Author: Nada Gordon

In Friday’s NY Times, there was an article about Tashnuba Hayder, a 16-year old Queens girl, the daughter of Muslim immigrants, who had been forced/coerced to Bangladesh (not technically deported, although she may as well have been) by the FBI, who saw her as a potential terrorist threat. Did you read this? There were many reasons to feel amazed and appalled by this story, particularly by Tashnuba’s plight (I mean, my goodness, we’re talking about a young woman who pledged, in her diary, to “practice lowering gaze to fullest”!). I was, however, charmed by this quote from Tashnuba:

“They thought I was anti-American because I didn’t want to compromise, but in my high-school ethics class we had Communists, Democrats, Republicans, Gothics — all types…”

That settles it. Next election, I’m voting the Gothic ticket all the way.

Tired. My eyes hurt. Too much work. I wanna GO SOMEWHERE.

1. Total number of books I’ve owned:

I have no idea how many books I’ve owned and I’m either too dignified or too innumerate to count even “how many would fit in a box…” etc. What could possibly be the intent of this question except to measure one’s strap-on faux-intellectual codpiece? If I sound like I’m threatened or defensive I’m really not, because, you know, I read most anything that’s on the kitchen table, and faster (and probably earlier) than anyone you know, probably. So, there’s my piece of macho. Anyway, my living spaces have always been limited. When my mom and I lived in the tent in Bolinas, my few books got water-damaged – Andersen’s fairy tales & Alice in Wonderland. I still have warped Alice. When I left SF for Tokyo I put most of my books in storage (and what a surprise, when I moved in with G., to get those boxes back, and relive the era in which I’d acquired them – SF in the 80s! Wow!) , except for my gorgeous antique kids’ books, which I foolishly entrusted with a roommate. They are now, of course, gone. Gone.

2. Last book I bought:

I’m embarrassed to admit that the last book I bought was my own, V. Imp., cheap, off Amazon, because I’m out of copies and I want to give it to someone. The last book I received in the mail was 5000 Designs and Motifs from India. I’m awaiting shipment of Simplicity: Simply the Best Sewing Book, and, from eBay, Fashion Sewing for Everyone (a vintage book from the 70s), and Claire Schaeffer’s Sewing Shortcuts.

3. Last book I read:

The last book I read was Alli Warren’s wonderful new chapbook, Houndz. The one before that was a book Gary had bought to read on the plane, that little hilarious book on punctuation, Eats Shoots and Leaves. The last two books I took out of the Pratt library were Fit and Fabric and How to Make Clothes that Fit and Flatter.

4. Four books that mean a lot to me

Some v. imp books:

The Pillow Book I just noticed that G. has this book on his list, too. Well, there you have it. Basically I just want to read people’s [well-written] diaries.
Name
A Lover’s Discourse
Alice’s in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass

Now I pass baton toAlli.

“just standing there yelling at the clams to clean themselves up”

More kudos from Nick for Emma’s Dilemma.

The description from the Anthology Film Archives website of the aforementioned Emma’s Dilemma:

EMMA’S DILEMMA
1997-2005, DV, ca. 90 min.
Introduced by Ken Jacobs.

Henry Hills’ EMMA’S DILEMMA reinvents the portrait for the age of digital reproduction. In a series of probes into the images and essences of such downtown luminaries as Richard Foreman, Ken Jacobs, Tony Oursler, Carolee Schneemann, and Fiona Templeton, Hills’ cinematic inventions literally turn the screen upside down and inside out. In this epic journey into the picaresque, we follow Emma, our intrepid protagonist, from her pre-teen innocence to her late teen-attitude, as she learns about the downtown art scene firsthand. In the process, Hills reimagines the art of video in a style that achieves the density, complexity, and visual richness of his best films. The premiere full-evening screening of this experimental extravaganza (which includes NERVOUS KEN as well as KING RICHARD, a portrait of Richard Foreman which premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival).

This completely absorbing film is presided over by a petal-faced precocious ingénue (Emma Bernstein) who just happens to be the daughter of one of the most influential poets (on me anyway) of our time. Henry was absolutely right to choose as a subject her mind in her extraordinary face. His camera closed in on every feature, revealing her every expression as articulate and, well, adorable. The interviewees never once seemed to be talking down to her, and it was always fascinating to watch how she registered people’s responses to her perspicacious queries.

That the video – correctly speaking it’s a video, not a film – alternated between reportage and highly manipulated techniques was not only not jarring, but seemed absolutely balanced – a solution, if you will, of “Henry’s dilemma. “ One person said over dinner afterwards – was it Bradley Eros?—that the hypnotic “experimental” sections actually gave one time to process the thought-provoking information in the straighter sections. And even though I am not a devotee of experimental film, I thought the techniques Henry used were wild and beautiful. Afterwards, everyone talked particularly about the amazing Esheresque effect he had used on the movement of Ken Jacob’s hands. I also loved especially what he did with Julie Patton’s voice. In this way, many of the interviews (some of which were with a few of the most brilliant people I have ever encountered – Carolee Schneemann! Richard Foreman!) were imitative homages.

I felt very moved to be present at the opening, with so many of the people interviewed present, and where there was a very vibrant feeling of a tangle of pulsing creativities. Charles B.’s mother (Andy Warhol’s “Countess”) in her hat ringed by Mexican dolls. Noted choreographer Sally Silvers behind me. Carolee in front of me. Nick and Toni in the front row. Laura and Rodrigo up in the back. I had one of those rare (these days) feelings of gratitude (I’ve grown so tired and cynical) to be here, among these people.

I told Henry afterwards that it was the best non-Indian movie I’d seen in a loooooooooong time. Do not, I repeat, do not miss this film, should it come our way again any time soon, if only to see the final shots of Felix Bernstein hamming it up in a tutu. Wow.

Beauties!

Toni Simon mused last night in the cab (on the way home from the debut screening of Henry Hills’ brilliant film, “Emma’s Dilemma” — more on this later today): “Why are the Brooklyn Bridge and the Manhattan Bridge so close together?”

The answer occurred to me in the shower this morning: they are like beta — male Siamese fighting fish. Put together in opposition they show off, display their colors.

OK, big deadlines. I have to finish up the “Hello Kitty”/ “Why People Buy” unit for the textbook. It’s hard being a freelancer — working weekends, cats climbing on my papers (“Hello Kitty” indeed!), all the household chores — not to mention Prospect Park with its new crop of cygnets! — beckoning.

Who Cares About the Truth?

Sex: whoa! Violence: who cares?

Who cares: chronic illness in America

Terrorists on the Net? Who cares?

Who cares if you listen?

Security holes? Who cares?

Who cares what you think?

Who cares about innovation?

Who cares about plagiarism?

Billions, trillions, who cares?

Who cares about the environment?

Blogging & Social Networking – who cares?

Who cares for America’s children?

Who cares about the Singularity?

So you won a Pulitzer – who cares?

Epidemiology – who cares?

Who cares about validation?

Who’s who? Who cares?

Who cares about fireflies?

Who cares what you think?

Who cares what I think?

Who cares about business intelligence?

Who cares what critics say?

Who won? Who cares?

Who cares about Cuba?

Who cares if neutrinos have mass?

Border ribaldry – who cares?

Evolved, created – who cares?

Who cares about disclosures?

Who cares about Haiti, anyway?

Who cares about the Palestinians?

Who cares about tax history?

Who cares about cancer?

Who cares about fashion?

Gay, straight, who cares?

Who cares about these opcodes?

Who cares about unique?

Who killed Houdini – who cares?

Who cares about parapsychology?

Who cares about genetic engineering?

Severe tire damage – who cares?

Who cares about the sea?

Oh well, it could be worse.

I once curated a reading at the Flying Saucer Cafe where no one came. Literally no one, until the second half of the reading when Rachel Levitsky dropped in. What amazed me about that reading was how brilliant the performance that Marianne Vitali, Todd Colby, and one more member of “The Yogurt Boys” gave despite the fact that I was the only person in the audience.

The audience at Ceres was actually extremely warm and receptive. They came up to me afterwards to talk about lines and details in my poems. They were in some ways rather nicer than a typical poetry audience.