My Factory of Extravagant Marvels

Jon and I went to have brunch this morning to recover from all the dancing last night at Queer Noises, a show that was part of Chapeau Rouge Pride Week celebrations. As we were coming back home, we coincidentally run into the Pride Parade and joined the fun for a little while. At a certain point, I climbed a little wall to see the crowd better and a gentleman beside me asked if I spoke German. All happy for the opportunity to put my (limited) skills in German to test, I answered with a sneaky smile: ein bischen... The man was confused about the event and I tried my best to explain: "Es ist eine Parade für die Rechte Homosexuell Menschen... gegen Homophobie..." "Gegen Homosexuell Menschen?" "No, no...nein! Für denen Rechte! Gegen Homophobie..." After my attempt at explaining, he didn't seem any less confused. I wonder if the problem was mein schlechtes Deutsch or if the concept of a parade in support of sexual diversity was just too much fo...

I started reading a book about editing oneself. Now that my chapter is written and in Jon's hands (he is my appointed editor) I can take a little distance from the text. That also means I write blog posts, hurray!!!! I've been extremely procrastinative* over here... I've been studying the act of writing so much that for a while it paralized me... I've been secretly afraid to put myself to the scrutiny of others, lest they do to me what I've been doing to the authors I'm studying :-D But then I realized that, what the heck? What's the point of not writing? No point, right? So better do something, and badly, than not do it. As Elizabeth Grozs said in this video, "I become according to what I do, not to what I am." So hurray for writing my blog.... badly writing it, passionately writing it, nonchalantly writing it... jokingly writing it... better to write than not to. So I made an editorial decision about this blog, and my attitude towards it. I...

Why didn't I know about this? Why don't we all know? I need to cry for all to hear, announce what I found out We can't just silently take blows I close my eyes and shout, I cry for all to hear I feel a hand on my shoulder --Open your eyes and stop crying You need a pen, a computer, a chunk of clay write it all, write, write, write, write if you write, perhaps your words will stay and another voice in another time will respond to your appeal Shouting lasts for a few seconds, if you shout, who will hear? If you write, maybe you will start to heal The blows make me shout, my words can't stop the bleeding --The blows are loud, the dust is thick no one hears or sees through it while you write the dust will set and the air will quiet down no one will hear, but someone might read

Écrire? J'en mourais d'envie, d'amour, donner à l'écriture ce qu'elle m'avais donné, quelle ambition! Quel impossible bonheur. Nourrir ma propre mère. Lui donner de mon tour mon lait? Folle imprudence!   Pas besoin d'un surmoi bien sévère pour m'empêcher d'écrire : rien en moi rendait vraisemblable ou concevable un tel acte. Est-ce que beaucoup d'enfants de manœuvre rêvent de devenir Mozart ou Shakespeare? Hélène Cixous, Entre l'Écriture , 1986, p. 21

Minha avó Olivia era baixinha e tinha uma mão bem pesadinha não parava quieta nunca

It is my first encounter with Helène Cixous, and I'm liking it! This part makes me think of Gloria Anzaldua's "A Letter to 3rd World Women": Ecrire: pour ne pas laisser la place au mort, pour faire reculer l’oubli, pour ne jamais se laisser surprendre par l’abîme. Pour ne jamais se résigner, se consoler, se retourner dans son lit vers le mur et se rendormir comme si rien n’était arrivé ; rien ne pouvait arriver. (Cixous, Entre l'écriture , 1986:11) 

... I go read Foucault to cheer me up :-)