Rantworthy!

The excerpt below, along with the art piece made me cry. When talking about colonialism, it may be useful to remember that for some people, it’s the disappearance of stunning spiritual art cultures that may finally penetrate the knowledge they carry with them and sting the heart towards action… I fully acknowledge that my own response and/or they way I have written about it here may be highly steeped in colonialist and imperialist notions. I plan to explore this further through poetry and research on this particular piece, art meaning to contain supernatural power, and Polynesian and Oceanic history, culture, and present situations. & the sad thing about the internet is that I can’t figure out whether this painting belongs to oceanic art forms, or is an italian depiction of oceanic rock art!

“The most famous Polynesian art forms are the Moai (statues) of Rapa Nui/Easter Island. Polynesian art is characteristically ornate, and often meant to contain supernatural power. However the period beyond 1600 AD had seen intense interaction with European explorers, in addition to continuing earlier cultural traditions. The collections of European explorers during the period show that classical Polynesian art was indeed flourishing. In the 19th century, depopulation of areas due to slave raiding and Western diseases disrupted many societies and cultures. Missionary work in the region caused the conversion to Christianity, and in some cases the destruction of traditional cultural and artistic heritage of the region, specifically sculpture. However more secular art forms continue, such as carving and textile work. With the end of colonialism however, Polynesians increasingly attempted to assert their cultural identity.” - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polynesian_art#Polynesia

In an effort to generate profit, the University of Calgary has begun to harvest its hares’ vaginas, wombs, and testicles.

The abundant creatures are snatched from peaceful academic lawns, treated, then placed back into their natural habitat. Veterinary program students extract the requisite parts, which are then dried, mixed with wine, and ingested to cure infertility in couples – and to promote conception of a male fetus. The idea to use hare members for profit is reported to have emanated by an act of God from the Medieval Compendium of Women’s Medicine, which lists a number of treatments “On Impediments to Conception.” The University claims that, so far, sales have gone through the roof.

No change in the re-placed hares’ appearance or behaviour has been detected post-procedure by project officials. Low Enrollment Studies students claim to have observed a change in hare eye colour, but are glad the university is sacrificing hares, not programs.

Dear Life,

Please, please, please?

Yanno, even if I write total crap… at least I write quite a bit, often, a lot, randomly, on scraps of paper and in typing and and and at least it sustains me.

On writing, I am thankful.

Potential poly stuff is coming up in my relp’s.
Sexuality and sexual agency are coming up in my relp’s.
Assertiveness, voice, power, love are all coming up in my idealistic world, when I hope it will also manifest in my relp’s. Sometimes it does.

And I know I can’t keep avoiding my past experiences. Problem is, they’re far away; I don’t remember a lot of things. They’re scattered between decades and empty or sloshed-up memory banks. I don’t know how to process them. I don’t know that I ever processed them then. I didn’t want to work through them, just leave them, build up enough resources and courage and sureness in my decision to run away and never have to deal with them again.

I made sure to remember enough, just one example that would prove to me how bad it was. With him, it was when he used sex to try and get me to change my mind about something he wanted us to go do (swimming, that time, of all things). And how he never would tell me, after we broke up, about my body - what he figured out, the ways he knew to get me off. I remember how he would tell me I came, but I wouldn’t feel it; how my body slowly learned to do its own thing, make its own conclusions while my mind was unsure. How he knew the various maps of my sexual responses so much better that I ever did (and ever have, as of yet) for myself. I remember how sweet he could be, and how moody. I remember how after our fight in the kitchen, our puppy started becoming aggressive - was never quite the same. I know I never forgave myself or him for that dog, but I think I never forgave either of us for any of it, maybe. It was never physical like hitting; but I think it was sexual like I let myself lose sexual agency, or let myself take the easy route of not acquiring or learning sexual agency. And emotionally, unless I got really pissed about a certain circumstance, I mostly just took his freak-outs, like my Dad waited out and took my mom’s. Silently, with kindness and comforting after. But, is it kindness to let someone you’re that close with get away with shit like, in ways that aren’t healthy, aren’t the way to deal with all of it? I don’t know, but I probably shouldn’t blame myself, even though I can’t help it.

I don’t remember the day-to-day life. Especially Vancouver; Vancouver was hard. I don’t think we ever developed a common language, just an attraction and/or some crazyass need to be with someone, attempt support, attempt living together and lots of sex… And I wonder if the insertion pain, or the tight muscle in my pelvic floor that may cause it are part of how we did things, sexually and emotionally; if those things will relax and heal when/if I heal. I hope I healed him in some ways, though I am sure in others I was often hurtful and/or in the wrong. Well, I’m not sure, but no one walks away without scars and wounds, right? 

Did I even learn from that relationship? Am I blindly repeating mistakes again? I don’t know. I don’t know. :(

I need agency. I need to develop it, strive for it, take little actions and find ways to exercise it, develop it; my (relationship) agency muscles are almost non-existent in some ways. And how to get them there in the sense of also not stepping over others’ boundaries? I.have.no.fucking.clue. Maybe it’s about comfort, trust; maybe it’s a touch and go, back and forth kind of process of weaving in and out of borders actively and seeing what happens.

It makes me think of a recent (good) experience. How it’s part of doing the scary-but-exciting stuff, the good stuff, the thrilling “oh my god what if we, together, try…”, and actually trying it, and feeling that trust… and maybe that’s why I need to talk about sex ahead of time in order to relax into it, because then I have agency instead of just “let’s do what feels good” - because what feels good, isn’t always what I want or am comfortable with; what feels good isn’t always what *I* know feels good. Because then it can be pre-arranged, pre-determined; I know the terms, and it’s safer: so much harder for someone to say “oh, well actually you owe me this other thing, now, ‘cause I did what made you feel good, spontaneously.”

That good stuff, allowing yourself to be scared beforehand, and trusting and in pleasure during, maybe that’s part of the growing pains of moving from object to subject, maybe; from being reactive/response but also inward and contained, towards lighting a candle inside and keeping it protected and burning for that period of time that we open up to each other. Lighting my own candle, rather than someone else sparking it behind my back, making me feel the warmth, spilling some wax on my back and ass, but never showing me the candle, never waiting for me to find or light or feel it myself. Lighting my own candle…

Oh, yeah, and then there’s all the family physical/emotional bullshit that I won’t even go into right now. BLegh.