I reread Anne Carson's EROS BITTERSWEET & am reminded at how "ancients" perceived eros as being kind of an traumatic sets of events. A kind of wounding, a soul wounding. This speaks to me. I think initially when I was invited to the, into the life of another, "romantically" which is a term I still struggle with, I had no concept of what to expect prior. I am on the other side now of that little boy and my understanding is wrought with a kind of gnarliness, a ghastliness, even. I don't know that I'd warm (warn) him though, either. I think I respect the way things choose to unfold before me. I let the self trust the rate at which information finds him and him it. You & Anne, I feel, have helped me respect the complex nature of love happenings. Instead of trying to understand it, respect it.
It’s a great account of a feverish delirious dream- where images come to life but are morph and transform in weird ways- where sound is intense- and colours (for me) take on an acid quality in their vividness and brilliance.
The dream brings to mind the 19th century fairy paintings of Richard Dadd. After he murdered his father he was placed in Bethlem Mental Hospital (aka lunatic asylum) and later, Broadmoor. There is something demonic in the way some of his fairies dance. The environments are disquieting. All the action takes place in the roots of trees with blades of grass and daisy flowers indicating scale. In that ground level and underground world, there is barely a space where nothing happens.
What symmetric delight to be able to “heart” this post
I reread Anne Carson's EROS BITTERSWEET & am reminded at how "ancients" perceived eros as being kind of an traumatic sets of events. A kind of wounding, a soul wounding. This speaks to me. I think initially when I was invited to the, into the life of another, "romantically" which is a term I still struggle with, I had no concept of what to expect prior. I am on the other side now of that little boy and my understanding is wrought with a kind of gnarliness, a ghastliness, even. I don't know that I'd warm (warn) him though, either. I think I respect the way things choose to unfold before me. I let the self trust the rate at which information finds him and him it. You & Anne, I feel, have helped me respect the complex nature of love happenings. Instead of trying to understand it, respect it.
Happy Valentines Day to you too Mary!
I love that MBV record 😍
That was lovely. And yes, I believe too often in our minds we soften the edges away from love.
It’s a great account of a feverish delirious dream- where images come to life but are morph and transform in weird ways- where sound is intense- and colours (for me) take on an acid quality in their vividness and brilliance.
The dream brings to mind the 19th century fairy paintings of Richard Dadd. After he murdered his father he was placed in Bethlem Mental Hospital (aka lunatic asylum) and later, Broadmoor. There is something demonic in the way some of his fairies dance. The environments are disquieting. All the action takes place in the roots of trees with blades of grass and daisy flowers indicating scale. In that ground level and underground world, there is barely a space where nothing happens.
I keep coming back to the “inhuman concealed voices singing sharply like the whine of arrows.”