". . . But the past does not exist independently from the present. Indeed, the past is only past because there is a present, just as I can point to something over there only because I am here. But nothing is inherently over there or here. In that sense, the past has no content. The past -- or more accurately, pastness -- is a position. Thus, in no way can we identify the past as past." p. 15

". . . But we may want to keep in mind that deeds and words are not as distinguishable as often we presume. History does not belong only to its narrators, professional or amateur. While some of us debate what history is or was, others take it into their own hands." p. 153

Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History (1995) by Michel-Rolph Trouillot

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Southern Latitudes

I read in a New Orleans' Sunday's afternoon peace and quiet.  Butterflies and dragon flies flutter by.  The train and birds call.  Puffy white clouds sail in the blue sky.  Here on TR's balcony, just above the treetops I can see the container ships' towers on their way to offload on the other side of the levee.

Gulf air is soft.  Gulf air is also presence.  Your body pushes through it, it yields.  Your body pays its toll for its presence within that presence -- sweat.

The words I just read startle me.  They seem to be distilled Scott Fitzgerald but they were written by another writer.

" . . . the hour of apparant grace and promised music . . ."

Author's name behind the cut.

Joan Didion, Play It As It Lays.

The connections, the similarities, between New Orleans and Los Angeles are many and deep.

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