patch of ground to sleep.
Now through the dappled window,
propped open slightly for the heat,
a light rain is composing
the lake it falls into, the way a lover’s hand
composes the body it touches - Love,
like water! How it gives and gives,
wearing the deepest of grooves in our sides
and filling them up again, ever so gently
wounding us, making us whole.

— Julia Copus

Voyage

Water opens without end
At the bow of the ship
Rising to descend
Away from it
Days become one
I am who I was

— Samuel Menashe

"Bookhunting, like the sexual hunt, adds to the geography of pleasure — another reason for strolling about in the world." — Susan Sontag 

Body and Soul

Where do you think the soul is?
Do you think it looks like a small paper bag,

the kind that contains one item—
candy bar, liquid soap, pint bottle?

Is it crumpled up behind the heart?
Is it folded neatly, wedged between the ribs,

is it wrapped around the balls, is it damp
like a cunt, has it been torn?

The body isn't the house.
If the body is the house,

is the soul up late in the kitchen, sleepless,
standing before the open refrigerator,

is it tired of TV,
sickened by its own thoughts?

The body has no thoughts.
The body soaks up love like a paper towel

and is still dry.
The body shoots up some drugs,

sweats and weeps—
Sometimes the body

gets so quiet
it can hear the soul,

scratching like something trapped
inside the walls

and trying frantically
to get out.

— Kim Addonizio

from 'The Crossing'

I am looking for the same small room.
Perhaps you are in it waiting.
Would you take me in and feed me.
Whisper the talk of the river, babble tongue.

— Jackie Kay

a short unfinished note on the military as performance art

If it makes you ask, "but is it art?" then it already is. — Ai Weiwei

The army runs on a lifeblood of artifice — artifice permeates regimentation, hierarchy and order. Because, fundamentally, military life denies most expressions of our humanity (for example, there is no room for self expression, standardization is given top priority, emotion however natural is a sign of weakness, etc.) to partake in this enterprise is to assume a persona separate from the "civilian" self. This is not a way of "coping" with the shock of a new environment, but an ineluctable transition in light of the demands of a different environment. This persona, however, is neither just a hard shell or a depersonalized void; it is a persona that is self-reflexive, self-deprecating but ultimately fragile in its radical denial of its own absurdity.

Yet despite the fragility that accompanies artifice, the enterprise reveals the complex aesthetics of paranoia. What drives the military is the need to be defensive; this need to be defensive stems from an awareness of vulnerability and transience. Subsequently, in the dialectics of the Self and the Other, defense reveals a fear — a paranoia — that constantly frames the Other as an enemy with latent violence and destructive force. It is interesting that ordered regimentation, the neat rows of marching soldiers and immaculate white uniforms of officers can become suggestive of strength and power. It is in this surprising signification that the chaos of paranoia brings out something orderly, minimal, deliberate and even beautiful.

I don't know what to write about anymore... But this experience of disappointment (and coping with disappointment) has revealed and taught me so much more than any experience of success. I meant it when I said last year that even if my A level results were terrible, I'll always, always treasure the things I gained from my time in JC. And today I discovered that the statement is still true; if not, somewhat bittersweet on hindsight. 

(Now, if I could only feel the same way about NS. OK — BMT has been a mixture of good times and frustration. But given a choice, I would still choose not to serve in a combat vocation. Because it goes against my anarcho-pacifist values. In the words of Liz Lemon — I'm not stubborn, I'm principled.)

the junk I have eaten upon returning home

Dark chocolate with sea salt
Reese's peanut butter cups (multiple)
Magnum double macchiato
Chocolate cookie ice cream from Haagen Daz
Vitaminwater (unhealthy levels)
Crinkle-cut potato chips
KFC Zinger burger
Mashed potato
Papayas
Sugar plums
Old CNY goodies
A dab of peanut butter

NS power ballad #1

From a fantastic musical called [title of show]. It's mind-blowing. It's amazing. If Glee does this, I'm only happy because of the exposure it'll receive.

Susan:
There are some people in the world who say that writing stories,
or composing music or dancing sparkly dances is easy for them.
Nothing interferes with their ability to create.
While I celebrate their creative freedom,
a little part of me just wants to punch those motherfuckers in the teeth.
This song, I sing this song for you guys and for all the rest of us. Help me out y'all

Backup:
We'll sing backup

Susan:
You have a story to tell, a novel you keep in a drawer.

Backup:
Old sock drawer!

Susan:
You have a painting to paint, but you lazy like an old French whore

Backup:
Je suis whore

Susan:
You have a movie to make, Shrinky Dinks you can bake
but you best grab a stake, cause,
in sweep the vampires, in creep the vampires, knee deep in vampires,
Filling you with doubt. Insecurity, 'bout what you art should be
in sweep the vampires

All:
Die vampire

Susan:
You sketched that turtle you saw in an ad on late-night cable TV

Backup:
Tippy Turtle!

Susan:
But your fourth grade teacher said

Female Backup:
You can't draw

Susan:
Aww, those vampires just won't let you be

Backup:
Fuck you Ms. Johnson, Word!

Susan:
And when they come run like hell, see those bats in your belfry, then call on Van Helsing.

Susan:
In swoosh

Backup:
Ooh, the vampires

Susan:
in a whoosh

Backup:
ooh, the vampires,

Susan:
Babaganoosh

Backup:
ooh, all the vampires

Susan:
Filling you with thoughts of

Backup:
Self consciousness

Susan:
Feelings of

Backup:
Worthlessness

Susan:
They'll make you

Backup:
Second guess

Die vam-
All:
-pire!
There are so many vampires, inside, outside, and nationwide,
it helps to recognize them with this vampire hunting guide!
Listen closely,
a vampire is any person or thought or feeling
that stands between you and your creative self expression,
but they can assume many seductive forms.
Here's a few of them!

Backup:
Tell us Susan!

Susan:
First up are you pigmy vampires.
They'll swarm around you head like gnats and say things like:

Male Backup:
Your teeth need whitening

Female Backup:
You went to state school?

Male Backup:
You sound weird

All:
Shakespeare, Sondheim, Sedaris

Susan:
Did it before you and better than you, or they might say that you cannot
sing good enough to be in a musical, or they might say:

Backup:
Ooh, your song's derivative,
Ooh, your song's derivative,
Ooh, your song's derivative,

Susan:
To keep that song from you! Just tell them:

Backup:
Die vampire, die!

Susan:
Brothers and sisters, next up is the air freshener vampire,
she might look like you mama, or your old fat-ass, fat aunt Fanny.
She smells something unpleasant in what you're creating.
She'll urge you to:

Backup:
(Spraying sound)

Susan:
It with some pine fresh smell 'em ups.
The air freshener vampire doesn't want you to write about

Backup:
bad language, blood, or blow jobs

Susan:
She wants you to clean it up and clean it out.
Which will leave your work toothless, gutless, and crotchless
but, you'll be left with two tight paragraphs,
All kittens that your grandma would be so proud of.
You look at that air freshener vampire in her fat ass, fat old fuckin' face and you say

All:
Morte, Vampire, Morte

Susan:
The last vampire is the mother of all vampires and that is the vampire of despair.
It'll wake you up at 4am to say things like:

Backup:
Who do you think you're kidding?
You look like a fool.
No matter how hard you try, you'll never be good enough

Susan:
Why is it that if some dude walked up to me on the subway platform
and said these things, I'd think he was a mentally ill asshole,
but if the vampire inside my head says it,
It's the voice of reason.

Backup:
You have a story to tell, pull your novel out of that sock drawer!
You have a painting to paint, you best paint it and then paint some more!

Susan:
Oh baby, you must escape and grab it by the nape of its neck, by the trachea
fuckin' break it, go on drive a stake in,
Yeah there's no mistaking, now you're shake and bakin'

All:
Die, vampire
I said, "Die, vampire"
I said, "Now die vam-pi-re, die!"

All:
In fly the vampires, oh my the vampires, then die the vampires,
filling you with life, creativity, all that you heart should be, out go the vampires
Die vampire, die vampire, die vampire, die!

but more importantly, it's raining again!

Happy lunar new year, y'all. 

(more misery enclosed here)