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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 lettreSo there you have it: I'm becoming an inspirational poster!
• 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
Fear Death by Drowning
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).