On with the show

The tremour in me lost its way

It’s been a while since it came this way

I’m attuning myself more to me

Away from a distracting everybody

My head hangs heavy

I disrupt myself at will

Tingling from imagined touches

Basking in goodwill

Not long ago I listened

To a couple of disgruntled authors

Carrying the weight

Of dreams undivulged, of laughter

Unindulged and processes abandoned

It was all too much

I shivered as I summoned expectations

Simulations of ambitions dashed

When I know that, looking back, I’ll gather

That I wouldn’t want to be 

Anybody 

Else

Writing Itself & Identity Formation

I haven't been writing very much at all recently. I'm starting the process of volunteering with a feminist organisation, which makes me want to pay attention to what is going on with me, and the world, with renewed focus.

In addition to the volunteering I am listening to two separate podcasts by feminist psychotherapists - Kimberly B. George and Kara Loewentheil. I am yearning for a deeper comfort with my bisexual identity, and it occurs to me as I write this that I don't listen to any queer women that I can think of. An oversight?

In any case, 'Unfuck your brain' by Kara has been a balm for the soul. There are many different aspects to Kara - she is not easily defined. She herself is not looking for external 'personality types' to inform her thoughts, which means that she is free to transform daily, hourly, by the minute. Thoughts are just thoughts, and thoughts change. If you cling onto an identity as 'an introvert', or 'an Aries sun with Libra moon' throughout the years, you will be less likely to reconcile supposedly contradictory information about yourself into your self-concept. 

I am now interested in the concept of passion. As a person who diligently cultivated a performance of intensity, congruent with the Scorpio designation, I'm still gathering new identity formation when it comes to connecting with passion and sharing it with others. What does it mean to be deeply engaged? Hanging onto every word? 

What does it mean to be a philosophical feminist at a time when nothing can be about feminism but everything must be? I'm finding out how to hold my head up higher and more often while I inspect the damage of the legacy of 45, ScoMo et al - anyone who does the work of patriarchy on steroids is in urgent need of disregard. 

The Conflicted Feminist

Feminism in Australia isn’t what it used to be. Ever since 45 ascended there has been an acceleration of aggressive social control exercised by men over the women of this nation. I cling to whatever scraps of empowerment I can find, and in this post I’ll consider my relationship with Ariana Grande’s song, ‘Needy’.

It is simultaneously an assertion of self and a self-defeating narrative. Ariana lets herself assume the position of being ‘way too damn needy’, but self-critically so. Maybe the problem isn’t that she “loves too much” but that the men in her life can’t deal with her depth of feeling and gaslight her into thinking she’s the one at fault.

Maybe ‘thinking [I’m] not enough’ is a symptom of patriarchy minimising her efforts to self-actualise to the utmost - not so much a personal failing as one that is shared by most women.

I only criticise because I deem this music good to listen to.

My search for feminist role models feels like it’s not greatly successful, and I worry that I am becoming less resistant to the dominant ideology in the USA. I’m surrounded by right-wingers, it feels like. And yet my very knowledge of this shows that I’m still swimming against the tide, perhaps even ferociously.

Sketch #1

Just the thing, she thought. 

A thin residue of soy milk infused tea clung to the base of the cup. At that moment she remembered that she had intended to write about how China's battle with the USA for global hegemony should be no less condemned than that of the more familiar superpower. 

I suppose T2 isn't really helping make the world less problematic, what with their glorification of pimps and geishas, her inspection of the cup mixed with craving and contempt. That said, what isn't problematic these days?

Tired. She felt tired. The small group of people who lived in English-speaking nations but fought against the military-industrial complex could wait. Even though she knew that her self care was tied up with political activism, no matter how hard a series of psychologists had tried to dissuade her from this intuitive stance. She was counting on herself to let go.

For the teacup to offer another vision. 

Poem for the Climate Crisis

Finding intrinsic motivation
Is my pathway forth
Breathing deep, just out and in
Even though pacing back and forth

I've endured a little too much
Seen one too many cruel things
Buoyed by some deep inner hope
Still, there's juice that cannot be squeezed

Capitalism as a threat
Has been brought to my attention
It really does seem like
We're in need of intervention

Now from which sources must we
Draw our inspiration?
We've never been more in need
Of glocal imagination

Single Again

I dreamed a dream

of you and I

Lying face to face

A library floor

All the seminal Russian texts

Couldn't stop us as

We set up camp

From place to place

But I miss you 

Even as you fly

Reaching your peak

Hitting your stride

Even as I know that I 

Am better off alone

~*~

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.)