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December 02, 2006


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Very instructive. You are a paragon of graciousness, and I'd do well to model myself after you. Perhaps I will get there in time. Been a long, dark tunnel that I've been traversing, and for many, many years. I've gotten accustomed to the darkness, but I suppose I shouldn't impose it on other people. Yes, I see the value of satire and allegory, if only I could get comfortable enough in my own skin, perhaps, like you, I could pull it off. But my grief is too fresh, and so is the bitterness that accompanies it. I suppose I sometimes seem like a madwoman, ranting from the attic. "Oh, yes. She lost her mind, poor thing," and so I am kept away from polite society. People turn away. My emotions are too raw. I forget myself. I resent the social conventions imposed on us all. I want to be able to rant and wail in polite society. Ah, yes. Foolish. Prideful, even. My face against your face, as I grab at your lapels. Naturally you desire to free yourself. How can I expect otherwise? I have imagined myself as a prophet. Well, I am crazy enough.

I have to admit that I have thought long and hard over the years about who I'd be under cover of a mask, and I don't think I could convincingly pull it off. Too hairtrigger, and I don't think it's good to ratchet up the manic aspects. Difficult to flip the switch once I go there, so very over the top. I'm not relaxed enough to fine tune things. Maybe some day. I think I could have some fun, if I could figure out how to just take the edge off. But, see, I get triggered and off I go.

"Art makes things strange," you always need some way to distance yourself from the raw emotion, or to displace it. That is the trick of it, creating an alternative reality, with its own rules, so the personal quality gets diffused and refracted and gives you the distance to introduce "craft," as well as "passion." Being crazy helps in writing satire, but you also have to be an artful dodger.

Glad that being crazy helps with something. Being able to detach... I suppose I do that, otherwise I'd be entirely immobilized. Or running (ow, maybe not) naked down the hall, as you said elsewhere. Or ranting on the el. I dunno. Make myself more extreme, even? I don't think I could stand it. Just how abrasive can I manage to be? Hmmmm.

Make it funny. We can all do that, even on our way to the gallows. "Gallows humor." As in a war, we bind our own wounds and carry on, knowing that those on either side of us are doing the same. If we are exceptional we bind the wounds of those more badly hurt. You do that every day.

You are very kind and gracious. I fear I am not accomplished as you give me credit for.


When I read your post, I wanted to puke. I pretend I am nothing more than the poor dirty brown and barely literate slave girl I seem to be. I always express gratitude to my master for his protection and he thinks I love him. Whenever he wants to fuck me in the ass, I bend over.

I smile and say "yessuh" to that smug bastard of an overseerer while shoveling pig shit from one side of the cubicle to the other, all in the name of the "greater good". While he drinks tea with Harvard buddies in the Big House, I stand in the background, invisible in the shadows of the porch steps and watch.

On this plantation, the crop is the philanthropic greenback and business is booming. Sometimes I forget that I'm a slave and work real hard to shovel my pig shit before all the other slaves in the yard. I even whistle while I work and all the overseers love my smile. And when it's time for me to bend over and grab my ankles, all I can think is how comfortable it looks inside the big house and maybe one day they'll let me in so I can see what it feels like to drink tea and not shovel shit for food.

Like I said, when I read your post, I wanted to puke. Sometimes, I make myself sick.

Yale actually. Eat your heart out. If you had gone to Yale you could be shovelling philanthropic pig shit around in your cubicle.


You got me there. Matrullo and AKMA too.

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