Djuna Barnes _ in her elderly becoming.
Once, when described by an interviewer as morbid, Barnes replied "Morbid? You make me laugh. This life I write and draw and portray is life as it is, and therefore you call it morbid. Look at my life. Look at the life around me. Where is this beauty that I am supposed to miss? The nice episodes that others depict? Is not everything morbid? I mean the life of people stripped of their masks. Where are the relieving features? Often I sit down to work at my drawing board, at my typewriter. All of a sudden my joy is gone. I feel tired of it all because, I think, 'What's the use?' Today we are, tomorrow dead. We are born and don't know why. We live and suffer and strive, envious or envied. We love, we hate, we work, we admire, we despise. . . . Why? And we die, and no one will ever know that we have been born." [
* "Suffering for love is how I have learned practically everything I know, love of grandmother up and on."--Djuna Barnes to Emily Holmes Coleman, February 2, 1934 [16]
* "There is always more surface to a shattered object than a whole."--Djuna Barnes [18]
* "Of course I think of the past and of Paris, what else is there to remember?"--Djuna Barnes in a 1960s letter to Natalie Barney [20]
Future of the Book
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2
Clifford Duffy, I[we] read your fiction s over in immanence heavenly with Joyce, we had a good laugh, all those secret funnelings from each become to yet another! o we trilled coming and roaring! Lodestones of love bodies sapphic detentions and skipping Jocastas to boot! How we whooped up the whiff of its ornateness!
[
Lover boy
you are good!
can we send you a cheque, directly to your account?
DJUNA .
like yerselves Finn, we dont take ourselves too damn seriously! life
is short, after all, and eternity is long!
Kisses, darling.
See you there, inthe astral whirls
and smoke alongs.
Becomings a twist lover body
to arrive.
Nota:
As Gilles
Deleuze himself wrote that "encounters between independent thinkers always occur in a blind zone," an analogous operation happens between poems and poets. Blind to
one another's sight (cite site) they see each one another's night[s]. This puts me in mind of something Keats wrote in a letter about the silhoutted shapes of other poets... of course.. Milton and his blindness, Joyce's 27 eye operations... an Opera of astounding proportions
... so with with blogs: they are BlindSided to their Besideness.
A Noia.
a Para
A Meta . shape of bodies.
4
As for Z. on Deleuze well, its a silly whim of the fast writer tryin to do fast on slow and streaming steady.
Ready? Readee
One cannot reverse the Body-without-Organs by way of a quaint reversal of terms.
Tata.
5
the pome seeps
its ridges
calibrating its mothers.
So Venus Welfare comes to my
well-vined body.
ave laval
.
