The first of these is, like, words and pitchas, in our bedroom bookshelf. They are our main dissertation books, Peter’s main dissertation notes, books on music and philosophy that are okay—not rubbish but not living room material—some aesthetics and Marxist-aesthetics books, my currently-being-read books also -being-looked-into/at, blank books, my paper compositions, and a styrofoam bird that was once a symbol of much happiness not a cymbal of terrible clash.
The second is my most recent picture I have made a film of it on our Tumblr site. I have made some very odd stills as well. I explain it fully at Tumblr.
Why the two blogs? Hah! We have many. Tumblr and Blogspot, Bebo for photos, Weebly for a blah blah on Cavell, Nozick, Quine, and other Harvard philosophers, all on meaning and how we draw them from words: Must We Mean What Say of Stanley Cavell is our starting point. The heating system here is rattling angrily at me—there it goes again, saying “Peter” in its sultry tone, hair flicking back.
She was too perfect. Even the hair. Very sad. For her.
Flickr for photos (soon), Facebook for ignoring, Friendster for pretending to share certain politics, YouTube just to link to, LiveJournal just because we found it today, Scribd or something to put up poetry and that which resembles the poetry, and very very many more.
So why the __? They are IDs, as in, Identity Documents. An amazing friend from my (P) first two years as a Ph.D. candidate at Harvard, in 1996–1998, de Vie (she was Fleur de Vie Weinstock) was an undergrad, and went on to continue being a very wise (and fun) person, whose words I should have heeded, just a few words, “You’re like A**** in too many ways, you have to be careful.” And so I wasn’t. Very wasn’t. I almost died, too. de Vie has a poetry blog—a mailing list that I will find the (l)ink too. REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE is her most recently posted poem. Very important.
To remember who I am, it helps to leave a trace. More than a trace. That is more so that no prospectors can mud their way through the muck at the end of the mining of whatever is being mined. Some ore. I saw that being done in North Carolina, kind of a tourist trap. There was a cave too, and we went in without permission. And the fake whitewater rafting, training ground. And more. On that later.
