To Open You, or, Practice Makes Perfect And Even Then There's Still Work to Do If You're Very Good

 

I'm looking forward to seeing Pillion, and that's really all that is on my mind at present other than a very sturdy To Do list that makes me smile. 

Here is the trailer for Pillion.  

 

I watched a film short by Àlex Lora entitled La gran obra (The Masterpiece) (2023) a few days ago, and I am still thinking about it. So many angles and tensions and uncertainties in the span of twenty minutes. If you can get access to it, watch it.  I know Kanopy has it, currently.

 

be well, be loved,

 

k. 

 

(Image credit: Kelly Sikkema)

All That Protects You: The Fingers You Place Upon Your Eyes and the Dagger You Keep With You Hoping You Will Find it in Time

Good morning. It is a new/different thing for me to stumble across the keyboard, pre-9:30am. 

I am currently typing this from underneath a pile of blankets, the blue-gray softest fleece one closest to my body. The window, which is about five feet away from me, is open.  Outside, the crows are talking shit, there is the hum of a distant airplane, and a periodic gush of ice cold wind pushes my curtains towards me. 

My dream life has been so active, lately.  Each time I go to settle down into sleep, I get preemptively tired knowing that more adventures or terrors are about to begin. When I close my eyes, I feel hesitant. Uncertain. Like when someone tells you to close your eyes for a surprise, but you really don't trust them.

 

be well, be loved,

 

k. 

 

(image: Two photos from Alexander McQueen's Fall/Winter 1998/99 show entitled Joan. The show was inspired by Joan of Arc and the Romanov Family. The theme was clothes that look like armour and clothes as armour. Images are from 29secrets.)

 

Cults and the Color of the Black Baccara Rose

Last night was Conspiracy Night with X at my place. This is where we get pizza and junk food (yes, we always bring our own hot sauce), put our tin foil hats on and do a deep dive into the world at large- past and present. Last night X picked the film Eyes Wide Shut (1999), which he had already seen, but I had never seen. He thought it a good accompaniment to all that's been going on with the release of "the files". Needless to say by the end of the night it was 2am, our stomachs hurt and we had jumped down the conspiracy ideas of how and why Kubrick (who reportedly was in good health) was dead four days after the first viewing of the final cut of the film.  

Anyway. Here is to X and the "caja de metal" that we say we are going to put our phones in at the beginning of these nights.  

In other news, tonight before bed, I watched the 27 minute documentary Meeting the Man: James Baldwin in Paris (1970) that is a bunch of excerpts of interviews with James Baldwin made by what seem to be some pretty fucking obnoxious white guys.  

In talking about despair and stating that he is still writing and that a person in despair would not be able to write, Baldwin says: 

 

I'm aware, you know, that I and the people I love may perish in the morning.  

I know that.  

But there's light on our faces now.

If you live under the shadow of death, it gives you a certain freedom.

I'm perfectly happy, odd as it sounds, and relatively free.  

 

 

 

be well; be loved, click on the painting to make it larger. 

 

k. 

 

[Image: The Apparition (1875) Gustave Moreau] 

Laughing With My Feet in Your Lap Like You Were My Closest Friend

On Valentine's Day, I was at brunch sitting in a booth across from J at a diner. About an hour into our hang out, a person walked in who was a doppelganger of you. Of course. A vaguely military green sweater, stylized camouflage pants, ears sticking out a bit and pierced with small piercing hoops of sorts (the type one associates with the 90s). They sat so they were facing me. Across from them looked to be their father (they looked alike; he was significantly older) but you never know these days. 

For the rest of the time I was there, I looked past J and at them. It was so odd to see you sitting there. Every part of me had the inclination to pass them my number, but I had no idea why.  

Lately, I have been reading Donald Kalsched's work (The Inner World of Trauma in its Diabolical Form) and feeling the sci-fi-ness of it. It makes me think of each season's "Big Bad" from Buffy the Vampire Slayer mixed with the familiar demon-and-angel imagery I grew up with. I've also been reading The Labyrinth: An Existential Odyssey, a graphic novel that - ironically because of all the shit I've talked about him- centers around a particular work of Sartre's. To say I'm reading it more because of the creativity of its cover and the cuteness of the cartoon mouse who stars in it would just come across as defensive. I am grateful for my library hauls and stolen academic library access so much these days. 

Last night I was asked to describe what kind of "weird" I am and I did not have an answer. I have heard people describe me with this word the majority of my life. It does not resonate with me. I suppose there is some hilarity to be found within that fact. 

 

 

be well; be loved,

 

k.  

 

(image: From Sadviolences Tumblr)

(title from Maroon)