I finally remembered what got my Evil Google dander up in the first place. Though I know why I put it out of mind, until I did post on the subject, in my usual roundabout manner. The unconscious slowly working its way from snark-rage (nothing personal, Seth) back to sorrow. The deep, genuine sorrow of loss. Loss being a hard and bitter truth about life. Life is, in our lived experience, not a series of gains but of losses. That river. It flows only one way.

Alright, depending on your point of view, but get that relativity out of your head, I am making a point here. Read the rest of this entry »

For R.   (you dead yet, honey?)

“ Explicitness is almost always, in the end, pornography … ”

… writes Theodore Dalrymple, in his wonderfully intelligent review of The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir. As is the case in nearly all interesting reviews, the book at hand provides a springboard for the reviewer’s own thinking. Not that Dalrymple introduces much that is new to this reader, not at her ripe old age, which—sigh—in thinking years, must be at least 180. But there is that semi-(quasi?) erotic delight in finding the world, the ideas of the world, remade anew by the clarity that is genius and the special twist of thinking that lifts idea to art.

Finding life anew, that seems to be the main thing. Only the methodology changes, and with it, at last, much more realistic chances of success. When one leaves behind the considerable allure of Hopeless Love. Not but what it’s wrenching, tell the truth. But the accoutrements with which one then begins to furnish a life, those fine little fires twice warm the self. Rather like cutting your own wood.

Take this line from Dalrymple. Take it and clasp it to the area of your heart, if you would protect against the great loss, the democratic diminishment of experience.

” … there should always be things that cannot be said in polite company. This is not prudery: it is prudence, for only thus can the most valuable of human experiences be preserved.”