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I realize now that I need a fiction reader. I am not enough of a fiction writer to see potential in a story that doesn't quite move me, and I don't want to publish something that I find mediocre especially if I think that maybe it could be improved. I can catch tense discrepencies, and spelling, and glaring stuff. But the subtle "if this line were there instead of here" kinds of things are a bit lost on me.

Soon as school gets less crazy-insane-crazy (about a week) I'll start asking around. In the meantime, if anyone has any suggestions I'd loooooove to read them. :)

(also I'm looking for a pal with whom I can talk or write about Sylvia Plath? Ideally this someone would know a little bit about her life, and a little bit about confessionalist poetry. I know it's not the most uplifting poet, but I'm doing my thesis here.)

(from an email to my advisor)

...as I'm reading some criticism (not just literary) of Plath's use of holocaust metaphor and it explains my dis-ease with the whole concept... they use "emotional plagiarism" but to me it smacks of appropriation. And I think to myself "fuck, appropriation. my favorite poet appropriated the holocaust for her own pity party?"

I don't want to say yes, but in Daddy and Lady Lazarus... maybe she was trying to get to something else and that was as close as she got? There's no way to know, but she did write in her last letter home (or one of them) "I am a genius of a writer" which imo can only imply that she agreed with using the holocaust to describe her childhood.

At first I thought I was vaguely/unidentifiably uncomfortable with "nazi/jew as father/daughter" because it hit too close to home (however, though he was a baby rapist, my father was not a nazi, of this I am aware) or something else 'benign' it is clear to me that plowing ahead like a runaway train was not the way to go. But I've done a little research and maybe with more I'll see that this too is ridiculousness. But I doubt it.

I see the pitfalls of playing fast and loose with metaphor. But it's more than a sheer/mere craft issue. Appropriation un-does what I think of as the heart of confessional poetry: it alienates the appropriated from the work making it inaccessible, non-universal. It's just the epitome of white person living an unexamined life. And I am deeply shamed to be discovering this about Plath's poetry relatively late in my life. I am grateful for learning it relatively early, however. I am learning. I am learning. It's a process, and one I simply have to trust, however cliche I've helped make that at Goddard. I have to trust that I will discover the holes in my theories, the pits in my falls, the unethical in my ethics, before I run off and "publish" them.

Things are working out, just in case people have been worried. :)

I've failed so many college semesters, it seems I have just about used up my student loan money.

I'm 500-1000 diollars short for this semester, which means I may not be attending college this fall.

I am speechless, and freaking out. This is more money than I can ask anyone I know. Especially since I need to figure out how to replace my computer AND buy a scooter.

I'm going to go hyperventilate for a while, then go to an erotic writing workshop, then out with my sweetie. More soon.

Anyone here interested in / available for an e-discussion about stone as gender/sexual expression and how it can be articulated in poetry? Particular interests for me: rapunzel references, river/rock references, a sense of stone as expression of post-trauma self protection as opposed to a simplistic "emotionally unavailable" or "won't take clothes off".

Anyone?





Bueller?






(i always spell that wrong, sorry if i did again)

- address retransition as rational, reasonable thing to do

- address recovered memory details and how this affected my lifestyle/sexuality/self-expression

- address falling in love

- address toxic apartment

I can't even express this. I've felt it as long as I can remember. I thought I might have found enough family to not feel this emptiness... or at least the right meds that will dull it enough to ignore.

I know my body is still adjusting to being back on my regular medication dosage. I went more than a week on a half dose and then several days without any and even missing two days can mess up my equilibrium. But this feels intolerable.

Intolerable really is the word for it. I'll do what I always do and ride it out, but the ride sucks.

I feel completely surreal. Leslie is on her way home and I am a mess. I saw my mom twice in the past seven days. I don't know why I continue to see her. I can accomplish the things she "helps" me with. I tell her about an accomplishment and she doesn't get it. I try to gush about my love for Leslie and the kids and she criticizes.

Leslie and I both thought about it around the same time, and I think I said it first: she's acting like a jealous ex. My mother. I know it's not possible to have a healthy relationship with my father because of his abusive meanness. But my mother's abuse has always been framed in "love" and "good intentions" and it's taken my 37 years to truly get how fucked up she is.

I'm with trauma and recovery on this one. I think my mother was abused early enough, or severely enough, or in some specific way "enough" to truly fracture her ability to move through the world in any way other than recreating abusive situations. Not like, she re-creates and then notices and tries to change. She doesn't notice. She still won't even accept the possibility that her life has been anything but charmed. Which is the biggest line of BS I've heard since WMDs.

I need to extract my life from her, but I don't know how. I know basic things, like don't call or email her or invite her to do things. But when she asks... what do I do? I ask her to not come over ininvited but she still does.

But also -- how does one go about stopping the cycle of "I am lonely, I want my mommy" kind of thinking? Even though she's never been there for me consistently, there is a part of me that really wants her to be here for me. And so I keep giving chances. And I keep hurting. Do I look for someone else to "play mommy"? Maybe I need to go to Codependent Anonymous after all. I mean, honestly, what I'm looking for is a sponser-type person.

I'm at a coffee shop trying not to cry. It's not going well. I'm not doing well. I'm desperately lonely and I just don't know what to do. Thinking of losing the closest thing to a mother I've ever had just aches. Even while I know she's as far away from "mother" as a parent can get...

So I submitted my "medusa" poem to www.brotheroutsider.org and they accepted it!!!!!!!!!!

EDITED to reflect the actual posting time and take out extra qualifying.

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS for New Online Journal & Forum: Brother Outsider
Please visit www.brotheroutsider.org

Brother Outsider is a new online journal that promotes identity
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writing.

Visitors and subscribers of the site can expect content that focuses
on FTM, Transmasculine and masculine Genderqueer experiences in
America and abroad.

Brother Outsider will be a monthly online journal that will host
written work in the genres of fiction, nonfiction and erotic fiction.
(Please visit www.brotheroutsider.org for further information).

You don't have to be an award winning author, essayist or journalist
or even a "writer" to express yourself through writing. On
www.brotheroutsider.org we simply want the expression of oneself
through the most powerful weapon on earth, words, and anyone can do
it. Please join us in the revolution of Trans representation and
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Compensation will be provided for some contributors each month.
Site launch date is August 2008!

Please visit http://www.brotheroutsider.org for all submission information!

I'm having a hard time getting back into my writing groove. So much is in my head. I have a cycle of poetry I've been trying to get back into.

One of the things that has thrown me today is I got a compliment from the poetry editor of "breath and shadow" -- I'm the uncultured rube who doesn't really know what this publication is, so I had to ask the sweetie. But the editor person said "that's one hell of a sestina" or so, to the sestina that was on metanoia.

Apparently the compliment was kind of a big deal. I don't know. It's nice encouragement, but it's also hard to keep slogging through drab writing when I'd rather be writing poetry.

(12:30pM, 7/11)

First: I’m mostly okay.

I’m totally broke. Barely the 10th of the month and I have 11 dollars in my account and I think I still have a check to clear... I need to figure out a way to either make a couple bucks or to not spend -anything- outside of basic bills and groceries.

I’m not so much sad as I am confused. My sweetie is off right now with someone I feel incredibly threatened by, and there’s not even a reason to feel threatened.

(6:30pm, 7/11)

Speaking of threatened... well I guess speaking of people...

(9:15pm, 7/13)

Oy, so much for talking about being threatened by people. :)

Lot of thinking in the shahn head.

Metanoia:
I want to refocus and specialize, I think. At least make it explicitly queer.

Shahn Dot Net:
I dunno. I have thoughts for the passing blog. But maybe I should just broaden this.

Here:
I want to start doing more trauma/ptsd work again. With or without a therapist.

School:
I need to do my PR2 (level 6 review)

I have a bunch of correspondence to do. I have my own writing as well. I have financial stuff to try and figure out. I have reading I want to do, both bubble-gum and substantive. And then there's hanging with the sweetie, playing with the kids, etc.

Speaking of kids. One of our neighbors is a 9 yr old girl who was clearly sexually abused. We don't know when or if it's stopped. Being around her triggers me almost instantly. I am at a loss for dealing with this. It's especially hard trying to set boundaries for a little girl while I'm feeling so much in my heart like a little girl.

Leslie was off to Philly from Wednesday until about 40 mins from now. We forgot about the no bus thing, but I have enough money to pay for a cab. I’ll call and schedule that in a few minutes.

Last time L went out of town without me I fell apart. Completely. This time was better. I ate more often, got outside more, drank more water, and stayed on my meds.

Okay, called the cab.

My laptop desk is breaking and I’m pissed. It keeps tipping over. My other little desk breaks often too. 200$ I paid for these things and they couldn’t even last 6 months. Grrr.

My advisor rocks. Like a hardcore rocking rocker, she does. I will miss her. She told me she wished she could work with me again. Can you believe that? I have to get an extension, was on time but once, and she still wants to work with me again. Incentive for the MFA track, I guess...

My credit score has gone up something like 50 points. Just for paying stuff off, I’m back in the 500s.

We move tomorrow. Have I mentioned that yet? TOMORROW. Are we packed? No. NO! ACK!

Can anyone teleport here and help me out?

I’m sad. Deeply sad. I know it’s just PMS, but it’s really hard. Like, to-my-bones sad. The only thing that makes it better is beef and potato chips. I’m out of chips, but I have beef. And soon I’ll have my sweetie and she’ll make it better with hugs and chatter.

I’m so lonely. I spent most of this weekend not talking to anyone but the kids and L on the phone. Well, I talked to the kids’ dad... and my mom on the phone.

Shit! I forgot to call about the truck for moving! SHIT!

Okay. I’m gonna go try and stop freaking out now. Please leave me some CALM!!!

I found an office for rent in b-town, richardson place, 365/mo heated, parking available for extra 75/mo.

Anyone looking for office space and wanting to split cost? I could afford half of that easily, for my writing/zine work.

Just submitted my financial aid application. Here’s hoping there’s enough...

That “schmooze” has a correct spelling.