sharon hayes, may 1st, 2012, letterpress print, five of five
“a 26-year-old guy is about the last person i want to talk to. men under 40, i don’t want to know.”
when i was 25 i started dating someone almost 10 years older than me who had already been married and our relationship lasted almost 10 years and when we were breaking up he was crying and said something like “i can’t believe this failed” and i was like “no, no, this has been a total success, it lasted 10 years” and i #hijacked this quote a little but also would just like to support fiona’s message. (ps. it just occurred to me that three of my closest male friends are in their 20s but they are all in my program and special, and whatever, affective registers.)
“he was crying and said something like “i can’t believe this failed” and i was like “no, no, this has been a total success, it lasted 10 years” - important! I was just thinking about that the other day… was explaining my last breakup to someone and had to say, no, no, it didn’t fail, it just ended. cue this Jack Gilbert poem, which follows me around. I keep trying to pull an excerpt of it to paste here but I can’t choose just one.
of course we are both followed by this poem. it’s true that there is no possible excerpt, but “listened to her while we ate lunch” haunts me.
“For us, eating and being eaten belong to the terrible secret of love. We love only the person we can eat. The person we hate we ‘can’t swallow.’ That one makes us vomit. Even our friends are inedible. If we were asked to dig into our friend’s flesh we would be disgusted. The person we love we dream only of eating. That is, we slide down that razor’s edge of ambivalence. The story of torment itself is a very beautiful one. Because loving is wanting and being able to eat up and yet to stop at the boundary. And there, at the tiniest beat between springing and stopping, in rushes fear. The spring is already in mid-air. The heart stops. The heart takes off again. Everything in love is oriented towards this absorption. At the same time real love is a don’t-touch, yet still an almost-touching. Tact itself: a phantom touching. Eat me up, my love, or else I’m going to eat you up. Fear of eating, fear of the edible, fear on the part of the one of them who feels loved, desired, who wants to be loved, desired, who desires to be desired, who knows there is no greater proof of love than the other’s appetite, who is dying to be eaten up, who says or doesn’t say, but who signifies: I beg you, eat me up. Want me down to the marrow. And yet manage it so as to keep me alive. But I often turn about or compromise, because I know that you won’t eat me up, in the end, and I urge you: bite me. Sign my death with your teeth.”
The Love of the Wolf // Hélène Cixous
i was going to reblog this anyway and then i got to the last two lines.
–Silvia Federici, Wages Against Housework, 1974 (quoted in Human Strike Within The Field Of The Libidinal Economy)
Okay, buying this today.
bb’s essay “i wish you love” is everything about everything, ie.:
i found this months-old note while cleaning my apartment and think it is intimately related to what aliza said.
valerie solanas, SCUM
In Memoriam: Adrienne Rich
April 16, 7:00-9:00pm
Deutsches Haus - 420 W 116th Street between Amsterdam and Morningside
ohhhhhh, thank you! thank you, thank you. this is the night before my exams are due, but i seem to be on schedule, and this is what my exams are all about. doing it. i don’t know if i could get over missing a spivak tribute to rich or, really, an adrienne rich tribute in general.
the three of us agreed that this is the right thing to do when this is all over. it’s exactly the right quote to wear on your body, or on our bodies, at least, for experiential and philosophical reasons. anyway, the kind of love in our emails today—even more xs and os than usual—reminds me of this, which is a kind of love i always aspire to in these situations.