#ephemerata

[weirdmirrors]

Yeah..that's Austin for ya #americana #paraphernalia #ephemerata #phantasma

[vasilinaorlova]

Letters from the Depths of Solitude. 191. On Trust

The way language trembles in you, makes me stop in awe. “Jelly infused with honey,” crushed fruit.

And how vulnerable you make yourself be. Sometimes giving me such trust, that I cannot help but fulfill your expectations. You yield to me so serenely, so completely, you give me so much power over you, knowing that only my magnanimity prevents me from wounding you, it is rather staggering.

And I will be kind. Kind, tender, forgiving, merciful, soft-voiced, mild in expressions, careful, vulnerable myself. Fragile. Porcelain-like fragile. Oh probably not really; it is really hard to be fragile. But I may try.

(Written on a napkin with Coca Cola’s nice ad: a polar bear consuming this effervescent lemonade through a striped straw. Ephemerata gains significance only after passing of time.)

#napkin #ephemerata #cocacola #letters

[vasilinaorlova]

American Ephemerata #ephemerata #deplorables

[vasilinaorlova]

ephemerata

things written on ephemerata and rattling, ethemerata too

[vasilinaorlova]

Fish

Talkative little fish.

[vasilinaorlova]

Memory

Austin today was especially empty and beautiful, beautiful and sad, poignant. Everything at what I looked, stopped me. On the exit from a parking lot, a car paused, window lowered. The driver was a young woman with big brown eyes, she looked through me as I was entering the parking lot. She was staring at the road trying to see if there was a car behind me and if she is safe to make a turn. A glass look that she gave me without seeing me was somehow piercing, memorable. I thought I could possibly memorize it if I wouldn’t write about it. But I do not want to remember anything, and so I write.

Derrida foreshadowed deaths by texting when he said: "By accident, and sometimes on the brink of accident, I find myself writing without seeing. Not with my eyes closed, to be sure, but open and disoriented in the night; or else during the day, my eyes fixed on something else, while looking elsewhere, in front of me, for example, when at the wheel: I then scribble with my right hand a few squiggly lines on a piece of paper attached to the dashboard or lying on the seat beside me. Sometimes, still without seeing, on the steering wheel itself. There notations--unreadable graffiti--are for memory; one would later think them to be a ciphered writing." (Derrida, 1990, 3)

Everything we write, we write for memory, for the commemoration of ephemerata by simultaneous exemption of it from the immediate memory. It's unfortunate that we are not eternal, and thus would not have the opportunity to revisit everything we once felt (and wrote about).

~ Derrida, Jacques. Memoirs of the Blind: The Self-Portrait and Other Ruins. Chicago and London. The University of Chicago Press, 1990.

[vasilinaorlova]

Affected Sensitivities

I don't defend what does not need to be defended.

[vasilinaorlova]

Ephemerata

For the first time I see "(pronouns she/her/hers or they/them/theirs)" in the electronic signature on an academic letter, immediately after "M Ed."