Let the record show that the first story I ever wrote that was longer than 3 pages was a story about a gender-bending Robin Hood who seduced and married the princess so that they could institute better income redistribution policies...
Really, why did it take me so long to figure myself out? I was pretty blatantly me at the age of 12.
Just sayin'.
(Correction: It was a five-act play - intro, rising action, climax, denoument, conclusion- we read a lot of Shakespeare in seventh grade)
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Sunday, January 21, 2007
This is me, except that it is all metaphorical, because I'm afraid of heights.
I'm taking a big, and I think good, risk right now, and I move each moment from falling to flying and back again. I am sorry to be cryptic, but it's hard to explain the jump while your falling.
And one final thought:
"I'm a good jumper, he said. But I'm not so good at landing. Maybe you should stay closer to the ground then, I said, and he said, No. The ground was the whole problem in the first place."
-Brian Andreas
Thursday, January 18, 2007
A More Serious Attempt
Corinne is a queer. She lives in HarborCity, but misses mountains in both Americas. Not fitting easily into any box, she creates space by playing with words, lipstick, census data, and bread recipes. She hopes that someday the words will be read by generations, the lipstick will flirt, the census data will liberate, and the bread will sustain.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
In Which Corinne Deals with Angst by Writing Silly Bios
Corinne is a dreadfully self-indulgent feminine thing who spends too much time reading books with pretentious titles or trying to write them with extremely limited success. She has never been published. She can flip her hair flirtatiously now that it is shorter and she is willing to talk to almost anyone about almost anything.
Corinne is a writer and research assistant living in HarborCity. She is not currently saving the world, but bakes a damn good loaf of bread and thinks this should count for something. She loves words and has a dictionary within arms reach at the dinner table. She fucks someone who is ambiguously gendered and occasionally writes about it, and you all occasionally listen.
Corinne lives in HarborCity and when she grows up she would like to make books, policy, and babies. Until then, she would like to play more often with words, lipstick, high heels, and economic data. she has never shaved her legs or been to California. She would like to go to California someday.
Corinne flirts dangerously with the faggots of her acquaintance and can't actually handle the real attentions of people who are actually interested in her. She writes bios like they might be personal ads. She has nothing to say about her writing. She wishes that someone else would do this for her. Her mother has offered to write one in the style of Marquez and this scares her particularly.
Corinne writes things that are sad or sappy or r-rated and require disclaimers, she rates the success of her writing by how many of these categories can be applied to each piece. she falls in love too easily and lives with two good friends on the third floor of a dilapidated house in HarborCity.
Corinne is a writer and research assistant living in HarborCity. She is not currently saving the world, but bakes a damn good loaf of bread and thinks this should count for something. She loves words and has a dictionary within arms reach at the dinner table. She fucks someone who is ambiguously gendered and occasionally writes about it, and you all occasionally listen.
Corinne lives in HarborCity and when she grows up she would like to make books, policy, and babies. Until then, she would like to play more often with words, lipstick, high heels, and economic data. she has never shaved her legs or been to California. She would like to go to California someday.
Corinne flirts dangerously with the faggots of her acquaintance and can't actually handle the real attentions of people who are actually interested in her. She writes bios like they might be personal ads. She has nothing to say about her writing. She wishes that someone else would do this for her. Her mother has offered to write one in the style of Marquez and this scares her particularly.
Corinne writes things that are sad or sappy or r-rated and require disclaimers, she rates the success of her writing by how many of these categories can be applied to each piece. she falls in love too easily and lives with two good friends on the third floor of a dilapidated house in HarborCity.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Gender Identity?
Oh?
I never knew, thank you so much, darling intahnet for revealing my true self.
Love,
C.
I never knew, thank you so much, darling intahnet for revealing my true self.
Love,
C.
You Date Like a Man |
 According to studies on dating, you date like a man. You date casually and frequently, getting serious with select people over time. Physical attraction and chemistry is very important to you. And if there's nothing more than a physical connection, that's okay with you (at least for a while). You are definitely looking for love, but you are in no rush to find it. You figure love will eventually come your way, and you're not going to live like a monk while you're waiting! |
Sunday, January 14, 2007
My Father's Most Enviable Skill
I'm in IdyllicNewEnglandState celebrating Christmas with my father, divorce is a funny thing, it will change your ideas about what is important about holidays (hint: dates matter not at all). It's lovely and vaguely stressful. My family is a blessing I can never quantify. They love me more than anyone, and know me as well as they can. But increasing it is a blessing I find I would rather endure with TP by my side, gently guiding me through it's labyrinths.
My father's skill is buying people books. Knowing that he cannot possibly read all the good books in the world before his death, he takes incredible care selecting books for others. He chooses not only based on his own (impeccable) tastes, but also on the reviews and lists he comes upon. (This is man who will read a book, and then read several books in its bibliography.) This in and of itself is not uncommon. What is amazing is opening a package from I can tell by shape and weight is a pages filled with words I know that one or both of the following thoughts will emerge as I peel back the colorful paper he chooses with equal care:
-I've never heard of this!
-I've been wanting this read this for some time!
After Christmas we all, him included, settle into makeshift beds, or the large armchairs and finger our new treasures often succumbing to food coma before really being able to enjoy them, but knowing that they will be there for us when we emerge from our slumber days or months later, finding them tucked among other books that seem unfit in some key way. Occasionally he has to be buy a present for someone he doesn't know well and he as to fall back on his standards --The Good Soldier, Underworld, The Milagro Beanfield War . They are partially standards to be relied on, and standards with which to test new people in his life. TP received a copy of the Good Soldier as a Christmas gift, and I felt like ze had truly arrived.
Books I received this morning, have started, and can't wait to continue:
A New Way to Cook: She uses ingredients inventively and is much more interested in teaching you how to take what is in your pantry and make something amazing without "following a recipe". Not a new way to cook, for me, but that little push of inspiration is always nice. Also, well written copy with lovely pictures, not a bad thing.
How to Read Like a Writer: The first three chapters (which I read this afternoon) are titled "Close Reading", "Words", and "Sentences". I love it. She makes me want to read everything with a moleskine at my right hand and in cool silent room without distraction. Unfortunately, in the back of the book she has a list of "Book to be Read Immediately" which may consume me for many months.
Off the Books: The Underground Economy of the Urban Poor: So perfect for me it boggles the mind. I love it. I read the first chapter of this too. Everyone else napped and I read, and had a cup of coffee. This seems be a pattern.
My father's skill is buying people books. Knowing that he cannot possibly read all the good books in the world before his death, he takes incredible care selecting books for others. He chooses not only based on his own (impeccable) tastes, but also on the reviews and lists he comes upon. (This is man who will read a book, and then read several books in its bibliography.) This in and of itself is not uncommon. What is amazing is opening a package from I can tell by shape and weight is a pages filled with words I know that one or both of the following thoughts will emerge as I peel back the colorful paper he chooses with equal care:
-I've never heard of this!
-I've been wanting this read this for some time!
After Christmas we all, him included, settle into makeshift beds, or the large armchairs and finger our new treasures often succumbing to food coma before really being able to enjoy them, but knowing that they will be there for us when we emerge from our slumber days or months later, finding them tucked among other books that seem unfit in some key way. Occasionally he has to be buy a present for someone he doesn't know well and he as to fall back on his standards --The Good Soldier, Underworld, The Milagro Beanfield War . They are partially standards to be relied on, and standards with which to test new people in his life. TP received a copy of the Good Soldier as a Christmas gift, and I felt like ze had truly arrived.
Books I received this morning, have started, and can't wait to continue:
A New Way to Cook: She uses ingredients inventively and is much more interested in teaching you how to take what is in your pantry and make something amazing without "following a recipe". Not a new way to cook, for me, but that little push of inspiration is always nice. Also, well written copy with lovely pictures, not a bad thing.
How to Read Like a Writer: The first three chapters (which I read this afternoon) are titled "Close Reading", "Words", and "Sentences". I love it. She makes me want to read everything with a moleskine at my right hand and in cool silent room without distraction. Unfortunately, in the back of the book she has a list of "Book to be Read Immediately" which may consume me for many months.
Off the Books: The Underground Economy of the Urban Poor: So perfect for me it boggles the mind. I love it. I read the first chapter of this too. Everyone else napped and I read, and had a cup of coffee. This seems be a pattern.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Queer OpenMic, Redux
QOM was amazing tonight, it was the 7th year anniversary and so there were many people who came back, the whole night was like a train on a track gathering speed with each word like another piston thrusting perfectly, and the feature was amazing and I bought hir book.
Speaking of features, to be clear, I'm featuring on Thursday, April 12th. I'm considering giving further details here, but it would mean outing myself and I have mixed feelings.
As to the bio, I haven't started it, it still terrifies me. Jack, you were helpful, but now I have a set of goals and goals mean only one thing... impending doom and failure ;). Further, one of the main barriers to me being a writer, at all, like typing this right now, is thinking that I am being dreadfully self-indulgent and maybe a little catty. Both traits I abhor in myself (and others, but mainly, myself). Write a bio, believing that you have a bio to write is self-indulgence defined.
As to what I'll read -- also complicated. My mother is thinking about attending. I will need to inform her that I identify as femme, am a flirt, and talk about sex, a lot. Other people who have never seen me in this community may also be there. It should be interesting.
Speaking of features, to be clear, I'm featuring on Thursday, April 12th. I'm considering giving further details here, but it would mean outing myself and I have mixed feelings.
As to the bio, I haven't started it, it still terrifies me. Jack, you were helpful, but now I have a set of goals and goals mean only one thing... impending doom and failure ;). Further, one of the main barriers to me being a writer, at all, like typing this right now, is thinking that I am being dreadfully self-indulgent and maybe a little catty. Both traits I abhor in myself (and others, but mainly, myself). Write a bio, believing that you have a bio to write is self-indulgence defined.
As to what I'll read -- also complicated. My mother is thinking about attending. I will need to inform her that I identify as femme, am a flirt, and talk about sex, a lot. Other people who have never seen me in this community may also be there. It should be interesting.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
What it Means to be a Lesbian... Sort of
True (googlechat) conversation between TP and myself: TP: I'm wearing my boots.
me: You own boots?
TP: Doc Martens. me: Oh. Mmm.
TP: I've still got lesbian feet, baby.
me: You own boots?
TP: Doc Martens. me: Oh. Mmm.
TP: I've still got lesbian feet, baby.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Foodie Meme
(Thanks to GreyMatters for allowing me self-identify, do yourselves the same favor).
What cooking shows do you watch?
Sister, MD and I have been watching Top Chef. It is one of the only cooking shows that doesn't mildly annoy or bore me.
Your top three favorite cookbooks are:
The Joy. Moosewood Cooks for a Crowd. Essentials of Classical Italian (Marcella Hazan).
Your must-have kitchen accessory is:
Silicone spatula, cast-iron skillet/frying pan (the one with sides).
What is your go-to ingredient?
Olive oil, garlic, cumin, red wine. Fresh produce.
How many courses should a meal have?
Um. However many it needs to use up the yummy things in your fridge?
What’s your favorite course?
I've always been really intrigued by cheese courses, I also love salads. Dessert is yummy. But really, most of the meals I cook don't have courses, they are just a bunch of food on a table that people enjoy, with dessert at the end.
What nationality of food do you like the best?
For real? You want me to choose? Italian, South American, TexMex. Spicy things, things that make *amazing leftovers*.
What’s your favorite meal of the day to prepare?
Breakfast, dinner. I also *love* baking bread and cakes, and whichever meal you want soup to be a part of.
Where do you find inspiration when creating a new dish?
Whatever is in the pantry.
What is your favorite comfort food?
"I sold my soul for fresh-baked bread."
Do you ever eat fast food? If so, what?
Does TacoCabana count?
What restaurant do you want to eat at that you haven’t yet?
So many, anything that costs more money than I've spent on a meal for a while, and some specific names that will out where Harbor City is.
What’s your favorite dessert?
The wedding cake my mother makes. Baked custard.
Are there wines or liquors that you cook with?
Usually just red wine... but I would like to expand my reportoire. Suggestions?
How much time do you spend cooking a meal just for yourself?
Usually around 15 minutes, sometimes up to three hours.
What scent in the kitchen do you love?
Fresh baked bread.
What ingredient(s) do you avoid/dislike?
Bacon. Highly process salad dressings.
What’s your secret splurge at the grocery store?
High quality chocolate. Organic, good-cuts of meat.
What’s your favorite midnight snack?
Blue corn tortilla chips, cheddar cheese, salsa.
Oh, and please deal with the Mission mentioned below, pay no attention to the ways in which Jack's comments make it impossible.
What cooking shows do you watch?
Sister, MD and I have been watching Top Chef. It is one of the only cooking shows that doesn't mildly annoy or bore me.
Your top three favorite cookbooks are:
The Joy. Moosewood Cooks for a Crowd. Essentials of Classical Italian (Marcella Hazan).
Your must-have kitchen accessory is:
Silicone spatula, cast-iron skillet/frying pan (the one with sides).
What is your go-to ingredient?
Olive oil, garlic, cumin, red wine. Fresh produce.
How many courses should a meal have?
Um. However many it needs to use up the yummy things in your fridge?
What’s your favorite course?
I've always been really intrigued by cheese courses, I also love salads. Dessert is yummy. But really, most of the meals I cook don't have courses, they are just a bunch of food on a table that people enjoy, with dessert at the end.
What nationality of food do you like the best?
For real? You want me to choose? Italian, South American, TexMex. Spicy things, things that make *amazing leftovers*.
What’s your favorite meal of the day to prepare?
Breakfast, dinner. I also *love* baking bread and cakes, and whichever meal you want soup to be a part of.
Where do you find inspiration when creating a new dish?
Whatever is in the pantry.
What is your favorite comfort food?
"I sold my soul for fresh-baked bread."
Do you ever eat fast food? If so, what?
Does TacoCabana count?
What restaurant do you want to eat at that you haven’t yet?
So many, anything that costs more money than I've spent on a meal for a while, and some specific names that will out where Harbor City is.
What’s your favorite dessert?
The wedding cake my mother makes. Baked custard.
Are there wines or liquors that you cook with?
Usually just red wine... but I would like to expand my reportoire. Suggestions?
How much time do you spend cooking a meal just for yourself?
Usually around 15 minutes, sometimes up to three hours.
What scent in the kitchen do you love?
Fresh baked bread.
What ingredient(s) do you avoid/dislike?
Bacon. Highly process salad dressings.
What’s your secret splurge at the grocery store?
High quality chocolate. Organic, good-cuts of meat.
What’s your favorite midnight snack?
Blue corn tortilla chips, cheddar cheese, salsa.
Oh, and please deal with the Mission mentioned below, pay no attention to the ways in which Jack's comments make it impossible.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Your Mission
Hello.
I am sitting in my favorite coffeeshop in LiberalCity, RedState. TP is reading "Genderqueer" sitting next to me, and reading me tidbits occasionally, and I also have a HUGE cafe au lait next to me. This femme hasn't been happier for some time.
If you haven't been following the anti-transwoman stuff happening *all over the place* (but start with brownfemipower). Check it out. Bonus points to reading Winter's post, which deserves a hearty AMEN at the end of it. On Tuesday, there is a discussion on TransFeminism at the local feminist center for thought, and this has all given me plenty to think (and vent) about.
In April I am going to be the "feature" at the QueerOpenMic. This is really exciting, and a little bit terrifying. First I have to have enough stuff to read to fill 15 minutes. Really this won't be that hard, I have pages and pages of things. Honestly, I haven't even really processed what featuring will feel like. But before I even get around to writing more things or editing things I've written I'm faced with THE HARDEST WRITING ASSIGNMENT EVER. So I'm passing the buck.
Here is your mission:
Write my bio. Post it to the comments or email it to me: corinneblogger at gmail dot com
I hate writing this kind of thing, and I know that everyone hates writing this kind of thing. Generally though I wouldn't mind writing other people's bios. So write mine. My mother thinks it should be written with some magical realism. Since few of you actually know me. I'm very curious to see what you come up with.
I am sitting in my favorite coffeeshop in LiberalCity, RedState. TP is reading "Genderqueer" sitting next to me, and reading me tidbits occasionally, and I also have a HUGE cafe au lait next to me. This femme hasn't been happier for some time.
If you haven't been following the anti-transwoman stuff happening *all over the place* (but start with brownfemipower). Check it out. Bonus points to reading Winter's post, which deserves a hearty AMEN at the end of it. On Tuesday, there is a discussion on TransFeminism at the local feminist center for thought, and this has all given me plenty to think (and vent) about.
In April I am going to be the "feature" at the QueerOpenMic. This is really exciting, and a little bit terrifying. First I have to have enough stuff to read to fill 15 minutes. Really this won't be that hard, I have pages and pages of things. Honestly, I haven't even really processed what featuring will feel like. But before I even get around to writing more things or editing things I've written I'm faced with THE HARDEST WRITING ASSIGNMENT EVER. So I'm passing the buck.
Here is your mission:
Write my bio. Post it to the comments or email it to me: corinneblogger at gmail dot com
I hate writing this kind of thing, and I know that everyone hates writing this kind of thing. Generally though I wouldn't mind writing other people's bios. So write mine. My mother thinks it should be written with some magical realism. Since few of you actually know me. I'm very curious to see what you come up with.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Greetings from the Outpost
Hello All,
I'm holed up in IdyllicAncestralHome, with my extended family. Today is our "Christmas Eve" because Sister, MD has to work in the hospital on Monday, and Sister Esq. and her partner are leaving to celebrate with her partner's family. Our time together is a little shorter this year as a result, but we are making up for it by making those traditional Christmas cocktails.... Ginger Margaritas and Dark n' Stormies.
Later we will read children's books and go to bed and try hard to fall asleep so that Santa can come. In truth, after the food and booze, we may have no trouble at all falling asleep, and I'm so full of anxiety about the quality and quantity of the presents I'm giving that part of me just wants the whole thing to be over.
I love my family and Christmas, but it does seem like every year it gets just a little bit more stressful. As we all grow up and pull away in our own ways it gets harder to pull it all back together without tension over the holidays. I think that by the time Wednesday rolls around I will be more than happy to leave on a jetplane for the RedState and a much anticipated visit with TP.
Things I will blog about before vacation is over:
1. Exciting QueerOpenMic news.
2. The potential of outing my true identity here
3. Work, maybe.
4. Most likely some more holiday angst.
5. The hardest writing assignment ever... that y'all are going to do for me.
Also, I owe some of you personal emails that I *swear* will be forthcoming. Until then, I hope that each of you are doing whatever makes you happy this weekend. But, really, I hope that you are doing that everyday.
I'm being called into cocktail hour. Wish me luck.
Oh, also. I will be attending at least one Catholic mass between now and Wednesday, and maybe connecting with an old friend from high school.
I'm holed up in IdyllicAncestralHome, with my extended family. Today is our "Christmas Eve" because Sister, MD has to work in the hospital on Monday, and Sister Esq. and her partner are leaving to celebrate with her partner's family. Our time together is a little shorter this year as a result, but we are making up for it by making those traditional Christmas cocktails.... Ginger Margaritas and Dark n' Stormies.
Later we will read children's books and go to bed and try hard to fall asleep so that Santa can come. In truth, after the food and booze, we may have no trouble at all falling asleep, and I'm so full of anxiety about the quality and quantity of the presents I'm giving that part of me just wants the whole thing to be over.
I love my family and Christmas, but it does seem like every year it gets just a little bit more stressful. As we all grow up and pull away in our own ways it gets harder to pull it all back together without tension over the holidays. I think that by the time Wednesday rolls around I will be more than happy to leave on a jetplane for the RedState and a much anticipated visit with TP.
Things I will blog about before vacation is over:
1. Exciting QueerOpenMic news.
2. The potential of outing my true identity here
3. Work, maybe.
4. Most likely some more holiday angst.
5. The hardest writing assignment ever... that y'all are going to do for me.
Also, I owe some of you personal emails that I *swear* will be forthcoming. Until then, I hope that each of you are doing whatever makes you happy this weekend. But, really, I hope that you are doing that everyday.
I'm being called into cocktail hour. Wish me luck.
Oh, also. I will be attending at least one Catholic mass between now and Wednesday, and maybe connecting with an old friend from high school.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Queer OpenMic Night Priorities
I've chosen my outfit, put on my makeup, poured myself a drink, and now I'm sitting down to edit the piece I'm reading...
Yes, I have my priorities in the right place.
Yes, I have my priorities in the right place.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Butch/Femme -- Continuing Thoughts
A bit I read at QueerOpenMic last month:
You leave shit here all the time, and I never know what is important to you, or what to throw away. I know that you want me to keep your zippo lighter, you don't smoke, but you like the feel of it in your hands, you like the weight in your pocket. Sometimes when you are drunk you smoke, but more because you like to wave a cigarette around as you talk, loose-jointed in your tipsiness and talking a bluestreak of queer theory and flirtation that has had me hooked for two years, solid. What you want is a cigarette holder. The kind used by femmes and faggots in the 30s to make your cigarette longer, your gestures wider, and everything more elegant. I want to find one for you and give it to you with a pack of candy cigarettes, since you berate me for my one cigarette a month habit I feel like yours should be made out of sugar - to cut down on hypocrisy in the world. I know that it would be ok with you if I threw away the gum wrappers and the gum that you leave on the shelf I clear for you in the closet, but I can't bring myself to do it, quite. I do, but first I bunch them in my fingers and think about how they smell like kissing you, especially since they have sat there on the shelf that will always smell like you because of the cologne you spilled there.
You keep the subway tokens in your wallet; I found one when I was down there and almost wanted to tell you to get rid of it since by the time you live here they might be totally useless, and I'm not sure when you'll make it up to HarborCity again. But I know how you like things that are small cool and hard, like your lucky bullet, how you hold them in your slender fingers. Your hands always reminds me of a bird, fast and fluttering, they are awkward as hands, not terrestrial in that way, graceful when given flight in conversation or fucking. and maybe you are like a crow hording shiny things in some nest. But then what am I? a shiny thing? No, I'm matte, on special days maybe eggshell or semi-gloss, but I can wear the clothes you leave behind. the men's jeans and button downs. they fit me better, my shoulders are still a little broader than yours so the seam sits just outside that point of bone. this is when you call me your butch. You are masculine and I am butch, it works, even when I'm femme. I am your butch when my fingers are inside; and I am your femme when my mouth is on your clit. And sometimes I do them both at the same time. I am your femme in public, even when I am being your butch, because they see my long hair and hear the cracking in your voice and think they know something about our lives, and they do. I am your femme when your fist is inside me, when your mouth is on me, when you make me coffee in the morning, and when you call me "baby". I am your butch when I have the answer for your questions. I am your femme when I straighten your tie and adjust my bra. I am your femme when I take care of you when you are sick. I am your butch, holding you as you cry. I am your butch when you say that the curtains have fallen down and you don't know what to do, and I look at them and ask for pliers and a screwdriver and for you not to hover so close when I'm balancing one foot on the chair and one foot on the windowsill. Afterwards you ask me how I knew how to pull the right tools from the box. But there is no theory to explain this skill and you kiss me and call me handy, and pull at the belt that I'm wearing, my belt on your jeans. Then we go and buy you eyeliner and I buy a bright red lipstick. My lips are red and liquid smooth, I smile at you, your eyes are smudgy and dark, but smile back. When you smile at me I am your femme, your butch. Your smile, more than anything else, unzips me from these words and either way I'm blushing. Either way when I look back at you there is no theory for this.
Also: I went out tonight; I wore tight jeans, cowboy boots, and the red lipstick, as I was heading home a new friend of mine, a man, offered to walk me home. I felt guilty, but safer saying yes, and the company was pleasant. Safer because he is bigger than me and passes pretty well and the walk is a little long for late at night. Guilty because there was part of me that felt like I should assert that I *would* be fine walking home alone. This is what I usually do, to show my independence, etc. But what is the point of asserting that to a man who grew up as a girl afraid to walk herself home?
You leave shit here all the time, and I never know what is important to you, or what to throw away. I know that you want me to keep your zippo lighter, you don't smoke, but you like the feel of it in your hands, you like the weight in your pocket. Sometimes when you are drunk you smoke, but more because you like to wave a cigarette around as you talk, loose-jointed in your tipsiness and talking a bluestreak of queer theory and flirtation that has had me hooked for two years, solid. What you want is a cigarette holder. The kind used by femmes and faggots in the 30s to make your cigarette longer, your gestures wider, and everything more elegant. I want to find one for you and give it to you with a pack of candy cigarettes, since you berate me for my one cigarette a month habit I feel like yours should be made out of sugar - to cut down on hypocrisy in the world. I know that it would be ok with you if I threw away the gum wrappers and the gum that you leave on the shelf I clear for you in the closet, but I can't bring myself to do it, quite. I do, but first I bunch them in my fingers and think about how they smell like kissing you, especially since they have sat there on the shelf that will always smell like you because of the cologne you spilled there.
You keep the subway tokens in your wallet; I found one when I was down there and almost wanted to tell you to get rid of it since by the time you live here they might be totally useless, and I'm not sure when you'll make it up to HarborCity again. But I know how you like things that are small cool and hard, like your lucky bullet, how you hold them in your slender fingers. Your hands always reminds me of a bird, fast and fluttering, they are awkward as hands, not terrestrial in that way, graceful when given flight in conversation or fucking. and maybe you are like a crow hording shiny things in some nest. But then what am I? a shiny thing? No, I'm matte, on special days maybe eggshell or semi-gloss, but I can wear the clothes you leave behind. the men's jeans and button downs. they fit me better, my shoulders are still a little broader than yours so the seam sits just outside that point of bone. this is when you call me your butch. You are masculine and I am butch, it works, even when I'm femme. I am your butch when my fingers are inside; and I am your femme when my mouth is on your clit. And sometimes I do them both at the same time. I am your femme in public, even when I am being your butch, because they see my long hair and hear the cracking in your voice and think they know something about our lives, and they do. I am your femme when your fist is inside me, when your mouth is on me, when you make me coffee in the morning, and when you call me "baby". I am your butch when I have the answer for your questions. I am your femme when I straighten your tie and adjust my bra. I am your femme when I take care of you when you are sick. I am your butch, holding you as you cry. I am your butch when you say that the curtains have fallen down and you don't know what to do, and I look at them and ask for pliers and a screwdriver and for you not to hover so close when I'm balancing one foot on the chair and one foot on the windowsill. Afterwards you ask me how I knew how to pull the right tools from the box. But there is no theory to explain this skill and you kiss me and call me handy, and pull at the belt that I'm wearing, my belt on your jeans. Then we go and buy you eyeliner and I buy a bright red lipstick. My lips are red and liquid smooth, I smile at you, your eyes are smudgy and dark, but smile back. When you smile at me I am your femme, your butch. Your smile, more than anything else, unzips me from these words and either way I'm blushing. Either way when I look back at you there is no theory for this.
Also: I went out tonight; I wore tight jeans, cowboy boots, and the red lipstick, as I was heading home a new friend of mine, a man, offered to walk me home. I felt guilty, but safer saying yes, and the company was pleasant. Safer because he is bigger than me and passes pretty well and the walk is a little long for late at night. Guilty because there was part of me that felt like I should assert that I *would* be fine walking home alone. This is what I usually do, to show my independence, etc. But what is the point of asserting that to a man who grew up as a girl afraid to walk herself home?
Friday, December 08, 2006
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Hibernation Mode
Thank you, all, for your comments on the Self-Titled Album.
So, it's getting chilly here in HarborCity and so Sister, MD and I were in hibernation mode today:
-beef stew
-red wine
-ice cream
-television
Yes, I know that the ice cream makes no sense. But it was organic and only cost $1.29 at WholeFoods... do reasonable people say no to that kind of thing?
It was a wonderful and yummy thing. I love having my sister in this city, our conversations are not always easy, and sometimes, like tonight, we barely talked at all, but it is a joy to curl on a couch with someone you know that well, and drink wine and laugh about pop culture and share a common-ness that is *so* hard to find in other places and people.
So, it's getting chilly here in HarborCity and so Sister, MD and I were in hibernation mode today:
-beef stew
-red wine
-ice cream
-television
Yes, I know that the ice cream makes no sense. But it was organic and only cost $1.29 at WholeFoods... do reasonable people say no to that kind of thing?
It was a wonderful and yummy thing. I love having my sister in this city, our conversations are not always easy, and sometimes, like tonight, we barely talked at all, but it is a joy to curl on a couch with someone you know that well, and drink wine and laugh about pop culture and share a common-ness that is *so* hard to find in other places and people.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Midnight Bridges (The Self-Titled Album)
I have never tried to articulate what a midnight bridge is, except once, the day I started this blog, in a poem to TP. I'll give you the first three lines, the next 11 (yes, I write strange sonnets) belong to TP."there are midnight bridges i want to build
with you, working in hard rain toward morning,
waking from nightmares for fresh cut flowers"
What is a MidnightBridge? It is the kind of connection made in the middle of the night, the kind of work that takes all night, the connection that people haven't thought about before. The combination that makes people reconsider their assumptions. It the work that we need to do personally to be who we need to be professionally, publicly, personally. It is, and has become, everything that this blog has been for me in the last nine (!) months.
And I have no idea what it, or this, will become. It would be incredibly pretentious and true to say that someday I want to reveal my real name and promote a newly minted novel from this page. It would be a little sad and true that I expect this page to dwindle as I devote myself more to both work and writing, and try to reconfigure my head so that writing can be considered both work and leisure. It is also true that this space has given me new ways to think about myself. Has made those combinations that have made me reconsider my assumptions, and that has to be a good thing, right?
Options I see before me:
A: Navel-gaze when tired and tipsy to the amusement of others
B: Write dense theory posts.
C: Try to talk about economics in ways that at least inspires me.
D: Share more workshop/journal/open mic writing-stuff.
E: Blend above with panache
Thoughts? Votes?
So what proclamation do I have tonight? What prediction for my future? What exhortation to my (~3) readers?
Go build yourselves a midnight bridge tonight. Let me know if it's a good route to somewhere awesome.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Grief, Souls, Questions
When do children become beings which we can mourn?
Why am I so sure that yesterday's lost one has a soul?
What is a soul and how do we get one again?
How does all of this match up with my politics?
What would it mean to be a person of faith? Am I capable of that series of acts?
I'm grateful to the world this morning, for my friend B. , who lets these questions be unanswered in my heart, while feeding me chocolate and manzanilla te and rubbing my feet. I hope she will do that kind of thing for always, even when she is my minister.
Why am I so sure that yesterday's lost one has a soul?
What is a soul and how do we get one again?
How does all of this match up with my politics?
What would it mean to be a person of faith? Am I capable of that series of acts?
I'm grateful to the world this morning, for my friend B. , who lets these questions be unanswered in my heart, while feeding me chocolate and manzanilla te and rubbing my feet. I hope she will do that kind of thing for always, even when she is my minister.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Crazy Week Wrap-Up
- TP is flying into town tonight... I'm bursting at the seams with excitement, nearly waltzed out of the office tonight, and am now hunkered down with a "Jumping Cow Amber Ale", a pile of dirty laundry, and pop music. Tomorrow we are driving to my father's house in NewEnglandState, and spending a few days with him before heading to my mother's. Hopefully at my father's the sleeping spaces will be first come first serve because then TP and I will get the one with, you know, the *door that closes*. I might be making some coffee soon to be able to stay up.
- GM, this will be of particular interest. Last Saturday my housemates and I hosted 20 people for a Thanksgiving feast. It was *amazing*. I really don't think that any one event that I've hosted has ever made me this happy. It was a fun blend of people, who didn't know each other beforehand. The food was also amazing. Cornbread hazelnut stuffing, and the pumpkin chiffon pie were my personal highlights, though the turkey was also amazing.
- Check out this Apple ad, click on the Better Results TV ad. As we all know, usually I love Apple, and I admit that I find their computers sexy. But this is a little bit too much like "First we will objectify the woman, then we will objectify the fake woman who is a work in progress, and of whom its creator is ashamed." Am I crazy that this is a little screwy?
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Things to Know about My Life:
1.I left my computer charger in ELACTown last weekend, my amazing friend is mailing it to me, but for now, I'm living off of carefully rationed battery life. Go MacBook battery, go!
2. I'm writing a story about a coroner in a city that is experiencing a spell of (as yet) unexplained violence. What does this mean in the life of Corinne? I've running a google image search on the word "atrocities" and downloading JPGs for ideas. I've also created a powerpoint slideshow out of them so that I can watch them at my leisure. Is this is a sign of any diagnosable disorder than anyone is aware of? Nevermind, don't answer that.
3. 7 word music review: "Hello Love" - The Be Good Tanyas = **fantastic**
2. I'm writing a story about a coroner in a city that is experiencing a spell of (as yet) unexplained violence. What does this mean in the life of Corinne? I've running a google image search on the word "atrocities" and downloading JPGs for ideas. I've also created a powerpoint slideshow out of them so that I can watch them at my leisure. Is this is a sign of any diagnosable disorder than anyone is aware of? Nevermind, don't answer that.
3. 7 word music review: "Hello Love" - The Be Good Tanyas = **fantastic**
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Dear Co-Worker,
It is not that I want to fuck you. It is that when I see you walking down the hall in your janitor's outfit, talking hard with the boys in Spanish, I want to strip you down to your bra and boxers, run my hands through your hair, tilt your head, draw a fine line across the back of your neck, and give you a haircut. You are almost butch, almost sexy, but your hair touches your ears, and spikes in unexpected lengths from the top of your head, and I could fix that. Give me a Sunday night in summer on a backporch, I'll wear a short skirt and brandish a beer, scissors and clippers. I will keep everything symmetrical as I dance around the chair I have sat you in, asking you to hold still while I straddle you to get to the awkward spots. I will not give you a mirror until the end. Just let me strip you down, give me access to the soft curve of your cranium, to the space between ear and hairline, to your girlish neck and I will make other girls' head turn in your direction. Guaranteed.
Love,
A Fascist Femme
Love,
A Fascist Femme
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