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About this blog

Smile without a cat.

Entries in this blog

 

A Dream About Iron, Opiates, And Hiding

I used to dream a lot about living in a communal house, often it was made of glass or had a lot of windows. I haven't had a dream like that in a number of years. This morning I was deeply asleep, I must have been, not only because the dream was so vivid, but because I woke up flat on my back with my arms weirdly crossed over my chest, on the sofa. I haven't been able to sleep in my bed since Casha died. I was in a giant old house filled with things, knick knacks, miscellany, everything, includ

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Grieving The Loss Of My Cat Casha

I know that many of you here have pets that are very important to you, and I know some of you have also lost important pet friends in recent years. I am grieving the loss of my cat Casha, who I had put to sleep two days ago. He was the most important everything in my life for the twelve years we had each other. He chose me at the adoption center when he was 6 weeks old. We have been nearly inseparable ever since. Even now, I think, in some way, we are not entirely apart. Part of me died when he

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

The Jumble Sale Phantasy

Whenever I am writing something academic, I fall into a kind of bubble. The rest of the world has to be shut out, I cannot be distracted by anything outside of my most selfish needs... writing is not just about writing, it is about watching other people create, listening to other people create and talk about creating; it is about ordering pizza and eating it distractedly all day, breakfast at noon, dinner at midnight, but eating all day, anyway; it is about 8-10 cups of coffee and no alcohol; it

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

The Monster Ball

17 March 2010 I did promise to tell everyone about Lady Gaga's Monster Ball, didn't I. And then time slid away from me like...a slimy thing. I am reminded of it though because of the recent release of Gaga's music video "Telephone". I said in my last post I doubted it would take long before someone starts to write critical theorily of her work, and I was right. A graduate student here in the US was even interviewed by one of our larger national TV stations (ABC) because of her extremel

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

"pop Culture Will Never Be Low Brow"

It began last fall. It's escalated since. Now even my students know I have a seriously academic fascination with not one, but TWO culturally distinct pop phenomena: Kate Bush and Lady Gaga. You may be gasping and sputtering. You may be nodding. Distinctive as they are, Kate and Gaga have aesthetic similarities that appeal very much to the poet voyeur in me, and if Kate Bush ever came to town, you can bet I'd fork over any amount of cash to see it; Gaga IS coming to town and I've forked over a re

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

All Things in Moderation

The theme-cum-strange phenomenon of the day. And perhaps something worth keeping in mind embarking on a blog. Inspired by so many others, particularly here, to make the blog whatever one wants, encouraged by the common link we share, to be read or not to be read and anyway perceived by a kind, intelligent, international community. A sentence that isn't a sentence; hardly a suitable beginning. I will keep them, as all things should be, in moderation. I miss moderation. I long for a p

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

The Injustices Of Being Too Human

Our syphilitic mad epistemological uncle Fred (Nietzsche) gave a lot of thought to the iniquity of humanity in its own mirror stage, the moment when society became aware of itself in relation to its own history (from which it had been blissfully unaware of its tethers, like a child is unaware of itself in the supermarket or unaware that its parents are actually people, with personalities)...he sat in his chair, aware of the long line of syphilitic madmen that made it possible for him to ask if G

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

A Period Of Time

Time is unto itself as grammar to language; I sat in a candlelit cafe reading the woes of war in verse and thinking form, when suddenly a sentence in time, some mantra I've been saying for a cosmically long stretch, came to its end and the mantra collapsed under its emphatic conclusion. I was exposed to all the things that mantra mantle had been meant to hold at bay and a moment of total honesty encircled me in the dark. For a second I cried like I'd forgotten I could and it was aweful. Not

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

A Claw In The Head...

...is worth two in the bush, said Basil Fawlty (or something similar). The point is, his head injury put him in a liminal presence of mind, like those slot machines with the three picture wheels, and you pull the lever and the pictures spin and then may or may not line up--his pictures weren't lined up properly. This provided him the unique opportunity of escaping the logical confines of language...which now I think of it is sort of redundant--logic and logos are after all one and the same...ish

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

My Dark Review

I've just returned from seeing "The Golden Compass." I feel the desire to write a review. Not an in-depth one, as I've seen it but once and I've not read the books, but it raised some questions and thoughts in me. Or rather, it raised nothing but questions, in such a way that I found myself unable to come to any final decision on anything. And I am no longer certain whether that is good or bad. Is this the future of film narrative? That's what it all comes down to. Granted, I am aware, vague

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Under The Waxing Moon

Tonight I did something I've never done before: I went knowingly to a place that is haunted, for the express reason that it is haunted. I've been to haunted places before, among them the Tower of London, but never thinking, "this place is haunted, and that's why I am going there." The reason for this lies firmly in the realm of the nebulously goofy. I've always believed in ghosts, but I've got no reason to do so (and therefore also no reason to doubt their existence)...but have always suspected

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

The Lady Named For Spain

Once upon a time, there was a lady who was named for a city in Spain. She lived in a small dusty town in northern Texas, and had 6 sisters ahead of her, one below, and a brother to boot. She had small hands, and was frequently tricked into cleaning the lanterns; that is, until her family got their first light bulb and they all sat around staring at it in wonder like idiots. There was a picture of her with her sister below her in a donkey cart, and she squinted in the sun. She always seemed to be

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Casting About

For a long time now I seem to use this blog as a space to tap around in when I am not sure what I want to do. It's a kind of lost space, a space I'd describe with a word I can't find at the moment...liminal. There, I found it. That's why I come here, I suppose. To find things that aren't really anywhere. It's a Friday night, it's been a tightly-wound week, and I'm not sure what I want to do. So here I am again. I wonder what I'll find. I found liminal, which by nature is a weird thing to fi

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Somewhere In Between

A recent article, or several I suppose, have addressed the topic of a link between left-handedness and what is persistently referred to as 'mental illnesses', although scientists are hard-pressed to give much conclusive proof of such a link. Just, it seems left-handed people tend also to be different health-wise, especially where paranoia and dyslexia, and I am sure we'll hear other things as well, are concerned. And...well I can't help noticing that almost inevitably these articles begin wit

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

A Blog Of A Different Colour

All artsy academic bally docks left aside. I just felt like coasting idly through my mind and writing whatever I crash into. I've given my blog 5 stars, so that's good. It's a positive response, so I'm optimistic. For a while I considered having a honest-to-goodness reflective blog with a catchy title, and the subtitle "A Midwestern Girl near La-La Land" and then I jettisoned the idea because I was too busy to notice much about being near LaLaLand apart from the same five or six though

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Of Puddyng, Dumpling, And Pumblyng

The letter Y is simply medieval. By this I do not mean that it barbarically assaults you with blunt and fearsome weaponry, and of course it isn't illiterate [well, or literate]. I mean rather, it is, perhaps besides the þ or ð, both still in use in modern Icelandic although long since dropped from English, the most medieval letter in existence. It has the unique property of being a hermaphrodite, mostly a consonant (masculine) but sometimes a vowel (feminine)--name me another letter that can

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Ashes In History

Another poem I wrote a fews years ago. It was the final poem for a while... I feel like a phoenix risen From the ashes of my solitude Which ignited it self While my self Rubbed Against the emptiness holding It. I burned High into the night Long into the day A pyre i pushed Me around in My eyes it sparked While i broke Into ash The wind of anger Or pity blew some Where else And now New skin wet with tears From the pain, and mourning The remainder

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

The Project Of Being And Invisibility

...I am actually not certain what this project is, or will become. Just this title came to me, and it seemed so certain that it would be a title. I feel it is my task to follow it where it leads, until I've met the title whereever it originated. What is invisible? What are the ways of being invisible? Is one always invisible to onesself? Is virtuality invisibility or are these different things? For now, it seems to have some link to an idea like this one: When I saw a be

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

A Poem

I think this is my favorite poem I ever wrote. It would make a nice song, I think. While you paint the fence I see you looking back at me from my mirror In disbelief And while i imagine you seeing me From there I try to guess what I am thinking While you paint the fence When you come to me And say, what is wrong with you Or Who have you become --which you don’t— i think i am in here somewhere and please just be patient while you paint the fence you s

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Nightmares. Warning Not For The Faint Of Heart...

I already wrote about my vampire dream. I think I will make that into a story...in a short story collection involving the following things, nightmarish and funny. They discovered the marble tomb of St. Paul the other day. Paulus's tomb had holes, so that in the middle ages, pilgrims could reach in and touch his skull or some other artifact. In the story, someone as part of a group goes to put his or her hand in the hole, and Paulus suddenly comes to and bites the person. It escalates to

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

The Ghost

When I awoke this morning, I came across strange things. As I glid silenty and slowly through that place in which I dwell, I became aware of certain things going on that would only happen if my presence was not suspected; indeed, the surity that I could not be present, and at all, was the foundation thereof. I stood stock still in my place, not intending to come across anything, and things were unaware of me. It was not any wanting to see, I didn't mean to be; as if when I had said goodnight

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Ha! Got Him With My Subtle Plan!

"this is J. Evans-Pritchard as rewritten by the man who played the sublimely obtuse General Melchett in the “Blackadder” series" (--David Orr) We can have armies of academics marching forth, measuring poetry. Certainly. But whosoever thinks one can measure the greatness of a poem through a ratio of form and meter to the appropriateness of topic is marching forth under a banner that above all seems to dip sideways, like blinders on a horse. I suppose having poetry explained by Lord/Genera

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Mozart's Halloween Aria

In honor of my 1 year anniversary on the forum, I am 'immortalizing' the text of the trick-or-treat aria I love so much. Don't mind me I'm ok standing here by your tree Halloween Halloween I am not a normal woman my eyeballs are white I am deceased... aaaaaaand yet I'm waaaaaalking waaaaaaaalking around your home. I'm a zomby! Dead, but living-- and that's why my hair's a fright! yes, my skin is falling off and my dress is stained with blood! don't be

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

gasgrease queer

The food of poetics and the poetics of food, and not particularly in the grotesque sense but I suppose so, excepting I am less interested in expulsion of said elements and much more concentrated on the ingestion, since words can be like food that is digested but not processed or released, it seems to me, and so the grotesque, so much about the 'ex'-factor, seems to me to play less of a role where one is incapable of removing words from the system by force or otherwise--for even when we repeat th

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

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