Erik Satie

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Books read, September

Kleist: Michael Kohlhaas

Raymond Chandler: The Big Sleep; Farewell, My Lovely; The High Window; The Lady in the Lake; The Little Sister

Elena Ferrante, L’amie prodigieuse II

Ytasha Womack, Afrofuturism: The world of black sci-fi and fantasy culture

Rosi Braidotti, Transpositions

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recent movies watched

Part of my effort to not work has involved watching movies, really for the first time in years. I’m not sure I have any academic interest in film, but the part of me that is interested in creative writing is really compelled by interviews with directors. Anyhow, this is just a list for me to keep track of what I’ve been watching over the last year, both on my own (pleasure, teaching, research, on airplanes) and with my children, in roughly reverse chronological order.

Scorsese, Taxi Driver

Stewart, Michel Foucault: beyond good and evil

Hanson, L.A. Confidential

Hopper, Colors

Romero, Day of the Dead

Coogler, Black Panther

Wexler, Medium Cool

Fleischer, Soylent Green

Hitchcock, Vertigo

Friedkin, The French Connection, Sorcerer

Malick, Badlands, Days of Heaven, Tree of Life

Mann, Thief

Lynch, Wild at Heart, Inland Empire

Hawks, The Big Sleep

Truffaut, The 400 Blows

Stuart, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

Eisenstein, Old and New

Godard, Breathless

Unkrich, Coco

Garrone, Dogman

Zonca, Fleuve Noir

Mann, Heat

Demy, Les Parapluies de Cherbourg

Spielberg, The Post, Minority Report

Tarantino, Pulp Fiction

Allen, Wonder Wheel

De Palma, Bonfire of the Vanities

Polanski, Repulsion, Rosemary’s Baby, Le Locataire

Johnson, Wilson

Trumbull, Brainstorm

MacDougal, The World, the Flesh and the Devil

Sagall, The Omega Man

Scorcese, Taxi Driver

Miyazaki, pretty much everything

Peele, Get Out

Romero, Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead

As I type them out I become painfully aware that these are almost exclusively white men…clearly the film industry and I both have some work to do.

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Francis Ford Coppola on annotation and adaptation

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Besse translation submitted to MIT Press

I just submitted my translation of Jacques Besse’s La Grande Pâque to MIT Press! I’m posting this from my phone so it’s hard to link to things, but there are plenty of draft translations, a conference paper, and some random thoughts strewn across this site. It was one of the most challenging and interesting things I have ever done…now, I’m going for a walk.

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Books read, August

Most of my time has been dedicated to my Besse translation, but I’ve managed to read a little tangential stuff as well…

Louis Aragon, Paris Peasant

Jacques Besse, La Grande Pâques (original once, my translation, too many times)

(Innumerable pages about Greek and Roman mythology, classical music composers, French history, philosophy, visual art, cinema, etc…remember, as D&G say something like “schizophrenia stirs up racial and geographic masses” and Besse is no exception.)

Ursula K. Le Guin, “April in Paris” (short story)

I’m almost done with some other books/stories that I’ll post when I finish them.

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dream

downtown seattle, everything seemed mirrored about stewart street, much more populated — i think an outdoor movie was screening in front of the federal courthouse. i was walking northeast, crossing maybe 7th avenue. the extra-large, white police vehicle that looks like a fire truck — is it a battering ram? — was trying to take a right and was encroaching on the crosswalk. i looked up but the driver was looking to their left, behind me, inching forward to make the turn. i could hear the diesel engine accelerate and i just stepped out of the way, spinning 180 degrees, trying to slap the hood, but it was like nine feet high. i stepped on to some kind of bar, and reached up for the frame of the huge side mirror. people gasped. “look!” “what’s he doing?!” “hey!!” after about a block i was fully upright and could see the officer, a woman with long, dark curly hair under a baseball cap. i knocked on the window, she looked at me. “hey, stop, you almost ran me down back there.” she didn’t stop, didn’t accelerate. “get down,” she yelled. it was sunny out, clear skies. “stop,” i yelled, “i can’t get down.” “get down!!!” she turned entered a traffic circle, heading back toward where we had started, never slowing down. suddenly she jerked her right arm toward me and fired a bullet from the barrel of some kind of gun attached to her forearm. i leaned to left so i wasn’t hit, but i felt something burning on my left hand and in my throat. i looked at my hand, a reddish burn mark…i was floating in the same direction of travel, but the truck was pulling away below me, as i rose slowly. i spit to see if there was blood, there wasn’t. “loyalty to the seattle police!” i spit again — was that blood? — still floating, throat burning. i woke up with a sore throat.

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