[All the EZLN and other zapatista translations are sitting prettily in our Library, the way they do.]
Odd, bizarre, almost electric confluences.
I wonder if it could have anything at all to do with the constant savage chaos in the Gulf over the last few weeks. Or with the equally constant chaotic savageries of our political and social times.
It feels as if the ghost of Carl with a “C” has risen up to do battle with the ghost of Karl with a “K.” Synchronicity in lieu of materialism, alchemy in lieu of the dialectic.
Whatever the hell it is, I’m embracing it.
Some of it you can see in the sudden sunburst of gifts being left in the Comments here. Like little croissant crumbs, strewn along the maze, talismans for finding our way out. I shall have a few to offer as well, this evening, though I’ll warn you, some of them are as bizarre as the times.
As for the body electric, no, not quite yet, I think it would be better to wend my way towards that one.
There was a mesmerizing op-ed piece in La Jornada today. Soledad Loaeza, whom I’ve read before, but never like this. Just to tempt you, I’ll give you the title: The Strange Disappearance of Señor M. I have no idea what she’s up to – whether it’s some sort of nouveau-straight reportage about an exceptionally odd character in NY or Geneva, or an off-hours dip into fiction in the manner of Bellinghausen’s novellas, which also go onto the op-ed page.
But it’s the eyelash fluttering, ingenuous, looping, the circling back, a tactic I’ve always adored, that draws one in and give the phrases such resonance. Read it.
And, writing of good reads, another odd place for finding a few challenging words – the Contra web page at Revista Rebeldía. Not just for contras anymore, as you shall see, but certainly a place for Boys and Girls Who Think.
As for the synchronicity in question, it suddenly seems to be everywhere. Synchronous, one might almost say, just like the non-dialectical alchemy above.
Just the right dream, being dreamt at the most untoward time of day, followed immediately by phone call, perfect comprehension, reduction and, you know, revelation. Then followed by another phone call from a terribly bright, exceedingly right-brain, rattled, girlfriend to report an Odd Experience With Remote.
She was sitting at her computer, doing work, watching MSNBC out of the corner of her eye, as we do, when she could no longer stomach some boy or another. Given the hour of the call, I think it might have been the one who looks like Porky Pig with a comb-over. Just as she picked up the remote, before her fingers had done any walking, what to her wondering eyes should appear but CNN, the channel she had planned on channeling. And apparently had.
Reminding me of my universe shift yesterday, having to do with a very eye-popping sleight of something or other wherein an email mutated from one set of words to an entirely different one a few hours later.
But it has made me wonder, just playfully, of course, about totems, taboos and playing fields.
Bearing in mind, I don't much fancy Freud, and my heart belongs to Carl, as should be obvious by now, but I couldn’t resist the wordfrolic.
There was an excellent piece, a working paper, by the Frente a number of years ago about the need to change the playing field, and there is an allusion on the above-referenced Contra pages to a once-upon-a-time communiqué about chess playing and the introduction of a new piece to the board.
So I might, perhaps, assume that much of the current goings-on have to do with changing the playing field, or the chessboard, and perhaps some of the words of late have to do with totems and taboos exchanging places.
And, if that were the case, wouldn’t it be fun if we all had a hand in that? In changing the playing field, totemizing taboos and turning tables. Abetted, of course, by the powers of alchemy and synchronicity, in lieu of, you know, the other ones.