Dec. 3rd, 2001

adrienmundi: (Default)
“Write as though you are writing for someone like you.”

That is a much more daunting task than it sounds. So much of my conscious life has been based on the act of molding myself into something for others to perceive, of which they might not disapprove too much. To simply communicate, with little to no posturing, will be difficult. It implies a knowledge of self not based on positionality, and I don’t know that I have that.

I begin a slow start to the overt. Plants have been substituted with animals and human intervention. Ah, technology; the results are demonstrable in time ratio of 60:1 (though perhaps the development is based in part on the foundation the 60 has laid). Physical sensation alone is different. If nothing else, there is a distinct somatic awareness that has been absent through most of my life unless I was doing something: running, swimming, hitting or throwing. Up until now, my body has only been my own as the focus of doing something, of implementing my will in one way or another. Now there exists a possibility of it being mine just because, inert or active. It’s both exciting and frightening.

I think this is something I want. I feel as though I need a physical manifestation of the “not-fitting” (I’m sure that would sound elegant and intellectual in French). Too, it fits my aesthetic more closely than the hand I was dealt (I curse you, god-as-card-dealer!). In the end, I guess it’s enough that I think I want it, even though the feeling of necessity for justification is still there.
adrienmundi: (Default)
Damn. I can't get the gaze of the Other out of my head. I write, but it's still with the reader(s) in mind. I bend and contort my words to look clever, acrobatic, but also to deflect meaning if it's taken poorly, properly. I don't simply speak; I don't "simply" anything.

Statements of being escape me. "I am" exists only in context; I am this now, under these circumstances, but I am never something fixed, solid, permanent. To pin oneself/be pinned down feels like death, but it's probably only fear. I I am anything, I can be located, I can be assaulted, I can be hurt. Constant evasion hopefully ensures that at worst I will be knocked out of my usual orbits, but not down.

Language is the enemy, as well. If I am anything, there are no words that resonate such meaning to me. Were I to forge words, they would be meaningless to others. I anticipate conflict internally in an attempt to be ready when the conflict arises externally, though it rarely does; I dodge and weave better than most. The fear is that if I cannot even name myself, I can neither attack nor defend the unnamed. Strategically, this sounds ideal, but if it's contact and context I crave, it feels impossible.

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