Half-baked Dream Analysis

Last night I escaped a totalitarian country as part of a stream of outgoing emigrés. I was faced with the option of taking the train to England, but through waiting discovered I could board a carriage to Wales. I had a boyfriend on my escape journey, a sturdy presence, as smart as me, who outmanouvred the vigilant guards as craftily as me. We hid clear candy wrappers in the sleeves of our dark clothes. We were in Europe, or perhaps simply "south."

My boyfriend wasn't there - somewhere between waiting for the train to England and dodging it in favour of Wales, he would not be part of my journey. I still thought about him. But I would face the oranges, yellows and greens of the UK alone. 

The totalitarian space was gray, like climbing up a slide - it has been easy to descend. 

*

Given that my former girlfriend was from Wales, and very proud to be out, I consider "going to Wales" as a worldview shift, pro-queerness. 

Who knows what that original dark, gloomy totalitarian space was about. My childhood? And yet it seems I can't escape my upbringing, which impedes my kaleidoscopic vision as readily as it can. My mum is someone from who both help and harm originates. The harm is perhaps most pronounced in her denial of my queerness. She won't even talk about her dispute with my sexual identity. No doubt she fervently wishes I could 'revert' to some generic heterosexual mode that never was and never will be. 

*

Little Bit out of the Way

I saw the world today, gave it a good shake. In the land of the conscious, we Sundayed into a place called Little Bay, a semi-secluded community with a certain industrially decorated charm. Yawning golf courses intruded on our paths, but we sashayed just shy of the sand and found shimmering jewels trapped in the sea. Guarded by extravagant green, the path was too tight to linger long, but we committed the moment to memory. Those mobile snaps won't hurt with evocation of detail. 

Work through your Emotions

Sometimes I can sense that I need to catch up in terms of taking responsibility for my emotions. Sometimes I wonder how deeply I should take writing. I know that if I were not on drugs, I would be applying myself ardently in order to summon the Money Gods. Also, because it's rewarding emotionally. But mostly I'm happy to avoid my god-given talents as part of my ongoing eff yoo to the world. (The eff yoo doesn't apply to the readership of this blog.)

All That's Good Friday

There have been a number of positive developments in my life lately. A Zadie Smith essay in 'Feel Free' inspired me to join the Randwick City Libraries, and I've already checked out my first book, a smashing, powerhouse novel called 'America is Not the Heart'. I've also attended my first author talk by the charismatic Jane Caro, who promoted her brand new 'Accidental Feminists' at my closest branch! 

In all the fabulously sculpted words Smith used to leave the impression that libraries are worth saving, it was her tribute to their non-capitalistic credentials - that is, that you don't need to spend money to spend time in a library - that moved my curiosity and saw me walk in the door. 

I am not a paper book sentimentalist - Kindle was the tool that sparked my reading voyage. I felt that I was tricking myself into reading instead of spending the time browsing the net, just by virtue of being in front of a screen. Now, it's the faith I've accumulated in the world of published narratives that sees me taking a chance on a novel (for I usually stick to non-fiction) in its hard copy version. 

Perhaps this is the next step of me embracing an identity as a reader. 

Reading is not the only thing that happens in libraries: I've noticed an art class every Tuesday, and have picked up the equipment to join: a sketch pad and a charcoal pencil. Let's see what happens next week... 

In terms of books I've read this month, there was 'Not That Bad', Roxane Gay's immersive collection of essays on rape culture, which retraumatised me at times, but felt crucial to my understanding of how our society operates. How can something debilitating that affects so many women be so monumentally hushed up? Violently swept under the carpet. Airbrushed out of mainstream discourse. To talk about my experience as a victim of rape and sexual assault is to retraumatise myself, but to stay silent is to be complicit in patriarchy's sadism. It can feel like a lose-lose situation, but thankfully feminist movements like #prataomdet and #metoo have got us talking, and the number of people willing to speak out is too big to be shut down. 

'The Nordic Theory of Everything' by Anu Partanen was most interesting for me when she focused on the strengths of the Nordic "well-being" states, and less so when she tried to endear herself to an American audience by extolling that country's virtues. There is so much to learn from that clutch of European countries, like 'the Swedish/Nordic theory of love', which is that if you supply each individual with the tools they need to be independent of each other, then, and only then, can genuine loving relations flourish. The 'love' is any kind of warm bond between two people, be it child and parent, a friendship, or a romantic relationship. If you're not dependent on someone, you're free to meet them on equal terms within the relationship, which leads to greater happiness all around. 

The best yearly phase of my relationship with my parents is when I've saved up enough of my own money to go overseas, and call back to Australia in the warm glow of my independence, so I would say that this 'theory of love' makes instinctive sense to me. 

**What does it say about the quality of the heterosexual relationships when the guy is *still* the one expected to pay for the dinner date? What about when the woman gives birth and takes time out of *her* career to be financially dependent on the guy? Do heterosexual relationships in Australia (or the US) really have much chance at being truly equal? I think not.**

I think this is a good place to end this post. Perhaps I'll write some more about the books I've read soon. 

Clarity

Seeking clarity is a dangerous thing
20/20 vision to size up the stings
Administered to your flesh
It's a powerful thing -
The force against you

Burgeoning aptitude but
Who really cares
The skill set you work on
Erased or displaced

I think it's a powerful thing
Extra duty perception
When the visionary does sing
People can stop and listen

*

And the sad thing, though
Is that she doesn't know
What she's up against
There are too many menaces
There are too many stories
To follow, to disavow

And the sharpest thing she's got
Is still her mind
And that's a lot
But how?

She's supposed to have lost
Long ago
Surrendered the narrative
The overarching control

Finding a reason to shine
Is the hardest thing in the world
When she's up against dullness
In every sense of the word

Detecting the salient
Cause for disruption
It takes motivation
Dedication to clarity