here first. until we are there.

we can forget to speak.

(1) after watching the diving bell and the butterfly and atonement, i can’t help thinking about the power of language. how it can truly destroy lives, how gaining the ability to wield it would provide some comfort. but how in the end, it can do nothing. absolutely nothing.

How astonishing that language can almost mean,/ and frightening that it does not quite.[…]
seems appropriate and so does…

To know that one does not write for the other, to know that these things I am going to write will never cause me to be loved by the one I love, to know that writing compensates for nothing…

(2) and after watching the other boleyn girl, i appreciate the effort to retell a story that only painted and repainted how women are just virgin or whores —- how they are just not human enough to actually be complex. but in the end, i realized that if we are to subscribe to a single way of life, to force that this is the only way, no one has power in that situation. not even those who fit this way of life.
the story itself had potential in terms of portraying women as powerful. but i realize that if i allow myself to believe that the only prize i bear is my virginity, that i will not give it lightly solely because i know that a man would be under my spell waiting for this errant prize —- then really, i am not powerful. i am what they expect me to be. not to say that sex and the body are not integral to my identity, but my body and whatever it may represent is infinite.

(3) lastly, To look life in the face. Always to look life in the face and to know it for what it is. At last to know it. To love it for what it is, and then to put it away. Always the years between us. Always the years. Always the love. Always the hours.

[ gilbert; barthes; cunningham]


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