In the gaze of the other

"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"


Leave a comment

Fuck You, Fifty Shades

I blame her.

E.L James of 50 Shades of Grey.

She did it, unwittingly of course.

She was just trying to turn a buck

With a bit of earnest fiction, I’m sure.

But she unleashed it.

The American subconscious.

Seething all this time, culminating

In this climactic rape scene, 

The public just wanting it, 

Conditioned to accept it as love

Rape, breaking down, power loss

Submission to might–in the name

Of love, the father, and that not-so-

Holy ghost misogyny we all love

To hate and hate to love.

In the name of the grandest

Circle jerk, Americans,

Perpetrators and victims, watch

Stroking themselves as they 

Witness, their own interests die

And with them, their lives.

And so be it. 

Get off while you can.

The party’s started.

When the gang rape 

Really gets going, full thrust

They’ll be no stopping it.

Witness and weep.

Or get out.

Fuck off.

 

Credit: Miskatonic Institute of Horror Studies


Leave a comment

When Done is Done

Not to denigrate anyone’s achievement on this first day past #nanowrimo2016, but what I accomplished most this month pumping out 50,000 plus words of mostly spewed inanity was escape from non-sense of the preceding weeks, months and years culminating in the moral depravity our nation titled an election. This “novel” I scrapped together with mindless word vomiting at times was an exercise in the refined art of escapism, full on head-in-sand, ostrich hiding out from a reality I’m still not willing to participate in quite yet. I may opt out completely. 

And so, the largest achievement of last month for me was this meditation on and practice of tuning out while tuning up the word count. I plan to stay right here, in cyberspace, MIA to the rest of reality–which I now understand is a choice, reality, that is. You make yours and I’ll make mine, and never shall an objective truth detour us from our subjective truths. Truth is lies and lies are truth. And while I acknowledge that we have obeyed the objective truth gods for far too long, this anarchy of subjectivism is a backlash of unknown depths and destruction. 

So, I say fuck it. I’m just going to write my own world and to hell with the rest. As you were. 

#MakeAmericaSmartAgain. #Irefusetobedumb


2 Comments

Revolution: Ten for Today

Millions will march and fight for freedom, from oppression, from patriarchy, one million women march. I will bring my daughters, and they will know what sacrifice they must make for freedom in this country. Or they will prepare to move out of the country. 

Fight or flight, isn’t that the way of things? After the election, my first instinct was flight. That’s often my way. I never really flee physically, but I leave mentally. I thought about getting my children out of here, college in Canada or France. Thank God for duel citizenship. Just make them grow in a place where women are not objects of hate and self-loathing. Give them promise.

But for me, well, I could close the blinds, darken the room, better to light up my screen to make the words burn into my eyes. Make every word count. Quit my outside job, so I can hole up and never see them, those who ain’t woke, as my daughter would say.

She, one of my two woke daughters, likes San Francisco as a college choice. She wants to be with like-minded folks. We are a bastion of expansive values: free love, not your father’s love, expansion not contraction, possibility not improbability. They would have us roped and tethered to their poles.

I grew up in the shadows of revolution. Missed the big love by a half decade or so. But I have inherited the capital of my foremothers, my powerful free-lovers and Black Power fist pumpers. When love and revolution permeated culture by necessity, a newly emerging consciousness that the status quo needed cracking open–wide. Let the dragons loose.

So many false starts with the Bernie revolution and the 99%’ers before him. So many apathetic revolts that you could hardly classify them as disturbances, more like gastric distress. But the country has turned to the darkness of dictatorial capitalism and extremism. The pussy puppet believes he runs a show. Reality tv via the White House.

And we joke and rage and prod each other with vitriol still. The attacks and protests, where will they collide and start the conflagration. I’ve got my gas can ready. 

Image: tanya-cuba-kgb-revolution (pixabay)


Leave a comment

Bars and Beyond: Ten for Today


Noisy bars bring them out, words, flyby’s, glances, guffaws and shouts,

The teeming television barrage: run, skate, tackle, hit, fly, and fall.

It’s all that motion that sickens me, I think, causes me to open the wrong door, 

Trying to get out, the populous din of greasy chomps and cheer, too much.

And my left eye, the throbbing reminded me that nights like these…

 

Well, running into your past hurts, like the face plant into the wall it is.

The years, the years, the years swimming in your clogged ears,

Suck out the details, the exact dates, times, names and numbers.

Never any good at any of them, I just kept doing what needed doing–as I do.

And tonight’s no different with all that begged to be said and felt, all along

 

With your voice inside my head, telling me not to go, and asking who’s there

With that menace, that hint of cabined, caged control ripping at your will

Your mind round with edges like that pool, your legs wrapped around me

By the waist, by the mouth, by the threads unraveling between our fingers,

That darned holes in our visions, sepia snapshots on silk screen partitions.  


Leave a comment

Annie Dillard’s “The Stunt Pilot”

jelly-belly-1544617__340

 

It was as if Mozart could move his body through his notes, and you could walk out on the porch, look up, and see him in periwig and breeches, flying around in the sky. You could hear the music as he dove through it; it streamed after him like a contrail.