Tomi Ungerer’s description of Barbie dolls as ambiguous sexless brainless machines, without nipples or apertures: the American ideal.
and I think: iDoll???
Back firmly, formally, in the trap of naming, of bringing to life, and as such I may play God for a while. This is the place that itches, that refuses not to itch. The naming game: It is we who set the picket fences. We who move them at will. I catch myself thinking it would be a shame if God really were so arbitrary. And I scratch this itch in so many ways, as recently with my supervisor:
how to class the literary opinions of people like Toni Morrison, Salman Rushdie and others (e.g. Brossard) who not only write literature but about literature? Are they scholars? May I put them on that pedestal, or are they ‘only’ writers? I guess my question is: who is a member of the club?
I keep setting up these borders, keep being told to:
we need them for conceptual clarity
but somehow their contents won’t stay put. That’s worth remembering…
I’ve collected some wonderful visual data these last few days. Excellent propositions for my (long due) business card, but if I share these on FAKEBOOK before the cards are even printed, who do the images belong to? THEM, no doubt.
Daughter’s on the cross-trainer in our fitness room, heart-&-soul with Lady Gaga’s Born This Way. Could be my anthem too. Next track: Work, Bitch (Britney Spears).
Yes, that dirt is real (not placed there for deliberate effect). No, we’re not at my place!!
Not dusting the angel. Not dusting my angel either. My thesis is getting a good spring clean, though. Reading my notes 2011-2014. (Too?) Much has lost its relevance. Let’s call this process: honing. Now the real work starts: the writing of a novel (Verses Nature) for the creative component of the thesis. And for the theoretical part: my understanding of William Faulkner’s take on authoritarian texts and how this relates to heterodoxy of voice and style (hence language and genre). If this were a song, the main background singers would be the Russian scholar Bakhtin (read in translation) and the French philosopher Jacques Derrida (sexy. dead. pity. read in original and in translation. texts often abstruse. pity). Two years of discipline ahead. Stick to my cue cards! Will I be able to complete the first draft of the novel and the first theoretical chapter by the end of the year? Should be able to manage the abstracts for three chapters (and one publishable paper?) by the summer. Glad to have my blog(s) to bring variety – and fun! – to the task.