The last time she was here Kristina bought
us both a copy of a small
book and recently she bought me
I want to follow him around and just
listen. In the latter book he writes
snippets, one of which tells about a
protest in Nigeria over the Miss World
contest. The protesters were fundamentalists
who ran through the streets yelling,
" God is great! Down with beauty!"
Stuff like that sends me into hours of reverie.
have no strong feelings about beauty
pageants. I have no interest in them.
They seem odd. I just don't care. I
think the women are beautiful but I
think so many people are beautiful.
And I think beauty is good. It's more
likely that I will disagree with people
about what is ugly than what is beautiful.
is a part of me that likes the idea
of men protesting a pageant. But things
are rarely simple. I find myself wanting
to say this ... but not that. That ...
but not this. Beauty is good and worth
celebrating. The pageant format is problematic.
I can argue against them. But I don't
care enough. I just love the complexity
in the little snippet from Manquel.
I imagine him telling me the story with
a smile of irony.
wrote to me about a friend of their's. The friend is
fat but has not been ashamed of it. And then someone
said an extremely nasty thing to them and they had a
rough time. I tried to respond to the email but my reply
bounced back. Not sure why.
the email I was directed to a blog on which the nasty
thing was written, which I will not link because there
are some things that are just too gross. When hatred
is so unfounded and badly articulated I just back away.
I might like to have the
verbal dexterity of Cyrano when he responded to a
crass comment about the size of his nose. But I don't.
In the face of vitriol I am rendered dumb.
are times ...
matters. I guess I always hope that as people become
more , oh, I dunno, authentic, or something, their perception
of beauty expands. No pun intended.
inability to write continues. I think about writing.
I read about writing. I read about reading. My life
is all meta.
of the Manquel I thought I might just try to write really
small posts. Just notes from my reveries. Like the day
after the parade
I walked past a Gay Pride sign in a window. It seemed
to me that there would be no need for pride about something
so intrinsic as preference if there had never been shame.
Someone gave me a fat pride necklace but I can't wear
it. I am not proud. Nor am I ashamed. I simply am fat.
Any meaning making that gets layered onto that attribute
of physicality is just fluff.
... but not that. That but not this.
need to rest now. Shore up for the bus and the train
and the shuttle and the job and the shuttle and the
train and the bus. I have eight more pages of the second
Manquel to take to bed and a bit more of the first for