earthlings

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Things happened (phenomenality of emergence)
between them (interpsychality). Determining what
was their mutual authoring, a found literarity,
intertextuality by reading each other—
a singular intrapsychality after all—
one’s reading of their trace, our reading,
as if they gain afterlife by gods’ listening,
the legacy of we who keep what happened alive—

row, row, row your boat...

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I had a fantasy of sequencing a bunch of PostSecret favorites like a story.

But it can't really work, because each card comes from such different lives.

Yet, like a dream where moments come out of unrelated parts of one's free-discharging brain and we wake up believing that the sequence has some meaning, I see a story. Despite the beginning, this has a happy ending. But, being made of others' postcards, you can't expect excellence of narrative continuity.

So it goes in life, too, likely: There are narratives and pretenses of continuity.
But memory is like pointillism: Some altitude from fineness may disclose
a topography, yet, often enough depending on imaginability.

This is “about” a woman who eventually secures her glorious freedom in
the memory of her best friend.

being “literairy”

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This blog was (2011—and is) to focus on “literary” interests of mine, which have earlier shown only as brief points in my pointillism of convoluting projects.

all but forgotten

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Violet on her wedding day, June 16, 1919.

She doesn’t seem enthused.

For the author recalling her life, “Curiosity rules,” says the reviewer of the author’s book, “roving where it will among assorted lives from his favored historical era. Let the stabilizing principle be the author himself.”

The author—a biographer—presently makes a fiction of real lives, including himself as pursuer, thereby made a character fictionalizing what can be known. But the reviewer finds less: “... this figure, with his already proclaimed ‘great reluctance’ to plunge into self-analysis, remains little more than a two-dimensional frontman, an amenable cipher.”

status update: Flourishing well.

Wish you were here.

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revised August 25, 2017

Since March, I’ve become enchanted with a sense of “psychalness,” but April’s not “exactly psychoanalytic” posting (“life, world, text”) didn’t get called psychal-analytic because I had Kaja Silverman’s book in mind. I now call April’s interest in “self expansiveness” “Philological.”

I’m anticipating a sense of consilience as some kind of philology of mind. So, why not make the “nature” of humanities Philological? (Domain constitution is made, not found.)

Yea, luscious sensibility, “…a profound and vital erotic investment by a human being in the cosmic surround….,” and being vulnerably candid. Yea, dance of life.