notes

A Mina. Anima. Anemic. A name is a nemesis or isn’t. A Gertrude. A gratitude. An attitude. An altitude. An altered dude. An altar to. The last reading group of the summer we talked about Thalia Field and Abigail Lang’s A Prank of Georges (Essay Press, 2010). Names and power. Names and cowering behind them. Names and proliferation. A posy of selves. A pose as a self. A name change. A shame game. To sit inside a thought. A patio. A patois. It’s Mina Loy and Gertrude Stein week in my Modern Lit class. It’s a Thursday in my thoughts, where I’m sitting on a Monday. A name and a need. A need named. A knee claimed by a corner of a bed, made red, then blue, but not blown out entirely. In a planning mood. In a plane soon. Off, off. Cough, cough, as a rose coughs, if that rose is the right rose, the coughing rose in The Little Prince. If that woods is the right woods. Spicer: “You cannot lose your innocence, Andy / Nor could Alice. Nor could anyone / Given the right woods.”