Saturday, January 17, 2004

La NiƱa de los Peines had to tear her voice because she knew she had an exquisite audience, one which demanded not forms but the marrow of forms, pure music, with a body lean enough to stay in the air. She had to rob herself of skill and security, send away her muse and become helpless, that her duende might come and deign to fight her hand-to-hand. And how she sang! Her voice was no longer playing. It was a jet of blood worthy of her pain and her sincerity, and it opened like a ten-fingered hand around the nailed but stormy feet of a Christ by Juan de Juni."

the word comes from duen de casa, "master of the house," and who has it might often be not homeless, but to borrow a word from an artist (are you reading this?), "undomicile," without a stable home, an internal or external exile, creating, out of pain, and in doing so, healing.

boy have i ever been a crab. i think i know why. because i haven't been writing, or feeling as if i am here to do the work i was meant to do. rather, i've been bogged down by the alarm clock, getting to class on time, and being there for my students. and doing the work that is required of me. doing my job. but i have not been enjoying it one bit. now i have this exam to do and to turn in before i leave town, and i'm (haha) enjoying it. i mean, i love to be a nerd. i just need to make sure i have confidence when i write this thing. it's kind of free, but not, since it's a requirement to graduate.


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