November
"The unsurrogated narrator has the monumental task of transforming low level self-interest into the kind of detached empathy required of a piece of writing that is to be of value to the disinterested reader." -Vivian Gornick
I was reading some thoughts on how 9/11 rendered folks speechless. There seemed no adequate response. I certainly share that sentiment. Kind of a sucky thing to deal with in your first semester of a writing program. Somehow the speaking has to have more body and heart. And less duality. But, even those words sound like theory. When my writing comes from my body it seems evident to me, but I haven't learned how to embody all my writing. I loose presence to fear, rage, uncertainty. I loose presence to a sense of irreparable damage. How do you speak to that? How do live with damage and communicate with out seeming trite? I notice that I'm living as if there is no war, and I tense up. But, it serves no one for me to be tense. Maybe more aware, but not tense.
The phrases "credible threat" "be alert" "live normally" -- are taking on the quality of repetitive practical joke. I, who rarely goes across a bridge or south of Folsom, have plans to go north with a friend on Saturday. I could not sleep last night. I don't really feel afraid. I just feel tense. Planes all seem to be flying too low. I keep waiting for a loud noise.
Last night there was a faculty reading. Our workshop teacher, Lisa Harper, read a piece about a chef in the place (dorm?) where she went to college. I thought everyone might run out the door to a restaurant at the end. Before the reading Kristina and her husband and I went to Zuni for dinner. It was great fun and food and talk. All my favorites.
So, I survived the bridge. The bridge was wrapped in fog, not an unusual thing but somehow it seemed protective. I was so busy admiring it that I missed seeing the National Guard.
I'm home on a Sunday morning for the first time in like, five years. It doesn't actually feel bad. I think when I left the Stinking Rose, I was really determined to not be treated badly. I've been drawing lines ever since. And my awareness of how being fat has shaped my sense of what I'm allowed to "have" is more acute. I'm not sure what I'm going to do next week.
I've had this intestinal flu or food poisoning or something. So, I've been out of sorts. I was trying to work on a piece of writing yesterday but couldn't concentrate. In the evening I lay on the couch flipping from the Emmys to Uprising and trying to read about Daniel Ortega's conversion to capitalism. Way too many things to make sense of at once, even with out stomach cramps.
Tomorrow is election day. Other than annoying negative campaign ads from a candidate for city attorney and PG&E ads against the MUD, there hasn't been much notice. Low voter turn out is predicted.
I went to see K-PAX last night. Let's hear it for the Metreon. They have a row of seats with arms that lift up. I was able to be totally comfortable watching a movie in a movie theater! Amazing! It just doesn't seem like it's that much to ask. I'm not sure why they can't all be that way but maybe it's very expensive. Still, with the cost of popcorn and soda being what it is you would think they could make the money back. The movie was great. Mostly owing to Kevin Spacey. Mystery and possibility.
So, it's election day. I'm hoping the MUD is supported.
The MUD does not seem to have passed. But, I have to say that it's not clear to me. Coverage of the election was literally put on the bottom of the screen. KPFA is saying that it did not pass. I read the Chronicle on line, same thing. I guess I'm hoping beyond hope. Voter turn out was in the twenty something percent. I understand that. But it's sad. Most people are so busy that they don't even know there is an election.
I'm craning toward poetry lately. I'm reading more of it. My language is often shaped by what I'm reading. I've been reading Political Fictions by Joan Didion. I always learn new words when I read her. It's an amazing and difficult book. But, I read Aaron's book, Unbound, one evening. it's a lovely, devastating, attentive book. I had the same experience when I read Lynn Hejinian. the world started to fragment and come to me in phrases, rather than narrative. I feel expanded when it happens, but completely out of control. I don't know what I'm doing. Maybe I don't know what I'm doing in narrative, but I feel like I do....most of the time.
Another crazy election. As far as I know, things are still unclear. Ballots are still being counted.
An unpleasant trend has begun. When I first started doing the page I wrote it at night, woke up and tweaked it and the published. After a while I wrote it all in the morning. I woke up thinking about it. I stayed with the morning writing but my thinking didn't stay with waking up early. I go to bed wound up and wake up spaced out. I'm not sure how to reorganize. I thought about writing at night again, but when I am wound up, it's hard to imagine I won't still be full of things to say in the morning. All this is to say... I have nothing to say.
How's this for denial? My attitude is ...if I don't see the mouse...maybe the mouse is gone. And I don't have to buy a trap! And I haven't seen the mouse, for over a week. Phew.
I watched Entertainment Tonight yesterday because the woman that Plays Gwenth Paltrow's in Shallow Hal was on, defending the movie. Apparently, Carnie Wilson, who had stomach reduction surgery, was on a show talking about how she cried through the whole movie because of all the fat jokes. The fat woman, whose name I am embarrassed to say I do not know,talked about how the movies is about how beauty is on the inside. It was psychologically tell tale. She emphasized putting other's before one self as an attribute of inner beauty. That's less a charter trait and more a sign of internalized oppression. She is a fat woman and they padded her for the film. Paltrow talked about how she worried that the fat actress might be hurt by seeing her in the fat suit. But, the fat woman "was just great!" Paltrow was put at ease. The movie is obviously one long fat joke. Too hurtful and wrong headed to garner my attention, but these interviews were almost worse. Beauty is a realization. It shows up inside and out.
I had a conversation yesterday that made me think about my notion of politics. I do not participate in many things and that's, in part, because I am such a rec luse these days. And, in a democracy, I suppose, you can measure one's politics against their participation. But my life feels political. Walking out my door feels political.
I saw Alice Notely last night. Really wonderful.
Drops of rain are pelting my window. They're so big and it's so loud, that I had to turn the radio up. I'm so happy that I don't have to go out.
Prop F failed by less than 500 votes. There may be a recount. The battle for public power will still be fought. But, it's the residual discomfort from the election irregularities that will stay in people's minds. What ever faith in the process there may have been is eroding. An article in the New York Times yesterday says that Gore may have won if all the votes had been counted. Now it's just matter of what anyone chooses to believe.
It was disorienting to listen to the news yesterday. It seems that the plane crash in New York was an equipment problem and not terrorism. And I actually heard someone use the word normal to describe it, normal system failure as opposed to terrorism. There were those kooky reassurances to go on and live normally, scattered though the day. a few hundred people have just died, houses have been destroyed, families have been torn. Go ahead and live normally. And of course, you can't capsize every time something bad happens. You have to live your life. But, I think you can live your life and know that something terrible has happened. Normal, these days, seems to require holding a certain amount of sadness. Someone sent me this poem yesterday.
Don t talk about being
true to myself
until you are
sure
to what voice you are
being true.
It takes hard
work to differentiate our inner
voices
and in
crises,
there is no time to
waste.
So spend an hour a day
writing.
Separate real from
unreal,
what stays from what
goes.
Then leap beyond anything
you ever imagined.
-Marion
Woodman with Jill Mellick,
November
14
The first time I saw the mouse, it ran out from behind the etagere. But, more often I've seen it beside my desk. It runs from the chair to the book shelf. I've never seen it in the kitchen, but I thought I heard it in the oven one time. I'm still in if-I-don't -see-it-I don't-have-to-buy-a-trap mode. I'm giving myself neck cramps trying not to look toward the place where it runs.
We've been doing a lot of thinking about, and talking about, and writing about writing in school. It's an odd self conscious thing to do. It's good to stop and consider what the heck you're doing, but I have this I write, because I write, because I write reaction. And, actually, I don't write. Not as much as I might oughta. There is such and overwhelming tug toward deciding one thing to be true. If fact so many things are true.
I'm eating a chocolate chip cookie for breakfast. I already had millet cereal and multi grain toast to satisfy my inner adult.
I wrote a poem. It doesn't happen often but the process of writing this one was like a year of therapy. Aaron had given an assignment to write about writing and he asked that it reflect the poetic. I wrote one page in straight narrative and on the other I wrote a poem. I do not feel able to write poetry. I don't know how to work at it. A poem forms in my mind occasionally. Seeing Notley sent me into a reverie and I began to think poetically, as cheezy as that may sound. And I worked at this poem. Jo Ann sent me some suggestions after reading it. When I practiced reading it out loud, I became aware of every word. Maybe, for people who regularly write poems, this is all normal but for me it was mind altering. It brought into focus how much I am able to be with my own words. I guess that's abstract but I had to really experience each word and own what I meant. Even writing about it makes me self conscious. It's on the refrigerator door.
I wasn't going to write about Shallow Hal. It's a dumb movies. I don't feel like I need to see it to confirm that. But there has been a lot of discussion about it the fat community. I started to think about the splitting of beauty into inner and outer. I want to be wholly beautiful. I'm not interested in being perceived, or in perceiving in parts. It might be temporarily useful when you need to parse a really complex person. Ultimately, and certainly in terms of beauty, it's a way of lying. For years I worked on being a really beautiful person inside to "make up for" my outer lack of beauty. I believed I was the Beast, waiting for the Beauty that would love me for myself and then .... and then I thought my outside would respond to that acceptance. I was looking for the luv diet. Now, I am the love I was looking for. Which isn't to say I might not enjoy meeting someone who loves me, but I want to be loved inside and out. I want to be seen from his inner beauty.
Drat! I saw the mouse last night! And of course I am resolved to get a trap. But, I don't want a snap trap or a sticky pad trap. I know there are ones where you get the mouse and then walk it to the park. It's such a drag. I could adopt a live and let live philosophy but I think it's eating my furniture. I keep finding little c hunks of my shelves. The whole thing has gotten into my dreams. I dreamed there was a frog in my house. And I was telling a friend that it was bugging me.
I wrote in fits yesterday. A sentence. Five hours later, another sentence. They are all enormously awkward. Fortunately there aren't that many of them. I'm goin to work on them on Sunday. Today I'm going to see movies.
The movies were interesting. The first one, Skin Deep, was about a variety of weird notions of beauty and femininity. There was a fat woman, living in Bombay, very articulate. She talked about the experience of being fat. The second, Desperately Seeking Helen, was a memoir/self discovery piece. The woman included footage from her hospitalization for anorexia. truly heart wrenching. And there was a film on how poor people work in a Bombay slum. It wasn't a feel good kind of movie day but it was interesting.
Today is one of those days when I really don't have a thing to say. I spent yesterday working on a piece of writing about myself as a reader. I might have to give up on it. It seems too meandering. I'm giving it another day to take shape and then I'm going to delete the whole thing. It's such a struggle! Sheesh!
I'm ignoring Thanksgiving. I'm just not in the mood.
I dreamt about Hillary Clinton. ??? She and Bill were visiting a restaurant in which I was working. Hmmm.
I'm ignoring Thanksgiving. I may be depressed, but I'm ignoring that too. I'm just working on this piece of writing for Aaron's class. I did buy myself some turkey and cous cous with cranberries. I'll have a nice dinner tomorrow. I'm going to straighten up the house today, actually get out of my pajamas and maybe even walk to the store. That is, If I can peel my fingers off the keyboard.
The holly daze has begun. Television is rank with American schizophrenia. I've had the television on for the last two days ... I don't know why. I watched Friends last night. Brad Pitt played an old high school friend, who had recently lost weight. Comments about his beauty dominated. At one point he becomes upset and starts to ladle piles of sweet potato onto his plate. Meanwhile, Joey eats a whole turkey and then wants pie. So, gluttony is cute unless you are one of those people who might gain weight. A commercial in the middle of all this featured a woman sitting at a holiday table, smiling contentedly, saying, "I can't believe I ate so much." A another woman agrees and notes that the overeating is particularly wanton since the first woman is getting married in two weeks. The ad was for running shoes. Will & Grace featured the main characters drinking through the day, while the maid eats the whole turkey. After all that toxic imagery I watched ER, which was OK. But, the thin beautiful doctors fall in love and fat people are invisible.
There is a commercial for an airliner featuring a speech by Bush. It's so offensive. It asks the question what can Americans do and answers it with fly on our airline.
The wind is banging against the window. It's such a relief to not have to go out side.
I heard George Will on Book TV the other day. He said he never has any trouble writing all the columns that he is called upon to write. He always has an opinion about something. Although I realize that it's a sexist and racist remark, it occurred to me that for a white man it's not hard to imagine that the world wants to hear all your opinions.
A while back I decided to do a handwritten journal and my on-line journal. The last hand written entry was 8/27. Uh huh. Handwriting is a totally different kind of writing. It's slower. And I'm trying to do things to stimulate my thinking about writing. Reading usually gets me going. But, these last few days I've been doing way too mush screen time! TV & computer.
The wind is banging against the window. It's such a relief to not have to go out side.
I heard George Will on Book TV the other day. He said he never has any trouble writing all the columns that he is called upon to write. He always has an opinion about something. Although I realize that it's a sexist and racist remark, it occurred to me that for a white man it's not hard to imagine that the world wants to hear all your opinions.
A while back I decided to do a handwritten journal and my on-line journal. The last hand written entry was 8/27. Uh huh. Handwriting is a totally different kind of writing. It's slower. And I'm trying to do things to stimulate my thinking about writing. Reading usually gets me going. But, these last few days I've been doing way too mush screen time! TV & computer.
I'm writing a piece about myself as a reader. I have a solid beginning and a great c losing line. It's all the stuff in the middle that has me spinning. I have gotten better at scene writing and dialogue, but I don't have scenes for everything that I want to say. So, I'm floundering. Sometimes I think being in this program is messing with my feelings about my writing in bad ways. I should also begrudgingly admit that I am improving. But, I feel constrained. I just want to say what I want to say and not feel so ...worried about getting it right. I'm such a c hild sometimes.
Medea Benjamin is in Afghanistan. She led a coalition of women, who are there who talk to the women of Afghanistan, and ask them what they need. It's an amazing thing to do. She's in the same part of the country where journalists were shot. I recently shook her hand at an event for public power and thanked her for her work. I think she's great.
I'm still working on the piece about reading. It's just coming out so slow! If I didn't like the first two parts so much I'd trash it and start something else.
I've been thinking about love and the way it's portrayed on TV and in movies. There is this moment when two people look at each other, and then look again, and maybe again, and then it's love. I've always thought love was about recognition. In my own life I've recognized people who did not seem to recognize me. Maybe I needed to maintain the gaze longer.
I was half watching TV last night after c lass last night. There was a commercial for Victoria's Secret in which women in fancy underwear had angel wings and were flying around. I was suddenly struck with a feeling of futility in terms of bucking a notion of beauty. It took me back to a conversation I had this weekend with a friend who experienced the darkness of her skin differently while visiting India. After a few months of having people say things like, " you're so nice I don't mind that you're so dark," she suffered a drop in self esteem. I have a life time of people saying " you have such a pretty face, why don't you loose weight?" And I have angels in under wear as a standard of beauty to compete with.
That was another part of my thinking. I think living in capitalism has a psychological impact. We experience ourselves as products. Our beauty, our wisdom, our talents, all have to compete in the market place. So, competition becomes a substructure of our self image.
Understanding all this doesn't help when it's late, and you're lonely, and you aren't feeling that good about the piece of writing that you're doing, and you turn to the TV and see angels in underwear. Just for a moment I wanted the power of that beauty. But, that power is as fleeting as any other market trend.
My reading went well. I came home wound up and exhausted. The semester is almost over. I'm feeling a bit confused about writing. I've been doing so much of the scene writing and dialogue. I don't remember what my original intentions about writing were. Just doing it is good.
On the news last night there were pictures of women being beaten in Afghanistan. The faces of misery there are haunting. What are we doing? Amy Goodman often plays a song by Edwin Starr, Stop The War. I love hearing it. It was popular during the Vietnam war. And now we're at it again. It's all taken on a layer of tension for me. I feel helpless, angry, incredulous.
New site design. I just wanted it to be simpler. Thursdays have become the day on which I can never get anything done. So, I played with my SIMS, listened to the Supes on the tube, and did this new design. Mine is a kooky virtual life. I downloaded a screen saver of George Roualt paintings and last night I dreamed about them.
There was a big discussion on a proposal to close a section of JFK Drive through Golden Gate park on Saturday at the Housing, Transportation and Land Use Committee. It's already closed on Sunday. I am always amazed by the people who go to the meetings and speak out about things like whether a road will be closed. I'm figuring that the closing will be good for people on bikes and skaters, both of whom have coalitions. People that oppose it worry about access for the disabled, parents with babies and their gear, particularly to the De Young and the Academy of Science. It's so interesting, so ardent. I'm all for no car days.
George Harrison died yesterday. I'd just been talking about how he got sued by the people who wrote He's So Fine because his song My Sweet Lord sounded so close. I don't really know how that suit went.