this must be the place

things i love thursday

Thu, 18 Mar 2010 15:08:07 GMT

hello hello! after a knackering st. patricks day shift (eugh) then a stint at waster where the music was lukewarm, the beer was gross, and i still managed to have a not too horrendous evening which culminated in me hanging out over the road chatting bollocks until god knows what time in the evening, i almost forgot about things i love thursday. luckily i got a text asking how writing it was going from the boy, so you know, here we go, this has been the week according to a 22 year old barmaid/postgrad/socialite:

hanging out with the maternal.
had mum down thursday through saturday at the weekend and it was awesome, we ate spicy food, went out drinking, stayed up late, did some shopping, it was good times. she's around tonight as well, as her and bob are going to the isle of wight, then again on sunday afternoon. should be great, i do love seeing her, and it was nice just to spend time with her as i hardly ever do that these days, or so it seems.

spontaneously going to see new young pony club this week was a very good idea (all their songs remind me of the first year, seriously). debate between alasdair and myself over whether the keyboard player or the drummer was the hottest continued via text even afterwards.

the joys of being back in the kitchen.
i'd forgotten how satisfying it is to cook to feed myself and other people. i'm still in hearts with that simple but amazing carrot soup i made earlier in the week (there better be some left by the time i haul myself downstairs), and yesterday i made a one-pan mediterranean chicken thing (i'm sure i've cooked something similar from a nigella recipe before but i just ad libbed and came up with a pretty nice honey-lemon and herb chicken marinade) for emily, lara and myself which was devoured before we all went off to our respective evening business. i'd forgotten the sunshine and lollipops glow you get from feeding people. i got a risotto bake thingy and spinach parsley and honey soup lined up for next week. yum

i watched this on the iplayer this week (pretty sure it's still up) and oh my GOD guys, oh my god. fully amazing; i love deepa mehta, i loved fire and i think i love this film even more. her stories and women characters are fucking heartbreaking. and the child in this film is adorable. and did i say OH MY GOD? cos i meant oh my god.

having a full calendar to look forward to.
lined up i have scarlett sta burlesque on sunday, a visit to john next weekend, the windsor boys coming down the weekend after, brighton with john, does it offend you yeah? with lara, tons of exciting things to look forward to and distract me from writing term papers. a very nice month ahead indeed.

honourable mentions:
knitting at work becoming a talking point, delicious strongbow, ridiculously overblown rom-com style goodbyes on the dancefloor with gareth when journey came on, new mothereffing SHOES, borrowing shiny purple OPI nail varnishes off emily, neon pencil skirts, rimmel's true match foundation (seriously best ever), umberto eco's the name of the rose, reading the whole damn paper on a sunday shift, belted gigantic mohair cardigans, palmer's cocoa butter, holey tights, being able to see floor in my room (i know, right?), transcribing cute texts from the boy into the paper journal, 'backdoor barry', finishing a shift still running on adrenaline for once, being so guileless that i had no idea someone was talking about my cleavage for about 20 minutes, 'you're denying your heritage chocolate mousse!', watching god knows how many beyonce/shakira/j.lo videos with emily to see who has the best booty shake (my girl b, obvs.), finally finding someone else who actually finds lady gaga aesthetically repugnant and cannot watch her shit, helping several of my boys out with woman trouble, comedy capers on the stage with lara at chaos, seeing the radio show hombres again, my most used words on facebook being 'beer' and 'fuck', underripe bananas, lady grey tea, drifting off into sex flashbacks in quiet moments, nate saying 'so has my ego become a contagious entity of it's own' after i delivered a sneering doorstep diatribe at the deco, toast in any shape or form.

hooray, what a week.

honey glazed carrot soup

Tue, 16 Mar 2010 20:19:35 GMT

so this is a recipe from my beloved bible, the new covent garden soup for all seasons book. it's actually in the winter section, under november, but i bought one of those tesco seasonal root vegetable packs and it turned out to be mostly carrots, and since i've made this before, i decided that despite there being three other carrot soup recipes in this particular book alone, that i'd ease myself back in to cooking for myself gently and make something minimal in effort but that i knew would be delicious and instantly make me feel healthier. so anyways, here we go:

honey glazed chantenay carrot soup

serves 4, cooking time 45mins.

ingredients
400g chantenay carrots, top and tailed
50g butter
1 medium potato, diced
1 medium onion, diced
3 tablespoons acacia honey
700ml vegetable stock
salt and fresahly ground black pepper.

1) top and tail the carrots, then boil for 20 minutes until al dente.

2) melt half the butter in a pan, add the potato and onion, cover and cook gently for 10 minutes without colouring.

3) drain the carrots, return to their pan, melt the remaining butter over the top, then add the honey.

4) heat, stirring frequently, until the liquid is reduced and lightly coloured.

5) add the stock to the carrot pan, stirring well, then add the cooked potato and onion. bring to the boil and simmer for 20 minutes.

6) blend until smooth.

7) return to the pan and season to taste. heat gently for 2 minutes and serve.

so, what alterations/additions did i make? i think we can all guess i'm going to say i didn't use chantenay carrots or acacia honey, just what i had lying around, which meant peeling and chopping the larger carrots into smaller pieces so they didn't need overboiling. my other main alteration to this recipe is that upon draining the carrot water, i retain it to make my stock in (let's face it, more often than not i'm using marigold bouillon to create veggie stock; restaurant quality my food may thus not be but it's both cheaper and easier, and hardly the worst corner cut anybody ever committed). also, the soup is, from the recipe, i assume, to be served plain and unadorned but both times i've made this i've swirled a spoonful of yoghurt through and swirled sesame oil over the top. the yoghurt is a really nice tangy contrast to the sweet soup, and cuts through some of the richness, and in my eyes, sesame and honey were pretty much made to be together. this is definitely becoming a staple, it's such a bright ochre colour you can't help but feel good/cheerful eating it. i'm aware i'm starting to look like i only really make soup, but tomorrow emily wants me to do something with chicken thighs so that isn't the case (i happily could though. seriously.)

i don't know the half of how the hell to keep from holding back.

Tue, 16 Mar 2010 14:43:22 GMT

dear livejournal, i have not forgotten you. granted, the allure of being able to instantly post fragments, quotes, pictures, songs, and so on without any conceivable link on tumblr appeals to my postmodern tinker streak, but i have had you for five years now and i shan't leave you behind so easily.

i'm starting to realize i lose touch of myself if i stop writing about myself, which is something i find understandable and terrifying in equal measures. i can't even begin to recap on the weird ups and downs that seem to have characterized my life for the past, oh, month. but i can say i feel like i'm slowly doing what i've been promising myself for the past oh, year or so, and doing what i want, when i want. the past few days have been a bit of a drunken haze, but not one that has left me dazed and self loathing in bed the next day, that feeling of wasting my life slugging back beers for no reason other than to take the edge off was pleasantly absent.

saturday was a stupendously good time; i went out to the launch of dirty south, an online magazine, and saw phil and thom from the radio show days, which was pleasant (it is insane that it's been over a year really since i had anything approaching a decent conversation with them) and caught up with chris, one of pete's good friends who lives down here. it was nice to be drinking somewhere different (the atrium, oh my god the cocktails are fucking nuclear) and to see different folks. i then popped along to chaos, ended up on stage with lara who was djing the main stage, and wandered around in my own cloud chatting to people i'd never met before (i got bought a bunch of drinks by random germans because i told some guy off for making racist assumptions). i think what i liked most about saturday is that i'd forgotten how to have a good night off my own bat; i've gotten so used to going out in large groups these days. i used to turn up to various things on my own all the time, parties, club nights, the works, and flit between groups as i pleased. it made me feel more in control of my evening, an odd sort of power. i felt like i had that back in an odd way.

sunday i recovered, drank my body weight in earl grey, and worked the quietest shift in christendom. gave me time to catch up on the papers, knit, and stare into space getting my head in order.

then last night in a fit of rebellion at sensibility (possibly inspired by spending all afternoon drinking with dan) i threw on a pair of gold heels and what can only be described as a tutu and decided to go to the wedgewood rooms with alasdair to see this lot:

http://www.myspace.com/teethdance

http://www.myspace.com/istropical

http://newyoungponyclub.com/

(opinions; t3eth don't deliver live, is tropical were a lot of fun, and tahita bulmer of new young pony club looks fucking weird with bad blonde hair plus their new material is not as good as the old stuff). i'm glad i went; recently opportunities to go and see music i'm actually into keep presenting themselves to me, and i've been basically flinging myself at them hyperactive yes-man style. i read in a self-help book (don't even laugh, everybody's read at least one) that money is better spent on experiences than things, in order to be happy, and i'm starting to see the logic of it. the past few weeks i've been out to see a lot more of what i wanted to see, and i've got plenty coming up in terms of burlesque, music, and so on to look forward to, and really, it does make me feel more optimistic, like i'm actually doing something with my evenings rather than going to the pub for the sake of it.

now i just need to figure out, other than university reading, what to fill my days with to get the same kick from them. i was saying to lara earlier that this time of year, since i've been living student existence, always makes me feel more optimistic. the days get lighter and i stop having to sleep under three blankets in my clothes, and i feel like rejoining the land of the living, tired and cliche as that is. it makes me actually want to get out of bed. anyway, i'm not really sure if this even has any substance, so i'm going to go continue spring cleaning and cook some honey glazed carrot soup. also, at the moment i'm dreaming of the perfect teapot; polka dot or floral, because i'm pining for my old royal blue one that died. and i think i want to make the perfect macaroons and sit with a good friend a demolish the whole plate, at some point. i think my feral forager phase might finally be over, thank goodness.

things i love thursday

Thu, 11 Mar 2010 15:26:20 GMT

know what guys? it's about time i started repping the things that are making me love my life again. anyone who's friends with me on other online media will have noticed i've been a right ol' misery-magent lately, all i've been doing is wallowing in my own woe and pity. so while i'm in a position where i'm feeling better, i figure it's only fair to myself and those who've supported me to show some big love and thankyous. i think it's been what, three weeks-ish, since i did one of these, so god only knows if i'll remember it all.

so here goes:

my friends for banding around me and making sure my birthday was good.
i seriously have much love for everybody who was there on my birthday and don't think i can even begin to thank them enough. the night before i was crying/hysterical/on the phone to the samaritans at 4am, and somehow my friends managed to deal with a teary, fragile me. dan and i dealt with things with beer and conversation that was silence and silliness and support in turn in the afternoon, lara and emily took over and dealt with teary and incapable anxious me in the early evening, krista came over and showed love despite really not feeling good vibes at all, lizzy wore an amazing me-outfit and showed everyone up, alex, rosie, mark, matt and the deco boys all showed love, and the evening was full of comedy moments galore. it didn't matter to me that i ended up too drunk to get in the wedgwood rooms, or that i probably looked like a wreck, my friends all massively banded together and made the night great for me.

this is from dan's visit. note our comedy animosity has not died down since he moved back to windsor.

the boy, and a weekend spent with him.
gotta be the first time he's taken second billing, like, ever, but it was important to me that my friends knew what a team effort it was that my birthday was successful. but yeah, the weekend with john was, i think, just what i needed. he got me a massive bunch of flowers and wine and chocolate (with the appropriate amount of irony characteristic of his personality, announcing 'the stereotype is here'), and was acting as both emotional and physical support as i progressively got too drunk to stand on friday. the weekend was lovely, we spent a lot of time just talking, and relaxing. i watched the football with him saturday, then we came up with the film dream team that is annie hall and the spongebob squarepants movie, then ended up out at the deco. when i walked him to the train station on sunday i was really sad to see him go, obviously, but on the walk back i thought about how lucky i am, actually, and not in an 'i don't deserve this' kind of way, more in a 'well, i always moan about how i can't get a break, but actually this relationship is hands down the best thing that's happened to me in 2010, so i can't say things are all bad' kind of way.

this is from krista and my beer friday. this wasn't wine. don't know what it was, but it wasn't wine. still drank the fucking lot.

my parents.
poor, ever-suffering bastards that they are, they really came through for me this week too, in their own, ever-differing ways. i feel really grateful to my parents for showing me the support they do, even if i'm always too proud to ask for it until the last minute. i feel really lucky to always have my family around me.

epic honourable mentions spanning more than a week
evie's christening the week prior, rosie covering my shift and karl letting me take holiday on breakdown thursday, emily and me duetting wyclef jean ft. mary j. blige (911) at stupid o'clock at night, dan's visit the other weekend, lizzy's me outfit (mentioned again because of it's sheer genius), noisy punk gigs with lara, the prospect of my mum visiting two weekends in a row, reading umberto eco on the train, john's face when he saw the gruffalo book i got him for his birthday, waterproof mascara, sunny weather in any shape or form, disaronno and red wine drinking on my bedroom floor to solve all problems, double potato and halloumi bake (burnt, but still not bad), being paid in booze to glass collect, let's be honest here and say having a lot of sex after three weeks without, new work rota meaning i get more hours, it nearly being the end of term 2, prospect of a few days in brighton with john, prospect of does it offend you yeah? in april which was an awesome birthday present from lara, every food ever being made better by pitta bread and pesto, blacked-up gwen stefani perfume, getting my normally sensible friends to session destiny's child with me, first song john putting on when he arrived being estelle ft. kanye, linh dinh's poetry, my lecturer's amusing comments on scatological humour ebing the backbone of humanity, the word 'squittard', wool tights and minidresses, the lovely patient ladies in the local pharmacy, generally realizing it is never as bad as you think if you actually talk about it with people.

when you sing, i think i know you more than when you speak.

Tue, 23 Feb 2010 00:42:10 GMT

i haven't really publicly written about my life in any great detail in a while, and that feels strange to me. i was talking to my grandma's husband the other week when we visited and he asked (expecting me to say no, for i am the Sensible Grandchild who reads a real newspaper and knows about economics and social commentary and whatnot) if i did 'the whole facebook and twitter thing'. and i had to answer yes, and make up something on the spot to avoid saying i needed to be listened to, our whole damn generation needs to be listened to, but we never learned how to listen ourselves, so we sit down and look at the 140 characters our brains can take before we get bored, and hope someone else is doing the same for us somewhere, it doesn't matter who.

when i watched that bbc series about diary keeping, the woman who wrote adrian mole (sue townsend is it? i forget, i only read half the first one when i was younger because i didn't find something so close to the bone funny) talked about how diary keeping is a compulsion to be heard. she referenced scratched names in concentration camps and other such stark, dramatic imagery. i think that's why i can't be scathing about public diarists, even if in the face of sceptics i can't come up with a reason that doesn't sound desperate. basically, what i'm getting at, is this whole posture, this whole written record, is an attempt to be listened to that taps into my insecurity, and consequently becomes an attempt to be, or appear, interesting enough to be listened to.

i don't know why i'm thinking about this at the moment. several things lately have led to a kind of paralysis in communication for me. i seem to be in a constant state of anxiety over never having enough money to do more than keep the hounds from the door. which ties in to how i've been feeling like i can't complain about being treated in a manner that i feel is unfair at work (given that if you also add that i don't have enough hours and so on; it all snowballs, sometimes it ruins an entire week for me). not feeling like i can articulate these feelings combined with a desire not to talk around them in circles, because all that does is keep me in this negative loop, it doesn't help anything, because constant whining about something i can't change will only make me worse. i've really been trying to avoid that and be proactive.

there's also the factor that concerns my essay grades. i'm not afraid of failing; i pretty much expect to. i'm afraid of what failing would do to my self esteem, how i'd cope with that. it'd be the self-esteem equivalent of what being kneecapped is to walking. i don't want to have what strength i've kept in my core this year (because i'm not going to say it hasn't been cruel) taken away from me, and i won't let it happen easily, but i'm anticipating feeling totally winded when i look at the grades tomorrow. i am so scared.

there is a positive reason why i have been a bit quiet lately though. it's mostly to do with the whole 'not wanting to endlessly bore you with details of my relationship' mentality i have. which is tempered by the aforementioned desire to be interesting: there's no real engaging way, regardless of how much it warrants a mention, to state that you're happy with the way things are going with the intelligent, funny, fit bloke who inexplicably seems to care about you, is there? it's like the inuits having however many words for snow, because they need them; there's a hundred ways to say you're miserable in english, and then when it comes to talking about being anything better than alright, you just get a scant handful of platitudes that don't feel like they fit your personal situation at all.

so anyway, what have i been up to lately? mostly eating italian food and drinking various fizzy wines with krista. tonight we watched into the wild. which i enjoyed; although i'm buzzing about the idea of nature vs. literature in that film, i mean he fucks off into the wilderness, ostensibly loathing civilization, and yet the reason he's doing it is because of art, because of writers and what he's read, and he describes everything in quotes. now, how many times has literature/art in general been held up as one of the ultimate signifiers of civilization? art is artifice; it takes work, it's contrived, no matter how romantic or pastoral it is. still, i guess that's a bit above and beyond the 'oh he dies, it's sad' reaction i was meant to have.

i also hosted scarlett sta burlesque's candy valentine evening, the phoenix that has risen from the ashes of hms pinup, on sunday. a last-minute gig, with a surprise flesh-flash at the end (pictures soon, i suppose). it went really well, it was good to see everybody again, and rose wilde, one of my favourite performers, did a completely stunning act i had never seen before. i haven't been on stage in so long; it did me the absolute power of good to remember i still have the capacity to go out and perform, even without any preparation. lillie was joking with me about doing burlesque myself, but, no. i'm brave, but not that brave. people say it takes guts to get up there and do comedy, but i really do think it takes a lot more to get up on stage and shake what your mama gave you. i certainly wouldn't be able to.

anyway, abstract internet readership that i rely on for validation; i should try to get some sleep before another day at university tomorrow.

things i love thursday, the tl:dr edition.

Thu, 18 Feb 2010 15:06:13 GMT

so, it is thursday, thursday it is. and i am a very ill-behaved child for not posting a things i love thursday last week, but i was busy trying to get all my work done so i could spend maximum amounts of time with john at the weekend. as a result last week's antics vaguely escape me, but i have decided to cut this post with photos of things i did and wore then so it's kind of a hybrid of two weeks worth of fun. anyways, here goes what has been pushing my buttons recently.

how much pizza can you eat at once? four pieces, bitch.

spending time with john.
you noticed how this one always comes top on the things i love thursday list when it happens? had a fantastic weekend up in northampton with john, involving much home-cooked food and red wine, time in bed, film-watching, hanging out with respective families, hitting northampton's arguably ludicrous nightlife scene, that kind of thing. today is the first day i have had with nothing to get up and be pout of the house for immediately since then and the absence of boy in my bed has been sorely noticed. but it was good, and another three week countdown has officially begun.

i like to dress boys in my clothes.

uni, uni, and more uni.
maybe related to the first point, but time away from uni stresses and minor crises has made me regain my resolve and drive. this week's seminars have been really very interesting and engaging and i have been at my notepad with a tonne of ideas since, regaining my love of getting involved with books and theory, and re-realizing my aptitude for it. i appear to be bonding fairly well with coursemates too, i'm starting to lose that alienated feeling i talked to miles about when we met up. seems like the strands of my life are starting to be lieved a little less seperately.

i keep bumping into hannah, like, everywhere. i miss her, but it sure is fun seeing her again.

messing around on new internet avenues.
so i finally took the plunge fully into web 2.0, and can now be found on twitter as pavlovsdaughter, and on tumblr at: kirstylouloumitchell.tumblr.com. i'm already getting obsessed with dumping all kinds of my academic tidbits on tumblr. so much fun to have a place just to rattle off ideas as they happen without having to coherently argue them into anything bigger.

lizzy appears to not know what is going on behind her here.

mini-retail pick-me-ups.
last week i went out and for the grand total of £23 bought a new pair of shoes, five pairs of knickers and two bras. i haven't bought myself anything appearance-enhancingly nice in ages and it felt all the more special for the wait. i have to say, i do miss being able to update my wardrobe as regularly as i used to, but i'm not letting it defeat my sense of style-i have a bulging wardrobe full of things that can be worked and reworked, and i haven't lost sight of that. i'm dressing up a lot more these days, it does a body good.

caz's face tastes of caz.

honourable mentions
in bruges (how did no one tell me about this film being so hilarious? or about how it might make me actually have a girl crush on colin farrell), home-made beef, pine nut and rosemary parcels, the big sleep by raymond chandler, lauren bacall, wearing platform stilettoes at uni, actual sun coming through the train window, sharing anxiety about essay grades with coursemates, the feel of bristles under my fingers and on my face, my dead-cert little black dress, early human league, the name of the rose by umberto eco, morning cups of coffee and cigarettes and conversation in bed, the fact my boyfriend can seemingly handle it when the lock on my crazy box opens accidentally, seeing my old best friend tim again out in northampton, chatting to a little cute polish kid in the dentist waiting room about colours she knows and why she doesn't know colours she doesn't like, being drawn by some dude at work without my knowledge, home-made meatball curry, 'a cheeky rioja', green claire's accessories nail varnish, lemon and olive oil body lotion, chamomile rose and lavender tea, cherry drops, this one dude in my seminar's reading of a ted berrigan sonnet giving me the shivers a bit, wearing nightdresses as dresses, mega-buttered toast, reunions with sisface involving apple beer and putting the world to rights, cheesegratering a pair of kate moss for topshop jeans to un-boring them, furry gilet of justice, seeing my little kitties again and having them give all their kitty love to me, out-sicking matches on facebook with nate, maroon pilot g2 miniature pens, situation by yazoo (12" mix), john freakin' cusack's face, having a room that smells enitrely of laundry.

Art With Purpose: The Politics of Purposeful Representation and the American Dream.

Wed, 10 Feb 2010 06:31:30 GMT

no sleep for me tonight then. stupid fucking disobedient 21 year old body. here's my seminar paper for representing the great depression which i'll be discussing at uni today (least i know i'm not going to oversleep it, eh? let me know what you think or if you have any questions.

“But the trouble is that we don’t see. Our lives are so arranged that we don’t have to see. You either don’t go near the slum areas of your city, or if you do, your mind is full of the engagement you have to keep or the shopping you have to do or the business you aregoing to or escaping from. And if your eye sees the undernourished, poorly dressed children on the steps of some dingy hovel, your mind assures you that this is exceptional, that these people are naturally shiftless, that they are perfectly satisfied to live this way.”
Chances and Choices, in I Like America by Granville Hicks

The above Granville Hicks quote seems to highlight the purpose of the section of literature I chose to review from the 1930’s literature archive; that of visibility. Each of the chosen pieces (Louis Adamic’s Dynamite, John Dos Passos’ The Big Money, Granville Hicks’ Choices and Chances, and Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s North to the Orient) seems to be endeavouring to bring to visibility a particular identity through the medium of prose, be that an identity related to class, gender, or social activity. The issue I would like to raise is one primarily of representation in these pieces: of whether the reader should be concerned as to who is representing the identities made visible by the piece; of what means the writer is employing to represent these identities into textual visibility; and to what end these representations are to be used.
The first issue to address then, is that of who is creating representations of who. Dynamite, by Louis Adamic is a piece about criminal rackets that have sprung up in cities, something he posits as due to a class struggle. The reader then, can automatically deduce from the text that Adamic is endeavouring to represent an underclass who aspire to wealth through criminality. It is unlikely that Adamic himself is either a member of the underclass, or in fact a criminal, and the piece has a sensationalist tone that would lead the reader to believe that this is a piece written to titillate, but ballasted by the authority of an appropriately sober middle class writer. The piece does allow a voice to one of the criminals discussed, the Yugoslavian from the Chicago gang, but it could be argued that the quotemarks (and of course his identity-preserving anonymity) used by Adamic constitute a sort of narrative filtering whereby the criminal becomes object to Adamic’s subject. This is, to a certain extent a necessity, criminality inherently marginalizes, but it raises class and race issues that could be considered, to the contemporary reader, problematic.
Dynamite also raises the problem of endeavouring to make one individual’s experience emblematic of a collective experience, in that Adamic only includes the opinions of one specific gang member, who is consequently called upon asked to speak on behalf of an entire criminal culture. Such a technique can be used successfully to lend humanity to what would otherwise be an anonymous group of people in order to create a reader response, but is problematic in that it can also lead to an ease in dismissing the individual in question’s experience as ‘exceptional’, to refer back to Hicks. It also has a tendency to rely on the notion that a collective of people, however they are categorized socioculturally, all have identical experiences and reactions to them. Experience gains a capital ‘E’. This is successfully avoided in John Dos Passos’ The Big Money. The Newsreel sections of the text, seemingly increasing in their fragmented nature as the text progresses, incorporate several different textual registers in an overlapping manner similar to bricolage. Working in this multi-registered narrative mode, and putting together the text fragments in a manner that suggests overlapping and intersection seems to the reader to be a method of representation that relies less heavily on appropriation, or the authorial desire to make one individual’s narrative emblematic of experience. It can be pleasingly compared to the juxtaposition of scenes from different class, race, and gender positions, in the previously studied works of the Federal Theatre Project.
This inclusion of various different registers of narration in the representative process is also present, albeit, in a different manner in Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s North to the Orient. A personal account of her experiences in aviation with her husband, what struck me as fundamental in approaching Lindbergh’s text is the fact that it is a narrative written by a female. The identity and experience presented here is that of a woman, and the piece itself interrogates the representation of women in American culture of the time; for example, when Lindbergh is questioned about the journey, she is approached by journalists who address her with archetypally feminine issues: "the women of America are so anxious to know about your clothes." Lindbergh expresses her frustration at being approached this way, and puts the emphasis on a public that supposedly desires to see her experience as emblematic of a collective Women’s Experience. This is further underscored when the radio announcer lies about her attire as she boards the aircraft, claiming Lindbergh is wearing leather flying gear despite the fact she isn’t because it is too hot; Lindbergh is being appropriated by the creators of culture and made to be emblematic of a female ideal.
This attempt to create collectives and classifications; to appropriate figures from these categories and make their narratives symbolic or representative, can be linked squarely back to the ideal of the American dream. The pieces all seem to explore the fragility of the American dream behind it’s idealistic narrative facade: Adamic’s criminals refusing gainful employment and turning to crime due to what he terms an American sense of self-entitlement, Dos Passos’ soldier returning from a war to prohibition and depression ravaged New York, Lindbergh’s musing on flight not necessarily being freedom. It makes sense then, that the pieces can be analyzed in the light of whether they contribute emblematic narrative identities to this collective national dream, or whether they work to interrogate it.

radical self love month

Mon, 08 Feb 2010 13:31:25 GMT

so yeah, everyone knows i have got 'nuff fan girl love for gala darling. i am participating in her month of radical self love. i have been umming and aahing over whether to post here about it because i'm always a little worried about other people's reactions to my attempts at self improvement (i'm british, we're all very quick to be cynical, etc. etc.). the first two homework assignments were to take a notebook and write yourself a radical self-love manifesto on the front page, and to find something heart shaped to remind you of what you'll be doing during the month. i got the totem thing down, i've been repping a heart on my left thumbnail and will continue to do so over the course of the month, and i also wrote my manifesto in teal moleskine knockoff. i was unsure about whether to share it here, but i think i will. i decided, i couldn't use any kind of earth-mothery nurturing tone, that isn't how i talk even to the people i love, i had to use my own pragmatic, slightly stern vernacular for this. i don't mean to say i'm bullying myself, i just think i need a solid ground to work from. so here it goes, this is what i have to say to myself and keep in mind this month:

'this is the day, kirsty, that you let yourself start believing in RADICAL SELF LOVE.
you finally have to sit down and swallow the fact that you have kept on hurting and not changing no matter how many amazing, heart-touching people have told you how much they love you (and why). you, miss, have preached and not believed, about love coming from the self, and supporting and caring about the self from within, for too long, without acting on it.
this is the year you start listening to you.
you will cook yourself decent meals, keep your skin, hair, teeth and nails looking lovely, make sure you leave the house looking pride-worthy (your own pride, obviously), look after your sleep schedule (however erratic it may be), do work you are proud of, keep the company you want, pay your share of things on time, live in a room you love, make sure your relationship thrives for you, and ultimately give YOURSELF what ever it may be that YOU desire.
i know this sounds like a lecture, but i love you, this is FOR YOU.'

things i love thursday.

Thu, 04 Feb 2010 18:44:18 GMT

not even gonna lie about the fact this week has been a stress-fest. spent tuesday night and wednesday flitting between vomiting and self pity and realized it was probably a combination of pressure and my hormones/body rebelling against me in timely monthly fashion, so can't say this has been the most pleasant week in a while, but it hasn't all been dark clouds, and these are the things that have kept me afloat during this week.

spending time with krista.
ok so to those in the loop, bear with me on this one or it's gonna sound a little backwards. but krista and i had an ace time out on friday; lunch date at porters in which many comedy mispronunciations were made, an afternoon of films and cocktails before we went out to little johnny russell's and tore it a new one. it involved much genius dancing to bootylicious, much cider and vodka lime and lemonade, and krista wore what might be the best dress in the world and looked amazing in it. so anyway it hasn't been all sunshine and lollipops since this weekend she and rhys split up and she came round here on sunday for some patented mitchell smoking and drinking tlc, but i think it would be unjust of me to not give credit to our awesome night out, since this is about focussing on the good things.

this scene in green wing still makes me actually cry with laughter. i have previously been told i behave like guy secretan a lot. this is probably the kind of thing i would want to do.

realizing i need me-time and acting upon it.
ok maybe i should have called this 'silver linings to massive clouds that have happened this week' friday, but in all honesty i've crashed and burned this week, and i realized that if i want to keep myself ticking over i do occasionally need to give in to urges like spending all day in bed crocheting a blanket and watching green wing, or eating curly fries, or reading some thomas mann instead of devoting every spare second i have to secondary reading for uni. aslo, just as a heads up, if my nails look scruffy, that means i'm not taking time out for myself, so a 'sit down and paint your nails and calm the fuck down' is perfectly acceptable.

a mate of a mate, who can probably just about justifiably be called a mate these days, alasdair, posted this on facebook, and basically, OH MY GOD it is incredible. a-yup.

starting a new paper journal.
i don't know why i didn't think to do this sooner, really. so much has changed in my life and i went so long not writing cos things didn't feel right. but now, i've decided, new book, put all my old energy-draining ways of living behind me, and i've been writing like a fiend. it's doing me the power of good, at the moment i'm not really in a talk-to-people mood about what i've been bottling up, and everyone's lives are so crazy too that that is probably a good thing, so scribbling in my new teal journal is really, genuinely helping.

honourable mentions
seeing dan again (however briefly), the general crew at the deco on monday for distracting me, chorizo in red wine, thomas mann short stories, green wing, revlon's purple petal nail varnish, laughing at people's pedantry when they comment on the observer food blog, smacking down some bitch who used to go out with a mate who called into question first my abilities as an academic, then as a comedian, and getting high fives from oh, everyone who overheard, the idea of gala darling's month of radical self-love (tempted, oh f'real), spamming everyone on facebook with social interview (represennnnt lizzy), indulging seafood cravings, maroon ink, being invited to evie's christening, 'herro, i'm over here', chatting to lucy in cafe parisien for a while, excitable darren on monday, looking forward to benjy's birthday on friday, standing up for a friend who probably wouldn't even say thankyou if she found out, muchos apple beer, the news that my cat who ALMOST DIED might be ok, twining's winter spice tea, slowly becoming obsessed with cafe world on facebook, pencil skirts, the fact my housemates totally would have let krista move in if she'd have needed to, stovetop popcorn with too much butter, the feel of secondhand book pages, talking to the boy (he calms me down a lot), vanilla church candles, finding out i'll get to see my grandma's husband when i'm en route to northampton cos he's taking to chemo really well, sofa sessions with lizzy.

robert creeley's the rain, or, let's turn this e-vanity up to 11.

Sat, 30 Jan 2010 16:56:32 GMT

what you will see here: me in last night's clothes and makeup trying to see past my hair and read this poem:

the rain: robert creeley

all night the sound had
come back again.
and again falls
this quiet, persistent rain.

what am i to myself
that must be remembered,
insisted upon
so often? is it

that never the ease,
even the hardness
of rain falling
will have for me

something other than this,
something not so insistent-
am i to be locked in this
final uneasiness.

love, if you love me,
lie next to me.
be for me, like rain,
the getting out

of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-
lust of intentional indifference.
be wet
with a decent happiness.

what you will not see here: the STATE of my skin (i love you shit quality camera), the state of my room (who wants to see dirty beercans, eh?), anything remotely far away from rank amateurism.

not gonna lie guys, i fascinate myself.

things i love thursday

Fri, 29 Jan 2010 02:52:42 GMT

oooookay so last night i went to sleep after work and ended up waking up at about 5pm before work tonight. obviously i'd completely knackered my body out, oh dear. so that's why this things i love thursday is so late (i am still considering it thursday, i'm still awake from thursday). this week has been stupidly hectic, i've crammed so much in; and i haven't always been in the best frame of mind, but still, let's take a look back at some of the things that have been absolutely making my week shall we?

a weekend with the boy.
obviously this was gonna be on here, wasn't it? i don't know if it's me, but the long distance thing always seems to stretch out time beyond believe, even to the point of making it feel like you've been together longer than you have, nevermind how long it ends up making time apart feel. maybe cos it makes you talk to each other and spend more time interacting on a mental level than a physical level or something, i don't know. but what i do know is a had a very good weekend with john, just what i needed to take the sting out of the terrifying essay hand-in and make me feel better about how stressed i'd been by absolutely everything. not gonna lie, the much missed *ahem* physical interaction was a plus point too (and apparently kept my housemates awake, l o l).

haha this song is making me so insanely happy at the moment. i couldn't find a decent quality video of the recorded version, but at least in this one they shout out to all the metrosexuals in the audience. in french. please explain to me what about that isn't genius?

finally handing my essays in.
i would be an epic liar if i even pretended i was confident about these, i am SO scared about them you don't even know. still, if we're looking on bright sides, which i am, i have handed them in, and no longer have to think about them. well, at least, not until i get the grades back. this is a thought which has made me relax massively.

i'm studying allen ginsberg for american poetry after modernism and i was reading his poetry at work tonight. matt played me this and told me about the funeral of his friend, that it was played at. ginsberg plus tom waits is a great combination. how had i not heard this before?

seeing old friends
god, has this been the week for it or what? i bumped into tallie and phil at the wedgewood rooms on friday, and hannah, garry and jody in little johnny russells on saturday. it was nice to have catch up chats with all of them, find out what they've been doing, let them know what i've been up to, that kind of thing. i really need to start working on meeting up with old friends more often. my life would be all the richer for it.

honourable mentions
coloured pencils, meeting a girl called helena on my course who seems really nice. langston hughes poetry, shea butter, homemade beef dhansak with lemon and coriander and naan bread, going out for breakfast, spending the day after my essay compulsively watching glee (shut up), mushroom coloured eyeshadow, my slouchy grey 'leave me alone' jumper, meeting up with miles to talk about phd related terror, i mean, er, options, having the woman opposite me on the train look at me sympathetically as the fat guy next to me woke me up speaking really loud greek on the phone, proper old school sold-by-weight pear drops, lavender, chamomile and rose tea, snakeskin leggings, the prospect of studying with krista tomorrow, hearing how well john is doing at supply teaching (even if he doesn't think it himself), robert creeley's poems, cheap biro on recycled paper, too much mascara, new vogue (although i can't get excited about the whole 'pretty pastels' thing coming in, even if i try), chanel blue satin nail varnish, the irish guy who works at the flying bean at brighton station for always being so cheery and nice to me (he always calls me sweetheart and has gotten used to me saying to put the weird amount of change i get into the tip jar and this week said it was nice that someone acknowledged him, aw), reading about fare share, an organization that works with food retailers to distribute their waste food to homeless shelters and places like that in my big issue, the miracle that is instant coffee when you have an essay deadline to make, the lovely lady at it services with the pink hair who helped me massively, massive sleeps, the end-of-shift pint of justice, peanut rice crackers, gum-bleedingly crisp apples, olay daily facials facewipes.

Wed, 27 Jan 2010 02:35:36 GMT

things my evening has consisted of in no particular order:

grinning right back at this:

kirsty says:
hi honey
Now thats what I call a Koala says:
oh god, i just had the biggest grin when that came up

wishing i could actually be beyonce and wishing it was summer and going out dancing in tiny dresses, coconut oil and not much else to songs like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G6HPJJjqvG0 was an appropriate thing to be doing.

eating not much more than a piece of toast and a miniature green and black's almond bar.

reading this: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Creativity-Now-Inspired-Create-Happen/dp/0273724673/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1264559635&sr=8-1 and deciding i should maybe actually act on my creativity cos it's been months since i did.

precisely not tidying my room.

chai latte.

wanting to write a huge update or post an academic journal but not feeling up to it cos of all my epic fails so far this week.

and now, for trying to get some sleep before uni tomorrow.

wear each others heads like hats, speak in tongues like alley cats.

Sun, 24 Jan 2010 15:05:11 GMT

writing essays in a state of prolonged post-coital bliss is not easy.

i had such a nice weekend with john, it's so surreal, i keep catching myself thinking 'this feels all relationship-y' and then realizing that, given we are in a relationship, there's a very good reason for that. he left this morning, at about 11, and since then i've been writing, smoking, writing, smoking.

i am really happy with where we're at. it feels good being with somebody who is equally at home making stupid jokes in the pub with my lot, and lying in bed talking about whether schools can attempt to undo gender constraints at all.

friday was, obviously, beer friday. john, emily and i turned up to the pub late, and somehow, amazingly, ended up getting battered. see for reference:

cheesy grins, we has them. i look like and idiot when i smile, yesido.

i am being attacked by t-rex john and t-rex lizzy.

we ended up at the wedgewood rooms for it's a sin, of which i remember very little, to be honest, but all the usual faces were seen, all the usual music was heard, i was so tired when we got in that straight to bed was my only agenda, but everyone else seemed to be drinking in the lounge.

saturday was nice. we went out to mumm's for breakfast (seems to be becoming a bit of a ritual) and then, en route to and from buying vegetables for a lamb dhansak, got distracted by strongbow. we sat in little johnny russells, talking about all sorts, mostly our families (i always find people's stories interesting, i could listen for hours) until we bumped into hannah, garry, and jody, who i haven't seen in ages. it was really nice to catch up; i hardly ever see hannah, which sucks, given that we used to live in each other's beds most of the time. she's actually going to be a midwife, which i always said she should do, she loves babies, has the patience of a saint, and no-nonsense doesn't even begin to describe her attitude. she told me she really liked john, which is something that pleases me, as there aren't many people on the planet who know me as well as she does.

after little johnny russel's, we ended up coming home quite tipsy and rather than making the curry as planned, getting straight into bed and watching paris is burning. it was interesting to watch it with someone who hasn't academically studied queer theory. i remember william telling us in lectures that if we didn't come out of that room queer activists, there was something wrong, and he was right. john and i talked about queered spaces, and how they give society and excuse to not have to accomodate differing sexualities elsewhere. it was nice lying in bed with a boy, watching one of my admittedly very y-so-srs? films and not having it dismissed as pretentious toss.

i think the nicest thing about this weekend though, was the fact that while we were talking in bed, john said to me 'i trust you.' and it's been a long time since i've had somebody say that to me without me feeling burdened or constrained by it. it felt good actually.

anyway, enough of my sentimentality. i should get on with my work. (oh also, john bought me coloured pencils cos i said i always lose the good colours. he is ludicrously good at doing the whole cute thing.)

i know i'm wasting precious time, but i'll take it in my stride.

Fri, 22 Jan 2010 08:21:11 GMT

honestly, i like seeing winter mornings sometimes, i really do. seeing the orange of the streetlights get progressively bolder as the sky fades in what my distinctly uncreative mind can only describe as a sickly way: purple, purple grey, grey, grey blue, and settles into whatever colour it feels like being for the day. i like feeling like one of the few people who knows if it rained at five minutes to 5am, really i do, but only sometimes. i wish my body would just cut me a fucking BREAK and let me sleep. the last caffeine i had was at work to get me through my shift, and that wasn't much. i should have been asleep hours ago. instead i've been looking into history as trauma for an essay, to pass the time and make more space in my weekend for my boyfriend. i just have not felt tired. its' been this way all week. barely sleeping, eating in short bursts, i cannot seem to get a handle on my giddy schoolgirl of a body.

what's worse is i know i'll flag at some vital point today. grocery shopping for ingredients for the beef dhansak i'll be making on saturday night maybe, or at a crucial essay typing moment, or when i really should be making myself look less like the walking dead so john doesn't wonder what the hell he's gotten himself into, or when i'm out having a good time with my friends. stupid body, it never lets me have nice things.

still, things could be worse. i've devoured books this week and am not as afraid of my essays and my ability to do them as i was (no more blind panic for me, oh no no no; lizzy gave me a concerned sort-of talking to about it, and i couldn't be more grateful. i'm more than good enough for this masters, yesiam). i have a weekend ahead of me which will be Nice with a capital N. and, apart from the hand-in of not-so-much-doom-as-inconvenience-cos-i'd-really-rather-just-study-aimlessly-but-i-have-to-do-essays-and-hand-them-in-in-order-to-qualify-to-do-anything-even-a-little-bit-like-that, school next week is exciting me. loving my poetry unit (did i even just say that??) and i'm meeting up with miles, a lecturer i had at portsmouth when eugene left, for coffee after school on wednesday. all in all, unless i break a limb, or someone dies, or the world simultaneously runs out of coffee, cigarettes, and strongbow, the level of whining should continue to decrease. marvellous.

things i love thursday.

Thu, 21 Jan 2010 16:18:03 GMT

so it's that day of the week folks, and actually i'm pretty bursting with things that have been lovely about my week. so let's just get cracking shall we:

haha ok so i don't know if you guys ever saw the weebls stuff version of this but we got pretty obsessed with it at work so when we were fixing the cctv last night this version came out in full force. it's better because they use a vocoder.

john is coming down this weekend.
i don't think i need to say any more than that bout that one, do i? very much looking forward to it though.

old i know, but i have had this song in my head ALL WEEK. mkes me want to go out disco dancing.

my american poetry after modernism seminar.
my lecturer is awesome, really friendly and interesting, the group all contribute and are really nice (i've met a couple, but not all of them before), and the tutor structures it so that each week one of us chooses an article that will go up on the shared study area and then we give a talk on it, so it's real student based discussion from the off, i like that way of doing things a lot. plus i'm already getting exposed to new things that excite and stimulate me.

another pretty old one that i've been obsessed with this week. this song really reminds me of summer.

seeming to get compliments left right and centre
i'm not even kidding, it seems like after last weeks tantrum the universe is trying to tell me that i do actually have value and people do appreciate my presence. i've had people reference my work, tell me they've missed my presence on campus, ask me where i've been and why they haven't seen me in ages, that kind of thing. i also had a complete random ask me out for a drink last night (i obviously said no) which, since i was having a total fat day, was a bit of a boost.

honourable mentions
let's make out by does it offend you yeah, finding out that some of part three of the der diary series was filmed at sussex, eating more cheesy chips than humanly possible, my mum being more supportive this month thn most parents are in a year, lara kidnapping me for beer when i was sat in bed pining, my blue velvet dress, silver tequila, theses on the philosophy of history by walter benjamin,vanilla creme brulee shower soap, mini chupa chups, reading simone de beauvoir on the train, messing around composing jackson mac low style poetry, 'i'm beyonce, i ain't no kelly rowland', hnging out after work last night and laughing at matt being up in the ceiling, alex's concept of measurement, lizzy giving me a gold paper crown to wear and me not taking it off for the whole shift, genmaicha tea, guilty pleasure synga facebook games while i study, black lame leggings, sally hansen almond cuticle oil, quiet walks home at 4am, sequinned harem pants, singing while hanging out laundry then laughing at how snow white i am, delicious apple beer.

american poetry after modernism: week 2

Tue, 19 Jan 2010 22:39:17 GMT

ok so since the response my queer theory academic journals got and how helpful i found them to look back on i figure this semester i'm going to try to get my head straight on what i've been learning on here, as i feel that the discussion aspect of things last time was just as helpful as me actually untangling what's in my head onto paper (screen, really). i had my first american poetry after modernism seminar today and have been bubbling with chaotically organized thoughts since. i already know that this isn't going to be the kind of module that, as simon always used to put it, will give me a nice little bit of knowledge-product to take home and put on my shelf like i bought it. there'll be a lot of loose ends and unresolvable paths, i'm sure of it, but i am already hugely interested and engaged (a big problem of mine when it comes to academia, there isn't much i'm NOT interested in, so you know i'm going to go through hell and back deciding a thesis.

so anyways, today we looked at charles olson's projective verse which you can find here: http://www.globalvoicesradio.org/Projective_Verse.html, the mesostics of john cage, some of which are here: http://epc.buffalo.edu/authors/perloff/cage.html, and jackson mac low's stanzas for iris lezak which i mentioned yesterday, along with various other asides. i'm not the sharpest at poetry, so this is real boundary testing for me, bear with me, and as yet my anthology has not turned up, so my quotes may be paraphrases. if anything needs clearing up or you want to know what i'm referencing or whatevs, you know what to do. here goes nothin':

charles olson's projectiver verse was written as a 'new' schemata/systematic of poetics in the 1950's, after modernism was claimed to have failed in it's project. olson posited that poetry should find it's rhythm in the syllable and the line, based on the poet's breathing pattern. this, to my mind, brings poetry heavily into the realm of the spoken as opposed to the text, which raised problems for me; because poetry to me has always been dually structured. it is both an utterance, and a textual object on a page. the other problem i had with this structure of poetics is that it could be perceived to limit the poem's potential as an artwork; it can only be 'properly' read by the poet, the person with the breathing pattern that created it's framework. we did discuss the potential that alternative readers of the poem aloud changing the structure of the poem slightly could be considered to be a positive feature of this type of artwork, and raised the ideas of barthes, who believes all readers alter and appropriate whatever literature they encounter regardless, although sentiments such as this seem to be largely absent from olson's work.

another level on which olson's work was problematic for me was in it's reliance on the syllable as an organic, natural occurance. playing devil's advocate on a linguistic nuts-and-bolts level i posit that syllables are a construct of language, since every language is formed of differing syllables (for example vocal sounds that may be perfectly normal in russian, or japanese, or afrikaans, may be completely alien to an english speaker). i also considered that olson's ideas of the active mouth and passive ear were somewhat unacceptable because they used highly gendered language, setting up a binary that jars with postmodern ideas of decentralization. the idea of active mouth and passive ear of the poet is also reminiscent of romantic tropes of the authoritative genius gaining organic ideas, channeling nature, a concept that i regard as ultimately conferring too much authority to the artist; giving art a potential elevation and definite meaning, which i find too reductive and essentialist.

i found the poems of jackson and mac low a lot less problematic to look at. cage and mac low could both be said to be attempting to reinvigorate the historical avant garde (some names that were dropped being duchamp and the dadaists), by endeavouring to break down the divide between art and 'real'/everyday life. cage's compositions already attempt to incorporate the matrix of sounds we exist in but rarely pay close attention to (traffic, white noise, etc.), and cage maintains that audience noise merely enhances performances of his piece, making no two performances ever the same in his eyes.

before looking at cage's 25 mesostics re and not re mark tobey we watched a section from merce cunningham's channels/inserts and were informed that merce cunningham used to teach the dancers the choreography for pieces without letting them hear the music until they actually performed the piece.

in this way, cunningham relinquishes some authority over how the piece will be performed, as the dancers have the initiative on how they perform the choreographed moves with regards the piece. this democratization of the process is a move away from the body-based personal poetics of olson, and gave us a focus on decentralization and democratization when looking at cage's poem.

the mesostic form was interesting to me on several levels-it's central structure of a downwards reading word gives the stanzas a structure without artistic construction, and we discussed the deliberate application of what may seem an awkward and potentially juvenile/playful structure as also perhaps being an opportunity to ridicule structure in itself. the privileging of the name 'mark tobey' in this instance, whilst centralizing the name, also makes the reader aware that the verses could not be about mark tobey at all; his name could merely be the structuring device, as the title says both regarding and not regarding. the singificance of the name is, anyway, erased through it's repetition, particularly since the repetition is not sequential. other names in the poem are not capitalized, only the central columns of each stanza that read 'MARK' and 'TOBEY'. the capitalized letters in the middle of words seem deliberately positioned to break up syllables, almost artificial, parodic 'centres', which distract from the actual stanzas of the poem and disrupt reading or draw reader focus away from certain aspects of the poem.

the poem lends itself to either 'smooth' continuous sentence style reading, or fragmented line break emphasis. in this way the reader has control over the object, in making a decision as to how to read it. this is a factor in detracting from artistic authority, democratizing the poem and making it a more 'collaborative' experience.

lastly, we looked at the arbitrary structuring of mac low's stanzas for iris lezak, his system for taking words from books he was reading to create his poems. in setting up such a system, mac low's poems contain very little artistic autonomy/authority. he is not making choices, but being constrained by a system in constructing the works. there are times when mac low chooses to operate slightly out of a system, creating his own sentence such as 'i love iris', but ultimately, his authority is largely absent, at least insofar as it might overpower the reader's, and interestingly, the recipient of the poems, iris lezak, is marginalized also. the reader thus finds a large scope for exerting their own authority over the poems, in much the same way merce cunningham's dancers are obliged to exert theirs.

said you should be left alone, on a mountaintop, knocking down the aeroplanes with stones.

Tue, 19 Jan 2010 04:55:11 GMT

i am up late, reading further on postmodern american poetry because i can't sleep and i'm actually somewhat excited by the prospect of my session tomorrow, which is something i really didn't think i'd catch myself saying. i've been reading about jackson mac low tonight, sitting in bed rolling his wonderfully strange poems around on my tongue.

the way he constructs his poems really fascinates me:

'the use of chance operations in the works of jackson mac low bring into question formalist critical techniques. in stanzas for iris lezak (1971) each poem was made through the use of a set of chance operations. mac low would select a book, one that he had been reading on the subway perhaps, and using the title as an organizing device, he would turn to the first page of the book looking for the first word that had the first letter of the title, each word of the title generating a line, and the whole title a stanza. in 'the story of mosses, ferns and mushrooms' mac low used the title in this acrostic manner to yield:

The has earth.
Seemed the older roots you
older fourth.
more older seemed seemed earth. Seemed
Fourth earth. roots "new". Seemed
and new. Different
more up seemed has roots older older more seemed.

there were other variations of this basic idea. mac low sometimes used a newspaper headline to get a poem from a newspaper article. sometimes he used a sentence of his own construction like 'i love iris' and a book we cannot discern from the title.'

--ellen zweig, jackson mac low and the limits of formalism.

i really am rather taken with this. the idea that the writing could at once be so personal, a log of everything mac low read, love poems for iris, and at the same time that these chance techniques obliterate the ego of the artist, the will to create meaning, to force relations between words in a sort of master role, they can't exist if you eliminate this much choice from the creative process. i'm fascinated by it. i'll admit, i'm quite tempted to make some of my own for shits and giggles. not to mention; some of the titles are decidedly sweet, like 'iris is lovely' or decidedly hilarious, like 'my girl is the best fuck in town. i love to fuck my girl.'

i think the thing that really interested me on a strange level, that i can't quite get at fully yet, is the idea that where words have been displaced from their meanings in relation to each other, from the regulation of syntax, any meanings they gain from juxtaposition in these poems is much more surprising and focussed for the reader, it jumps at them. the idea of, i believe zweiger called it information theory, is that the words have a higher yield of information this way. i am really looking forward to discussing this tomorrow.

as for now, i think i'm going to try and read some more. i really can't seem to sleep lately, and i'm also slightly grouchy through feeling mildly bunged up, and i'm also feeling a bit sulky cos i'm missing the boy a bit. chin up though, uni tomorrow'll see me right.

a want is a lack, but also desire, a need can mean nothing but should be held higher.

Fri, 15 Jan 2010 14:08:58 GMT

'that was just like him: he would have been devastated by a failure, but success had never seemed to him to be any more than an insignificant step forward towards still more difficult tasks that he immediately set himself. he never fell into the weakness of vanity, but neither did he experience the serene joy of work well done.'

--she came to stay, simone de beauvoir.

oh what, seriously simone? reading that before bed on day one of essay panic stations was a stupid idea.

saint genet is brilliant, and yesterday, despite trying to study in an insanely busy pub where people needed pints, i made seriously significant headway. i feel, when i'm doing an essay as if i'm doing something, not just sitting still. i forgot how much i feed on this nervous, unhealthy spurt of energy. i'll need reminding of that on sunday night, by the way. anyway, more hot chip and sartre.

things i love thursday.

Thu, 14 Jan 2010 14:19:47 GMT

been so busy with studying this week that i've not had time to do much for myself. nevertheless i've managed to sneak in a fair few things that make me happy to take the edge off the stressful stuff.

ahaaaa, this video cracked me up.

my books and timetable finally arriving
i have been worrying myself stupid about this, so the fact it's all resolved itself finally is making me feel quite relieved. i have had a minor off moment about what i will be studying this term, but nothing that i can't get over.

old, i know, but surely one of the happiest songs ever in the world.

my housemates being sympathetic to the fact i haven't been doing great.
they fully realized i wasn't doing amazingly and decided to fill me full of brandy and take me to the pub.

could i be more obsessed with jean genet right now?

honourable mentions.
hot chip's latest album: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPXPIx1LlPY (although i prefer the song 'thieves in the night'), spiced cauliflower and potatoes, haribo tangfastics, she came to stay by simone de beauvoir, brandy and coke, the ice melting and going away, planning a trip back to northampton, nails inc polish in belgrave place (electric blue, lovely), nivea young spray toner, my black velvet leotard, mexican sweet chilli blend tea, papermate ergonomic biros, my oversized blue cardigan, thick red socks for when it's cold, lavender shea butter, the hairy biker's mum's know best series (it's all about passing down family recipes, i love it), managing to hook in some new regulars at the pub, gwen stefani's g perfume, working as much in daylight as i possibly can.

when you alter yourself, the alterations become the truth.

Tue, 12 Jan 2010 01:01:54 GMT

i have been asleep, now i am awake. my body did its self preservation thing, its shutdoown thing tonight. i've been absolutely unbearable this afternoon and evening, to everybody who's spoken to me. the key aspect of my life hasn't gone in any way shape or form the way i wanted it to this year, and today, for some reason, i broke down and was a brat about it. i may be being a little hard on myself, but i know i was doggedly miserable even to people who were trying to support me, distract me, listen to me, or just plain be nice. it's something i'm pretty good at doing, but i also know how frustrating it is to the other party. i could actually feel myself doing it this time, it was a very uncomfortable situation for me, because i knew the minute i cut myself off and lay down to sleep i'd dissolve into a pool of tears and my despair brain would take over and tell me nobody cared, or rather, not cared, understood, and that i was so, so alone, which is something i know not to be entirely the case. i'm not a believer in being able to understand fully another human being's pain but i am a believer in care and empathy, and that being about the best that can happen. the idea that i am alone is ludicrous, and really i ought not to listen to my inner monologue's witterings about being understood either.

still, i do wish sometimes that the part of me that came through the loudest and clearest wasn't the darkest part, the part that never believes i'm good enough, or deserve or get care and attention, and encourages me to behave in childish manners. i have to steel myself with the knowledge that this part of me isn't talking any kind of sense; that it's maybe a part everybody possesses, potentially it's louder in me because of things and people in my life that nurtured it, but that it's slowly lessening, that it's now subject to the scrutiny of more rational thought, it isn't the boss around here.

i'm conscious that this might look like the ramblings of a crazy person. i'm talking about my thoughts and body like they don't belong to me, to a certain extent. it could also be read as me trying to disown these thoughts, like there's a not-me operating, trying to say that my actions, my body are beyond my control. neither of which is the case. i guess since i stopped believing in a unified consciousness, a rational and coherent core from which all thought consciously operates, this terminology is normal to me. but that's not the point, the point is that i realize that other than struggles that cannot be avoided in materiality, such as finance, for example, the only thing i can ever say i'm at war with is myself. i don't know if there will ever be peace between me and this part of myself that seems so desperately to want to wreck everything i build, that flares up within me when something happens to knock my confidence or self belief; but i feel like i'm getting more control over it.

weather permitting i go back to university tomorrow. this has been essentially the source of the angst. i am really hoping that i can get some real sleep, not just a shutting out of the outside world and a shutting off of myself and my thoughts; a shutting up, but actual real, solid, normal, restorative sleep. if i can, i know i'll have the energy to treat it like a new day and approach the class i didn't want to take as an opportunity to approach primary material i may not know with theory i know too well, and learn or gain something. if i can't i won't be able to shake tonights anger, i'll go in feeling put-upon and sleepwalk through what i currently consider to be frustrating and needless repetition.

i finished the robber bride tonight before i passed out for a few hours, and am currently hung up on this, about the beginning of a decade: 'a zero always means the beginning of something and the end as well, because it is omega: a circular self-contained O, the entrance to a tunnel or the exit from one, an end that is also a beginning...'. i am trying to make this decade work for me. really i am. i'm trying, to be honest, to get over myself in every linguistic sense that the phrase in question can apply in.

before i go put my faith in my ability to sleep, i would also like to say that life sometimes, coincidentally or not, gives you little signs that it knows you're there. i picked up, just now, before i wrote this, because to be honest internet, i wasn't going to speak to you until i felt better, i don't want to poison the atmosphere, a copy of she came to stay by de beauvoir, which i was going to read until i fell asleep. secondhand, found over the summer in night owl books. i opened it to write my name, the year, and where i lived on the very first page, and found this note written in looped, neat handwriting, black fine tip biro, on the first page:

dear dora,

no drug in the world, can give me the same feeling i have, waking up in your arms after a night through making love. love roswitha. march, 1988, portsmouth.

this kind of thing is why i write in books. someone might, one day, find a book with a date significant to them (like the month and year of their birth, SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS this book could be the exact same age as me, could have been given as a token of affection the very day i was born for all i know) that i penned, in whatever colour i had to hand. i write in books i give to other people too. maybe one day one of my little literary cave paintings will make someone having a terrible night sit bolt upright in bed and gasp like someone put a cold hand up their shirt, then relax and think a little less frowningly on life. it's a nice thought. it made me think about what i put into the world a bit, how i could atone for what shouldn't be there, and improve what i'll put there in future.

broccoli and stilton soup/a mildly spiced supper of cauliflower and potatoes

Mon, 11 Jan 2010 15:02:46 GMT

so i finally got my timetable. american poetry after modernism and representing the great depression. not my ideals, but i guess i'll work with what i have, and at least they're somewhat intellectually coherent. my masters at this rate is gonna have some fairly wide-ranging term papers. i was wondering actually if i set up a filter on here if anybody might be interested in reading them? i can't imagine my topics holding much interest, economics and queer theory, and trauma narratives and native american literature? anyway let me know. my head's a bit fuzzy at the moment, i seem to be using all my spare energy to make academic connections, so here's what i've been cooking to calm down and get back to myself:

broccoli and stilton soup

ok this is from nigella express and has become something of a tradition for me to make post-christmas. my mum's neighbours always get a wheel of stilton from their brother at christmas so they parcel it off and give it to the neighbours. the thing is no-one in my mum's house really eats cheese so i get sent back with about a 750g wedge, which i tend to use in cooking to make it go further (i must admit that after the excesses of christmas this hard-headedness of mine about making things stretch is a most welcome relief from the excesses i engage in at home, i swear this year i fully carbed out). so this is the recipe:

serves four as a supper or eight as a starter.

ingredients:

3 x 15ml tablespoons of garlic oil
6 spring onions, finely chopped
2 teaspoons dried thyme
1 kg frozen broccoli
1250ml hot vegetablen stock
200g crumbled or chopped stilton
freshly ground pepper
1 long red chilli pepper, deseeded and finely chopped (optional)

1. put the garlic oil in a large pan over a medium heat, add the chopped spring onions and cook for a couple of minutes.

2. add the thyme and frozen broccoli, and stir in the heat for a minute or so.

3. add the hot vegetable stock and the stilton and bring to a bubble then clamp on the lid and cook for 5 minutes.

4. liquidize in a blender -in batches- then pour back in the pan and heat if it's cooled too much while blending, and add pepper to taste.

5. scatter with a confetti of red chilli dice on serving, if you feel like it.

this year and last year i made changes to this recipe, the same ones in fact. i understand nigella has attempted to take shortcuts with this recipe because it is her 'express' book, namely the use of spring onions and the use of garlic oil. i myself used a regular onion (because i always have them around, they're cheaper anyway, and i don't mind that they take a little longer to soften), and i chop up a couple of cloves of garlic myself and use regular olive oil, because again, it's cheaper and i don't mind the extra time taken. this is still one of the quickest soups by far to make. also i ALWAYS use fresh broccoli. i had blender issues this year (the lid to mine is missing so i'm using a rubber band and a carrier bag instead), so it wasn't blended as perfectly as possible, but it still tasted good.

and here is the second recipe, from tender, the new nigel slater cookbook all about vegetables that i received for christmas. i love the way nigel slater writes about food, it's gentler, more intuitive, it is about responding to the food rather than trying to make it respond to you. there aren't many other cookery writers i'd choose over slater. i can't wait for volume two, which deals with fruit. so anyways i'm trying to make four recipes from this book a month on top of my two seasonal soups and my baking, so here goes:

a mildly spiced supper of cauliflower and potatoes

enough for 4

ingredients:

onions-3 large
groundnut, vegetable, or sunflower oil
garlic-4 cloves
ginger-a thumb-sized lump
ground coriander-a tablespoon
ground cumin-2 teaspoons
cayenne-half a teaspoon
ground turmeric-half a teaspoon
tomatoes-3 medium
water-600ml
potatoes-3 medium
a large cauliflower
unroasted cashew nuts-a good handful
green cardamom pods-6
garam masala-a tablespoon
creme fraiche-150-200ml
coriander-a small bunch

peel the onions, chop one of them roughly, then let it soften with a tablespoon or two of oil in a deep pan over a moderate heat. halve and thinly slice the others and set aside. peel the garlic cloves, slice them thinly then stir into the softening onion. continue cooking, without browning either the onion or the garlic. peel the ginger, cut it into fine matchsticks, then add to the onion and garlic.

stir the ground coriander, cumin, cayenne and turmeric into the onion. let them fry for a minute or two, then roughly chop the tomatoes and add them to the pan. add the water and bring to the boil. season with salt and a genrous grind of black pepper. cut the potatoes into large pieces (as if for boiling) and add them to the pan. lower the heat and leave to simmer for fifteen minutes before breaking the cauliflower into florets and adding to the sauce. quickly toast the cashew nuts in a small non-stick frying pan until golden. tip them into the pot, cover with a lid and continue to simmer for fifteen to twenty minutes.

meanwhile, fry the reserved onions in a little oil in a shallow pan till deep, nutty gold. whilst they are cooking, crack the cardamom pods, scrape out the seeds, crush lightly and add to the onions. continue cooking for five minutes or so, then, when all is gold and fragrant, remove and place on kitchen paper.

when the cauliflower and potatoes are tender to the point of a knife, stir in the garam masala(the spices in it are already roasted, so it needs very little cooking) and the creme fraiche. simmer for a minute, then serve topped with the reserved cardamom onions and the roughly chopped or torn coriander leaves.

OH MY GOD. this recipe made me so happy. the only change i made was to use tinned tomatoes (hey i'm poor) and their juice, which meant i needed to use less water. nigel slater suggests that because it's so mild you should serve it with simple crisp green salad, and i did just that. i had another bowl of it when i got in from work, with a slice of white toast. it makes the cheeriest, brightest orange sauce you can imagine, and the cauliflower takes the flavour of the spices so well. i used up some cauliflower lara had already floreted and frozen in this, and was massively happy with the way it turned out. i would most definitely make this again. i'm very excited to try more recipes from tender now. anyway i suppose i ought to get on with tidying and reading. weather and funds permitting, i have school tomorrow.

things i love friday.

Fri, 08 Jan 2010 13:44:21 GMT

well i've been a busy little bee this week, and yesterday i ended up staying out all day with krista so i missed the traditional timeframe of things i love thursday but i'm feeling a little sulky because i've stacked it twice on the ice on albert road and landed on my elbow, and it's bruised and very sore at the moment, so i figured i'd remember nice things about this week to cheer myself up. so here we go.

playing in the snow.
on wednesday, lara and i decided to trek up to milton park and play in the snow with other assorted troops. a snowball fight was had which involved mark attempting to hit lara's arse crack, steve's little girl made a snow angel or two, we built a seven foot cock and balls, and, mario geeks that we are we made a boo in the snow:

LOOK AT HIS FACE! we also found that a ladle creates a good snowball production line, and that tea at mark's house afterwards is beneficial to feeling fingers again.

down time.
i have spent a lot of time by myself when i've not been studying; mostly reading in bed but also watching films and this documentary: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00ptgph on diary keeping that richard e grant did for bbc four. mostly because it covered joe orton. very interesting stuff though. it's been nice to have brainfood rather than just going out and getting sloshed.

seeing krista again.
yesterday krista took me out for lunch on her fresh loan payment, and we had a beer or two in little johnny russell's. it did me the power of good, much better than sitting in nursing my elbow, and i certainly was pleased to catch up with her. much silliness was had, and i ended up round hers most of the evening too.

honourable mentions.
messages on facebook from miles regarding phd funding and whatnot (it's so useful being in contact with somebody who is in the industry i want to be in who doesn't mind helping out and offering advice), the robber bride by margaret atwood, 'this is my sad bucket, i hang it off my bottom lip, and i fill it with my tears', scribblenauts basically being the best game i have ever played, texts from the boy that make me smile, honey on anything, 'actually it's a trio of sausages', there being cute puppies absolutely everywhere i go this week, mark swapping shifts with me due to elbow fail, florence and the machine's cover of 'you got the love', broccoli and stilton soup, january delicious magazine (especially the ching he huang stir fries section, how good does smoky szechuan cabbage and bacon sound, seriously?), geeking out over pokemon with andy, dans paris, bridesmaid dresses as daywear, cheapo gloves, nails inc polish in shoreditch (neon neon neon pink), wool tights, tuna and cheese toasties, tonnes of black coffee, new black boots of love, people admiring my handknitted scarf, huge gladioli, reading john's political blogs, my insert-a-photo wall calendar, handmade blankets, telling brad the story of gordon the green arsed ferret, feathered headbands, oversized cardigans, getting enough sleep, burt's bees orange oil cleanser.

no buildings will fall down.

Tue, 05 Jan 2010 13:06:01 GMT

one.

'a rattlesnake that doesn't bite teaches you nothing.' -- jessamyn west

on the first page of my book, is this. and i am instantly reminded of dad and i laughing all over ourselves, talking about new years, and 'oh yeah every year people say 'well that was a horrible year, glad it's over and let's hope this one will be better. and, haha, you want to say well how did that work for you last year dumbass?, i mean it's bollocks, isn't it? not to mention no one ever knows the words to auld lang syne'. my dad and i see the funny in the bleak, but i can't help but think this quote makes the point better than i do, and i found it after the fact. some things never change.

two.

'where to start is the problem, because nothing begins when it begins and nothing's over when it's over, and everything needs a preface: a preface, a postscript, a chart of simultaneous events. history is a construct, she tells her students. any point of entry is possible and all choices are arbitrary. still, there are definitive moments, moments we use as references, because they break our sense of continuity, they change the direction of time. we can look at these events and we can say that after them things were never the same again. they provide beginnings for us, and endings too. births and deaths for instance, and marriages. and wars.'

--margaret atwood, the robber bride

i am currently hung up on the notion of memory and the moment. of how memory works and where it anchors itself, what it constructs and why. probably because of my essay on trauma narratives; but it's working it's way into my life pervasively. late at night when i can't sleep even under the weight of three blankets, and i get tired of tracing the contours of my hipbones, i sit up and scrawl out memories of times in life endlessly in my journal. unconnected memories, varying in strength. i try to get everything down even though i believe at least half of memory to be invention. i compare each nights writings to the last, sometimes i've made the same event sound like it happened somewhere else, to someone else, or like it never happened. i keep thinking about writing novels that start, or better, end before i was born. or a whole novel about the same memory over and over again. or a novel in which unconnected memories form the main narrative for no apparent reason. i keep reinventing ways i could be witty and brilliant with time frame and structure. it's a shame i can't write for shit.

buckle my shoe.

i heard this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qII2RBVcEKQ disabled embedding is fail, kids) again over christmas and it made me be in several places at once.

i was singing along loudly and exaggeratedly in my room at mum's (the one with the heart shaped collage of fashion magazines on the wall) with tim as he helped me laugh off the tears after jonathan told me he could never see me again and didn't tell me why.

i was sat in the sixth form common room of northampton school for girls (on a sofa covered in graffiti) reading an article in the nme slating the final verse for its pointless political juxtapositions while waiting to see whether another day at school would do me good or harm.

i was browsing the racks of northampton library wearing a fuchsia coat and feeling sluggish after my friday english literature lesson and coming across a confederacy of dunces for the first time.

i was homesick and bored, staring into space in harry law basement as i waited for my first load of laundry to finish early on sunday morning, my hands smelling of bleach where i'd scrubbed at the bathroom floor beforehand.

i was there with my physical being, mouth stinging from gin and tonic, skidding across the ice on dad's patio with liam, who was wearing my furry hat; enthusing about how franz ferdinand's second album was categorically and always better than and overlooked in light of the first.

i think it's funny how you forget how much you loved a song and where, when and why you loved it and listened to it. not funny, per se, more strange. i've never had a song bring back just one single moment to me, it's always a series, beads along the string of it, that i put on for just a second. incidentally, the nme was, and always has been right about that stupid last verse. i mean, seriously?

delightful? no one says that anymore.

Mon, 04 Jan 2010 18:37:17 GMT

yesterday after i'd done what i'd set out to do i watched this. there wasn't much i didn't like about it.

today involved a slow wake up, a stretch, a shower, a smoke in bed while i took stock. walked to the bank; not as dire as it could have been (note to self, coconut perfume in winter confuses old ladies in queues). a sit on any icy bench on the seafront, a hello again city, how've you been-have you missed me? sort of sit. until i couldn't feel my fingers or toes. which reminded me to buy new boots, cheap and functional plain blacks, unexciting but necessary, almost a january ritual. then calendar, binders, paper. brief concession to myself with a budded bunch of almost-white gladioli. home.

lara made the house smell of spice today, maybe one of my favourite things to happen in january. this place doesn't feel as cold as when i left, maybe i project my emotions onto my physical being more than i think. my room is nearly tidy, my bed has extra blankets on, i've remembered i won't die if i wash up occasionally. spicy turkey and lentils plus white toast goes surprisingly well with reading economic theory. things seem to be going relatively well.

every little hurricane.

Sun, 03 Jan 2010 16:03:29 GMT

this is what i did on new years.

john (the boy, for those not yet in the loop) and myself on new years eve.

'victor had seen the news footage of cities after hurricanes had passed by. houses were flattened, their contents thrown in every direction. memories not destroyed, but forever changed and damaged. which is worse? victor wanted to know if memories of his personal hurricanes would be better if he could change them. or if he just forgot about all of it. victor had once seen a photograph of a car that a hurricane had picked up and carried for five miles before it fell onto a house. victor remembered everything exactly that way.'

--sherman alexie, every little hurricane.

dan (of the housemate variety) and myself, on new years eve.

'and of course, victor dreamed of whiskey, vodka, tequila, those fluids swallowing him just as easily as he swallowed them.'

--sherman alexie, every little hurricane.

andy (of the lara's bloke variety) and myself, new years eve.

'victor closed his eyes tightly. he said his prayers just in case his parents had been wrong about God all those years. he listened for hours to every little hurricane spun from the larger hurricane that battered the reservation.'

--sherman alexie, every little hurricane.

as you can see, it went with a bang. i have now recovered, and am dividing time between tidying and sorting, and essay writing.