eating a pear, reading about drums. adding another layer.
i don't know when exactly mornings became so important. the clearness of it, the sense of metered weight...burnt water in the shower is the only thing that fazes me. so i think about the piece on georgia o'keefe and alfred stieglitz; i wonder if i need to re-evaluate my view of them. and i still like it when someone calls out shit in a completely professional manner...i'm not a thepatriarchyisavastvagueconspiracy rattler, but i DO wonder why it is, why it is women aren't supposed to talk about their bodies, what their bodies feel, etc. men don't want to hear about it; it makes many uncomfortable, yet they have a lot to say about women's bodies themselves. and of course i don't mean all men. but as a default setting in our culture. so we get all of these representations of what we're to be, roles to be, that never come directly from us. or at least it doesn't feel like it comes from us, but i do need to read more on possible historical/cultural roots...the why. because i don't think it's pure plan or even all malicious intent. but i just want to know why it is.
and there's the backlash, too; i mean, how many poets will tell you how sick they are of maya angelou or tampon art or whatever. and truly, those things never moved me either. but still i wonder...
because there ARE female representations that move me. there are. i think of elizabeth smart; i think of lice; i think of anne sexton; i think of breasts and spoons and pots and pans. hemlines and broken heels. the one summer she unwittingly let me see into her and her ritual and carefree attitude. and the dress, and the body. not quite the same...
and it's hard to admit to myself the vision i do hold is a...coagulation of what a desired and what b wrote about. plus the part that can't get out; there's hands there's arms trapped inside me still. wanting to get out but i don't have the words for it yet.
and i still don't forget when j, he transcended all of that, when he returned from his smoke break to say, "you know, i just had a thought. women aren't stars or birds, they're just people." so early on. there should be reward but in tears.
it gives me hope.
i don't know when exactly mornings became so important. the clearness of it, the sense of metered weight...burnt water in the shower is the only thing that fazes me. so i think about the piece on georgia o'keefe and alfred stieglitz; i wonder if i need to re-evaluate my view of them. and i still like it when someone calls out shit in a completely professional manner...i'm not a thepatriarchyisavastvagueconspiracy rattler, but i DO wonder why it is, why it is women aren't supposed to talk about their bodies, what their bodies feel, etc. men don't want to hear about it; it makes many uncomfortable, yet they have a lot to say about women's bodies themselves. and of course i don't mean all men. but as a default setting in our culture. so we get all of these representations of what we're to be, roles to be, that never come directly from us. or at least it doesn't feel like it comes from us, but i do need to read more on possible historical/cultural roots...the why. because i don't think it's pure plan or even all malicious intent. but i just want to know why it is.
and there's the backlash, too; i mean, how many poets will tell you how sick they are of maya angelou or tampon art or whatever. and truly, those things never moved me either. but still i wonder...
because there ARE female representations that move me. there are. i think of elizabeth smart; i think of lice; i think of anne sexton; i think of breasts and spoons and pots and pans. hemlines and broken heels. the one summer she unwittingly let me see into her and her ritual and carefree attitude. and the dress, and the body. not quite the same...
and it's hard to admit to myself the vision i do hold is a...coagulation of what a desired and what b wrote about. plus the part that can't get out; there's hands there's arms trapped inside me still. wanting to get out but i don't have the words for it yet.
and i still don't forget when j, he transcended all of that, when he returned from his smoke break to say, "you know, i just had a thought. women aren't stars or birds, they're just people." so early on. there should be reward but in tears.
it gives me hope.