Then I lay my head down on the desk and start to weep. And religion is also mostly a choice, unless you're in a scary cult. I have been saying this for years without writing a word. Perhaps that is why I am avoiding writing about too many specific blue things - I don't want to displace my memories of them, nor embalm them, nor exalt them. It was a deeply poignant, haunting, almost transcendental reading experience. In the baby-shit yellow showers at my gym, where snow sometimes fluttered in through the cracked gated windows, I noticed that the yellow paint was peeling in spots, and a decent, industrial blue was trying to creep in.
I watched the lines arrive around my eyes like engraved sunbursts; it was like watching flowers open in time-lapse on a windowsill. Aside from anything written by Karl Ove Mouthguard? I could have written half of these propositions drunk or high, for instance, and half sober; I could have written half in agonized tears, and half in a state of clinical detachment. Taken altogether, it is controlled, precise writing. A friend had been in an acci-dent. On the eve of the millennium, driving through the Valley of the Moon.
We hope you like the pieces we find as much as we do, and pass them on. I really enjoyed these parts about the disabled friend, but the parts about getting over a breakup with a lover were less moving to me, even though she was sometimes able to move beyond the cliche of the broken heart--while reading it, I always felt the particular effort she put in navigating this dangerous territory. With Bluets, Maggie Nelson has entered the pantheon of brilliant lyric essayists. These seedlings will germinate the first year and the second. Much like Roland Barthes's A Lover's Discourse, Bluets has passed between lovers in the ecstasy of new love, and been pressed into the hands of the heartbroken. Whereas if you truly become someone on whom nothing is lost, then loss will not be lost upon you, either.
She is currently a professor of English at the University of Southern California. Those in the know tell me Nelson's Argonauts is dreadful tripe, so maybe it's already happened to Nelson herself. Two more favorite lines: I walked around Brooklyn and noticed that the faded periwinkle of the abandoned Mobil gas station on the corner was suddenly blooming. When I was alive, I aimed to be a student not of longing but of light. What work would not break under such weight? For instance, she talks about her friend who was recovering from an accident that left her disabled: She says, if anyone knows this pain besides me, it is you and J, her lover. Of a color intermediate between green and violet, as of the sky or sea on a sunny day.
Too often, the author cites the work of these disparate figures without making their connections clear or elaborating upon her own thoughts. She has a brilliant way with words. Either one finds this sort of thing lovely and poetic, or else one finds it incredibly dippy. Perhaps she would not live. State documented: documented to exist in the state, but not documented to a county within the state.
Bluets is honest in its characterisation of heartache and reminds us that relief from it isn't a straight path. This results in an admixture of candor, passion and detachment that makes for irresistible intimacy. In the moment, it can feel like one can get back the gratification of the past by fixating on it. It could well be what Maggie Nelson calls clinging to samsara with a vengeance. Maggie Nelson is the author of nine books of poetry and prose, many of which have become cult classics defying categorization. She had very little face, and her spine was broken in two places.
The compact hybrid book of literature, memoir, and poetry at only 99 pages in length lingers long after the cover is turned over. Do not be overly troubled by this fact. I make no such offers. Likewise, it leads neither toward justice nor away from it. I am still looking for the beauty in that.
I don't even know where to begin. Propagation Description: Plant seeds outside as soon as ripe or store, stratify and sow in the spring. Her writing is both theoretical drawing on Wittgenstein and Goethe and Warhol and many writers more and visceral her descriptions of sex are graphic and honest in a way that I find mesmerizing and very difficult to describe. Embrace all the blues of your world. The book is a collection of lyrical essays that I think could also be called prose poems, but they are a range of things: inquiry into other color works, mundane observations, about blue things, peppered with sex memories.
Can one pass oneself the sponge wet with vinegar from a reed? The tears not only aged my face, they also changed its texture, turned the skin of my cheeks into putty. These and certain other Houstonia species have sometimes been placed in the Hedyotis. Meaning at the age when the hangover of Saturn's return is in full throttle. Albert Mobilio, Bookforum Building the book as a collection of facts and quotations, Nelson interweaves her own insights, textual interpretations, and anecdotes ranging from the tragic to the outrageous. To find oneself placed in their midst. Nelson appears to have written this for the same purpose — to heal from relationships heartbreak, growth, love, desire, friendship , to heal from within, to embrace the color that frequently symbolizes sadness, depression, the blues. Maggie Nelson, I think what I detest most about Bluets is that it seems written by a person I may have once been.
Throughout the book, Nelson consults numerous writers, artists and thinkers, and she places herself firmly in conversation with them. A courageous move on the part of the author, given how frequently people at least I experience both poles but fail to recognize that those traits are in the same entity. In fact, I think I would like it best if my writing could empty me further of them, so that I might become a better vessel for new blue things. But now you are talking as if love were a consolation. But now you are talking as if love were a consolation. Each proposition is either a sentence or a short paragraph, none longer than two hundred words; the book totals some nineteen thousand words.