in lieu of real content

LJ Interests meme results

1. banana yoshimoto:
   She writes a world I want to inhabit, or at least have overlaid onto my own world.
2. cello:
   The sound of the cello reaches deep inside me and grabs a lot, including but not limited to sorrow, languor, sex, pleasure, and bliss.
3. doors:
   Symbolically, the place where moving from one into another is terribly important to me, probably more than the movement itself.
4. glam:
   Simply the best subcultural movement based on music in the last fifty years. The questionining of "natural" assumptions about sex and gender are a big part of it, but the music is more important, or maybe just a condensed set of symbols.
5. liminality:
   Borders, limits, margins, transgression, doors, windows, portals: these are all important to me, and seem to be places I occupy a fair amount.
6. marginality:
   See #5.
7. post identity politics:
   Identity politics seems to be a losing game, wholly dependent on othering, on stressing difference based on convention rather than individual criteria, at the expense of commonality. I think this is wrong.
8. slippage:
   I think of this semiotically, and in my mind it's visual/tactile; words and meanings press up against one another, but based upon shape, texture, vector and force, often slip, slide, scrape or grind, undermining the idea of direct meaning assignment and interpretation. I think this is very, very good.
9. tiny sun goddesses:
   If you have to ask, you don't understand. If you understand, you should envy me, immensely :)
10. windows:
    Similar to doors, but to me, windows imply places to sit, to experience what's on both sides at once, to change one's view. I also love the idea of entering and exiting windows, and want physical ones large enough for all of the above, without them actually being doors.

Enter your LJ user name, and 10 interests will be selected from your interest list.

(no subject)

I was seriously thinking I had come to the end of the internet, or at least the edge of it, where all content was angry, liberal/progressive, something I generally, if not always, agreed with, but that only barely gave me something to read, and even then at the cost of an increasing sense of dread, anger, and hopelessness. And then, I made my way to the September 19th entry atCreek Running North, and for a brief time, the internet, and possibly the world by extension, was good again.

(no subject)

I don't deal with ebb and flow well, specifically the ebb part. I'm thinking this is hugely problematic, and possibly a sign of very deep perspectival flaws.

How do I love the Rude Pundit?

Like I love chocolate and bananas, like I love working to sheer physical exhaustion when angry, like I love my stereo as loud as it will go.

Words fail me. Go read.

frustration

On the drive home tonight, I noticed that my arms hurt, and that my fingers were shaking. I think that's about the time I realized I was painfully frustrated, and decided to turn off the radio; it was only pissing me off, anyway.

I have one note, and I strike it repeatedly. The frustration of being erased, marginalized, or overwritten is not lessening. The pressure keeps ratcheting tighter and tighter. There are times that I'm so unsettled I am desperate to be able to vomit, and I'm not sure if that's a physical metaphor or the warning that I should watch for signs of an ulcer.

I never know whether to choose anger or sadness, though I usually choose anger. The shitty thing about frustrated anger is that it gets everywhere. I am mad at all the people who live easily, never having to think about the things I cannot avoid; I am mad at those who, having been marginalized, turn around and repeat the oppression for the tiniest slice of the pie; I am angry at the institutions who repeat the safe and known; I am angry at myself for being too weak, clueless or gutless to get out of this situation.

Every day, I read. I read progressive blogs, personal blogs, feminist blogs, current events and political sites. There are bad things afoot, and it feels like the responsible thing to do to stay abreast of them. But identity politics are a cancer on the body politic, such that even people I tend to agree with feel compelled to root things in terms that erase me, or force me into the prison cells (though usually, just 'cell') I refute.

I don't talk to people much about this. I feel like most have a very limited tolerance for me in general, and for my issues more, but I never know exactly where. I fear overstepping, overtaxing to the point that I have used up my tolerance allotment, losing it forever. I am silent for fear of being discarded.

I am not fucking invisible, and yet every simple social interaction makes me fade a little more. I can't handle being invisible; I can't force myself into the boxes of others; I can't live my life as a target. I am so fucked.