I think of your stay there often, I wish I'd known you then. I read about it at the time and told my students about it as a form of human display, Glad you are in our house now.
No, this, mostly: 'And what am I seeing now? An impression I have today of how the past was, or may have been. An impression that seems more than an impression. It seems like a clarity, but we know all this is invented right now, as I’m speaking to you.
'The feeling now, as I’m speaking to you is one of great lightness. It’s like becoming younger now than I was back then. Younger because lighter and lighter because I am no longer interested in the things the 58-year-old was feeling and thinking. I don’t share her attraction to sadness and different forms of abjection that represent the voice of “the alarm.”'
Ah, fun. Last night, we saw a performance piece in process by Paul Lazar, based on a monologue/lecture by Anne Carson, and some of that experience got twirled around in the thoughts I had been playing with that day. The Lazar piece was terrific, no title yet, based on Carson's "Skywriting."
how lucky you were to be part of that flux cohort! was that the only one they ever did? i love the weirdly gourmet sci-fi dinner! i mean, sign me up for any venue that feeds me for the length of my stay. also love what you wrote @ the lightness you feel now, looking back at 58. and the dog of second chances.
I particularly love: “The feeling of being lighter is not one of shedding layers. I have the same outline. I’m still the same house. But if you stand in front of me, you will be able to see the sky and clouds through me”
There is so much in this I want to sit with and mull over. At the heart of it this: " I’m on a treasure hunt for joy and kindness I see in others. I’m on a treasure hunt for these things, even though I am also in a state of useful clarity about the way power works to defeat the best human hopes." To hold together the finding of lightness and leaving behind, even rewriting 'alarm' with the sense of being sickened by what those in power implicate us in. It takes a huge generosity of insight to do this -- and so skillfully -- and then with a flourish add that prose poem -- New Trick -- definitely circling it's prey with grace and humour. Thank you.
What I appreciate so deeply and find so meaningful about your writings is that they express intemporality (not a word in English, I know, it exists in French). I’m not interested in pregnancy cute childhood musings, as if the new mother invented the wheel (I know that’s being intolerant). Nor can I stomach supposed-to-be profundities on marathon training and running. Now, I’m just being mean, I know, that too. But those writings from good writers are not in fact and obv in my opinion, any good. Too narrow, no room for the reader to dream or wonder or question. That is a great quality of yours: room to wonder and wander. Of course, I’m insanely jealous of your facility to communicate the intemporel. Thank you for being a grown up!
I wandered through that installation and then did a number of small collaborations with Flux — it became one of my landmark places in my 2nd phase of living in NYC 2005-2019– the phase when I was exploring all of the things that weren’t Manhattan
So interesting. So well described internally and externally. Seems to me, though I’ve not been part of either, a writer’s colony cum experimental laboratory. So often, especially when younger, we look outside ourselves, to things apparently larger than ourselves, or so we think, when it is only ourselves that ultimately matters.
I think of your stay there often, I wish I'd known you then. I read about it at the time and told my students about it as a form of human display, Glad you are in our house now.
I wish I had known you were coming! It would have made life a lot easier for me and everyone around me.
I will be thinking about this all day. Thank you.
The house you can see through?
No, this, mostly: 'And what am I seeing now? An impression I have today of how the past was, or may have been. An impression that seems more than an impression. It seems like a clarity, but we know all this is invented right now, as I’m speaking to you.
'The feeling now, as I’m speaking to you is one of great lightness. It’s like becoming younger now than I was back then. Younger because lighter and lighter because I am no longer interested in the things the 58-year-old was feeling and thinking. I don’t share her attraction to sadness and different forms of abjection that represent the voice of “the alarm.”'
Ah, fun. Last night, we saw a performance piece in process by Paul Lazar, based on a monologue/lecture by Anne Carson, and some of that experience got twirled around in the thoughts I had been playing with that day. The Lazar piece was terrific, no title yet, based on Carson's "Skywriting."
Interesting!
how lucky you were to be part of that flux cohort! was that the only one they ever did? i love the weirdly gourmet sci-fi dinner! i mean, sign me up for any venue that feeds me for the length of my stay. also love what you wrote @ the lightness you feel now, looking back at 58. and the dog of second chances.
Nothing quite like this event.
alas, seems not. :/
I love this, Laurie. I just turned 57 and feel the alarm almost every day.
I particularly love: “The feeling of being lighter is not one of shedding layers. I have the same outline. I’m still the same house. But if you stand in front of me, you will be able to see the sky and clouds through me”
The older I become, the less linear time makes sense.
There is so much in this I want to sit with and mull over. At the heart of it this: " I’m on a treasure hunt for joy and kindness I see in others. I’m on a treasure hunt for these things, even though I am also in a state of useful clarity about the way power works to defeat the best human hopes." To hold together the finding of lightness and leaving behind, even rewriting 'alarm' with the sense of being sickened by what those in power implicate us in. It takes a huge generosity of insight to do this -- and so skillfully -- and then with a flourish add that prose poem -- New Trick -- definitely circling it's prey with grace and humour. Thank you.
I loved all of this.
I really like your writing, Laurie. It’s different. Expressive. True art. Thank you.
Thank you.
What I appreciate so deeply and find so meaningful about your writings is that they express intemporality (not a word in English, I know, it exists in French). I’m not interested in pregnancy cute childhood musings, as if the new mother invented the wheel (I know that’s being intolerant). Nor can I stomach supposed-to-be profundities on marathon training and running. Now, I’m just being mean, I know, that too. But those writings from good writers are not in fact and obv in my opinion, any good. Too narrow, no room for the reader to dream or wonder or question. That is a great quality of yours: room to wonder and wander. Of course, I’m insanely jealous of your facility to communicate the intemporel. Thank you for being a grown up!
Thank you! Giving the reader space for their thoughts is something I work at.
I wandered through that installation and then did a number of small collaborations with Flux — it became one of my landmark places in my 2nd phase of living in NYC 2005-2019– the phase when I was exploring all of the things that weren’t Manhattan
So happy to learn this!
Wonderful. So interesting And surprising to me, even though we talked about it a lot at the time. And I, too, loved your little house.
It was something, that house, and the whole experience. I''m glad you like the piece. xxL
Time is linear. People are not. Things rarely make sense. But here we are.
Love your work, btw.
So interesting. So well described internally and externally. Seems to me, though I’ve not been part of either, a writer’s colony cum experimental laboratory. So often, especially when younger, we look outside ourselves, to things apparently larger than ourselves, or so we think, when it is only ourselves that ultimately matters.
I would say I am going in the opposite direction. I gain so much energy for my work from working with others and experiencing the work of others.
The writing is the writing is the writing . . . your interpretations are yours. Best, L