Wednesday, August 27, 2014

having nothing to tweet, and tweeting it

i'm done with blogging. i tweet now. #zoebrasi

Monday, June 16, 2014

for your bloomsday amusement

a seriously helpful summary of ulysses from the bbc's neil smith:

The first three chapters introduce would-be writer Stephen Dedalus, familiar to Joyce readers from his earlier novel A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.
James Joyce's grave
Joyce is buried at Fluntern cemetery in Zurich, Switzerland
On the morning of 16 June 1904, Stephen leaves the disused watchtower he shares with "stately, plump Buck Mulligan", vowing never to return.
After teaching at a nearby school he talks to an ageing master who gives him a letter to deliver to the offices of a Dublin newspaper.
He then goes for a long walk on the beach that gives him plenty of time to ponder his literary aspirations and dead mother fixation.
Jewish advertising salesman Leopold Bloom buys a kidney, then returns home to 7 Eccles Street and has it for breakfast. He then defecates. Upstairs Molly, his unfaithful opera singer wife, waits for him to leave so she can entertain her lover.
Bloom attends a funeral at Glasnevin Cemetery, his symbolic encounter with death mirroring Odysseus's descent into Hades. It's a real barrel of laughs.
Bloom and Stephen almost meet in a chapter peppered with tabloid-style headlines.
It's lunchtime, so Bloom stops at Davy Byrne's "moral pub" for a gorgonzola sandwich and a glass of burgundy. He then pays a call to the National Library where he overhears Stephen sounding off about Shakespeare.
Lots of short episodes. Lots of different characters. All connected by a Vice-Regal parade from one side of town to the other.
In a chapter full of song - Joyce's allusion to Homer's deadly Sirens - Bloom narrowly avoids meeting Molly's lover, concert promoter Blazes Boylan.
Bloom has an argument with a pub bore whose blinkered anti-Semitism mirrors Homer's one-eyed Cyclops. He exits, closely followed by a cake tin.
As evening falls, Bloom sees two young girls on the beach and masturbates in a chapter written in the florid style of a romantic penny-dreadful.
Stephen and Bloom meet at last in a maternity hospital in a chapter whose structure is meant to represent both the nine months of pregnancy and the birth of the English language. And they say this book is hard.
(horrorstruck) Blimey, this looks like heavy going.
No kidding! There's over 100 pages of this stuff, all written in the style of a play script. But all you need to know is that Bloom follows Stephen to a brothel where they have lots of freaky hallucinations.
A weary Bloom takes Stephen to a cabman's shelter where they listen to the ramblings of a tattooed sailor who makes little or no senzzzzzzz
Q. What happens next?
A. Bloom and Stephen walk back to Eccles Street. Bloom offers Stephen a bed for the night but Stephen refuses and leaves. Bloom goes to bed. The section is written in a question-and-answer format like a religious catechism.
yes Molly Bloom sits awake in bed yes and remembers her youth in Gibraltar yes and her many sexual partners yes in one unbroken stream of consciousness yes and recalls the day she yes gave herself to Bloom while munching some heavily symbolic seed cake yes
(The 35-page chapter consists of just seven sentences. The final words are: "...and yes I said yes I will Yes.")

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

just because all my friends have gone insane this week

hockney and whistler and munch and friedrich yes yes yes yes yes

Sunday, May 4, 2014

can i play in my sand box?

a secret place to look inside. a shocking return to the elemental. my intention: explore this rush of ideas that are struggling to emerge, trying to make their way to the surface. the fear that they will be still-born - urgent telegrams sitting mutely in dead letter offices.

such acute pain to behold the half-born. my shame of not having completed the birthing process, of being unable to do so. wondering if my own surgical birth instilled in me a sense of incompletion, of never really emerging. 

then these two showed up with buckets to collect sand. they even unearthed a few bits. i loved them!

a couple of monsters came on the scene, totally disinterested in birthing ideas. they were mischief and play, fiendish delight. oh they were me. my heart ached with joy for them.

elsewhere my narcissistic pride gazed upon her suitcase full of brilliant bits. she's been collecting them, hoarding them. she lugs them around, never opening it. i hate her. my heart shuts like her suitcase.

it's all there.

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

los factores

freshly baked carrot ginger muffins tired eyes, always apologies from a cousin for past wrongdoings curiosity about family nolan's sweet tears search for the paternal line nervous or tender sentences proust, always two little painted faces

Sunday, April 13, 2014

why believe when you can know

yesterday morning i was baking nolan's birthday cake and listening to barbara ehrenreich on fresh air. as she was talking about these mystical experiences she had as a young girl, i felt like i was going to have a panic attack. my heart was beating so fast that i thought i might pass out.

The only words I can put to it after all these years is ... that the world flamed into life. Everything was alive. There was a feeling of an encounter with something living, not something God-like, not something loving, not something benevolent, but something beyond any of those kinds of categories, beyond any human categories.

the world flamed into life. the world flamed into life. the world flamed into life.

i am starving for that.

Friday, February 21, 2014

edith kramer died today

my favorite memory of edith was watching katharina braid her hair as they spoke german together, followed closely by luca's conversation with her at one of her christmas parties... 
luca: do you ever paint from photographs? 
edith: never! never! never!
luca: which contemporary artists do you admire?
editb: anselm kiefer.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

in love

that's what i am today. just in soul dissolving love. with luca. with nolan. with bono. with european cinema. with lars von trier. with marcel and swann and vallee d'obermann. my heart is not big enough for the immensity of my love.

Friday, February 7, 2014

liquid cinema of the emotions

watched robert altman's 3 women today. astonishing, strange, heartbreaking film. david lynch could have based naomi watts'  reaction to rebekah del rio in the "silencio" scene of mulholland dr on my reaction to the birth scene in 3 women. tears came from unknown regions. i need to watch it again.

Monday, February 3, 2014


the sheer number of hours i have spent googling "vintage coveralls" and "beta kitten programming" in the past week is absurd. i am absurd.

i feel incapable of focus.

things i am able to do in this state:

eat lots of food
listen to lana del rey
compulsively and repeatedly search for very specific things on the internet
check facebook compulsively
run therapy groups

things i am unable to do in this state:

make kale chips
make travel arrangements
do paperwork
pry myself away from a screen

i keep trying to tell myself what to do but i'm just not even paying attention.

Friday, January 3, 2014

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

top ten films of 2013

i only saw 17 films from 2013 in 2013... cinematic energies were focused more on kier-la janisse's house of psychotic women selections plus marathon viewings of breaking bad, the sopranos and orange is the new black and the occasional oddball download that luca thought i would enjoy. plus, proust and painting took up more of my free time than movies. that said, i adored many of the films on this list-in-progress and plan to see more in the coming months. my picks so far:

1) blue is the warmest color
2) spring breakers
3) camille claudel 1915
4) frances ha
5) the place beyond the pines
6) the great gatsby
7) moebius
8) upstream color
9) the hunger games: catching fire
10) the east

my top 2 from the year are among my favorite movie experiences of all time. films that crushed and electrified me and made me want to weep with joy that i am living in the time of abdellatif kechiche and harmony korine. camille claudel made me want to workshop at juliette binoche's feet and discover god through rimbaud and perform some time travel vindication ritual on claudel's behalf. frances ha was surprisingly delightful - i was ready to write off this director after greenberg but what a difference a lead actor makes! if you had told me last year that great gatsby directed by baz luhrmann would be #6 on my list and before midnight wouldn't even make the cut, i would have immediately unfriended you, but there it is! while the musical choices (not including lana del rey's "young and beautiful") annoyed the crap out of me, i was totally slayed by leonardo dicaprio and carey mulligan's performances. who would have thought? it's kind of embarrassing that i put a dialogue-less korean film about a guy whose mother cuts of his penis over the chilly and sorrowful metaphysical mediation that was upstream color, but in a good way. the last 2 were great mainstream numbers that offered up satisfying critiques of capitalist violence.

not on the list but strange and memorable in their own right were white reindeer, ass backward and the english teacher. 

in 2014, i aim to complete the psychotic women project.