cbertsch | A Few of My Favorite Things

I'm too tired to compose the entries I've been planning to write, but do have the energy to list some of my happiness triggers:

• The flannel shirts I got out of storage a few months back, after not using them since we moved to Tucson, and have been deploying as jackets avant la lettre
• The way a freshly opened sleeve of Thin Mints smells
• Getting hit with a snowball by my winter-deprived daughter
• The rush I get from guitar-centric New Order songs, from "Ceremony" to "Krafty"
• Making a drop step, followed by a hook shot
• Anything involving sliced beef, mushrooms, ginger, and onions over rice
• The point of no return
• Arts and Crafts-style homes on Berkeley side streets
• That tingling sensation on the tip of my tongue
• Hearing a cat -- in this case Smokey -- crunch dry food in the kitchen
• A kiss on the neck
• The smell of nasturtiums
• No longer having to worry about whether the Bears will make the Tournament
• Making people feel better about themselves
• The font and leading in those MIT Press theory books
• Eating a corn muffin together with a Vietnamese coffee in the Encinitas Pannikin
• The research my partner is doing on interesting new music
• Whole-hearted hugs

So there you have it: I'm becoming an inspirational poster!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I once read significant portions of an entire book devoted to Ben Jonson's digestive tracts. It was interesting. The guy was cracked out on Deleuze. That was interesting.

Sometimes I wonder if (and what that means) the point of no return can only really look like no return in retrospect. And then I wonder what it is to reincorporate that in the looking in the now. And then I think about the way trying to find the point of no return is always also about trying to find not just the point when doom or bliss began to more than seem a given but also the last point when it didn't quite so fully seem so. Does it ever fully seem so? Is it ever last or does the question simply last.

Anyway.

I have to confess that Charlie's response to my response embarrassed my comparative sobriety on this matter.

Usually I'm about as open as the next goof to the lurking sexual pun in, or use of, a phrase, but it didn't even occur to me that Charlie was actually talking there about male orgasm.

I guess because Friday past was the memorial service of a friend of mine who actually jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge, the idea of the point of no return seemed ineluctably wrapped in the ominous. It's synchronic of you to have tokened the name of Deleuze, theorist par excellence of the point of no return (1001 plateaus) and a jumper himself.

What is the relation between little deaths and death proper? What is death "proper"? When Derrida died, I kept saying to myself "Derrida is more, Derrida is more, Derrida is more." Stevens said it best when he said, "A pip of life amid a mort (amour) of tails."

There's a lighter note. To continue it, I like the idea of Ben Jonson's being cracked out on Deleuze (in my mourning, I want "the guy" in your post above to refer to its nearest antecedent).

A Few of My Favorite Things

Re: Eros, Eros, Eros . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thanatos

Fear Death by Drowning