Lately, I’ve been losing sleep, dreaming about the things that we could be… – One Republic, Counting Stars
Counting stars. Lucky ones, that we’re not living in The Reich as imagined by Harry Turtledove in “Shtetl Days.” But also gold ones, on the coats of men like Turtledove’s Veit Harlan, or worn by Billy Joel in memory of pogroms past and a white supremacy rally in Charlottesville that never should have been.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the Judenstern (Jew’s star), and how a symbol of religious and cultural identity got turned into a badge of shame. I’ve been thinking a lot, too, about who did that and why, and the way the Trump administration makes scarlet letters and gold stars and pink triangles things of the present instead of things that never should’ve been — at least not the way they are. Identity and identification aren’t the same thing, but suddenly they seem to be, at least in the sense that without documentation — of citizenship, for example — an immigrant doesn’t exist, or becomes illegal. Or in the sense that dark skin is used identify a young man as Other, a monster, and in the eyes some with authority, that is his whole identity as well. Read On
SSA Clara and I were talking today about my writing. Specifically, why I’m not doing it. While I have a lot of pieces of the Pollocking puzzle, it’s not coming together. I’ve been vacillating between “BICFOK, Allie. Damn it,” and “But it’s not cookies yet.”
Most people would probably call my “not sitting down to write” either laziness or the dreaded WB (not Warner Brothers, people; the other one). Me, I’m reluctant to use that phrase. Like, I don’t even want to actually type it. (Okay, I have to, because my SEO check is coming up poor and it’s bugging me, but I’m going to close my eyes until I finish this paragraph, because I don’t even want to see the words writer’s block). Read On
A one word name refuses gender identity, marital status, socio-political or cultural and geographical identity by not separating the family name and the first name. – Kimsooja, Action 1
It’s 2:50 on a Monday. I should (I know, SSA Clara, I know) be ‘at work’ getting the book releases ready to go. Instead, I’ve been spending a few minutes with a good friend on Google Hangouts. While there, a joyous profusion of rainbow light caught my eye, and I decided to add it to my Rainbow Collection. Read On
This boudoir photography celebrates the eroticism of Orthodox marriages, using sensuality and suggestion rather than blatant sexual imagery. What’s off-limits in public–even wearing the hair uncovered–becomes a beautiful gift when appropriately shared in private.
While I’ve got problems with the treatment of women in Orthodox Judaism, the photographs in these articles have an appealing gentleness. You can feel that the photographers revere the trust being put in them and care that their results please their clients on a spiritual level. Read On
Not writing. Not-writing. Not!writing. Knot-writing. Knot writing. In knots. In NOTS.
I haven’t felt like blogging the last, I dunno, since I wrote last. Don’t feel like looking how long it’s been either. Because that’s sort of NOT the point. The opposite of the point, if anything. And, that’s not even really true. I’ve wanted to, but I didn’t have anything to say. Anything WORTH saying. Again, NOT the point.
I’ve been spending a lot of my Pollocking time in NOTS this past week. Not the super-bad kind of nots, where it’s like, “you’re not worth anything,” “you’re not going to amount to anything,” “you’re not really going to write anything.” More like, “I’m not ready,” and “I’m not done researching,” and “I’m not sure where I’m going with this yet,” and “Still reading not writing.” Read On