Mabel Nimble

Here are some pictures of the newest edition to the Slonim 9 family--my new bicycle, Mabel:



Mabel was a gift from M. Benjamin, who found her cheap and put new wheels on her, and tweaked her to suit me. He also found me the darling little bell with the fawn on it--which I like not only for its association with the "Nimble" written across Mabel's frame, but also because of its association with the darling man that introduced her to me. I've had the basket for a while, a gift from my Grandparents on my birthday, and I think it looks just splendid on her--plus, I like the doily look with an old lady name like Mabel. :)

Classes are progressing with ease, and I am loving life here in my cozy little house. We've put up some bookcases in the common room now, so they're filling up with books and this place is really starting to feel like a home. Still haven't quite gotten into the writing groove yet, but... I will sooner or later. New poetry going up on the trees speak riddles this morning, also.

A Snippet from Keri Smith

Here's a wonderful quote I found on Keri Smith's blog that resonates with me and makes sense in the context of my life. So often I become discouraged when considering post-modern life and society, corporate greed, the bored and boring literature from the last twenty years, and this feeling that I and a few selected peers alone are gifted with a Sight that goes beyond success and convenience. And then Keri Smith posts something like this to cheer me up:

The next real literary “rebels” in this country might well emerge as some weird bunch of anti-rebels, born oglers who dare somehow to back away from ironic watching, who have the childish gall actually to endorse and instantiate single-entendre principles. Who treat of plain old untrendy human troubles and emotions in US life with reverence and conviction. Who eschew self-consciousness and hip fatigue. The anti-rebels would be outdated of course, before they even started. Dead of the page. Too sincere. Clearly repressed. Backward, quaint, naive, anachonistic. Maybe that’ll be the point. Maybe that’s why they’ll be the next real rebels. Real rebels as far as I can see, risk disapproval. The old postmodern insurgents risked the gasp and squeal: shock, disgust, outrage, censorship, accusations, of socialism, anarchism, nihilism. Today’s risks are different. The new rebels might be artists willing to risk the yawn, the rolled eyes, the cool smile, the nudged ribs, the parody of gifted ironists, the “Oh, how banal.”

–David Foster Wallace

the sound of settling

And, here I am once again, slowly easing back into life in New York. Scratch that. How about tumbling ribcage-first into a hectic first week of travelling, moving, interviewing, shouting sheepish greetings at people I've negleced to contact all summer, and somehow still managing to start classes yesterday with some semblance of collection and restfulness. To say the least, this second year of living in limbo has somehow managed to be more difficult and stressful than the first year. Add to this sleeping on a vinyl dorm mattress after a summer of cushy pillowtops and you have a girl who doesn't remember whether she's showered today or even yesterday.

That said, moving always gives me the excuse to do my favourite thing in the entire world: nest.
This is my new room in Slonim 9! Small, I know, but I also have a large common room with a kitchen at my disposal, to share with my seven housemates. It's a rather cozy little space, if you ask me. Hopefully, in the next few days, I will be able to share with you pictures of my housemates: Dan, Claudia, Gabe, Max, Isabella, Talia, and Santos.

So far, I've already attended my first French class and my first Metaphysical Poetry seminar with Bill Shullenberger--this afternoon is my first poetry workshopon "Masks, Personae, and the Literal 'I'", which I'm hoping will give me the incentive to continue writing the poetry I've left off all summer. I do have some ideas, though....