I was listening, the other day, to Dorothy Allison talk about truth, fiction, and making your own genres. I realized just now that the core reason I have been stuck with so much of the stuff I have to say is that I need Bigger Ideas and Stranger Canvasses than one normally sees in order to talk about my insides. I need Bollywood movies and 5 act Operas and anime and tone poetry and a little bit of that old Ultraviolence to get through, perhaps a bit, to others what I am feeling. I need to blow it up big enough to overwhelm and sicken and blow away folks so that maybe you get the tiniest dry rind of the fruits my heart grows.
I see the confusion and polite nods from people when I slip up and open up the Inside Boxes that I expend formidable amounts of energy trying to redirect. I watch them shut down. I see people I would love to love turn away. And I walk on.
I’ve been stalling on writing several things for many years because I couldn’t see that taking my experience and my lives and breathing them into different ephemeral fleshly bodies so that I can maybe share what being me is like was not only an acceptable way, it is the only way
And it is a worthy thing.
I have Things To say and they ARE important. And many will not understand and many more will pull them apart for myriad reasons but for the handful who grok me, oh boy. We have Things to Say to one another, do we not?
I have unusual ideas about life. I have rare thoughts on sex. I have a language I speak to myself and to my God and my Demon and I think you should hear what I have to say. Even if my voice is out of the range of normal human hearing.
Now to learn how to unlearn this language of limitations and speak the things that resist being revealed.
I’ll have you see what I see or die trying.