Monday, August 31, 2015

Dissertation Bibliography

I have to hand in my dissertation on Thursday morning so I can’t do any thinking about anything else till then. I’ve been at the library for eight plus hours and my brain is mush. People keep asking me what I’m writing about for my paper. I can’t even be bothered to explain it cause I’m too deep in it. The title at this point is: Art and the Production of Self: Neuroscience, Touch and the Simulation of Feelings. If you want to get a sense of it here’s my bibliography. Don’t be impressed, most of these you only read a chapter or two but yeah,  I’ve been reading a whole bunch of neuroscience and phenomenology. Gah, I'm brain dead.

All right. Going to scoot out of here and drink a pint or two to unwind and prepare for round two tomorrow.


Aristotle, De Anima. Translated by J. A. Smith, in, “The Works of Aristotle.” Volume III. (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1931).

Armel, K. Carrie and Ramachandran, V. S., “Projecting sensations to external objects:
evidence from skin conductance response,” R. Soc. Lond. (2003): 1-8, doi10.1098/rspb.2003.2364.

Bataille, Georges. The Accursed Share: The History of Eroticism and Sovereignty. Translated by Robert Hurley. New York: Urzone, 1991. 12; OC, X: 18-19.

. Literature and Evil. Translated by Alastaire Hamilton. London: Marion Boyars, 1973.

Baudrillard, Jean, “Simulacra and Simulations,” from Jean Baudrillard, Selected Writings. Edited by Mark Poster, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1988, 166-     184.

Botvinick, Matthew and Cohen, Jonathan, “Rubber hands ‘feel’ touch that eyes see,” Nature 391, (February 1998): 756.  

Bray, Abigail and Colebrook, Claire, “The Haunted Flesh: Corporeal Feminism and the Politics of (Dis)Embodiment.” Signs 24, no. 1 (Autumn, 1998): 35-67.

Carman, Taylor, “The Body in Husserl and Merleau-Ponty,” Philosophical Topics 27, 2, (Fall 1999): 205-226.

Carr, Dylan, “Ian Cheng.” In BOMB Magazine, October 10, 2013,

Cheng, Ian, “Forking at Perfection.” In Mousse Magazine, Issue 49, 2015,

Chre´tien, Jean-Louis, The Call and the Response. Translated and Edited by Anne A. Davenport, New York: Fordham University Press, 2004.

Chrisley, R., and Ziemke, T. “Embodiment.” Encyclopedia of Cognitive Science, London: Macmillan (2003).

Clark, A. and Grush, R. “Towards a cognitive robotics.” Adaptive Behavior 7, 1, (1999): 5-16.

Csordas, Thomas J., “Embodiment as a Paradigm for Anthropology,” Ethos 18, no. 1 (March 1990): 5-47.

Damasio, Antonio R. The Feeling of What Happens. Body and Emotion in the Making of Consciousness. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1999.

. “Looking for Spinoza. Joy, Sorrow and the Feeling Brain,” Group 36, 2, (New York 2003): 116-117.

Decety, Jean, “Do imagined and executed actions share the same neural substrate?” Cognitive Brain Res. 3, (1996): 87-93.

Decety, Jean and Jeannerod, Marc, “Mentally simulated movements in virtual reality: does Fitts's law hold in motor imagery?” Behavorial Brain Research 72 (1996) 127-134.

Decety, Jean and Chaminade, Thierry, “When the self represents the other: A new cognitive neuroscience view on psychological identification,” Consciousness and Cognition 12 (2003): 577-596.

Deleuze, Gilles, “Plato and the Simulacrum.” Translated by Rosalind Krauss, October 27 (Winter, 1983) The MIT Press, 45-56.

Di Pellegrino, G., Fadiga, L., Fogassi, L., Gallese, V. and Rizzolatti, G., “Understanding motor events: a neurophysiological study.” Exp. Brain Res. 91 (1992): 176–180.

Dreyfus, Hubert L, “Intelligence without representation – Merleau-Ponty’s critique of mental representation: The relevance of phenomenology to scientific explanation,” Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 1, (2002): 367–383.

Ejiri, K, “Synchronization between preverbal vocalizations and motor actions in early infancy: I. Pre-canonical babbling vocalizations synchronize with rhythmic body movements before the onset of canonical babbling.” Japanese Journal of     Psychology 68, (1998): 433-440.

Elo, Mika, “Digital finger: beyond phenomenological figures of touch,” Journal of Aesthetics & Culture 4 (2012): 1-12.

Freedberg, David. “Art, Emotion and the Brain: The Historical Dimension.” Paper presented at the Third Annual Neuroeasthetics Conference, Berkley, California, January 10, 2004, 22.

ffrench, Patrick, After Bataille: Sacrifice, Exposure, Community. London: Legenda, 2007.

Gallagher, Shaun and Meltzoff, Andrew N., “The earliest sense of self and others: Merleau-Ponty and recent developmental studies,” Philos Psychol 9, 2, (March            1996): 1-21, doi:10.1080/09515089608573181.

Gallese, Vittorio, “The Roots of Empathy: The Shared Manifold Hypothesis and the
Neural Basis of Intersubjectivity,” Psychopathology 36 (2003): 171–180,
doi: 10.1159/000072786.

. “The ‘shared manifold’ hypothesis: From mirror neurons to empathy.” J Consc Stud 8, (2001) 33–50.

Heidegger, M., Prolegomena zur Geschichte des Zeitbegriffs, Frankfurt am Main: Vittorio Klostermann, 1979.

. Die Grundprobleme der Phänomenologie, Frankfurt am Main: Vittorio Klostermann, 1989.

Higgie, Jennifer, “One Take: Human Mask.” In Frieze, Issue 168, January-February 2015,

Hostetter, Autumn B., and Alibali, Martha W., “Visible embodiment: Gestures as simulated action,” Psychonomic Bulletin & Review 15, 3 (2008): 495-514, doi: 10.3758/PBR.15.3.495.

Iacoboni, Marco, Molnar-Szakacs, Istvan, Gallese, Vittorio, Buccino, Giovanni, Mazziotta, John C., Rizzolatti, Giacomo, “Grasping the Intentions of Others with     One’s Own Mirror Neuron System,” Plos Biology 3, e79 (March 2005): 529- 535.

Ingold, Tim, “Tools for the Hand, Language for the Face: An Appreciation of Leroi- Gourhan’s Gesture and Speech,” Stud. Hist. Phil. Biol. & Biomed. Sci. 30, no. 4,         (1999): 411-453.

Iverson, J. M., and Thelen, E., “Hand, mouth, and brain: The dynamic emergence of speech and gesture.” In Reclaiming cognition: The primacy of action, intention,         and emotion. Edited by R. Nuñez & W. J. Freeman. Charlottesville, VA: Imprint Academic, (2000): 19-40.

Kelly, S. D., Iverson, J. M., Terranova, J., Niego, J., Hopkins, M., and Goldsmith, L., “Putting language back in the body: Speech and gesture on three time frames,” Developmental Neuropsychology 22, (2002): 323-349.

Keysers et al., “A touching sight: SII:PV activation during the observation and experience of touch,” Neuron 42 (2004): 336-346.

Lawtoo, Nidesh, “Bataille and the Birth of the Subject,” Angelak 16, 2 (2011):

Leroi-Gourhan, A., Gesture and Speech. Translated by A. Bostock Berger, introduction by R. White. Cambridge, MA, and London: MIT Press. 1993.

Meltzoff, A. N., and Moore, M. K., “Imitation of facial and manual gestures by human neonates.” Science 198, (1977): 75-78.

Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, Phenomenology of Perception. Translated by Colin Smith London: Routledge & Degan Paul, 1962.

Nagel, Thomas, “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?,” The Philosophical Review 83, no. 4 (October 1974): 435-450.

Niedenthal, Paula M., Lawrence, W. Piotr Winkielman, Barsalou, Krauth-Gruber, Silvia and Ric, Fransois, “Embodiment in Attitudes, Social Perception, and Emotion,” Personality and Social Psychology Review 9, no. 3 (2005): 184-211.

Nietzsche, Friedrich, The Will to Power. Translated by Walter Kaufmann. New York: Vintage, 1968.

Oya H., et al., “Electrophysiological Responses in the Human Amygdala Discriminate Emotion Categories of Complex Visual Stimuli,” Journal of Neuroscience 22, 21    (2002): 9502-9512.

Paivio, A. “Coding distinctions and repetition effects in memory.” In The psychology of learning and motivation, 9, New York: Academic Press. (1975): 179-214.

. Imagery and verbal processes. New York: Holt, Rinehart  & Winston, 1971.

Palmer, S. E., Vision science: Photons to phenomenology. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1999.

Quinn, Carolyne, “Perception and Painting in Merleau-Ponty’s Thought,” Perspectives
International Postgraduate Journal of Philosophy II, University of Dublin,             (Autumn 2009): 9-30.

Richardson, D. C., Spivey, M. J., Barsalou, L. W., and McRae, K., “Spatial representations activated during real-time comprehension of verbs.” Cognitive Science 27, (2003): 767-780.

Richardson, D. C., Spivey, M. J., Edelman, S., and Naples, A. J., “Language is spatial: Experimental evidence for image schemas of concrete and abstract verbs.” Proceedings of the 23rd Annual Conference of the Cognitive Science Society          (2001): 873-878.

Rizzolatti G, Fadiga L, Gallese V, and Fogassi L, “Premotor cortex and the recognition of motor actions.” Brain Res Cogn Brain Res 3, (1996): 131– 141.

Skerry, Philip J. Psycho in the Shower: The History of Cinema’s Most Famous Scene. New York: Continuum, 2009.

Svensson, Henrik, Lindblom, Jessica, and Ziemke, Tom, “Making sense of embodied cognition: Simulation theories of shared neural mechanisms for sensorimotor and cognitive processes,” Body, Mind and Language 1, (2007): 241-270.

 Trajano Sardenberg, et al., “Evolution of representation of the hands in plastic arts,” Acta Ortop Bras 10, 3 (July/September 2002) 15-25.

Tuan, Yi-Fu. “The Significance of the Artifact,” Geographical Review 70, 4 (October 11980): 462-472.

Vischer, Robert, “Empathy, Form and Space. Problems in German Aesthetics 1873-1893,” edited by Harry F. Mallgrave and Ikonomou, Eleftherios. Santa Monica:           Getty Center for the History of Art and the Humanities, 1994.

Wilson, M., “Six views of embodied cognition.” Psychonomic Bulletin & Review 9, (2002): 625-636.

Zahavi, Dan, “Beyond Empathy Phenomenological Approaches to Intersubjectivity,” Journal of Consciousness Studies 8, no. 5–7, (2001): 151–67.

Zeki, S., A vision of the brain. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell, 1993.

Monday, August 24, 2015

Berlin: 3 ½ Days and a Baby

I’m in Berlin and taking a wee break to do this and to just catch my breath. I’ve visited Berlin more times then any other city (I think this is my 4th time in about 8 years). I love Berlin. Every time I come here I think, “should I move here?” and I always know that the answer is “no” but that doesn’t take away from how great it is and how much fun I have when I am here.

Each time I have come its been at different places in my life and for different reasons. This time around I came for fun, escape, to see old and new friends and to party with strangers. Berlin is an art city but to be blunt I haven’t seen any “art.” That doesn’t mean that it hasn’t been art filled though. Hanging out, talking, and being around artists in this arty never-never land that is Berlin makes everything feel like a setting for a film, poem, or memoir.

I will relay quickly some of these things as I have only an hour till the baby gets back and I want to squeeze its cheeks some more.


Fly out from Southend Airport, London(ish). Start reading Elena Ferrante’s My Brilliant Friend. Get hooked. Land in Berlin 4:30pm, almost half way through book. Can’t put book down. Take bus then train to Kleistpark U-bahn. Walk around trying to find an ATM. Find ATM, get our euros. Walk to park that is actually a cemetery. Fell embarrassed the wheels of my suitcase are making so much noise on the gravel. Walk to Kleistpark stop again. Read more of the book. Drink a limonata, smoke a cigarette, lots of bees. Time friend and I should have met passes. Get nervous. Get wifi and message friend. Wait. Call Friend. He messaged earlier but I didn’t get it. Walk to his place. Get inside. Cute place. Drink water. Talk quickly. Change quickly and put on lipstick. We walk to the corner shop and get two beers and walk and drink. Go to warehouse place by water that is having a reading. See girl I know, say hi. Readings are bad, get okay then get very bad. To the point that I have to leave. See other friends, talk. See other friends talk. Go outside. Walk to get food. Walk through park at night. Go home slightly drunk. Listen to music and think emo thoughts. Smoke a cigarette in courtyard. Check internet. Get ready for bed. Take flashlight to read in bed.


Walk to grocery store and buy food. Wait for friends to get back to me about the lake. Meet friend at U-bahn to go to lake, get a limonata, wait for other friend. Go to café, too busy. Go to market. Eat salad and fish sandwiches on the curb, very good food. Their other friend meets us. Eat and chat. Take trains to the lake. Talk and walk. Find place, not very sunny since lots of trees. Go swimming. Rest and dry off. Talk and talk and talk. Smoke cigarettes. Talk and talk. Take train to park in Kreuzberg for a BBQ birthday party. One friend leaves. Walk, find friends, most are strangers but everyone seems nice. Eat. Talk, Drink beer and wine. Talk to other people. Pee in the bushes. Talk and drink and eat more. People smoking weed. Music playing. Someone gets someone to open a bottle of wine by wrapping it in a scarf and banging it against a tree. It works but the wine is very cloudy. Everyone is high and laughing and eating a lot. It’s nice. It gets darker. Friends leave, other friends come. Drink prosecco. Wine only costs 3.80 euro. Feel sudden deep sadness and take a walk around the lake. Come back, drink more and talk more. Someone says my name, friend is on the phone for me. I convince another new friend bring me to meet him. Take U-bahn. Talk and find other friends and drink and talk under umbrellas. Going to swim. Walk to place to swim. Hop metal fence with little spikes on top. I go right away because I don’t want to chicken out. Wait for everyone to go over. Pools are nice, big and empty. Spotlights come on sometimes. Most people are swimming naked. I have my bathing suite from the lake. Feel calm and look at the stars while floating on my back. People are cold so decide to leave.

Walk. Some people want to go home, some to get drinks. Go to a cocktail bar. Order drinks. I order a vodka martini; it’s already 3:00am. Drink and get drunk and cry but it’s okay. Walking to U-bahn, incredibly drunk all of a sudden. Request something embarrassing in drunken state. Doesn’t work out. Better it didn’t. Go home on train. Feel incredibly sad. Cry on train. Listen to music walking home, cry more. Go to bed feeling wrecked. Vodka martinis are evil. It’s 5:30am.


Wake up at 12:30 text friend apologizing for being so drunk. Glad to be by myself and in bed. Friend texts if meeting for an all you can eat brunch. I text back that I am dead. I feel dead. Promise myself to never drink again (yeah right). Get up, wash face, walk to store. Store is closed. Walk to another store. Walk home. Make pasta, eat pasta, feel sick. Computer won’t work. Friend comes back to place. Chat a little. Get ready to leave. Message other friend. Dress, pack, say goodbye, leave place. Go to other friends place. Get lost on the way. Arrive. Their apartment is big, beautiful and very grown up. Say hi to friends, meet their baby who is one of the cutest babies ever. Go to bathroom, look at myself and think “shit” look like shit and still hungover. Talk to friends, play with baby. Walk to park for another birthday BBQ. Pass Berlin Wall. We all say ironic things about it. Park is sort of dirty and full of people that seem bad but seems okay. There is a bleacher full of people doing outside karaoke, looks crazy the way people are stacked. Find their friends, chat a little. Lay out blanket. Talk, eat burgers there are lots of bees. More babies come and play. Lots of babies. Very cute. Talk and play with babies. Text friend about meeting for dinner. Leave BBQ and walk to U-bahn. Find restaurant, order water. Feel hungover still. Friends arrive. Talk, order drinks. Talk, order food. Talk, food comes. Eat, talk and eat. Drink and smoke and talk. Pay bill and leave. Get back to friends, afraid will wake up baby but don’t so relieved. Pass out in bed it’s 11:30pm.


Wake up hearing baby crying but not too bad and not too early. Get up at 8:30ish. Talk to friends, they give me a spare key. I take a shower and dress and leave for a meeting. Meet in Kreuzberg to talk about Kippenberger. Rushed meeting only lasts an hour. We both have somewhere else to go. 12:00, walk to other meeting. Pressed for time since they have to leave at 1:15. Talk but mostly listen. Fast studio visit. Say goodbye and leave. Feel tired, hungry and worn out. Pass places to eat. Too indecisive. Walk back in direction of a toy store I passed before. Eat at a Turkish place. Feel sleepy. Find the toy store. Buy some toys for the baby. Go to junk shop. Buy knickknack at shop. Walk to U-bahn. Get back to apartment. It’s 4:30pm


Might meet up for a coffee later. Might meet to get swimsuit back later. Going to a potluck with friends later. Going to go to grocery store for the potluck later. Will apologize for being a drunk idiot the other night later. Will drink and smoke and feel sad about leaving Berlin tomorrow.

Monday, August 17, 2015

So So So Very British - Sir John Soane Museum, The Duchess, A Room with a View

I’ve been in London for almost a year and although I adore this city and all the fabulous people I have met here I’m getting a bit of London-cabin-fever. Maybe it’s the fact the summer consists of a handful of sunny days that almost break 80 degrees, maybe it’s the mass exodus that is August, which is always double-timed in the art world. Maybe it’s just my general malaise of life and my job consisting of going to the library and writing day after day after day after day. All those and above is making me antsy and literally bored to tears. Boo-hoo for me but hey when you can’t have lemons makes something else or whatever as they say?

But seriously, somehow in the midst of me being like “get me the hell out of London” I have been doing oh so very British things. This includes visiting the Sir John Soane Museum, Watching the movies The Duchess and A Room with a View and starting to read Henry James, The Portrait of a Lady. So Anglofiled up that it is actually sort of cringe but hey, if your stuck someplace you might as well head dive and immerse yourself into the clichéness of it all.

Sir John Soan Museum

A friend of mine first told me of the Sir John Soane Museum and he is as charming as he is eccentric so I knew it was a must see. I finally went last week because I’m ticking off my London boxes before returning to NYC. It is not a museum per se in that it is Soane’s house, which has been converted thus. He was born in 1753 and was a neo-classical architect that had a penchant for all things, well, neo-classical. His house is preserved and has an assortment of sculptures, paintings, replicas and curios that scream revival. It is similar in nature to the Frick in New York but Soane is at a different level and focus. While the Frick is all about connoisseurship Soane is all about fascination. Also Soane’s house is a stagger of architecture where it seems a bit of an obsessives delight versus rational function and beauty. Rooms are built on top of rooms, there are galleys, tightly filled corners, sky lights, tombs, many Soane busts and recreations of antiquities in a variety of scales and medium. It’s all a bit cramped, dark and claustrophobic but there is an undeniable curiosity and delight. You can also imagine what a person Soane was, this incredible type of eccentric that only the upper crust of British society can pull off with such grace. Sadly, not all the floors are open and the staff and guards are as protective and hawkish as if it were their own home but if you like architecture, absurdity and the air of justified cultural appropriation then this is a place you should visit. Final word. Glad I went, not sure I need a round two.

The Duchess

Oh BBC iTVPlayer you are my friend. I usually watch food shows like Master Chef and The Great British Bake Off but a friend sent me a link for a movie that was on there when I was having an exceptionally whoa is me day. It’s a film from 2008 and stars Keira Knightley and Ralph Finnes. It’s sooo one of those types of period movies and to be frank I find Knightley incredibly insipid to watch but meh, watch it I did. To sum up Knightly gets married to Finnes who is the Duke of Devonshire and thus she becomes the Dutchess. It’s a loveless and cold marriage only done for the production of a male heir so three girls later he finally gets a male but in between he is an overlord, cold jerk and she swiveling about in society. There’s a mistress, a slight lesbian twists, bastard children, an affair with the man who will become Prime Minister and lots and lots of outfit changes and Knightley persistently looking like a small bird with a broken wing. The movie is bad but the story is from truth, or the shadow of it is and it is crazy to think that yes, when this story took place women were so shackled by male rule of inheritance, rights, and all else even in the splendor of aristocratic grandeur. It of course is still happening even today in many places but the truth remains that it’s such a horror to contemplate then and now. Final word. Bad movie but it makes me want to wear a big wig.

A Room with a View

Last night I watched A Room with a View, a 1985 film adaptation by Ismail Merchant of a 1908 book by E.M. Forster. It is about a young girl Lucy (Helena Bonham Carter) who goes to Florence with her spinster aunt Charlotte (Maggie Smith) to Florence and they meet an assortment of characters, all English while at their hotel. There is a father and son duo, the Emersons (Denholm Elliot, Julian Sands) and Lucy and George (the son) have a series of encounters that spark love. They go home, Lucy gets engaged to Cecil (Daniel Day Lewis) and in a series of coincidences the Emersons end up living in the same town. Obviously in the end Lucy and George end up together. The movie is not really about its ending but honestly I think this is possibly the most British thing I have ever watched. There is a wryness, a muffled hysterics, a baffling surrealism that makes it partly annoying, partly hard to follow and supremely fascinating. The tone, pace, and humor of it is like a different inflection of the same language and although I can see what’s going on, because I’m not British it’s very strange to watch. You get this same strangeness in watching things like Monty Python, Black Adder and even in contemporary British shows like Peep Show. There is something incredibly bizarre yet knowing about the humor. Not all of it sticks but it’s very consistently British. Final word. Watch it for Sands and Lewis and for the stunning youth that is Bonham Carter.

Monday, August 10, 2015

Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, Ending


Mondays are probably a bad day to do this blog as I am about as mentally stimulated as a wet bag but hey, habit and self-inflicted, I don’t know what you call this, is the way things have been sliced. Anyways, I know the last few posts have been half-assed, well probably the last few months have been. Forgive me. All this life change stuff makes things shift and spin and the added mellow drama that seems to stick to me makes it all even more tiresome. Even with this awareness of flux I was oddly reassured by a weird impulse I had while thinking about what to do for today.

Sitting at the library, distracting myself from my paper and reading fantasy and thinking emo thoughts Ernest Hemingway popped into my mind. I mentioned A Farewell to Arms yesterday in conversation and I recall saying that is was “tragically beautifully” or something like that and it is. Then today it popped up again in my mind and then I remembered I had done a copy paste thing sometime ago on here with one of his short stories, Soldier’s Home that is one of my favorites. I did, back almost exactly a year ago. August 18, 2014. Maybe August is my Hemingway month. It feels nice to think maybe my brain is on some sort of emotional/literary calendar.

So without further ado I have again lazily copy and pasted the end of this story. Needless to say SPOILER ALERT for those who have not read it before and if you haven’t please, please do. There’s a reason why it’s so well known and for those who have, let it wrench you and re-read again if you need some summer time sadness.

A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemingway, 1929

“What is wrong?” “Mrs. Henry has had a hemorrhage.” “Can I go in?” “No, not yet.
The doctor is with her.” “Is it dangerous?” “It is very dangerous.” The nurse went into the room and shut the door. I sat outside in the hail. Everything was gone inside of me. I did not think. I could not think. I knew she was going to die and I prayed that she would not. Don’t let her die. Oh, God, please don’t let her die. I’ll do anything for you if you won’t let her die. Please, please, please, dear God, don’t let her die. Dear God, don’t let her die. Please, please, please don’t let her die. God please make her not die. I’ll do anything you say if you don’t let her die. You took the baby but don’t let her die. That was all right but don’t let her die. Please, please, dear God, don’t let her die. The nurse opened the door and motioned with her finger for me to come. I followed her into the room. Catherine did not look up when I came in. I went over to the side of the bed. The doctor was standing by the bed on the opposite side.

Catherine looked at me and smiled. I bent down over the bed and started to cry.
“Poor darling,” Catherine said very softly. She looked gray. “You’re all right, Cat,” I said. “You’re going to be all right.” “I’m going to die,” she said; then waited and said,
“I hate it.” I took her hand. “Don’t touch me,” she said. I let go of her hand. She smiled. “Poor darling. You touch me all you want.” “You’ll be all right, Cat. I know you’ll be all right.” “I meant to write you a letter to have if anything happened, but I didn’t do it.” “Do you want me to get a priest or any one to come and see you?” “Just you,” she said. Then a little later, “I’m not afraid. I just hate it.” “You must not talk so much,” the doctor said. “All right,” Catherine said. “Do you want me to do anything, Cat? Can I get you anything?” Catherine smiled, “No.” Then a little later, “You won’t do our things with another girl, or say the same things, will you?” “Never.” “I want you to have girls, though.” “I don’t want them.” “You are talking too much,” the doctor said. “Mr. Henry must go out. He can come back again later. You are not going to die. You must not be silly.” “All right,” Catherine said. “I’ll come and stay with you nights,” she said. It was very hard for her to talk. “Please go out of the room,” the doctor said. “You cannot talk.” Catherine winked at me, her face gray. “I’ll be right outside,” I said. “Don’t worry, darling,” Catherine said. “I’m not a bit afraid. It’s just a dirty trick.” “You dear, brave sweet.” I waited outside in the hall. I waited a long time.

The nurse came to the door and came over to me. “I’m afraid Mrs. Henry is very ill,” she said. “I’m afraid for her.” “Is she dead?” “No, but she is unconscious.” It seems she had one hemorrhage after another. They couldn’t stop it. I went into the room and stayed with Catherine until she died. She was unconscious all the time, and it did not take her very long to die. Outside the room, in the hall, I spoke to the doctor, “Is there anything I can do to-night?” “No. There is nothing to do. Can I take you to your hotel?” “No, thank you. I am going to stay here a while.” “I know there is nothing to say. I cannot tell you—” “No,” I said. “There’s nothing to say.” “Good-night,” he said. “I cannot take you to your hotel?” “No, thank you.” “It was the only thing to do,” he said. “The operation proved—” “I do not want to talk about it,” I said. “I would like to take you to your hotel.” “No, thank you.” He went down the hall. I went to the door of the room. “You can’t come in now,” one of the nurses said. “Yes I can,” I said. “You can’t come in yet.” “You get out,” I said. “The other one too.” But after I had got them out and shut the door and turned off the light it wasn’t any good. It was like saying good-by to a statue. After a while I went out and left the hospital and walked back to the hotel in the rain.

Monday, August 3, 2015

Summer Haikus


Having a life come down at the moment and can’t think more then syllabically so yeah, haikus seem fitting for the minimalness of strain but also to function as a language warm up tool.

Ciao for now.

At the library
All I am thinking about
Is washing my hair

Agnes Martin is
Not Japanese but she wants
To be Japanese

Inspired by clouds
Clean, crisp taste the bottle says
It’s filled with tap water

When talking to me
His body language was tight
Hard to look at him

Everyone I know
Has to wake up each morning
Until they are dead

A cat named Chicken
Has big paws and crooked tail
We feed him tuna

Thinking about art
Is like thinking about art
Blank and clean and cold

Want to dye my hair
Platinum blonde or lavender
A girl named Cait can

Sometimes with my friends
I feel my heart exploding
Make me laugh I cry

He liked nail polish
He liked to read books and box
We are strangers now

Doing speed is bad
Makes you feel like a worn sack
Existential doom

Holly, Roland, Jack
Shiny stars in the garden
Top forty radio

Where are all the punks
To make this world bearable
They all have websites

Keep thinking it is
The year two thousand sixteen
Erasing the date

Being friends with you
Is like watching the water
There is nothing there

Friday will be hot
Maybe go to Hampstead Heath
But will still feel sad

All the smart people
Are crazy and beautiful
Do yoga and smoke

Most people I dislike
Had parents who were very kind
I try to like them

Sometimes when people
Say The Singularity
I want to punch them

I’ve never dated
An artist or curator
Give me a big prize

Boys who cry for girls
Makes me want to bake a cake
A surprise party

Everyone I know
Is extremely attractive
I could kiss them all

Pretend to be cool
Surround yourself with coolness
Wake up hung over

I own eight websites
But only use four of them
Boring aesthetics

When I am forty
I hope to have accomplished
Something more then this

Walking in the park
Make up a song about you
Cry and call Alex

Ate a tomato
Then chocolate covered raisins
Erika is cool

People love Duchamp
Because they have nothing else
Married for money

Looked on Instagram
Flower, cat, beach, group of friends
He lives in New York

Being far away
Makes people think of you more
Do cats think the same

Looked at a painting
Would rather be at a park
Silent or talking

When I leave London
I will throw a big party
And probably cry