Sunday, April 1, 2007

every time

i cry every time i read tsitsi dangarembga's nervous conditions. like somehow, this time, nyasha won't go completely nuts and puke and starve herself and hit her father and wind up in the hospital. all i know is that when tambu says "she sobbed up great lumps of pain," i end up doing it too. because it's too hard to see her defeated; it crawls up into my insides. i mean, "nyasha's energy, at times stormy and turbulent, at times confidently serene, but always reaching, reaching a little further than i had even thought of reaching...nyasha gave me the impression of moving, always moving and striving towards some state that she had seen an accepted a long time ago." last week in class, mullen said that he's spent a great deal of his life obsessing over native son. that book certainly sticks with me for at least a month after i read it. but i'm totally haunted by nyasha. more than ada, more than fermina daza, more than v. maybe not more than slothrop.

probably this is all compounded by the sunday blues too. i hate sundays.

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