I seem to have gone all axiomatic, but I do still have a body. We just had a beet and endive salad for dinner last night which was super yummy. and I'm very excited to be in on the beginning of "La Nouvelle Star" (ie American Idol, i think, or one of those things, but in fransh) adventure. We got through day two last night while eating our beets and sundries, and the cut down to 40 candidates. Among last year's semi-finalists for the same show included a skinny boy nicknamed the turtle who sang like a woman and a dyke-ish woman of color who sang "Every Breath You Take" like a man, and people loved them. One takes one's hopes where one finds them these days. There's a big boisterous buxom diva on the jury who they often show tearing up when somebody does good. I am a faggot and I love her.
I think we should all pay more attention to our explosions of the real. At least that's what I'm planning on doing as I work on translating that transgression axiom of monstrosity onwards. This is not unrelated to my nascent addiction to "La nouvelle star." Seems to me like song does (and maybe has always done?) a lot in giving us access to that real. (Genet almost always theorizes his prose as song.) And plus, you know, on a show like this, that these are, like, real people, giving it up as much as they can and cursing themselves for not having given it up enough and being eliminated. Of course, there's lots of scary ideology to this, too: so long as they have that teary diva, and the rest of the jury, too, showing how they are sometimes moved, my ideological worry fades, and I give it up, too.
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