More revelations this month it seems. More of me making peace with my past. It's funny how you sort of get stuck in this view of yourself as a certain kind of person and that you think of yourself this way, even though you might have changed. I caught a glimpse of this recently and I was surprised. The me I thought I was no longer exists and it seems I've moved on to a different view. I didn't know it though and I wonder when the change happened because it wasn't that visible to me. I didn't even know I'd changed until I recently came across someone who reminded me of how I was five years ago. And I only recognized myself in that person because I was now so radically different from that person.
Poor Greg. What I must have put him through and how he was right about so many things. He put up with me for all those years. How I must have just tortured him with the minefield of problems that surrounded me. But even love and friendship couldn't hold us together. I still have that memory of us driving over the Bay Bridge in his white saab and us both singing Elton John and George Michael's duet song "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me. And I knew we were singing about our relationship and how neither of us wanted to lose the other. But it was already too late at that point. We had started to go down separate paths slowly and inexorably.
I thought about contacting him today just to tell him I'd changed, but then I remembered that he hated that I changed so much, so I didn't call. But I have changed and I know he would have liked the new me better.
Tuesday, July 31, 2001
I've been thinking about whether my novel, "Following in the Dark", should be erotic or have erotic writing. I mean it is about a woman's sexual adventure so it's already erotic right?. But I don't know. I think what makes something erotic is so individual, so personal. Is punishment erotic? Is pain erotic? Most people would never readily admit that sensations such as pain and punishment give them sexual pleasure anyway. I also don't want to make pain and pleasure necessarily that erotic either, it just is what it is. And for me, that's erotic enough.
Wednesday, July 25, 2001
You really can't believe the mainstream media news anymore. They go on and on about the dotcom bomb and it's effect on the national economy. What they don't report is what's happening in the telecommunications industry and how $2 trillion dollars have been lost by companies such as Cisco, MCI, Lucent, etc. Thank god there is such a thing as the internet where you can read news reports from all around the country and really find out for yourself what's happening in the world.
Mainstream media would have you believe that everyone in the SF Bay Area worked for a dotcom. Well, they're wrong. I don't work for a dotcom and most of my friends don't and we live in the City and County of San Francisco and have lived here for a very long time. We love San Francisco and certain other parts of the Bay Area and would never think of leaving for any other city, other than maybe NYC, Paris or London. The whole dotcom thing sort of passed us by or affected a few of our friends. The dotcom bust hasn't really affected our way of life and we still still live the same way. It's like the 60's all over again, where the mainstream media would have you believe (if you werent' there) that the country was full of war protesting hippies. Wrong again. The hippies were in certain pockets of the country but not everywhere.
The only thing the mainstream media got right was to call all the people moving here "the new oakies coming to the SF Bay Area to dig for internet gold". These oakies didn't come to the SF Bay Area because they wanted to live here. No Way! They came here for one reason only; MONEY. And the media was again right, because now that the money is gone people are moving back to where ever the hell they came from and we say goodbye to them and good riddance.
I told people around me who were buying into the media hype abou the dotcoms that the price per earnings ratio for most dotcom stocks were unrealistic and the stock was hyperinflated. I told them to sell their stock while the stock was still high and get out of the market. There wasn't anything financially wrong with what happened in the markets. Wall Street is full of highs and lows. The problem was that people got emotionally attached to the highs and didn't sell when the market was high. Good times never last forever in stock and neither do bad times. The people who lose money are the people who are emotionally attached to the mood of the country and follow that instead of following good financial principles, which means investing to make money, which means constantly selling and buying and knowing when to cut your losses.
But this whole telecom financial crisis ... that's got me worried only because the future of the internet depends on companies finding a way to move information across the net faster. My friend B from Dallas has this theory that all you needed to do to move information across the wires faster was to have a bigger pipe. The consultants at Microsoft and IBM were sceptical about this theory. but I think he was right. And what's great is that the technology is already out there. But ... with the slowdown in the telecom industry, investment into this new technology is now delayed a couple of years if not more.
Or is it? People are greedy, dont' you think? Greed is what drove the market and the Nasdaq into the dizzying highs and now very dismal lows. If new technology is out there to create a bigger pipe to move voice and data faster, then I'm hoping some greedy investors will sell the hype to the mainstream nedia and mainstream media will report it, and greed will once again rule the markets and drive them back up. Since I've got money invested in this new technology, I can only hope.
Mainstream media would have you believe that everyone in the SF Bay Area worked for a dotcom. Well, they're wrong. I don't work for a dotcom and most of my friends don't and we live in the City and County of San Francisco and have lived here for a very long time. We love San Francisco and certain other parts of the Bay Area and would never think of leaving for any other city, other than maybe NYC, Paris or London. The whole dotcom thing sort of passed us by or affected a few of our friends. The dotcom bust hasn't really affected our way of life and we still still live the same way. It's like the 60's all over again, where the mainstream media would have you believe (if you werent' there) that the country was full of war protesting hippies. Wrong again. The hippies were in certain pockets of the country but not everywhere.
The only thing the mainstream media got right was to call all the people moving here "the new oakies coming to the SF Bay Area to dig for internet gold". These oakies didn't come to the SF Bay Area because they wanted to live here. No Way! They came here for one reason only; MONEY. And the media was again right, because now that the money is gone people are moving back to where ever the hell they came from and we say goodbye to them and good riddance.
I told people around me who were buying into the media hype abou the dotcoms that the price per earnings ratio for most dotcom stocks were unrealistic and the stock was hyperinflated. I told them to sell their stock while the stock was still high and get out of the market. There wasn't anything financially wrong with what happened in the markets. Wall Street is full of highs and lows. The problem was that people got emotionally attached to the highs and didn't sell when the market was high. Good times never last forever in stock and neither do bad times. The people who lose money are the people who are emotionally attached to the mood of the country and follow that instead of following good financial principles, which means investing to make money, which means constantly selling and buying and knowing when to cut your losses.
But this whole telecom financial crisis ... that's got me worried only because the future of the internet depends on companies finding a way to move information across the net faster. My friend B from Dallas has this theory that all you needed to do to move information across the wires faster was to have a bigger pipe. The consultants at Microsoft and IBM were sceptical about this theory. but I think he was right. And what's great is that the technology is already out there. But ... with the slowdown in the telecom industry, investment into this new technology is now delayed a couple of years if not more.
Or is it? People are greedy, dont' you think? Greed is what drove the market and the Nasdaq into the dizzying highs and now very dismal lows. If new technology is out there to create a bigger pipe to move voice and data faster, then I'm hoping some greedy investors will sell the hype to the mainstream nedia and mainstream media will report it, and greed will once again rule the markets and drive them back up. Since I've got money invested in this new technology, I can only hope.
Monday, July 23, 2001
Picnicing in Stern Grove was so much fun! The second celtic band was from Donegal Ireland and played great music. It was quite a sight to see everyone trying to do the jig or their version of Riverdance. I found a great scone recipe and another friend made lemon curd from her Yorkshire Cook book, so we had a very english first course. Our second course was bagels, with cream cheese, sliced heirloom tomatoes, chopped red onions, capers and smoked salmon. The third course was tortellini in a balsamic vinagrette with chopped red, yellow and green bell peppers. Fourth course was fried chicken with coleslaw and sliced carrot and celery sticks. And for dessert, we had shortbread with milk chocolate chips cut out in shape of 3 leaf clovers and chocolate yorkshire pudding. We also drank champagne mimosas and ate champagne soaked strawberries.
For our next picnic at Opera in the Park, we decided to have quiche bake-off. People around us must have thought we were insane as we debated whether James Beard, Martha Stewart or the Moosewood people could kick Julia Childs' butt in the quiche department. I think I have a quiche recipe from the Findhorn colony that was pretty good and those Sunset quiche recipes are also killer.
Alas, I didn't see any beautiful chubby red haird/strawberry blonde men there. But then I think I was having too much fun with my girls arguing about quiches and dancing irish jigs.
For our next picnic at Opera in the Park, we decided to have quiche bake-off. People around us must have thought we were insane as we debated whether James Beard, Martha Stewart or the Moosewood people could kick Julia Childs' butt in the quiche department. I think I have a quiche recipe from the Findhorn colony that was pretty good and those Sunset quiche recipes are also killer.
Alas, I didn't see any beautiful chubby red haird/strawberry blonde men there. But then I think I was having too much fun with my girls arguing about quiches and dancing irish jigs.
Thursday, July 19, 2001
I was trying to organize all of my writing pieces together last night when I realized I lost a journal. Seven months of my life gone from May 98 to November 98. I told myself that it doesn't really matter because it's not like I ever reread my journals anyway but still, seven months of my life erased, disappeared just like that.
I've been keeping journals since junior high. My english teachers in junior high and high school made me keep one every school year. I made the mistake of throwing these journals out and I've regretted that decision ever since. God, it would have been so interesting to read about what I was thinking back then, what I was obsessing about, what scared me, what made me happy and what my life was like. Those journals were a record of each of those years. When I search through my own memories for what happened in those six years, I draw a fuzzy blank. I feel like Keanu Reeves in that movie about using the brain for storage. Somewhere along the line, I must have dumped a chunk of memory. Either that or all those of memories are misfiled and basically irretrievable.
I'm hoping that my seven month journal will turn up in my place one day. That somehow I stored where it wasn't supposed to be stored and I will somewhere in the future be able to read what my life was like from May to November 98.
I wonder if it will be depressing like that Samuel Beckett play, "Krapp's Last Tape". I saw this play in Berkeley last year. A man made recordings of his voice instead of journals. In the play, the man now about 80, totally decrepit, somewhat senile, with all those signs of aging that scare me. Loose wrinkled skin, slow agonizing movements, mouth that never quite close with a little saliva always dripping out and those old people's eyes that are semi clouded over from cataracts waiting to burst forth. Old people seem to also be covered with a layer of film made of grime, memories and sins from the past and the stench of death. The old man listens to a tape of himself at a much younger age when he was probably 40. The old man shows no emotion really, just the weariness of death. But the younger man's voice is alread full of regret as he goes over a lost love, lost opportunities, lost chances. Is that when death and old age start, when you start to regret your life so that by the time you reach a really old age, the regret wraps itself around you, becomes part of your being and becomes incorporated into your dying process to where you have to surround yourself with it by listening to old tapes of yourself. Talk about being in a hell of your own making. But it's Beckett, so maybe it's not that hellish after all because after all, you have the tapes to prove you at least did have a love, did have opportunities, did have chances. Was it John Donne who said in Paradise Lost, "Tis better to have loved once than to have never loved at all". Perhaps that is Beckett's small ray of hope for this man, he at least lived a life and has the tapes to prove it, listen to it, relive it over and over again.
I've been keeping journals since junior high. My english teachers in junior high and high school made me keep one every school year. I made the mistake of throwing these journals out and I've regretted that decision ever since. God, it would have been so interesting to read about what I was thinking back then, what I was obsessing about, what scared me, what made me happy and what my life was like. Those journals were a record of each of those years. When I search through my own memories for what happened in those six years, I draw a fuzzy blank. I feel like Keanu Reeves in that movie about using the brain for storage. Somewhere along the line, I must have dumped a chunk of memory. Either that or all those of memories are misfiled and basically irretrievable.
I'm hoping that my seven month journal will turn up in my place one day. That somehow I stored where it wasn't supposed to be stored and I will somewhere in the future be able to read what my life was like from May to November 98.
I wonder if it will be depressing like that Samuel Beckett play, "Krapp's Last Tape". I saw this play in Berkeley last year. A man made recordings of his voice instead of journals. In the play, the man now about 80, totally decrepit, somewhat senile, with all those signs of aging that scare me. Loose wrinkled skin, slow agonizing movements, mouth that never quite close with a little saliva always dripping out and those old people's eyes that are semi clouded over from cataracts waiting to burst forth. Old people seem to also be covered with a layer of film made of grime, memories and sins from the past and the stench of death. The old man listens to a tape of himself at a much younger age when he was probably 40. The old man shows no emotion really, just the weariness of death. But the younger man's voice is alread full of regret as he goes over a lost love, lost opportunities, lost chances. Is that when death and old age start, when you start to regret your life so that by the time you reach a really old age, the regret wraps itself around you, becomes part of your being and becomes incorporated into your dying process to where you have to surround yourself with it by listening to old tapes of yourself. Talk about being in a hell of your own making. But it's Beckett, so maybe it's not that hellish after all because after all, you have the tapes to prove you at least did have a love, did have opportunities, did have chances. Was it John Donne who said in Paradise Lost, "Tis better to have loved once than to have never loved at all". Perhaps that is Beckett's small ray of hope for this man, he at least lived a life and has the tapes to prove it, listen to it, relive it over and over again.
Wednesday, July 18, 2001
I think I have the character sketch for my novel Following in the Dark.
She’s like my friend from Berkeley who's very delicate, very smart, and very erudite. This friend of mine is so funny. She calls Gaia Books in Berkeley "Pussy Books". Crude phrase yes, but when she says it, it doesn't crude it sounds classy and quaint. The character is also an incurable romantic. She reads all those old dusty novels from earlier times and dreams of men who punish. I have to make her a lapsed catholic who attended catholic school and goes to church for the high holy days, and of course for classical music concerts. This woman prayed for stigmata to appear on her wrists as a child because she wanted to suffer like Christ. She also fantasized about being a nun from the 1700’s so she could flagellate herself for her bad thoughts.
Religion and self punishment are intertwined in a twisted way in her mind. How else could an oddly religious woman allow herself to be in a sado-masochistic relationship and enjoy herself in a secret evil way? The conflict, tension in the story would how she reconciles herself, her religion, her beliefs with her fantasies of being punished. I'm liking the Following in the Dark title more and more because it's reminds me of the ancient catachombs thta exist under some catholic churches in Europe. Who knows what secrets dwell in those catachombs? It's start to sound very Freudian isn't it? I like to think it's more Aristotle with a whip, getting yourself out of your dark cave of guilt and punishment and into the light where you find more guilt and punishment only this time you're aware and not blind. There is a difference, I think.
She’s like my friend from Berkeley who's very delicate, very smart, and very erudite. This friend of mine is so funny. She calls Gaia Books in Berkeley "Pussy Books". Crude phrase yes, but when she says it, it doesn't crude it sounds classy and quaint. The character is also an incurable romantic. She reads all those old dusty novels from earlier times and dreams of men who punish. I have to make her a lapsed catholic who attended catholic school and goes to church for the high holy days, and of course for classical music concerts. This woman prayed for stigmata to appear on her wrists as a child because she wanted to suffer like Christ. She also fantasized about being a nun from the 1700’s so she could flagellate herself for her bad thoughts.
Religion and self punishment are intertwined in a twisted way in her mind. How else could an oddly religious woman allow herself to be in a sado-masochistic relationship and enjoy herself in a secret evil way? The conflict, tension in the story would how she reconciles herself, her religion, her beliefs with her fantasies of being punished. I'm liking the Following in the Dark title more and more because it's reminds me of the ancient catachombs thta exist under some catholic churches in Europe. Who knows what secrets dwell in those catachombs? It's start to sound very Freudian isn't it? I like to think it's more Aristotle with a whip, getting yourself out of your dark cave of guilt and punishment and into the light where you find more guilt and punishment only this time you're aware and not blind. There is a difference, I think.
After watching The Mists of Avalon on TV, I've decided I want to marry a chubby red-headed or strawberry blonde man who looks like the actor who played Uther Pendragon. That man was so cute! Nice and chubby and I love that reddish hair. I think he looks like a stereotypical celtic elf boy and that's why I like him.
The problem is where do I find this type of guy in the SF Bay Area? It's celtic music afternoon this Sunday at the Stern Grove Festival and I'm thinking maybe he'll be there waiting for me to find him. I've only ever heard celtic music in smoky irish bars so it will be great to hear celtic music played outdoors in what I hope will be a sunshine filled day.
The problem is where do I find this type of guy in the SF Bay Area? It's celtic music afternoon this Sunday at the Stern Grove Festival and I'm thinking maybe he'll be there waiting for me to find him. I've only ever heard celtic music in smoky irish bars so it will be great to hear celtic music played outdoors in what I hope will be a sunshine filled day.
Tuesday, July 17, 2001
I listen to the radio alot during the day because the door to my office is closed most of the time. It's almost too quiet. The great thing about listening to the radio is you get to hear the news right away as it happens. News is reported on the radio first in real time the second it happens. I also love listening to the radio talk shows and I get ideas for story lines from the people who call in. My favorite daytime radio talk show programs are Ron Owens and Pete Wilson on KGO, Jim Rome and The Jungle from LA and when I want to find out what the conservative right is talking about, I listen to Rush Limbaugh, who makes me laugh because he's so outrageous in his opinions.
The worst thing about listening to the radio is radio ads. For example, Mercedes has a series of radio ads about people who love Mercedes. I hate these people. I can't tell whether Mercedes or the ad firm that they hired to come up with these ads is being serious or funny. Whatever they're supposed to be, I decided that I would never buy a Mercedes because of these ads. I'm not sure that's the effect that Mercedes wanted.
One of the most offensive ad is the one where this woman is on a first date with this man. She goes on and on about all the details about the Mercedes and practically admits that she's not paying attention to him but l listening to the sound system in the car. At the end of the ad, she can't even remember his name. God, talking about playing into the worst stereotype of female that most men hate. I know I sound politically correct here, but this radio ad just reinforces the prevalent opinion that most men have that women are only interested in men for their money and their cars.
The other offensive ad is another woman on a first date, except this woman has a small little boy. This time those clever ad people have the four year old boy named Thomas, talk all about the Mercedes details. The hapless man says that Thomas must like Mercedes and the mother says seductively, no dummy, he likes you because you have a Mercedes. So now instead of gold digger mom we have a gold digger child. If my four year old child ever judged people because of their material possessions, I'd be furious.
God, what is it with Mercedes? Is business so bad, sales so lagging that they have to put obnoxious ads on the radio? Mercedes never used to advertise so maybe busines is so competitive that they've been forced to do it. I never hear Lexus, BMW or Volvo ads on the radio. I'd like to know how much Mercedes is paying this ad firm for these ads because I don't think they're working and they should ask for a refund. The ad firm made Mercedes for such an uncool car to have. Too bad too, because Mercedes is such a great car. Mercedes has a great engine and is made with incredible attention to detail. But all of this doesn't matter any more because now I don't want to be associated with the crass people depicted in their ads.
The worst thing about listening to the radio is radio ads. For example, Mercedes has a series of radio ads about people who love Mercedes. I hate these people. I can't tell whether Mercedes or the ad firm that they hired to come up with these ads is being serious or funny. Whatever they're supposed to be, I decided that I would never buy a Mercedes because of these ads. I'm not sure that's the effect that Mercedes wanted.
One of the most offensive ad is the one where this woman is on a first date with this man. She goes on and on about all the details about the Mercedes and practically admits that she's not paying attention to him but l listening to the sound system in the car. At the end of the ad, she can't even remember his name. God, talking about playing into the worst stereotype of female that most men hate. I know I sound politically correct here, but this radio ad just reinforces the prevalent opinion that most men have that women are only interested in men for their money and their cars.
The other offensive ad is another woman on a first date, except this woman has a small little boy. This time those clever ad people have the four year old boy named Thomas, talk all about the Mercedes details. The hapless man says that Thomas must like Mercedes and the mother says seductively, no dummy, he likes you because you have a Mercedes. So now instead of gold digger mom we have a gold digger child. If my four year old child ever judged people because of their material possessions, I'd be furious.
God, what is it with Mercedes? Is business so bad, sales so lagging that they have to put obnoxious ads on the radio? Mercedes never used to advertise so maybe busines is so competitive that they've been forced to do it. I never hear Lexus, BMW or Volvo ads on the radio. I'd like to know how much Mercedes is paying this ad firm for these ads because I don't think they're working and they should ask for a refund. The ad firm made Mercedes for such an uncool car to have. Too bad too, because Mercedes is such a great car. Mercedes has a great engine and is made with incredible attention to detail. But all of this doesn't matter any more because now I don't want to be associated with the crass people depicted in their ads.
Monday, July 16, 2001
I loved the Mists of Avalon movie on TV last night. Just for fun I started reading my new book called the "The Mammoth Book of British King and Queens". It mentions King Arthur and even Uther Pendragon but the book's authors doubts whether Arthur really existed. For a king that scholars say never really existed, it's fascinating how centuries later Western culture still talks and makes movies about him.
What's interesting in the Mists of Avalon is the conflict between the Druid/Goddess religion and the Christians. At the end of Mists, the christians adopt some of the Druid/Goddess elements into worship, their mythology.
I don't think the TV critics like the TNT movie, but I like it alot. The costumes and scenery are impressive and all the american actors are speaking in their best coached Brit dialects. Even Kevin Costner wouldn't attempt it when he did Robin Hood. I hated Jodie Foster's Brit dialect in Anna and the King, but these actors are really quite good.
What's interesting in the Mists of Avalon is the conflict between the Druid/Goddess religion and the Christians. At the end of Mists, the christians adopt some of the Druid/Goddess elements into worship, their mythology.
I don't think the TV critics like the TNT movie, but I like it alot. The costumes and scenery are impressive and all the american actors are speaking in their best coached Brit dialects. Even Kevin Costner wouldn't attempt it when he did Robin Hood. I hated Jodie Foster's Brit dialect in Anna and the King, but these actors are really quite good.
Saturday, July 14, 2001
Why do people lie? Why do they make up lies about themselves? Don't they know they'll get caught? I don't get it. If you lie and get caught then the person you told lie to gets even more upset, or at least that's how I get. You know, I don't mind petty white lies and exagerrations as long as you have the stuff the get away with it. But if you don't, it just makes me mad. Why play the game if you don't got game?
I've deleted all my ads from the the online personals. I kept meeting men who were content to tell me little white lies about themselves. I kept meeting men who withheld vital pieces of information that I needed to have so I could make an informed decision about whether I wanted to go out with them or not. I feel sorry for these men, I feel pity that they have to lie about themselves to get women to go out with them. It's sad really that they have to resort to that. And what's worse, although a nice part of me feels sorry for them, another meaner part of me says that they deserve to not get dates if they decide to lie or withhold information. I mean, come on, why lie especially this early on in the game when everyone is supposedly on their best behaviour. It's just plain rude and it leaves a very, very bad impression. Maybe they think that women who put ads out to meet people are so desperate that they'll ignore the white lies, the withholds of vital information, just to go on a date. Well, I'm not one of them. I'm not that desperate for a man that I give up common standards of civil behaviour in polite society and accept this kind of behavioiur. I'm sure there are plenty of women who will overlook such indiscretions on the part of thier partners. They're the ones probably dating these people. Not me, not now, not ever.
I've deleted all my ads from the the online personals. I kept meeting men who were content to tell me little white lies about themselves. I kept meeting men who withheld vital pieces of information that I needed to have so I could make an informed decision about whether I wanted to go out with them or not. I feel sorry for these men, I feel pity that they have to lie about themselves to get women to go out with them. It's sad really that they have to resort to that. And what's worse, although a nice part of me feels sorry for them, another meaner part of me says that they deserve to not get dates if they decide to lie or withhold information. I mean, come on, why lie especially this early on in the game when everyone is supposedly on their best behaviour. It's just plain rude and it leaves a very, very bad impression. Maybe they think that women who put ads out to meet people are so desperate that they'll ignore the white lies, the withholds of vital information, just to go on a date. Well, I'm not one of them. I'm not that desperate for a man that I give up common standards of civil behaviour in polite society and accept this kind of behavioiur. I'm sure there are plenty of women who will overlook such indiscretions on the part of thier partners. They're the ones probably dating these people. Not me, not now, not ever.
Thursday, July 12, 2001
I think the best thing I like about writing fiction is that you can have your characters say things, do things that you normally wouldn't say or do. You can make them experience situations and people that you're curious about, wondered about, situations that you wouldnt' get into, people that you wouldn't talk to. There was a repeat of that Joyce Carol Oates Interview at the Herbst Theatre on Channel 35 last night. Joyce is a very interesting writer. She said she gets a lot of flak from feminists about her work saying it's offensive, other people say her work is depressing. Joyce was cool. She said something like, "If you don't like my work, don't read it. I'm not forcing you to read my books."
Some of Oates' work is totally depressing and has an amazing amount of violence towards women. Some of her characters are also totally weird and strange, I mean people you wouldn't sit next to on a totally crowded MUNI bus like the 30 Stockton. But her stuff is great because they are written so well and brilliantly crafted. She writes what she wants to writes. It doesn't mean she advocates violence against women or advocates anything for that matter. She's just a writer.
I read somewhere that Checkov told critics not to read anything into his work as reflection of his life, that his work had nothing do with his real life. And I think he's right. Sometimes writers just write about what they're interested in exploring and it doesn't mean they have certian opinions. A character in a piece of fiction might say something totally offensive and god forbid in NoCal totally non-PC, conservative and republican, but that doesn't mean the writer shares the views of the character. That's just the character talking. But in our so politically correct world, which I'm beginning to believe that Rush is right when he says is being Opraized and feminized, you can't say anything without offending somebody somewhere especially in the Bay Area. The problem with political correctness is that on some level it is a denial of free speech. You have the right toyour opinion about a piece of fiction, you might like it, you might hate it, you might think the author hocked a lugey on 300 pages and is now getting paid for it or you might conversely think that the author is Shakespeare reincarnated. But what you don't have the right is to ban it because it offends you, you don't have the right to burn the book, shut the author down, say the author is offensive when it's the work that's offensive. You don't have to right to do anything but have an opinion about the piece of fiction and that's about it.
And if you don't like it, don't buy it and don't read it. Use your freedom of choice but don't take away someone else's freedom as well, the author's or the other readers'.
Some of Oates' work is totally depressing and has an amazing amount of violence towards women. Some of her characters are also totally weird and strange, I mean people you wouldn't sit next to on a totally crowded MUNI bus like the 30 Stockton. But her stuff is great because they are written so well and brilliantly crafted. She writes what she wants to writes. It doesn't mean she advocates violence against women or advocates anything for that matter. She's just a writer.
I read somewhere that Checkov told critics not to read anything into his work as reflection of his life, that his work had nothing do with his real life. And I think he's right. Sometimes writers just write about what they're interested in exploring and it doesn't mean they have certian opinions. A character in a piece of fiction might say something totally offensive and god forbid in NoCal totally non-PC, conservative and republican, but that doesn't mean the writer shares the views of the character. That's just the character talking. But in our so politically correct world, which I'm beginning to believe that Rush is right when he says is being Opraized and feminized, you can't say anything without offending somebody somewhere especially in the Bay Area. The problem with political correctness is that on some level it is a denial of free speech. You have the right toyour opinion about a piece of fiction, you might like it, you might hate it, you might think the author hocked a lugey on 300 pages and is now getting paid for it or you might conversely think that the author is Shakespeare reincarnated. But what you don't have the right is to ban it because it offends you, you don't have the right to burn the book, shut the author down, say the author is offensive when it's the work that's offensive. You don't have to right to do anything but have an opinion about the piece of fiction and that's about it.
And if you don't like it, don't buy it and don't read it. Use your freedom of choice but don't take away someone else's freedom as well, the author's or the other readers'.
Wednesday, July 11, 2001
I cannot get that novel I am thinking about writing out of head. It keeps wanting to get told and it keeps nagging me to write some of it down. I wrote the opening today, at least it feels like the opening to this novel. I will definitely put a scene in the novel involving listening to Mozart's Requiem for the Dead live in a church. This character has lots of catholic school girl religious guilt, lot of strange catholic school religious horror fantasies of the religious statues coming to life, listening to God's voice. Kind of like Emily Watson in that movie "Breaking the Waves". I think writing about a person's views about god and religion is so subversive, so perverse, so damaging, so un-PC and so much more interesting than any other controversial object out there.
Following in the Dark - opening paragraph.
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Pain is an odd thing. I like pain, physical pain. Emotional pain I can do without. Emotional pain tortures you 24/7. You can’t drink yourself out of it, you can’t watch TV yourself out of it, you can’t play music loud enough and long enough to drown it out. It’s an endless voice that drones on and on. That scene that keeps replaying over and over and over in your head. You know, like at Friday evening Easter mass when you do Stations of the Cross. But it’s like Stations of the Cross every day in my head. That’s emotional pain. But physical pain … ah the beauty and ecstasy of physical pain is it has a beginning and an end point. You know when it stops and you can pretty much tell when it ends. Finite pain. All those philosophers I read in school were wrong about infinity. Finite is definitely better at least for pain. And physical pain is really the only thing that stops emotional pain. It’s a displacement thing, one pain replacing another. But physical pain has its price like everything else in this world. Was it worth the price? After everything that happened, I don’t know. You be the judge.
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Following in the Dark - opening paragraph.
******************************
Pain is an odd thing. I like pain, physical pain. Emotional pain I can do without. Emotional pain tortures you 24/7. You can’t drink yourself out of it, you can’t watch TV yourself out of it, you can’t play music loud enough and long enough to drown it out. It’s an endless voice that drones on and on. That scene that keeps replaying over and over and over in your head. You know, like at Friday evening Easter mass when you do Stations of the Cross. But it’s like Stations of the Cross every day in my head. That’s emotional pain. But physical pain … ah the beauty and ecstasy of physical pain is it has a beginning and an end point. You know when it stops and you can pretty much tell when it ends. Finite pain. All those philosophers I read in school were wrong about infinity. Finite is definitely better at least for pain. And physical pain is really the only thing that stops emotional pain. It’s a displacement thing, one pain replacing another. But physical pain has its price like everything else in this world. Was it worth the price? After everything that happened, I don’t know. You be the judge.
*********************************
I must be in a publishing mood tonight. I found this ending to a story in my files. The beginning is finished, the middle needs to be written but I wrote the end because I know how this story is going to end. When I read this I cried and thought of my friend B from Dallas. Although this story is completely fictional, I imagine us having this kind of ending if we ever got into a relationship.
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I looked at him. I was confused, terribly confused. I knew he was right and that breaking up was the right thing to do but I was disappointed somehow. How can you spend your whole life wanting something and then when you finally get it, you give it up because it doesn’t make any sense to want it when you finally get it. I felt a lump in my throat that I knew was a silent scream that I felt too embarrassed to make. I was having a hard time thinking because when I get upset I can’t think straight and I desperately needed to think straight now. I kept searching my feelings like a desperate man in search of water. I felt all the frustration of the last two years creating anger in my heart and at the same time I felt teary eyed. This can’t be happening to me I thought, this can’t be happening. I looked over at him, sitting there calmly waiting for me to compose myself. He looked sad I thought, there was none of that exciting Texas spirit I always saw in his eyes, just the look of a man who has just made a gut wrenching decision and was now trying to live with the consequences.
I looked out the window staring at the flat dry landscape before me. Our whole relationship played through my head like a video on fast forward. I knew we had been happy for a time, very happy but I also knew that the happiness had been brief and short lived and the rest of the time we were together, we waged a constant but silent battle of wills. Was marriage worth this battle? His explanation kept playing in my head like a bad song that you can’t get out of your head and deep deep down in the recesses of my heart, I knew he was right and part of me kept trying to whisper that this was all for the best, but I couldn’t just accept it, not yet, not just yet.
I felt him pick up my left hand on the table and squeeze it. I wanted to wrench my hand away and slap him but I couldn’t. I knew he was trying to comfort me, to help me, and I felt a pang of guilt that my first instinct was to reject him. This is what I hate, I was losing a good friend, a best friend, who knew me sometimes better than I did. I knew we would always be friends, friends till the end of our lives, but I also knew that we would both avoid the intimacy that we had developed over these last two years so as not to open old wounds. Then I realized, it wasn’t so much breaking up that hurt, it was losing the attention of this wonderful man, this urban cowboy that I had grown to love very much, this connection to a part of my soul that this man had opened up.
I finally turned my head and looked down at his hand covering mine; even our hands together looked mismatched somehow although there were on top of each other. I let my eyes wonder up his sleeve, over his shoulder, over his face and finally straight into his eyes. Kind eyes, I thought to myself. There was always kindness in those eyes despite the pain and sadness I was seeing there now. I found myself drowning in those hazel green eyes of his and feeling like I had somehow secretly landed into his soul. There was comfort there as well sadness, a sense of failure, and pain, lots and lots of pain. My heart went out to him and I knew that I could now live with our breakup.
I turned my hand over and squeezed his hand back and smiled.
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Tear jerker of an ending, I know. I think alot of relationships end like this ... in silence ... with a single touch. Sometimes there are no words to express pain, sadness and longing. Sometimes there's just silence and the touching of skin and then silence again.
************************
I looked at him. I was confused, terribly confused. I knew he was right and that breaking up was the right thing to do but I was disappointed somehow. How can you spend your whole life wanting something and then when you finally get it, you give it up because it doesn’t make any sense to want it when you finally get it. I felt a lump in my throat that I knew was a silent scream that I felt too embarrassed to make. I was having a hard time thinking because when I get upset I can’t think straight and I desperately needed to think straight now. I kept searching my feelings like a desperate man in search of water. I felt all the frustration of the last two years creating anger in my heart and at the same time I felt teary eyed. This can’t be happening to me I thought, this can’t be happening. I looked over at him, sitting there calmly waiting for me to compose myself. He looked sad I thought, there was none of that exciting Texas spirit I always saw in his eyes, just the look of a man who has just made a gut wrenching decision and was now trying to live with the consequences.
I looked out the window staring at the flat dry landscape before me. Our whole relationship played through my head like a video on fast forward. I knew we had been happy for a time, very happy but I also knew that the happiness had been brief and short lived and the rest of the time we were together, we waged a constant but silent battle of wills. Was marriage worth this battle? His explanation kept playing in my head like a bad song that you can’t get out of your head and deep deep down in the recesses of my heart, I knew he was right and part of me kept trying to whisper that this was all for the best, but I couldn’t just accept it, not yet, not just yet.
I felt him pick up my left hand on the table and squeeze it. I wanted to wrench my hand away and slap him but I couldn’t. I knew he was trying to comfort me, to help me, and I felt a pang of guilt that my first instinct was to reject him. This is what I hate, I was losing a good friend, a best friend, who knew me sometimes better than I did. I knew we would always be friends, friends till the end of our lives, but I also knew that we would both avoid the intimacy that we had developed over these last two years so as not to open old wounds. Then I realized, it wasn’t so much breaking up that hurt, it was losing the attention of this wonderful man, this urban cowboy that I had grown to love very much, this connection to a part of my soul that this man had opened up.
I finally turned my head and looked down at his hand covering mine; even our hands together looked mismatched somehow although there were on top of each other. I let my eyes wonder up his sleeve, over his shoulder, over his face and finally straight into his eyes. Kind eyes, I thought to myself. There was always kindness in those eyes despite the pain and sadness I was seeing there now. I found myself drowning in those hazel green eyes of his and feeling like I had somehow secretly landed into his soul. There was comfort there as well sadness, a sense of failure, and pain, lots and lots of pain. My heart went out to him and I knew that I could now live with our breakup.
I turned my hand over and squeezed his hand back and smiled.
*********************
Tear jerker of an ending, I know. I think alot of relationships end like this ... in silence ... with a single touch. Sometimes there are no words to express pain, sadness and longing. Sometimes there's just silence and the touching of skin and then silence again.
Tuesday, July 10, 2001
I keep thinking about this novel that I want to write. I don't see myself as the kind of writer who writes novels. They seem way too long and way too involved. But this one particular story I think, will be so long, it will have to be a novel. I have a title. I seem to be great at coming up with titles for my stories. The title for this novel is called "Following in the Dark". I like it. It's a little strange but it seems to make sense at least to me. I think I am back in what I call "my twisted sister" mood. I have weird stories in my head that keep wanting to get out. And yes, stranger than my elf girl story. The stories are dark, twisted, tending to the shadow side of personhood. That's why I call them my twisted sister stories. They're usually about the dark think I keep hidden away, that nobody knows about, that sometimes even surprise me. I think everyone has secrets, a dark side, a sinister and gleeful side that even their closest friends don't know about.
It's the side that gets turned on by lurid and lewd things. Things which in SF are so politically incorrect but which are so deliciously evil and very funny in their own way.
This novel is about a woman who has this dark side, this sinister, closet evil slut side. She meets a man, Jake, who introduces her to the darker side of sex and lust. I don't think the story is about S&M, although some of it takes place in that world. The story is more about embracing your dark side and at the same time embracing your light side. I think you have to be both, to be normal. You can't embrace one without embracing the other, although most people do embrace only their light side. When you only embrace one side, the other side tends to leak out, spill out, spew out in the most surprising ways. I think the novel also has alot to do with pain. I think pain can be an interesting thing to think about. People have so many associations with pain. It's a loaded topic, so loaded that it starts to take on a life of its own. Pain can either be your guide or it can rule your life, it's your decision. And I mean pain of any kind, emotional, physical, sexual, whatever. Sometimes pain takes you on a dark and winding path that sometimes leads to transformation and other times lead you to pure hell. But I don't think you know until you go down the path where it's going to lead and even then and it's a 50/50 split either way. But again, it's that whole ying and yang thing. Heaven/hell, pain/pleasure. What is someone's pain can also be someone's deep, deep pleasure.
It's the side that gets turned on by lurid and lewd things. Things which in SF are so politically incorrect but which are so deliciously evil and very funny in their own way.
This novel is about a woman who has this dark side, this sinister, closet evil slut side. She meets a man, Jake, who introduces her to the darker side of sex and lust. I don't think the story is about S&M, although some of it takes place in that world. The story is more about embracing your dark side and at the same time embracing your light side. I think you have to be both, to be normal. You can't embrace one without embracing the other, although most people do embrace only their light side. When you only embrace one side, the other side tends to leak out, spill out, spew out in the most surprising ways. I think the novel also has alot to do with pain. I think pain can be an interesting thing to think about. People have so many associations with pain. It's a loaded topic, so loaded that it starts to take on a life of its own. Pain can either be your guide or it can rule your life, it's your decision. And I mean pain of any kind, emotional, physical, sexual, whatever. Sometimes pain takes you on a dark and winding path that sometimes leads to transformation and other times lead you to pure hell. But I don't think you know until you go down the path where it's going to lead and even then and it's a 50/50 split either way. But again, it's that whole ying and yang thing. Heaven/hell, pain/pleasure. What is someone's pain can also be someone's deep, deep pleasure.
Monday, July 09, 2001
I got bored posting so I stopped. Went on vacation to Hawaii, supposedly where Lemuria was before the earthquake broke it up and sank most of it except for the Islands. It was very hot, 85 degrees with 80% humidity. Did not run into any elves there but saw lots of pretty hula girls with very long hair. Growing long hair can be such a pain. I grew my hair down to my butt once. It wasn't very attractive. It thinned out and became stringy and even though I spent fortune getting it trimmed, it always looked witchy.
I know men fantasize about women with long hair but it's really not that great. Once while on top, my hair kept getting in my then boryfriend's face and he kept spitting it out of his mouth. Very romantic. Then at night, he would wind his hands around my hair and when he turned over he would take me with him. Yikes! I keep my hair shoulder length now. It's still long ut not too long and it's better than that butchy dikey short dorothy iceskater hair from the 70's that so many women insist on wearing. It's looks so dated, so unfashionable. Go to any town between the coasts and you'll finds heaps of women with that old lady hair. Nobody fashionable wears their hair short like that any more. Don't these women know? Women over 50 love that haircut. It's their teenage form of rebellion in their golden years coming through. Like didn't they already work out those issues when they were younger? Go to any mall and count how many women over 50 have that short iceskater 70's hair? You'll see. It's the mullet for women.
I know men fantasize about women with long hair but it's really not that great. Once while on top, my hair kept getting in my then boryfriend's face and he kept spitting it out of his mouth. Very romantic. Then at night, he would wind his hands around my hair and when he turned over he would take me with him. Yikes! I keep my hair shoulder length now. It's still long ut not too long and it's better than that butchy dikey short dorothy iceskater hair from the 70's that so many women insist on wearing. It's looks so dated, so unfashionable. Go to any town between the coasts and you'll finds heaps of women with that old lady hair. Nobody fashionable wears their hair short like that any more. Don't these women know? Women over 50 love that haircut. It's their teenage form of rebellion in their golden years coming through. Like didn't they already work out those issues when they were younger? Go to any mall and count how many women over 50 have that short iceskater 70's hair? You'll see. It's the mullet for women.
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