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The need to write is overwhelming me. I have a sudden urge to abandon all films and read novels. It is possible that tonight, I will finally stand up for myself and proclaim that I have an interest in everything, especially films and novels and poems and art, which means I'm not especially interested in anything, since apparently everything is interesting. None of this ridiculous idea of majoring in film. Why didn't I double major in Film and English and minor in art history and studio art, while taking a few poetry classes here and there? How am I going to support myself after I graduate and don't get into grad school? Why is there no major for the sad people comme moi? The question rankles.
It's incredibly tiring being me and needing a bookcase. i KNOW that I could fit a bookcase behind my door. I'll suddenly have tons of space and I won't have to stack books in front of the books in my bookcase, or have piles of them under the bed. I could put my films all in a row upright like they should be, so that the ones on the bottom won't be crushed since they won't BE on the bottom. They'd be in a row. Like books, not getting crushed. I really need that bookcase.
Also-- Personal decision coming up here-- no more swearing. In the last five days I've suddenly started to swear. It sounds uneducated and very stupid. Too much television? Too much time? Too much crap from other people and from the external circumstances of my life? Too bad. No more swearing. Unless something really really really fuckworthy comes along.
Also-- more writing and reading. I'm losing my words these days. The most elementary ideas escape me. They get stuck in the stage of the formulation of the sentence, and I'm left with a gaping hole in the middle of qualifiers and prepositions and soft palates. I actually have no idea what a soft palate(s) is/are, but it/they apparently has/have something to do with language. My original conception of what a soft palate was had something to do with brie cheese and buffed, substantial, sterling butter knives, the kind that when you use them you are extremely sure of your dominance over the butter and you are 100% sure that you will cut through a whole slice. I'm not sure why.
In french today I was reading the instructions for how to make certain sounds. This sounds like a good idea ("oh, finally, a scientific and systematic method of pronoucing things correctly. pas de problem!") until you actually try it. Suddenly my mouth felt cavernous and foreign: I actually have teeth in places where I didn't realize I had teeth, which seems impossible, since my teeth are in a nice and straight row which cost my parents a lot of money, and my tounge and the spacial relations engine in my brain should work together so that I should be able to interpolate where the teeth are. Unaccountably, I also realized that I really have very little control over my tounge. It's rather like a few bites into eating watermelon, when you really have no idea WHERE in your mouth the watermelon IS because it is so watery and it is just everywhere, but you are chewing and swallowing it anyway.
Books to read:
Margaret Duras' Lovers (or whatever it is called)
Zadie-whatevers' White Teeth
hmmm ... more Philip Roth? American Pastoral?
Denis Johnson
The two Toni Morrison books that I have had for several months
someday, East of Eden. Someday.
