In the beginning with Stein

In the beginning of school there is a beginning. In the beginning of school there is a continuous present a present that is continuous and is continuously present. By this I mean this.

Those who are creating syllabi and those syllabi who are creating those take care to use a process of distribution and equilibriation.

This is my parody of Gertrude Stein's "Composition as Explanation." She's tough but she's also being seemingly simple for a seemingly simple reason which is afterall not so seemingly simple afterall.

I love the repetition and the repetion that is repitition for the sake of repitition is the sake of repitition for the sake of composing meaning.

When she says "And now to begin as if to begin" she says this in the middle of her address. She reitterates that she begins again and again. Throughout the piece addressing a certain piece of her literature, she references how she begins naturally to create a continuous present (in the composition discussed as well as the composition she is giving in her address which is also the one we are reading which is not the one she was giving but is still giving though she is no longer giving it). Boy is this fun!

One of my favorite points is this: "Composition is not there, it is going to be there and we are here." This reminds me of Julia Kristeva's repitition of the word "there" in POWERS OF HORROR. Each repitition of "there" points us to another example and yet as soon as we posit the "there" we recognize that the there is no longer exactly there because the there referred to is no longer actually there but somewhere else because we are bringing with us our own time and our own "theres." Gertrude Stein, in another of her works, writes "there is no there there." Or something like this. It is "not there, it is going to be there and we are here"--we are here in this position, this place, this space, this time--the there has passed has moved and will continue to be there and there and there--but as soon as we are there, we are here and "it" is no longer here but there.

I could seriously go on I think; I think I could seriously but I could seriously and should seriously consider going to bed.

Ahh a disciple already.

Last Thoughts Before Bed . . .

I rolled down my window as I drove home from my parent's house. I was at first caught by the beauty of the moon--a round mellon lit to brighten an otherwise dreary North Las Vegas night. To my left, I could see the outline of the northern mountains. Sharp, angular, sprouts of hard surfaced rock. If I could touch them, I know that the rough sand would stick to the palm of my hand, and I would feel the heat locked in from the day's sunbath radiating up to my fingertips.

Next, as I turned off of the 215 onto Losee Road, a sudden gust of wind blew into the window and toussled my hair. I introduced my hand to the outside air; the drag created by my portruded arm refreshed the smile that has been somewhat lacking today. Peace.

Peace to my disgruntled brain, my tired eyes and my cramping abdomen.

I bid the evening adieu--retiring to my bed.

Tonight I bring in Huxley in the hopes that the world of Crome will fill my mind with its hilarity and my dreams with inspiration for my upcoming work on M.S.