wife worship

happy sunday!!
you know what that means, no underwear! woot! (i'm actually wearing nothing as i write this. exciting, huh? i just got the urge to write while in the shower and with my geriatric memory you gotta get it down ASAP.)

john gorka makes some of the best sunday-morning music evah. jessica, are you sure you didn't record with john gorka? old future's gone, track 3? em, listen to it, doesn't she sound vaguely like jessica when jess is singing? jess, IM me and i'll send you the file - do you use itunes? hope the time in santa went well babe, including the laid-getting!

i will not make this a pity-me post. but if you've ever fallen in love with me or had a crush on me, raise your hand RIGHT NOW.

didn't think so.

signs you've been at sarah lawrence too long:
- you examine the length of hair on your body in places you'd normally shave and say, out loud, "wow!"
- you see an-ambulance type van that says "transcare" on the side and your first thought is, the trannies get their own van?! and then you feel bad because your second thought is, oh, it's probably due to all the gender-related violence! and then your third thought is, DUMBASS! that van has nothing to DO with trannies!

i (still) miss sarah and mana, especially since there was a chance manita would visit this weekend and she can't. but i understand.

in fact, manita babe, i'm thinking they must've passed your resume around before you got there and said whoa. or you've really impressed them with your amazing skills in the past month and a half (which i don't doubt). or maggie chatted you up LOTS. or some combination (most likely) of all three. in any event, yall, i sincerely think mana is wonderful. and she is getting theater assignments juniors and seniors normally get. i am muy impressed. so proud of my wife! maybe we should just get married and move to the mountains.

seriously, that woman can do things with a hammer i couldn't do with a carpenter. that came out wrong. put simply: mana has a comprehension of technical theater i can only pray to reach in my chosen field when i find it. i am so impressed she found something she loves and has been so dedicated to it since i've known her. if you don't believe me, ask her anything about what she did in theater last. and take notes, because afterwards you'll have to look up words like "frenel", which i think i misspelled or made up. i love listening to her inner lighting and sound specialist, ranting at stupid choices her directors make about lighting ("it'll wash them out! you can't see the dancers! you're trying to be symbolic and dark but it doesn't matter if you can't see the fucking drama! that's what actors are for! the lighting can't do the work for you!").

what is it about me and techies? (TWIL is a sound tech. and documentary film enthusiast. no, you couldn't have created someone more perfect for me. and she wants to know if mana and i were ever dating or when we will be. she thinks we'll get together. funny the ideas people have about the word wife, eh?)

if you are reading this and are too stupid to love mana, i don't have anything more to say to you.

guess who

please ask me who just asked for my digits after spending nearly two hours with me. please ask who laid her head down in my lap to be rubbed while asking what it takes to be a good person. please ask who just beat me at pool. who hugged me and left. who asked before smoking a cigarette if it would bug me. who, upon me remarking that i loved her, replied that the feeling was mutual. and called me cute and wonderful and gorgeous and amazing (suck up). and discussed my favorite subjects with me for an hour in the privacy of the pool room. please ask who asked when they can come to new mexico to see the land of no black people. and excused me from the question, "was i eroticizing them?" and concurred that so much of it is bullshit. and cataloged the range of her sex toy collection for me. please ask who, underneath the amazingincredibledoeverything facade, just admitted it takes her for-fucking-ever to do her homework, who wonders if she's an asshole in class just like us mere mortals. who said school is an indulgence. please ask me who said she needs to be in an open relationship, just for a little bit, because there are some people she MUST have sex with before she proposes. please ask. go ahead.

or do you already know?

she got me to spill the sluttiest things i have ever done (the eli story - response: "i wish i had your screenname"), and my insecurities about school, and homework and knowledge and my frustration with academia, and just how badly JB hurt me and why (and how it connects to david) in sixty minutes or so. (the JB thing hurts. it hurts now. i can't tell that story. some secrets i stay loyal to, even after i'm no longer loyal to the people.)

and i laid bare what there is to know about me - i'm knowledgeable and played the slutty girl for so long and had it lead to some fucked up shit and now i'm nervous about doing it still because i don't want to fuck things up like that again. and i've always been the smart girl. and we BOTH feel like we will never know enough. and tried to pick careers together.

quote of the evening: "you can tell me. i'm a recovering whore."

please tell me what this means. please tell me we can be friends. please tell me i can keep you, even if not in the way i originally thought i wanted to. please stay.

home sweet

the end of the poem Guilty of Dust, by Frank Bidart:

WHETHER YOU LOVE WHAT YOU LOVE

OR LIVE DIVIDED IN CEASELESS
REVOLT AGAINST IT

WHAT YOU LOVE IS YOUR FATE

if i die anytime in the near future, engrave this on my tombstone. okay, i want to be cremated, but still. get tattooes of this in my memory.

i talked to mana for 3 hours and 11 minutes last night (and 4 seconds). upon hanging up i realized three things i'd forgotten to tell her, as usual. i miss her terribly. she is definitely probably coming to see me next weekend and i'm sure we will have a wonderful time and still not run out of things to talk about. this is the kind of friendship that makes toasts at your wedding. this is the kind of friendship you raise your kids around.

this is the kind of friendship you love. and live in ceaseless revolt against. i'd have it no other way.

also, sarah called me. i almost cried at the sound of her voice. mana, jess, tina, and of course sarita are my favorite long-distance ladies these days. and ylime. between talking to my two favorites, and actually hanging out with em, my life is pretty damn good this weekend. i only talked to sarah for 20 minutes because did i charge my phone thinking, hey someone might call me from england tomorrow? why no, i did not think that. and so i did not charge my phone. argh. but it was so nice to know she's alive and ticking and hearing her voice and it doesn't sound ragged or miserable, and this is my best friend (mana's classification is "wife" - it's a complex system), so i know how she sounds when miserable or trying to cover it up. but she sounds . . . happy isn't it, it's more complex than that. content. i think she knows she made a good choice, i can absolutely tell you she needed to do this. and she's going to SPAIN on wednesday!!

surrounded by women like these, i am lucky.

the desert is making my skin fit tighter right about now. the wind is so pure it blows through you, cleans you out, makes you hollow so the sun can stream in and fill you again. this beautiful, haunting melody of a place. this serene, ceaseless revolt that i am lucky enough to encase inside me and carry to points unknown. this sky, so close i wonder if we're related, if i should greet the day like an old friend, with a hug and a smile.

this brutal place, that blasts perfectly constructed hairstyles apart. this angry place of tired volcanoes and disenfranchised native peoples. this commercial place gobbled up by interlopers. this mothering place that nurtured everyone i know since childhood. this death place, a good spot for funeral pyres. this strange place. where weird people converge. and share their secrets. and move apart again. this home.

this home of mine.

social "scientists"

i love social scientists. since arriving at sarah lawrence, i've pretty much surrounded myself with social science. who knew i was a historian at heart? i went to an elections discussion and even though it was crap, it involved people i really admire, so i enjoyed parts of it. nearly everyone i want to study with before i leave slc - maria elena, julie, ray siedelman, mary dillard again - is a social scientist.

i love social science because social scientists analyze very specific actions and contextualize them. here is an example:
the social implications of hair, by sarah's inner social scientist
(if thomas's penis gets to talk in entries, my inner academic is nothing by comparison)
i tend to wear pigtails when i'm feeling blah, or want to dress up, or be paid attention to. i also do it in sexual/flirtatious situations. when i do it in these contexts, i am playing on a couple of assumptions. pigtails are a hairstyle generally worn by younger women and associated with youthfulness. i'm sexually submissive (what, you couldn't tell?), so i'm playing on the assumption that younger people are easier to dominate and therefore subtly telegraphing my desire to be dominated by trying to appear younger. occasionally when i'm pigtailed in an academic setting, it's a way of shirking responsibility for my opinions, a way of making myself less threatening - again very subtly playing on age assumptions. this set of actions is a direct result of my conditioning as a white, middle class american female.

how could you not love that shit? isn't it hilarious? they go on like that FOREVER. just studying humans and their behaviors and how one behavior relates to another. it's great.

in that vein, here are some
projects i want to see:
- the transition from Spanish to U.S. colonialism in Puerto Rico and Mexico (i wonder if there are parallels? historically? contemporarily?)
- marginalization of Amerindian and Mexican immigrant populations in the American Southwest, particularly in education (again, are there correlations? obviously the Amerindian situation of forced "assimilation" is somewhat unique, yet the confluence of 3 cultures in the Southwest is partly what makes it unique/attractive for study)
- African/West African concepts about the trans-atlantic slave trade (what did the people who were "left behind" think? what did they tell their children about the people who disappeared? how did africans escape the slave trade? how did coastal communities survive and adapt?)

go on, take another little piece of my heart now, baby

at the coming out dance

me: hey babe, how's it going? how do i look? (i step back so she can appreciate my corset, heels, fishnets and short short skirt*)
TWIL: hot.
me: thanks, i try.
her: you don't have to try that hard. (kisses my hand) i'm working, so i have to go back up front, come see me if you want.

(later. we hug hello and she kisses my cheek. we start dancing together; she is noticeably better than i.)
me: i can't dance!
TWIL: you'd be fine if you just didn't think about it.
me: i'm nervous.
her: it's okay. i love you even if you can't dance.
me: i'm good at other things! (mock pout, hands on hips)
her: like what?
me: i'm not telling you!
her: i guess i'll just have to inquire [sic] for myself, huh?
me: uh-huh.
her: i would. i really would. but you're just too much for me.
me: that's bullshit.
her: i know, it's just that i'm married! (holds up ring finger, which does indeed have a simple silver band on it. i hide my nausea.)
me: i know!

*the butch/femme ritual of appreciating a femme when the femme is dressed ("femmed") up is important. femmes are high maintenance. hence, this is not just me being egotistical but a weird flirtation ritual. anthroplogy lesson over.

this is the part where i sigh. the dancing involved a lot of grinding and body contact and her face near my chest (which was in a corset - if you've seen me in a corset, you know the consequences of this). everything we said required close proximity due to the noise level. there was a lot of kissing of cheeks and hugs - some of which turned into lingering hand on hip contact, which is swoon-worthy, in case you don't know. we held hands, fingers interlaced. she seemed really sincere - she would've bedded me already, But. everything that happened would have normally ended in Something. this was Seduction, kids. But.

hearing it ("i'm just married") made it final.

i'm officially in mourning.

paint your orgasm

appearing in the sarah lawrence daily email (which goes to the entire community - faculty, students, and staff) and written by yours truly:

Wednesday, October 13
11:30 - 1:30pm, Westlands South Lawn (rain space: the Pub)
**COME** PAINT YOUR ORGASM! In conjunction with Love Your Body Day, the SLC Feminists want to see your visual representation of YOUR orgasm! There will be paint, construction paper, and GLITTER!! (consider the possibilities!) After your piece of art is done, take it home to display proudly on your wall or enter it in our contest! Your orgasm could win you a $20 gift certificate toToys in Babeland! Cosponsored by (the orgasmic) Student Senate.

a bad patch of writing

a majority of my favorite books are on the list of most frequently/challenged banned books, according to the ALA (american library association).

last night i saw the Life and Times of Harvey Milk. for those of you who don't know (which is everyone except for maybe jess), harvey milk was the first openly gay elected official in the U.S., he served on the city council/board entity in the 70s in San Francisco. he was assassinated (i almost don't have to say it, do i?). the story, and his subsequent death, made me cry, as did the story of the candlelight vigil in his honor. i went to coming out stories night earlier this week. maybe i'm ridiculous, but time and again i've come back to the queer community. time and again i've looked for solace there, for my particular kind of freakishness there, and i've found it, and found someone willing to say they accept it. through my changing identities, through my expansion of my own ideas about gender and sexuality, through discovering kink, through all of it, the queers have been there, joyful and welcoming. i listen to other queers and they always say, "this community is important to me. this community kept me safe and accepted me when no one else would." and i think that's important.

nothing else is new with me. i've talked enough about the woman i love (TWIL). i'm still pining over her. i feel like i'm headed for a big patch of really bad writing, and i'm no longer able to craft blog entries people are interested in, so i'm going to post this poem by nikki giovanni, this beautiful poem that sends me into mourning, this gorgeous thing that makes me wish i could write like this.

All Eyez on U (for 2Pac Shakur 1971-1996), Nikki Giovanni

as I tossed and turned unable to achieve sleep unable to control
anxiety unable to comprehend why

2Pac is not with us

if those who lived by the sword died by the sword there would be no
white men on earth
if those who lived on hatred died on hatred there would be no KKK
if those who lived by lies died by lies there would be nobody on wall
street in executive suites in academic offices instructing the young
don't tell me he got what he deserved he deserved a chariot and
the accolades of a grateful people

he deserved his life

it is as clear as a mountain stream as defining as a lightning strike
as terrifying as sun to vampires

2Pac told the truth

there were those who called it dirty gansta rap inciting there were
those who never wanted to be angry at the conditions but angry
at the messenger who report: your kitchen has roaches your toilet
is overflowing your basement has so much water the rats are in the
living room
your house is in disorder

and 2Pac told you about it

what a beautiful boy graceful carriage melodic voice sharp wit intellectual
breadth what a beautiful boy to lose

not me never me I do not believe east coast west coast I saw
them murder Emmett Till I saw them murder Malcolm X I saw
them murder Martin Luther King I witnessed them shooting
Rap Brown I saw them beat LeRoi Jones I saw them fill their jails
I see them burning churches not me never me I do not believe
this is some sort of mouth action this is some sort of political
action and they picked well they picked the brightest freshest
fruit from the tallest tree what a beautiful boy

but he will not go away as Malcolm did not go away as Emmett
Till did not go away your shooting him will not take him from us
his spirit will fill our hearts his courage will strengthen us for the
challenge his truth will straighten our backbones

you know, Socrates had a mother she too watched her son drink
hemlock she too asked why but Socrates stood firm and would
not lie to save himself 2Pac has a mother the lovely Afeni had
to bury her son it is not right

it is not right this young warrior is cut down it is not right for
the old to bury the young it is not right
this generation mourns 2Pac as my generation mourned Till as we
all mourn Malcolm this wonderful young warrior

Sonia Sanchez said when she learned of his passing she walked all day
walking the beautiful warrior home to our ancestors I just cried as all
mothers cry for the beautiful boy who said he and Mike Tyson would
never be allowed to be free at the same time who told the truth about
them and who told the truth about us who is our beautiful warrior

there are those who wanted to make him the problem who wanted
to believe if they silenced 2Pac all would be quiet on the ghetto
front there are those who testified that the problem wasn't the conditions
but the people talking about them

they took away band so the boys started scratching they took away
gym so the boys started break dancing the boys started rapping
cause they gave them the guns and the drugs but not the schools and
libraries

what a beautiful boy to lose

and we mourn 2Pac Shakur and we reach out to his mother and we
hug ourselves in sadness and shame

and we are compelled to ask:
R U Happy, Mz Tucker? 2Pac is gone
R U Happy?

oh yeah

and i forgot to mention she kissed me on the cheek and buttoned my cardigan for me.

i will not fall more in love than i am. no.

i love you i love you

i love you i love you. this is how Baby Kochamma began every diary entry for more than twenty years, writing those two words - sometimes just those two words - to her long lost priest whom she loved quite deeply. Ammu and the Twins would never know how the bitterness in her heart would change their lives. It had to do with the Love Laws, who could be loved, and how much.

if you haven't read the God of Small Things, go do it right now. you can borrow my copy.

i gave the last entry to my poetry teacher as a prose poem because the poem i wrote based on the entry sucked, so i just used the entry itself. she loved it. so thank you to thomas who pointed out to me what it was - sometimes the poet can't see the poem for the words. or something like that.

i would love to make a long-ass post about TWIL but i think everyone is bored, so i give up. suffice it to say we had a conversation where she tried to guess who it is i'm in love with. one of those conversations where the answer is obvious to both of you and neither works up the ovaries (as opposed to balls, because neither of us is male) to say it. but she knows. i still don't know the relationship/boyfriend status and was i smart enough to use this opportunity to find out? why no, i was not.

if you've met me, you probably know how easily i blush. i blushed for an hour and a half yesterday, through class and her talking to me. she was sitting next to me and grabbed a paper of mine and wrote, "are you dating someone?" from that point on i was no longer cognizant of the class's existence. my heart fell out of my toes.

we'll see. she kept touching me. (no, not quite like that, we were in public.) i know in the language of flirting everything she did was a good sign. fucking ambiguous boyfriend issue.

the Coming Out Dance (a.k.a. the naked drunken orgy at sarah's school all the boys are jealous of because of all the exposed boobies and lesbian action . . . mmm, lesbian action) is exactly one week from tomorrow. let's hope i get some lesbian action of my own.

this post came out much longer than i intended.

what you do to me

you make me blush and cast my eyes downward. i watch your hands, i know what they could do to me. i listen to you speak. i nearly swoon when you say certain words, even in the wrong context. i am stupid and incoherent and half as smart as i am usually because i can't concentrate.

you make my stomach hurt. you make me giggle with trepidation. i already know what it's like to hold your stare. i already know how we'd be together and i like it. i know what you could do, if you wanted. i know what you could do to me, because i would let you. i know about the handcuffs and the toys and the things i'd let you use, and what for.

you make me want to beg. you make me want to cry. i want to plot our future and have your babies. i've already bought us a beautiful house by the seaside in my head. i already know how we'd break up, and the depression it would send me into, and how emily, mana, sarah, ed, ghiradelli brownies AND ben and jerry's wouldn't console me.

but none of that is happening now. now you are across the table from me, catching my eye again in our cat-and-mouse game.

my breath quickens. this is what you do to me.

happy fall!

it's fall. long early evenings leaf crunching air nipping northeastern fall. a bittersweet smell in the air. childhood. traced-hand turkeys. home.

happy no underwear sunday, everyone!

i had onion rings and a coke for breakfast at 1 in the afternoon, after a protracted debate with myself and jeana. quite a luxury to have that at the top of my agenda, huh?

yesterday was prospective students' day, so i got to wrangle nervous or bored prospies and their anal parents. i got to be on a panel and tried to reassure parents. it's tempting to just say, "yes, your child will come here and we will turn them into a lesbian meth addict. in the first week. then we'll start plotting revolution. this is not a college, so much as a cult." okay, that last sentence is kind of true. anyway, i got paid for all of it! woot! i feel bouncy. maybe it's the poetry. i got to see staceyann chin last night! she's ridiculously awesome!

i'll probably be posting about the dodge poetry festival soon, too.