050426 or making meaning of freedom

Central Park. ??

Carol Bove at the Guggenheim.

Travel -travails. ?????


considering the bursts of revolutionary time when profound and unimaginable changes explode, […] we know that when it proceeds from below, the good example of freedom struggles spreads in unpredictable ways.

Change erupted when slaves, drawing on skills and commitments made in the long decades of circumscribed possibilities, withdrew themselves from plantation labor, sometimes by fleeing and sometimes by staying sullenly put.

Change then reverberated across lines of race, gender— as Coffin’s insertion of Sojourner Truth illustrates— and class. How the resulting hydra of liberation movements emerged and how each ran into its own sobering limits, confronting the fragility of alliances, the strength of enemies, and the limitations of friends, structures the final sections of the book.

via Seizing Freedom.

050326 or listened for clues as to the prospects of freedom

He [Charles Carleton Coffin] then reproduced for readers Gage’s version of [Sojourner] Truth’s speech at Akron, interrupting the chapter’s journalism for nine pages of small type that biographers of Truth analyze to this day in sorting through connections of women’s freedom to abolition.

via David Roediger, Seizing Freedom. (Verso)


sex is less about the will than about the great chain of being that linked humans to the gods and to the stars. Sex was the moment when human beings allowed themselves to sink back into the embrace of a universe into which their own bodies had been ingeniously woven. They would draw on the life-giving energies of a vast world. Sex was the gift of ever-present gods. Like wine, itself the gift of the god Dionysos, sex filled the body with “an immanent divine force, and the wash of its warm energy was experienced as a communion” with the divine.

Rome: Sex & Freedom By Peter Brown. nybooks.com

050226

The critical narrative thus becomes the flip side of the official narrative. It tirelessly shows how the system reproduces itself ad infinitum, absorbing every form of subversion to make it a motor of its own development.

To work on forms of working-class emancipation is to encounter the fundamental reality of time as a form of life.

(JC)

043026

The rumbling aliveness of the novel comes, in part, from the friction of these facts: what does it mean, really, to know better? No matter how many years we spend reading, thinking, watching films, somehow, insanely, we still have to live. As the story’s scenes accrue, this collision creates a sense, if not of agency or of power (which is perhaps the stuff of heroes), at least of stamina, the recognition that more and more life, more and more looking at it, can generate its own sort of strength.

Lynn Steger-Strong in New Yorker.


Instructions for Playing Badminton (Ethel)

AG2024_2030166a winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow


Conductor Art Fair.

Powerhouse Arts | 322 3rd Ave, Brooklyn
April 29–May 3, 2026


By the bivouac’s fitful flame,
?A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow;—but first I note,
?The tents of the sleeping army, the fields’ and woods’ dim outline,
?The darkness lit by spots of kindled fire—the silence,
?Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving,
?The shrubs and trees, (as I lift my eyes they seem to be stealthily watching me,)
?While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wond’rous thoughts,
?Of life and death—of home and the past and loved, and of those that are far away;
?A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground,
?By the bivouac’s fitful flame.

By the bivouac’s fitful flame, Walt Whitman

AG2025_1222201a or concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.


Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of victory

As he defeated – dying –
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!

Success is counted sweetest (112), Emily Dickinson


As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: ‘If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden …’ I decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.

Hysteria, T. S. Eliot


Another end.