-Vermont, Night Drive
-Vermont, Night Drive
-Slow Motion, Godard 1980
-Vermont with J, February, 2014
I will be reading tomorrow at the Poetry Project’s Valentine’s Day John Hughes fundraiser @10 PM with:
DAWN LUNDY MARTIN
DIA FELIX with special guest AVA MENDOZA
“Acting is a lot of terror. Being in front of people.”
-Philip Seymour Hoffman
“In a way—maybe I’m about to be completely crazy—when I was the age of a daughter I thought if I had a bad experience with sex, even though the man was brutal or ignorant or whatever, I always took it for granted that this was my problem. That this was the problem of women, to keep it for ourselves. On déplace le problème. [We shift the blame.] I remember when I was very young and coming home and thinking: ‘Well, this is my problem. There is nowhere I can go and complain.’ There’s not a guiltiness of being a woman, but women deal with their bodies in a very complex way, a total way, a global way. Not like men. Men, they have a hard-on or not. The feeling of a woman is so much more complex, because she can pretend, she can fake, she can also be terrified and hate and not show it. I think to be a woman is a complete sexual experience in a way. And this makes everything more complex. Anger is part of my relation to the world. There is hope, always. After a tragedy—let’s say a Greek tragedy—everything is ending, but not the world. Sometimes a tragedy is a sort of jump you have to make to scream something. It doesn’t mean the world is finished. It’s like a scream; it’s necessary sometimes.”
—Claire Denis, interviewed by Kiva Reardon in cléo: a journal of film and feminism
Before my reading yesterday, I sat there and sat there and sat there (nervous, sitting through my nerves, the life of nerves, the work of nerves) waiting for my turn to read and thinking about how I now know there are things we can only say to each other, about each other, about living, in writing. That we can only respond to certain things in writing. And how we can only know and recognize certain things when they’re written down. And even once we’ve learned those things about someone, about something, we can only retain and access that knowledge as a feeling in writing. How writing is an interstice of knowing that we enter in/through writing. And when the page isn’t there we are somewhere else, again; with our knowledge, with our understanding, with our feelings. How we go back to not-knowing, not-feeling. Again. How this used to bother me and bother me, how it isn’t enough, shouldn’t be the only way, but how I now feel at least we have this.
New Yorkers: I am reading tomorrow at Zinc Bar at 4:30 pm with Joselyn Spaar for the Segue Series:
The integrity of a dog. That’s what it looks like to be human.