Wednesday, August 16, 2006

"Can You Show Me Anything, But Surrender?" - Patti Smith, "Land"

... ok.

So it just dawned on me, like really... I get it.

Most people feel that gay males get off from:
"being a man"

all that because they/we prefer the same sex.

This strikes me as odd... when did "gay" change again? I mean, Falcon videos notwithstanding: When did being "gay" become about being "man"? And not just anyman... but a man, steeped in patriarchy, thought given to hierarchies, masculinity...

When did this happen?


Can we change it back?


I haven't been feeling good as of late. Right now, I am fighting to keep down the contents of my stomach -- bidding them to find a different, more compatible with Q way of exiting the scene.

I am spending time perched on the toilet, thinking too much about everything and trying to process it or sitting in front of this machine where my thoughts are cool and more silent if my tummy not more rumbly.

This was supposed to be my writing week. Instead, I killed it for myself with unanswered pressure. That and no tap... but I think I am going back to that and living a really clean eating style. I am not addicted to nicotine, folks. I am addicted to salt.

I don't want to drink anything for a while.

I keep thinking to eat something, but my imagination does me in every time.

Anyway, when I am in front of this machine, I read the words and listen to the voice of and watch a video blogger (who is just really funny and cute and clever, too)....

Present tense: Someone is being evicted. My cats are not in their usual morning spots because the crashes are startling them. It is odd to think of Josalyn being afraid of something. Odder still to imagine them, somewhere in the bedroom, huddled together. Especially because while she has accepted he is here and harmless for the most part, she does not like him... It is a passive dislike. All he has to do is be himself.

I chuckle thinking about that sentence and how some people... that's all they have to do to activate passive dislike, just "be themselves."

I want to be asleep.

The sad thing is... I know I was never going to sleep today, I know that now. Now, with them hurling things from their balcony. I wonder how people can just leave their shit. And then I remember not everyone is as tied to my things as I am. I am tied to my things and my shit -- not wanting to let either go. Do not pity me so much. I am never sure my shit is my shit or my things are my things. Sometimes, my things are my shit and my shit my things and sometimes, you've guessed it, it's just shit.

I am telling myself that one does not reach to write... one writes or one does not. Right now, writing, on my own, in my box, would save me lots of arguments. It may even make me friends -- because want as one might, you can never make those wonderful friends who support you and go through things with you, never trying to influence or sway -- just getting you to get it out, to write it down... instead of telling everyone.

I am thinking about the other day, when I had to speak to people as if they were completely ignorant. I guess I did not have to talk to them that way, but it was as if they surrendered their will to mine and they were devoid of moving without my word. I do not know why men always think that is what I want from them. I have no need for that. I long for someone who can speak back, who knows how, who doesn't become a feral animal in the sound of thought -- to the point where I feel as if I need to tell them when to inhale and when to exhale.

Is that all men understand of power? Or has my conception of power via Foucault became such that I've rounded a corner other people haven't gotten to yet (that I was probably around in the first place, but the question becomes: can you realize you are doing something before identifying what you are doing?) and acting out of my position and folks are aware that they are missing something... missing that you don't treat me like you would most people. It's a built in equality. I won't treat you the way I would treat most people.

I have lost my path...

I am re-reading Patternmaster by Octavia E. Butler. It is my least favorite book. However, recently, I watched Kingdom of Heaven while stoned (and re-watched Rome with Ryan) and understood something about the genre I never understood before... what these guys valued. Oh! And the Inuyasha movie Saturday. Reading PM has become an exercise in galloping and anticipation. I am about to meet who might be... I should hold onto that.

I am thinking of my paper -- which is still in production amazingly. The only way of writing it that I can see is to assert what cannot be done if certain readings are forbidden or left out while making a sweep across the readings that would be left out of a discussion about Butler. Yeah, Xandi, if you are reading this, know that my paper has started to change and grow up some.

I am thinking about college. I am thinking about what I did whenever I was stuck. Back them, I knew them by automatically. My mind has grown and I know I wouldn't remember. But that's why I keep my shit: I do think real intelligence is knowing where and how to find information. Why cram your head with it, just know how to find it.

Yes, I know, that has holes in it.

In that moment, I pushed the piece-of-computer chair backwards and picked up Classical Rhetoric for the Modern Student .

I am trying to see where it is and realizing it might have been a different book I am thinking off... not the Corbett... but... ah. I see it. There's another place this information is lodged... in a stack of cross-pollinated papers under the bed in the crate. I am SO not going through that today. This is what I have come up with, but I used to know the




I cannot reach for writing. Writing is all around me.

Now, I am studying different things for a while. Either I will write, vomit, or once my belly no longer threatens me with discomfort, I might go back to bed.


Post a Comment

<< Home