Cleaving
When I’m not puttering along in my psych and teaching textbooks, I’ve been reading Julie Powell’s book Cleaving. It’s kind of like the sequel to her book-turned-movie, Julie and Julia. Although, I find it odd how she barely mentions how the success changed her life. Instead, she writes about her failing marriage and obsession with butchery. I can completely relate to wanting to quit the 9-5 race and just become a butcher. Seriously. I would like to dabble in butchery. Is that weird? Although, this book is making me think that perhaps I am not cut out for the job. I’m kind of klutzy, and the idea of frozen hands being responsible for perfect cuts and feeding grinding machines makes me wonder if I would have many digits left at the end of the day.
Julie writes in a likeable first-person narrative, so much so that I don’t hate her for having an affair. She married the first guy she ever fell in love with. Naturally, they are more comfortable than passionate. Instead of feeling butterflies, she feels safe. Instead of hot air balloons there’s an anchor. Instead of flirting, there’s fights. Her husband finds out about the affair quickly, but he doesn’t leave her. Instead they stay miserably together. They still love each other. They complete each other. It sounds simple, but it’s complicated. Also, it makes for good reading.
I read The Little Prince recently too, because it’s a classic I never read.
What are you reading?
Janus, the poet
cleave 2 in two; let 1 & 1
digest their sum
by light of their guts
disclosing
the liminality of sex
the anus will cast a needle
for weaving a net
snaring the saturnine
from the soil, wholly
(swallowing through the eye)
the cleaver has stuck
inciting for exile
the approaching ghosts
of the said and the dead
sowing together a plexus
his presence
siphoned through “=”
by the placing of
unsolved equations
Billie Jean is not my lover — closed
Another weekend, another chance to explore the Reveru. It was daunting, being the time of year and not really knowing the area very well aside from the grocery shop or miscellaneous boutiques that lined the streets from his school to the supermarket, but he wouldn’t be exploring the place all by his lonesome..!
Given how close Yosuke’s name was to that of a certain friend back home, one would think he’d be a little apprehensive about meeting up with him. He was, but not based on a name. This whole friend thing was still a work in progress, but call it a Christmas miracle. Shoma decided rather recently to be more open-minded about spending time with people who were unrelated to him. Nothing in particular prompted this, and if it were to end badly he’d just reconsider for the next time.
He wasn’t setting his hopes high or expecting anything in particular, things like that were dangerous. Shoma just wanted a normal day of Christmas shopping, or as normal as it could be when you were doing it with a stranger. Ish. Someone who might as well have been a stranger anyway.
Being a Takakura is suffering.
And so Bluebro could have been found waiting for Yosuke at their established rendezvous point, which was a small bake shop plainly titled ‘Reveru Pastry’, made distinct only by an oversized cupcake ornament that sat askew on the roof. He was no carpenter, but it looked like it was about to fall over at any second. He was more stupid than the person who fashioned it there, considering he was standing right underneath it.
Secret Santa. [KG + Yosuke]
It’s been a week or two since people took part in the Secret Santa event the school took up for the holidays. Last we checked, Keiji was paired with someone who he judged as your typical high school guy and was pretty confident that he knew just what to get him for Christmas. After exchanging a few no name e-mails with eachother, the two finally scheduled to meet up on Christmas Eve at the park area of the city.
It was pretty chilly out. For today’s gear, Keiji sported a really nice and warm Abercrombie winter coat, a pair of sun bleached sand colored khaki pants that sagged around the ankles and a pair of white sneakers. His hair was tied back and starting to become noticeable with it’s length, but still about the size of a puppy dog’s tail and snug at the ears were his trust pair of yellow head phones, filling his mind with his favorite jams, the current song: Historic Town Square. Keiji sure likes that dub step music.
Anyway, he made himself comfortable in the chill air, sitting atop a stone built fence looking left to right awaiting his Secret Santa, wanting to meet as this exact spot and he specifically told him he would be sitting up here to stick out. This was pretty exciting.
Yumekichi was pretty excited, too.
cleaving replied to your post: What’s with that secret santa thing ? Is that…
You could try to eat your partner if you want, but you’d probably get chucked outta here. [annnd just send along your character name to the masterlist saying you’d like to sign up!]
” That’s cannibalism yo! “
[[ Ah, thanks a lot ;v;/ ]]
pls help me small fragile useless little girl
- small fragile useless little girl
- useless
- USELESS
Ravage him, papa..
“...his power over me even more entire - symbolic, abstract. Godlike, in point of fact, the similarity underlined not least by his extreme absence, nor by the fact that the past few months have seen me beginning at last to add my ex-lover to the list of things I no longer believe in. ”
—Julie Powell“Many people will argue that email and SMS and instant messaging and all the rest of it have destroyed our capacity as a race for gracious communication. I disagree. In fact, I would go so far as to say that we've entered a new golden epistolary age. Which is another reason I hardly ever use my phone as a phone. Why stammer into a headset when I can carefully compose a witty, thoughtful missive? With written words I can persuade, tease, seduce. My words are what make me desirable. So it's reall no wonder that I barely ever use my phone for actually speaking to people.”
—Julie Powell, Cleaving, pg. 41Come See the Wife Read at Book Court
A couple of years ago, The New York Times reviewed my wife’s memoir, “The Gastronomy of Marriage,” alongside Julie Powell’s memoir, “Cleaving.” Tonight, the two will meet for the first time at a reading in Brooklyn. Will the encounter lead to fisticuffs or friendship? (I would have written “foodie friendship,” but I loathe the word foodie. And yet I’ve used it twice.) Find out tonight at 7 pm at Book Court in Carroll Gardens. (Also, the moderator, Martin Rowe, is fantastic.) Oh, and while you’re there, buy a copy, will ya? My children need wine!
