...something shadows every thought of mine lately, every word of text
written, every word uttered, read, listened to,
...something, in all that has changed, of late, presents itself and
renders every sign and symbol, every gesture at genre, every effort at
grammar, somehow incomplete. "we" are not, it seems, changed, in text...in
our words, sentences, speeches, beliefs, sources, ambitions ??
the crisis of psychology, (i read this morning) perhaps deliberately?, is
a refracted light illuminating the crisis of history,
the crisis of subjectivity,
the crisis of knowledge... the assumption of knowing... and the
sensual/somatic assaults,
the impact of catastrophic materialities, these
that demand from some of us less than words, and something more akin to a
simple line, drawn across the image we've been building upon, each of us,
in our mindful worlds, building a house of reality, adding rooms,
preserving our beliefs and in costume only venturing to other worlds,
houses, other realities - the worlds of others, here, harkens something
more than this.
i'd ask judith, here, to please offer some words...? where, when, how is
the other ? i am feeling something "other" and it pulls me into
silences... because i don't fully understand these questions of when,
where, how, ... and still it seems important, doesn't' it?
diane
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"Waves of hands, hesitations at street corners, someone dropping a
cigarette in a gutter - all are stories. But which is the true story? That
I do not know. Hence I keep my phrases hung like clothes in a cupboard,
waiting for someone to wear them. Thus waiting, thus speculating, making
this note and then another, I do not cling to life."
Virginia Woolf, The Waves, 1931.
(...life clings to me...)
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diane celia hodges
university of british columbia, centre for the study of curriculum and
instruction
vancouver, bc
mailing address: 46 broadview avenue, montreal, qc, H9R 3Z2
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