I haven’t been doing the reading I mean to be, but that’s the holidays. At once wonderful and utterly distracting. In paging through my notes though, I find snippets of text that I felt the urge to scrawl across the graphed paper. I think my favorite find is quoted from a quoted passage, so I can take very little responsibility for finding it. In the introduction to “Coming to Writing” (Cixous, who else?) Susan Rubin Sleiman writes about Cixous’ awareness of Kafka, and quotes an oft quoted (by Cixous) passage: Limonade es war alles so grenzenlos. Lemonade, everything was so infinite, so boundless.
I like the idea of boundlessness. Infinite scares me; it is utterly inconceivable. I can’t help but think of the allegory (that of course I can’t source): if a bird were to come to a mountain once a century, and scrape at the top with its beak, by the time the mountain has worn to nothing only a moment will have passed in infinity. I think it’s an allegory for time in hell or heaven, but I keep reading about the universe, and it seems to work in the grand scope of everything. The time to reach the far stars, the ones so far flung we haven’t even imagined them yet. Or we are far flung. Either way. Things are far. Distance stretches between the bodies I know and even that is minute compared to the actual way things are. Our bodies small fragile things, easily broken.
Yet our bodies exist, and they are what we have. We are brought into painful awareness of our body’s boundaries daily- when the knife that safely cut vegetables slips into the soft flesh of a thumb as the cutting board tips (not a Plath reference, as the band-aid wrapped around my thumb can attest.) The cold blast of winter on exposed cheek bones. Boundaries that aren’t political and aren’t drawn up arbitrarily but are functional and essential. I wrote here about learning to be alone beside someone- together alone. [Oh bodies. The small but insurmountable distance.]
Everything was so infinite.