Violence and Writing: Incomplete Thoughts

I have not been following the Virginia Tech stuff very closely; but I have been musing nonetheles on violence in our society, how we all handle it, and how it invades us. Cho Seung-Hui was invaded by violence, and wrote violent creative writing that should have been a tip off, or that's what they say.

I took one writing class in college. It was an Introduction to Fiction Writing class
taught by a man who was nice, but, frankly, had no idea what to do with us ELAC-kids when we got going in a classroom. Many things went down in that classroom that were sexist, racist, etc. (Imagine this: someone asked me why there weren't more father figures in my short stories, and suggested the "return of the father" as a plot point for... everything.) I digress. One day in class, we were critiquing a story that was about graphic, violent, rape. This story was gratuitous in its descriptions, and sexist in its characterizations of both men and women. The community context of this classroom was that no less that seven women had recently gone to the dean to report sexual assault. It was a bad spring at ELAC, and I was thick in the planning of Take Back the Night. My friend L., another TBTN organizer, after trying to talk to this boy about the violence in the story and having him defend it, had to leave, slamming the door. Sitting there in that classroom, I felt that this boy and the story had committed another act of violence.

I don't know who in that classroom I would have referred to psych services based on their writing, but thinking about Virginia Tech, and I am very wary of censoring creative minds as they begin to explore their own inner workings. But I have thinking about what my role in a classroom would be and what the role of violence is in art. (Very few people express violent urges in economics problem sets.)

Let me be clear: I have written about graphic violence. Much of my current work deals with the outrageous violence that we do against each other in society and the ways in which that breaks a society apart. Some who have read it, included Sister, Esq. have been stunned by my capacity and willingness to describe a violence that I have never witnessed. I feel like I am with violence everyday, that is surround and pervades me so completely that writing it out is a way to counter, no perpetuate it. My writing is violent, but I hope that it never does violence, I hope that the ways in which it disturbs always probes myself and others to reach out of the darkness and push against the cold damp stones of the trap we have set for ourselves, into a brighter day.

Epilogue: The guy who wrote the rape story now runs a small porn company. I have a feeling it is not the happy sex positive porn that I would like.

Girl Skills

I know, I know, you all want to hear about some reading that happened two weeks ago or whether I've found my life path or at least given up and really failed that stupid math class. But I don't want to talk about those things, yet.

However, in the ongoing hash out of femme. I've decided that one of my favorite new femme skills is the ability to look really put together and bad ass when I feel totally brokedown. Read into that what you will about my current state. But below are two pictures of my newest tool in this endeavor. Ten dollars, sidewalk sale - yes, oh yes. This post should keep sulky fashion minded butches at bay until I want to actually fill you in on ... anything.
And I know that they look a lot like the heels from last October, but trust me, they are different, more brown, more everyday, every bit as sexy.

Lemons, Limes, My Wrist: One from the Archives

I was told by a Jamaican friend last summer that limes "cut your nature". That they will calm you down when you are horny. I hadn't really thought about citrus in connection with sex again until about five minutes ago.

Today, my boss strolled by my desk and asked if I had a knife. When I told her I didn't, she showed me the problem -- inside her red waterbottle was a lemon wedge, which she had squeezed in there, but could not remove. Thirty seconds later the waterbottle is upside down over my trashcan and my hand is all up in there. My wrist starts to hurt, but I'm determined, and with a few more movements, the lemon is free and I'm left with a juicy hand.

Remind you of anything? Yeah, it reminded me too. Sometimes I think that when TP goes on T I will be subjected to dealing with someone with hormones raging around like an adolescent boy -- then I remember that sometimes I think about sex like a teenager too.

Easter, of a sort

This morning, just before sunrise, two dear friends and I walked up to a hill near our houses and sang and prayed and greeted the day and the new life within each of us asking, only, for us to roll away the stone.

There was Mary Oliver, e.e. cummings, Sara M. Campbell, Ted Loder, a hymn, a gloria, confession, the sun and birds, each other and other things most holy.

I had meant to write this post about recognizing holiness and creating sacred space and how that is done, but now, I just want the fact of it to sit on my lips for longer before I try to analyze. Suffice it to say that I felt more at peace and filled with purpose walking home than I have for a while, even in the midst of everything.

"Rouse us from tiredness, self-pity,
Whet us for use,
Fire us with good passion.
Restore in us the love of living,
Bind us to fear and hope again."
-Hope Again, (author to be looked up and posted later)

This Post Has Been Brought to You By: Irish Breakfast and the Compound Sucrose

Right now, I want to stay up all night writing and drinking tea and reading and thinking and not doing my math homework. I know that that sentence is too long and poorly constructed, but I --- am caffeinated.

Instead I'm dealing with eigenspace. Let me know if you have any clue what that is, and I'll send you a sparkle. Honestly, doing my math homework makes me feel like someone has taken a series of drill bits and put them in my skull. Right now, that way that I'm counteracting this effect is by looking at MFA program websites. Can I take this as a sign?

I should blog in a non-snarky way about the fact that I'm not doing well in this math class which was supposed to be my all powerful signal to Econ. grad schools. Instead I'm looking ahead to a meeting with a mentor next week, where I need to let her know where I'm really at.

P.S. Where am I really at?
P.P.S. I promise that someday I will blog about something other than my navel, which can best be described as an inbetweeny rather than an outie or an innie... in case any inquiring minds would have wanted to know.

Lookee!

Hey,
My life is insane. The season of change which cometh upon you in the night has cometh. I have an ex (not the ex) in town this week, next weekend my mother will be in town, the weekend after that I'm going to BigCity to see Sister, Esq. for her birthday. The weekend after that my father will be in town. The weekend after that I'll fly to RedState to see TP and visit family. By the end of May, I could have moved "across the river".
However, in the meantime I managed to escape to CoastalHaven for the weekend and all I got was more freckles and a this new mug to replace the mug that busted last week. If you realized how much tea and coffee I drink, you would realize how significant a purchase this was, and it's really quite fetching.

Kisses,
C.