Autobiography red action

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XXXI. TANGO

Geryon is sleepless in his hotel room at 3 AM. He pictures lava moving underground, and tries to remember what Heidegger wrote about moods. He leans his face against the hotel room window and cries. Then he abruptly decides to leave the hotel, and plunges out into the dark streets of Buenos Aires. He walks west along the black harbor, wondering what kind of shop would be open at 4 AM, and gets pulled into a tango bar called Caminito. There are three ancient musicians playing piano, guitar, and accordion on the stage. Geryon is mesmerized by how they play as if they’re one person in a “state of pure discovery.” He is annoyed when the next act begins—a woman in a tuxedo singing a typical tango song. Geryon claps when everyone else claps, and as she sings song after song, he falls asleep and has intense dreams full of “burning, yearning.”

When he wakes up, the tango bar is empty, except for the woman who was singing and the “gnome” who is sweeping the floor. She joins hi

A volcano is not a mountain like others.

A 1998 novel in verse by Anne Carson. It tells the story of Geryon, a boy who is red, has wings, has a whirlwind teenage romance (and miserable breakup) with a guy named Herakles, becomes a photographer, and travels to South America where he runs into Herakles and Herakles' new lover, Ancash. From Ancash, Geryon learns why he is red and has wings. (It involves him being a Chosen One. Kind of.)

Geryon and Herakles are, of course, originally from Classical Mythology, where Geryon is the giant, monstrous keeper of a herd of red cattle. Herakles steals the cattle — killing Geryon in the process — as one of his labors. Carson brings up that version of the story in some prefatory matter concerning the poet Stesichoros, who wrote the first sympathetic portrayal of Geryon in the sixth century BCE. This section of the book also discusses a separate story about Stesichoros: he is supposed to have been struck blind by Helen for insulting her in a poem, then had his sight restored after writing a palinode.

Autobiography of Red wa

“Immortality on Their Faces”: The Persistence of Autobiography of Red

An artist’s life is an unconventional life….It appears to rebel but in reality it is an inspired way of life.
xxxx—Agnes Martin, “Advice to Young Artists”

I’m reading Anne Carson again. I didn’t know what else to do; a former lover recently took his life, in a way that my mind keeps replaying, on a secluded beach in Hawaii. Carson’s scholarship on ancient Greek love is strangely consoling. With any two lovers, she writes in Eros the Bittersweet, there is “erotic emotion that sets the interval between two people vibrating.” On my first date with Brian, after a few beers, we walked down a sycamore-lined street in my neighborhood, trading puns, teaching each other the names of subtropical plants. The interval between us was abuzz. I’m remembering his dark, deer-like eyes, his understated snowboarder masculinity—and the vastness between us, his frustrating unknowability. And I recall one of my favorite lines in Carson’s Autobiography of Red, a “Novel in Verse” published to great acclaim twelve years a

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