"The sun doesn't go down. That's just an illusion caused by the world spinning around."
I was thinking, not that long ago, about the intensity of female hatred and I had told someone that I had been the receptacle for more female spite and hatred than they likely had the ability to conceive of. And I ran out of time to finish that story, but the moral of it is that I would have it that way always, simply because I believe better me than anyone else. And better me than it not finding expression at all. Not because I believe I deserve it, but because I know that I don't.
And that sounds arrogant, perhaps, to the kind of ears which never understand me, but it is simply reality, no different than someone physically stronger than someone else wishing to carry that person's physical burden down the street or up the stairs.
When A once punched me in the eye at a party because she was drunk (and she was not the first nor the last drunk girl to punch me), it took me just a fraction of a second to resist the urge to go upside her head with my bottle of bud or tegatana right through her throat. Instead, I stood up and put my bottle down and asked her if she really wanted to go there. If going there with me now was the conscious choice she wanted to make. And she didn't, of course; they never have yet. But had she, I would have kicked her ass or gotten my ass kicked trying.
Instead she cried a lot and let go of a lot of pain and a lot of frustration, at least for then. Because hatred and spite and anger is almost always pain. And it is almost always hurt. And it is often sorrow. And it is a crude, common, ugly way to release those things but it is a release and I will continue to believe that is a good thing. Too much self-restriction causes extreme urges and while of course I can think of what I believe to be healthier expressions, that has little bearing on what exists then and there.
I will continue to believe that throwing that anger and hatred on me is better than throwing it on most everyone else I've ever met or than continuing to carry it yourself.
Because I know how to put it down.
Think of me like a lightening rod, darlings. That energy must go somewhere -- it always does -- and maybe, in my small way, I am sparing some trees.
****
Malibu and I once lay on the beach talking about wishes. Not the "i'd like a million dollars" or the "to be amazingly beautiful" type of wishes because, pffft, we already know those are already obtainable and not really wishes at all. But the *real* wishes. The real impossible wishes. And Malibu said that his wish would be to live the rest of his life never harming any being, either by word or deed. My wish? The power to heal the harm done by others, especially that which they do to themselves.
Of course we debated it through many bottles of wine, whether one was ultimately avoidant and the other ultimately enabling, and I think ultimately it is the difference between the masculine principle -- the creative, outgoing -- and the feminine principle -- the receptive, sensitive.
To never throw a punch and to take every punch thrown.
Is there life better than that? Is there even life *more* than that?
I think not.
What happens to us is reality, my dears, and neither good nor bad: always allow part of your energy and income for loss.
And that sounds arrogant, perhaps, to the kind of ears which never understand me, but it is simply reality, no different than someone physically stronger than someone else wishing to carry that person's physical burden down the street or up the stairs.
When A once punched me in the eye at a party because she was drunk (and she was not the first nor the last drunk girl to punch me), it took me just a fraction of a second to resist the urge to go upside her head with my bottle of bud or tegatana right through her throat. Instead, I stood up and put my bottle down and asked her if she really wanted to go there. If going there with me now was the conscious choice she wanted to make. And she didn't, of course; they never have yet. But had she, I would have kicked her ass or gotten my ass kicked trying.
Instead she cried a lot and let go of a lot of pain and a lot of frustration, at least for then. Because hatred and spite and anger is almost always pain. And it is almost always hurt. And it is often sorrow. And it is a crude, common, ugly way to release those things but it is a release and I will continue to believe that is a good thing. Too much self-restriction causes extreme urges and while of course I can think of what I believe to be healthier expressions, that has little bearing on what exists then and there.
I will continue to believe that throwing that anger and hatred on me is better than throwing it on most everyone else I've ever met or than continuing to carry it yourself.
Because I know how to put it down.
Think of me like a lightening rod, darlings. That energy must go somewhere -- it always does -- and maybe, in my small way, I am sparing some trees.
****
Malibu and I once lay on the beach talking about wishes. Not the "i'd like a million dollars" or the "to be amazingly beautiful" type of wishes because, pffft, we already know those are already obtainable and not really wishes at all. But the *real* wishes. The real impossible wishes. And Malibu said that his wish would be to live the rest of his life never harming any being, either by word or deed. My wish? The power to heal the harm done by others, especially that which they do to themselves.
Of course we debated it through many bottles of wine, whether one was ultimately avoidant and the other ultimately enabling, and I think ultimately it is the difference between the masculine principle -- the creative, outgoing -- and the feminine principle -- the receptive, sensitive.
To never throw a punch and to take every punch thrown.
Is there life better than that? Is there even life *more* than that?
I think not.
What happens to us is reality, my dears, and neither good nor bad: always allow part of your energy and income for loss.
3 Comments:
I remember that party. You were scary, in an awe-inspiring way. There was blood running from your eyebrow and you were so CALM and you said something like "I don't think this is actually what you want to do and I want you to *decide* what you want to do..." or some other hippydippy shit. You weighed all of like 110 pounds but you were like fucking Yul Brenner or something! I remember that *I* jumped up to beat her ass immediately and without even taking your eyes off of her you pointed right at me and said "SIT!".
You can be one cold blooded bitch, my dear.
You can be one cold blooded bitch, my dear.
Ah. No. Never that.
I'm curious: if you take care of everyone, who takes care of you? Or are you so perfect you don't need taken care of? everything you write is so high road and inhuman. Don't you ever cry?
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