Showing posts with label lobotomy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lobotomy. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Awake.

Geoffrey Smith, director of "The English Surgeon," says the purpose of the brain surgery patient being awake during surgery is to be the last valve of safety, to save themselves, potentially, from the doctor inadvertently slicing away "1968," in other words, slicing away whole swaths of memories.

Awake. Save your memories. Save what you know.

And others of us so willing to give them away in order to believe a story. Shaking my head in amazement right now.

(Geoffrey Smith, as interviewed by Elvis Mitchell on KCRW's "The Treatment" today.)

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Sing it with Me


This is the way we gaze at our navel
gaze at our navel
gaze at our navel

This is the way we gaze at our navel
early in the morning.

Monday, September 3, 2007

My Friends

…on the other hand, are CHATTY. Or in Tania’s case, chirpy.

In a heated discussion over the best seller, EAT PRAY LOVE (because it was 90 degrees in the house today), Ivonne defended in detail her disdain for the author’s “chirpy” and self-absorbed voice on topics as weighty as loneliness, depression and spirituality.

Tania, who loves this book, and whose tireless joy shames even the birds outside our windows, must retort.

TANIA: I don’t know how you stand ME being so chirpy.

IVONNE: You’re both chirpy AND substantive. A lot of people only want the chirpy.

Sunday, September 2, 2007

My Lovers

Spring, 2002. Kira and I are walking down the street in NYC after voice class. I’m a little loopy and Kira’s asking why.

It’s because three days ago, this crush I harbored since day one of grad school suddenly stopped torturing me from afar, and started inviting me to her bed (i.e., torturing me in closer proximity).

See, I go for the dark, broody, withholding types. Chatty and open as I like to be, their reserve signals intensity, mystery, depth. Forget the guesswork I have to do, wondering where I fit in, how they feel, what they think of me…that’s like a dance and who doesn’t like a good dance? I’m three days into the thrall, all crickly and crackly in the electricity of it, ooey and lightheaded and deep into the secrecy…did I mention this is a secret? Too dazed by the sharp smack of her beauty to note that her less-than-forthcoming nature is working against me rather than for me.

But Kira’s not standing with me in the lobotomy line:

“Pema, just because she’s quiet doesn’t mean she’s mysterious. It could be she has nothing to say.”