Fuck You, Fuck Me.

Coming off my night shift in that haze, I see my feet, my boots in a friends new profile picture, our boots pressed together in this way from the time we looked at each other in that way. I wonder what his intention is. It's all very hard to understand no matter which angle you look at it from. And I agree with Alisha, men and women are so very different, so pathetically and profoundly different all at once:” I draw hearts in the clay while they look for their next job." Alisha is saying something about the differences between men and women in relation to goal orientation and she may as well start with the sex organs to prove her point if you ask Cixous and me; I am talking about multiplicity and interconnectedness vs. linear and independent thinking.

I try not to get all caught up in this sort of thing, heartthrob and gross reason, but as it turns out I am a real live human woman, (thinking, feeling, desiring, demanding), and I can't be sorry for any of it.

Radical differences invoke crazy making. I mean that rather than finding some meeting point, some perspective as insight, the sexes remain in this cesspool of confusion and misunderstanding: "Fucking men." "Fucking women."

NO, Fucking You

Some possible differences:

Men and women tend to approach problems differently. While our ability to problem solve is equal, our approach and process tends to be different. For most women, sharing and discussing a problem presents an opportunity to explore, deepen or strengthen the relationship with the person they are talking with. Women are usually more concerned about how problems are solved than merely solving the problem itself. For women, solving a problem can profoundly impact whether they feel closer and less alone or whether they feel distant and less connected. The process of solving a problem can strengthen or weaken a relationship. Most men are less concerned and do not feel the same as women when solving a problem.

Men approach problems in a very different manner than women. For most men, solving a problem presents an opportunity to demonstrate their competence, their strength of resolve, and their commitment to a relationship. How the problem is solved is not nearly as important as solving it effectively and in the best possible manner. Men have a tendency to dominate and to assume authority in a problem solving process. They set aside their feelings provided the dominance hierarchy was agreed upon in advance and respected. They are often distracted and do not attend well to the quality of the relationship while solving problems.

While men and women can reach similar conclusions and make similar decisions, the process they use can be quite different and in some cases can lead to entirely different outcomes. In general, men and women consider and process information differently.

Women tend to be intuitive global thinkers. They consider multiple sources of information within a process that can be described as simultaneous, global in perspective and will view elements in the task in terms of their interconnectedness. Women come to understand and consider problems all at once. They take a broad or "collective" perspective, and they view elements in a task as interconnected and interdependent. Women are prone to become overwhelmed with complexities that "exist", or may exist, and may have difficulty separating their personal experience from problems.

Men tend to focus on one problem at a time or a limited number of problems at a time. They have an enhanced ability to separate themselves from problems and minimize the complexity that may exist. Men come to understand and consider problems one piece at a time. They take a linear or sequential perspective, and view elements in a task as less interconnected and more independent. Men are prone to minimize and fail to appreciate subtleties that can be crucial to successful solutions. A male may work through a problem repeatedly, talking about the same thing over and over, rather than trying to address the problem all at once.

Women have an enhanced ability to recall memories that have strong emotional components. They can also recall events or experiences that have similar emotions in common. Women are very adept at recalling information, events or experiences in which there is a common emotional theme. Men tend to recall events using strategies that rely on reconstructing the experience in terms of elements, tasks or activities that took place. Profound experiences that are associated with competition or physical activities are more easily recalled. There appears to be a structural and chemical basis for observed memory differences. For instance, the hippocampus, the area in the brain primarily responsible for memory, reacts differently to testosterone in men and it reacts differently to changing levels of estrogen and progesterone in women. Women tend to remember or be reminded of different "emotional memories" and content to some extent as part of their menstrual cycle.

But, the ‘root of the root, the bud of the bud,’ (the who of the what) is that whether you are man or woman (or trans-gendered of course!) it all boils down to the self, aside from any biological differences research begs.

So (please), Fuck the “Men, Women!” generalizations. Learn from your opposite sex to find both femininity and masculinity in the self, and then paint a collaborative non-fucking picture.

Kaly, is that you?

"A - -AAA lissssa........."

Kaly? Kaly? You're breaking up!

"I I I HAte........"

Kaly, is it who I think??

"Yes. Margot."

I know Kaly, she is a real Pedi these days...But you're not a puppy anymore. You can stop the abuse now.

"She is s s sc sca scary, especially since Pizza.....Pizza Hut"

I know Kaly, I know. She has gained weight. But just say no; No means no Kaly.

"I love you Alissa, I love you more than God loves everything and everyone."

I love you too Kaly, I love you too.

ok, I smoked and ate icecream, but it's just because I wasn't ready for the change and I panicked. I'm still off the E. Feeling better now that one of my besties came to visit. Hi Alisha! I hope the apartments cozy for you and Kaly.

Day 2.

Scariest part of a roller coaster ride is the slow ascent to the top, when you hover its dive for about 5 seconds, and anticipate your grave plunge.

Now I am suspended; I have more than 5 seconds before I take my official plunge, but my ride will be for about 2 weeks rather than 2 minutes.

So, here I will make a promise entirely for my own benefit. I will write everyday for the next two weeks, with no structure or expectation in mind except complete honesty.

Day 2:

No: Cigarettes, Caffeine, E.

Let the hallucinations begin.

Do you have the Need for Speed?

Be consistent, like Obama.

Consequences exist.

Don't Kill Me, Love Me.

Naked obscurity is aiding me in self-discovery. I am learning about my needs and desires, a good place to begin. Winnie embraces me without any motive necessarily, and Kate is willing to share even in the midst of my raw intimidation; simple gifts are keeping me afloat when it feels like, whether justified or not, I have a broken heart.

I am a good person am I, being in community supporting those with disabilities? I don't know where I would be without those who I apparently support. I need these friends, and I need their communion.

I used to laugh at this sort of thing in adolescence, as if broken hearts were drama and pain without a cause. Humans are complex, contradictory, and it seems like there IS truth with a capital T, but it is plural rather than singular, Many rather than One. This is not an argument for relativity; it is a statement about truth being a conglomeration of difference. I think unity can be achieved this way.

Until the end of time I will ask questions, confident that there are no answers for me (little me) to attain. Is it possible that the questions are the answers? And that questioning IS the process that deepens our humanity until ultimately details are more sensible and visible, and further, the ability to be present becomes a natural condition for humans to live meaningfully?

I keep getting caught in the gaze of core members, asking me to be with them NOW. A gaze is a request or a demand; immediately the stranger speaks with their eyes, "Don't kill me. Love me." I don't touch the stranger, unless I have one of my public transit encounters...sharing happens there, hugging and crying and gratitude too.

…But when the One follows that gaze, fingers your vulnerabilities, asks for your assurance beyond immediate and necessary encounters in otherness, here your emotional safety walks the plank.

I once read that intimacy by kiss is dangerous…you risk a bite.

I don't know who has done the biting this time.

My Puzzle Piece

A faculty of lack implicates me,
declaring itself the 'isness' of now.
Empty Visions lead me astray
as the ideas that were forced to percolate
are sheeted like old furniture protected, gone unused.
Now without authority, my identity as lacking
hovers like sunbirds eating from tobacco tree flowers;
not stimulating my freedom, but imprisoning it.

I am mid home,
but my absence is close.
I am not singular; I hinge upon you for who.
I am rooted in my image, alienated from the real.
Know that you can take me, and that you will.
You won't stop because I am a function,
Your Function, the what of the who for you.

about accuracy.

i'm busy now. don't tell me I am not. i am making progress, my heels are clicking. i simply cannot understand people. sorry sorry. I can hear a collective lost house for you to buy. society is clashing with the bass. back bake. don't stop organizing yourself, take the parts, deconstruct before the reconstruct, for you are something that the whole world is sadly deceived by; our real life. shhh shhh...no better than a culture for timber, history for relationship. if you sew one finger to the other, nothing more will be completed. fable, for me. close your eyes not because it will balk like a mean chicken, but because the stranger was thrilled, thrilled at the way she moved her hips, her tight braids. easter basket and easter bunny and basket and dyed straw that talked when it wanted to and bowl stood a while in thought about wooden spoon used for balance and repetition. i'm being accurate.

Internal Angst of Being Human

1. Death. A tension between our awareness of our pending death and our wish for continued consciousness.

2. Freedom. A clash between our desire for objective and external guidance in the choices of life and our awareness that ultimately we have to make choices on less than rational grounds.

3. Disaffection. There is a collision between the collectivist demands for conformity and the everyday reality of social rituals used to cover up selfishness and deep down lack of concern for others.

4. Isolation. There is a mismatch between our awareness of solitariness and our human desire for contact and protection (we want to avoid loneliness and be a part of the bigger whole).

5. There is a conflict between our desire for unique self-assertion and control, and a need for human love and friendships.

6. Self-deception. There is disparity between our imaginative and self serving self-concept and the more detached and accurate reports of others (prompts us to patch up apparent flaws and inconsistencies with a network of excuses and fabrications).

7. Meaninglessness. Along with a growing scientific understanding of cosmology, there comes a dilemma in our meaning seeking; an awakening in the middle of nowhere in a universe that has no apparent purpose or meaning that we know.

Desire often arises at the most inaccessible moments.

Squirrel Attack, people.

I will stop walking to watch squirrels closely. This is a habit. I have a habit. I like looking them in the eyes, asking them "how do you do?" Usually, squirrels who catch the likes of my eye are sporadic, unusually indecisive even for a squirrel. As I'm watching though, I grow more and more frightened by the idea that squirrel will attack me, and this is always how my instance with squirrel moves along:

a) I see a squirrel. It is behaving oddly.
b) How do you do, squirrel? We have a time, a moment.
c) I become especially fond of squirrel because he behaves oddly.
d) Squirrel hops towards me a little, tells me "I'm going to attack you."
d) Fear (what the heck is with this talking squirrel?)
e) I envision the squirrel biting off my face, I'm unable to tear it away! Or it bites a part of my clothing and I try and try to shake it off, but i can't and I can feel squirrel biting and scratching my skin and I'm really scared.
f) I run away, I run away real fast.

www.illwillpress.com/SS6622.html

Dearest lover,
I'm short on change. Please give me some, or else I'll die.
Yours.

Dear banjo, you are the ultimate tool for nostalgia.

Not Back

Dear friends,

I Live.
I am alive in reality for the first time.
The world is profoundly unfamiliar, a real fresh.
Some people call this 'born again' and
I am.

Yours,
Truly.

Something I know is that the mystery is that we don't know what?

the time is a time that the Time is a Time, that
Something is happening is happening no.
Nay, na, lest discuss i cry.
the mind has a mind of a Mind of its own,
i'll be breath no so
words is Word in countless world.
With your eyes closed close your eyes no close
subtle Details sew,
in reality it's never beauty false shown from with me home.

A dream

Margot and I are in a house at the top of the hill, the one surrounded by sharp black gates, and on the corner. While we are in the washroom getting ready for a party, I notice a device on the upper wall by the heater, a recorder of sorts. I watch Margot staring at herself endlessly, doing nothing different than that. Hedley is waiting to drive us to the party, but it’s like we can never be ready enough... We’re now at the party. Her and I are walking with a group of people. It’s dark and we’re passing many different trees that should not live together like this. Nothing is familiar. I don’t know where we are. A man puts his arm around my waste, and I think it is weird... Now I’m in a pet store with Margot and the man. A red button-vested employee is carrying a little black rabbit. I ask her if I can hold it. She immediately extends the rabbit for me to take. I hold it for a long time, petting it, feeling like I can’t pet it enough... I can’t find Margot or the man. I am searching the store frantically. Rabbit is pressed up against my chest. I’m petting it and petting it even as I run. I’m scared. We’re supposed to be at the party. I suspect plans have changed again. Like that, I see her walk through the automatic doors. She is wearing something different from before. It’s a blue dress over jeans.... No one will take the rabbit. I keep trying to give it back. Both employees and customers are telling me that they can’t take rabbit because there are to many different cages and they forget which one he belongs to. Finally I set rabbit onto the linoleum floor, and it runs to the stores back wall. I’m worried. I run after rabbit. Rabbit went down a hole, and ran through a tunnel under the wall. There are smaller holes punched into the floor and I can see him passing through. I keep trying to grab rabbit, but my hand is too big. I give up on rabbit. I leave the pet store.... I’m searching for Margot’s car, but I can’t find it. I open a car door. The man is inside. He doesn’t notice me. He drives away seconds later with his car door still open. Finally I see the back of her car. I get in. I say to her “plans have changed haven’t they?” Her eyes glow dangerously. “We’re going to the cham dance now.” I say, “Fuck.” She laughs, telling me she knew that I would be mad. I feel annoyed that she doesn’t feel the same way.... We see the highway from the parking spot. There is a deep ditch on either side of the highway. We are supposed to go around to get on our way, but instead she pushes her foot to the pedal accelerating fast in an attempt to jump the ditch. We are high in the air. It feels real, this horror is actually happening. My body is really dropping, the same sensation as in a broken elevator. Turning my head to her I say, “I love you.” She says back, “I know”, or “I love you too,” I’m not sure which.... She is at ease, like nothing bad is happening. We land and the car crunches on all of its sides and we are still okay. Our faces are practically touching and what we are doing is staring at each other as we become more entrapped on each roll. Margot and I stop rolling, but continue to slide. The car is upside down. We know that the world is moving as usual. I finally see her face change. She says, “I don’t understand why this isn’t ending, when is it going to stop? I’m scared now. I think I’m really hurt too.”

Don't Know no Witness Until Now.

The coffee maker sputters thick black slower than a dripping IV. The sink and tub drains are stubborn too. Toothpaste spit floats closely to my face or filthy water blankets my feet. All is displaced, grimy, intolerably maddening.

We stagger into the garage taking hold of vinegar. Our kitty pool (printed by kitty's and umbrellas) is overflowing with jug-like containers. We hoard these containers rudely and embarrassingly because desperation is this way. I once pushed a farming man from a bridge since he possessed what I wanted.

We unscrew the caps, give a whiff, make the face and douse ourselves in the solution. Rather than unclogging what surrounds us, we drench our bodies. It's like playing with the hose in the summertime. He keeps pouring it in my eyes and they are burning from my face. I note his glass cut hands and I decontaminate them. This isn't a game of dare, rather it is how we are who.

We laugh instead of admitting the acidulous agony. I am powerfully delirious. I have been living from vinegar, and I am accustomed to this sensation, but no one has ever engaged in this sort of behaviour with me.

"I was in a curious mood that night, weary yet restless, eager yet impotent to seize the object of my search, and full of haunting images that would not stay to be reproduced...I slowly became aware of a disturbing influence whose power invaded my isolation, and soon took shape in the uncomfortable conviction that someone was looking at me."