“Nirmal Puwar’s book Space Invaders: Race, Gender and “Bodies out of Place” (2004) describes these processes very well: some bodies are “somatic norms,” they become rightful occupants of spaces.
From Sara Ahmed’s amazeballs blog, feministkilljoys. Which you should go read.
“Thinking of the face-to-face encounter as collective in its very singularity is about developing a different understanding of collective politics in which alliances are always formed, but are not assumed to take one form. That is, alliances are not always guaranteed by the pre-existing form of a social group or community, where that form is understood in terms of sameness or difference. The collective then is not simply about what ‘we’ have in common- or what ‘we’ do not have in common. Collectives are formed through the very work that we need to do in order to get closer to others, without simply repeating the appropriation of ‘them’ as labour or as a sign of difference. Collectivity then is intimately tied to the secrecy and intimacy of the encounter: it is not about proximity or distance, but a getting closer which accepts the difference and puts it to work.”
-Sara Ahmed, “The Other and Other Others.”
Below the cut is an example of the messy, imperfect work of writing. If you’re new around here, you should know that I use this space to help organise my brain when writing my dissertation, and also to keep my writing muscles moving when I’m stalled out on other projects. What I’m doing here (and in the next few posts, actually) is basically free writing, but free writing in an attempt to help me sort out how to articulate a connection that I need to bridge two sections of the chapter I’m working on. Also, the writing under the cut is currently incomplete, but I’m posting it in order to feel like I’m getting things done. You know, for motivation. I’ll indicate when it’s edited/closer to complete.
Oh. Here’s a picture of the inside of my face:
Continue reading “Writing Exercises: Writing it Out (Skim & Wounded Attachments)”
Today, my spouse picked up a paw print we had made in memory of our recently deceased rabbit, Bruce Banner. Bruce was a big, chubby, lovable guy. (For scale, his paw print is on the left; on the right is the paw print of our bunny, Ophelia, who passed just over a year ago.) It’s been about three weeks without Bruce, which means it’s been about three weeks without his grunting*, without pats, without fighting over the space under my desk, where he liked to lay while I worked. I’ve been an avid rabbit rescuer for nearly a decade, and for the first time in over eight years I’m not sharing my home with a big-eared pal. There are plenty of reasons that my spouse and I haven’t yet adopted another rabbit, but it’s still been a rough go. In a manner uncharacteristically optimistic of me, I’ve been spending a lot of time in a large park in my neighbourhood that is a known abandonment spot for domesticated rabbits, generally those purchased around easter time who are hitting bunny puberty and becoming either expensive or difficult. Last week, I spent upwards of three hours doing my work reading in the park, and moving from spot to spot in hopes of finding a bunny in need of rescue. I really did this, and I’m sharing it because there’s a set of scenes at the end of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep in which Rick meditates on the possibility and significance of finding a real, living animal in a world devastated by nuclear warfare and covered in radioactive dust. It’s a great ending to a great text, and really speaks to the hanging ambivalent tone that this text operates through. That was my entire experience of reading it: the plot seems like it should make a reader all but depressed, but, like Iran, the protagonist’s wife, the reader is pulled along, and pulled outside of regular emotional activity. Iran self-induces a feeling of despair twice per week because she recognises both that despair has been lost as a response to the plight of the earth and its inhabitants, and that a lack of fitting emotional response was once considered an illness. Anyway, this is accidentally a post about my deceased rabbit, but you should totally read this book.
*rabbits grunt to indicate displeasure or anger, normally. Bruce suffered from food anxiety, and would grunt every.single.time we fed him, to the point that it eventually it became part of his food excitement routine.
Have a recommendation for me? Leave it in the comments!
Reading next: either Philip K. Dick’s UBIK, or Emily St. John Mandel’s Station Eleven.
Below the cut, find my notes on Monica Chiu’s “A Moment Outside of Time,” which is a chapter on Tamaki and Tamaki’s Skim, and can be found in her collection Drawing New Color Lines. I’m putting my notes under the cut because they are boring as shit to anyone who isn’t me (obv), but you might be interested n my note-taking strategy. I picked up this strategy in a graduate class, and used it all of the way through my comps. It’s super simple: distill notes for each text down to a single page by focusing on keyword (brief definitions in plain language, with page numbers for reference where applicable), a summary of the text’s main argument (four sentences or less- an excellent skill to practice), and notes & questions (max four). Anyway: notes.
Continue reading “Notes on Monica Chiu’s “A Moment Outside of Time,” from her book Drawing New Color Lines”
I think I tried to read this book under the wrong circumstances, or maybe just under too many different circumstances. I started it alone in a cabin after finishing Mockingjay on a camping trip, and finished it alone in a cabin on another camping trip one week later. The middle part, though, was different: I read the bulk of this text in the evenings during the work week. I really think this is a cabin read, or a rainy-day read, or a Sunday afternoon read, or maybe even a winter-break read. What I’m getting at is that I found this book boring, but I don’t actually think that it is. I think it requires a long, slow read. The kind of read that lets you spend time dreaming up a detailed picture of the setting and deliberating over sentences. I didn’t give it that, and that’s my failing.
I’ve noted that it falls into the broad category of “books published in 2011 that take up 9/11.” Also, I think you should take this book with you on your summer break, and read it over a few days when you have zero other commitments.