Residual

6 02 2009

So. No one has complained yet.
clothesbasement
I opened the box from the field yesterday. I had packed some of the clothes slightly damp for I did not have time to dry them before shipping them home. I have avoided the box because of my fear of poison oak but also because I have some weird visceral sense of it containing a miasma.

Silly…

I wore gloves and pulled out the wet clothing, resting it on a shelf in our rental basement. It is sitting there right now.

When I opened it…when I looked at it

there was no visible miasma, but you know…something hovers on it. Something is inside of it and around it. These objects left, abandoned and decaying.

Not ghostly, but just so–

shoewall

As a skeptic I find it hard to blend my gut feeling with my rational thoughts. But then, don’t most of us? The clothing has nothing on it but what I give to it.

By the way, I expected a moldy, rotten scent on the wet clothing. But no–as I pulled them out I only sensed a strange freshness, the earth they had laid in had permeated them completely. They were not soaked in the smell of death I expected of their skeletal remains but rather in the life of the earth.

But…a part of me felt that opening the box and leaving the objects out in our house was asking for something (what…what is this something?!) to enter the house and I worried a bit for my children.
blurryshoes

On permeation.

by the way…the person who was crazy is still crazy, just perhaps not so drug addled. There is a planned event–a coming together to say farewell to a space recently desecrated.

we are to ignore the fact of desecration. we are to ignore immense pain.

we are to ignore and come together in love, because isn’t that the best thing and those who are angry have succumbed to negativity…come on folks…be positive!

Ah.

the sovereign violence of a return
the experience of unreason
desire turns aside
haunted by it literally beside
himself
perversity and beauty
the lining and cloth of one economy
Everyone must take responsibility for his own mental health, even those among us
who are touched by darkness.

Screw the party, the call for only love. I believe only in the honesty of the complexity, the morass, the mare’s nest, the quicksand, the quagmire, the clusterfuck

that is what this is, no matter what love we bring to it–the flip side comes along too.

download-6
–quotes are by Foucault, Kristeva, and Vanessa Grigoriadis (NY Times book review).

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