“The Earl of Marlborough has ridden off to war, and would not take me with him.” That is early modern folklore in Caribbean rhythm, Feast of Candlemas, Veracruz, Mexico 2013 … on the Papaloapan River.
Sin entrar en detalles: el amor es cobrizo,
pues cobrizo es su centro, ese que se adivina,
y mucho más su fondo… El fondo entarascado…
el fondo que palpita…
Ahí donde las fuerzas del placer y el cariño
habrán de florecer sea como sea
o como usted prefiera
En cambio, o por descuento,
la amistad es plateada
y dorado el recuerdo
tanto como el afán
El olvido es tal vez de color amarillo
pero con tintes gualdos
This is my eighth day of not being depressed. I was depressed from 10/X/1991 through 16/VIII/2013, which is just under 22 years.
Six-hand, seven-hand, eight-hand bunch! I have harvested bananas from my trees this afternoon, Cuban bananas in proliferation, in six-hand, seven-hand, and eight-hand bunches. This is literally true. Figuratively now, come mister tally-man, tally me banana. We have to reform our syllabi at this late date due to late directives from the dean, and I will be here until daylight. I will be singing daylight come and me wan’ go home.
My latest abstract makes wild, speculative claims but I really like it. I dreamed about it. I will start writing this paper soon. It may supplant my other papers. I dreamed I had written it to submit to a drab institution, but when I got to the building–things were to be hand-delivered–it turned into a gold piece that opened a door. Inside was an aromatic wooden room with pools and tropical plants.
I had the same dream, essentially, the night before the first day of my Ph.D. oral. In the dream, I had studied by imitating all the words and gestures of the professors, and I rehearsed mentally the act of walking up to the Stalinesque examination room. But once I got in, it was an aromatic wooden room with pools and tropical plants. The professors were drinking champagne and did not expect me to imitate their own words or gestures.
The latest CHE piece from the wicked Rebecca Schuman is behind a paywall, so I will have to find it in LexisNexis. But there is a post or comment somewhere in her blog that I want to remember to create a post on, about there being periods when academic writing is not what suits, or is not the kind of writing that suits. I think there is quite a lot to this, especially since we are taught that it should be the only thing that suits, ever–especially for the less privileged among us. I, for example, put academic writing first from ages 11 to 35, and I am only really coming back now.
I really dislike looking at the detritus of all the abandoned projects in the meantime, that were excellent. It would be nice to have been able to do something with that meantime, mais c’est longtemps passé, et c’est tout fini.
After spending the rest of it at the beach.
I need an abstract and a title. I may do something about Latin American and Latin Americanists’ exceptionalism on the issue of race. Research advances slowly because everybody is stuck in some eddy fighting it out over who is more and who is less “racist,” or exactly how dark one has to be to be considered “Black” in a given country.
How do we think about race without thinking in an exceptionalist way? How can we legitimize discussions of race that do not rely on exceptionalism? I ask these questions because I see darkly that to be considered legitimate and “sensible,” one is required to accept exceptionalism.
I could not do a paper like that without the work of Denise Ferreira da Silva since she is a critic of exceptionalism while also being Latin American. She is endowed with authenticity whereas alone, I would be accused of imposing the U.S. interpretive lens which allegedly exists.