November 1st, 2007

abstract butterfly

days of the dead

I think that National Novel Writing Month is fun. I did it in 2002, and enjoyed finishing my 50,000 words in 10 days. I have not done it since that time, but I am a firm believer in one of its points--the best way to do something, sometimes, is to just do it.

Despite this mental fascination with the idea of people writing words as if they were in a [pogo] dance marathon, I must admit that I am, on November 1, reconsidering my membership in the Nanowrimo livejournal community. How many posts can I read about the process? I am not sure. I know that posts by moderators about how to post never impress me, order-and-meaning-oriented though I be. The sheer enthusiasm of the participants is intoxicating, in a vaguely pungent absinthe way, but, I wonder, as with absinthe, if
a small draught as represented by my charming friends' list does not more than suffice as opposed to endless community posts on the topic.

Reading list matters aside, though, I do love the idea of November as a time to turn over a new[ly red and often falling] leaf and create. Someone mentioned that Mercury is out of retrograde,which is, I believe, an astrological reference rather than a commentary on American automobiles. These are the days. We need not leave the dead to bury the dead, but can rise with them to celebrate life and death and imagination alike. Perhaps I will not delete the skeleton-tooth chatter of the nanowrimo community.

Tonight the XM radio station Fred played a Joy Division song off "Unknown Pleasures" (one of my favorite albums of all). I thought about how the coming film about Ian Curtis will place a vogue on a story in a time entirely different than its natural context. Although I love stories and mythologization, I wonder if one can readily "get" the world of the very late 70s and early 80s that gave rise to the Manchester bands without a lot of context. The problem with photographs is you can't hear the birdsong and you can't feel the bite of the cold air.

I am tired of a culture which romanticizes tragedy, and trivializes possibility and courage in the face of challenge. I'd rather listen to "Unknown Pleasures", and perhaps watch peripatetic dancing videos of 20somethings on youtube, than believe that it all was nothing more than a slick movie of the week. The curious thing is that I have the sense that improved medication and ultimately therapies will make such sad endings a thing of the past someday. If my great grand-nephews inherit a world which has not devastated itself, they may see cures to things we now think of as impossible to solve.