twas' a quiet Sunday?

Tell No One, it came from me.

No longer is sex difficult
Bodies are accessible
Most challenging is feeling.

Yesterday was nice. There was caffeine, pea soup and a bloody punk show. There was The New York Times second review of Ninth Street Espresso, red-eyes and cappuccino crowds. I couldn’t keep myself from commenting, this was what the media does: spoil secrecy, silence. We leaned closer toward each other. Conversation circled concepts, we may have seemed critical, curious, who knows. I took notes, every engagement is the chance to memorize, quote. “Remodernists: A New Sincerity.” Filmmakers: Anderson(s), Louiso, Coppola, Gondry, Kaufman, Braff, Hess. Philosophy: On Beauty, Denis Donahue. Trouble with Beauty, Wendy Steiner. Poets: Livingston, Massey, Mister, Robinson, Berman, Wagner, Hart, Lin, Seidel, Greenberg, Levis, Sexton. Seeking valid meaning within themselves, self-fulfillment. In opposition to material values, early modernist turned inward away from world to concentrate on self and inward life. We agreed, it all reflected me. Or, I channeled it. Realized how materials never participate in my writing, they are forgotten, not so much an act of avoidance but perhaps, an innate resistance. Materialism does not make matter, that is the significant sort of matter (containing or producing meaning). Basically, materials just tease us—do nothing but decorate life and complicate a former simplicity. One could argue that literature is a material object, and it is, a product of the mind’s materials—and a real fucking challenge to make external. I wrote in the corner of the page, “I feel my job will be in opposition to my interior passion. It will be my greatest contradiction.” I am not sure if this makes me sad, not yet at least, but it does make me restless, a bit desperate and perhaps possessed, possessed by passion. I brought up the female predicament, so to speak, at odds with each other: the body can experience pleasure and sex for procreating. I am not sure my focus is so much on that. I asked, “How often does the woman attain authentic pleasure.” More and more I feel it is less about attaining then it is about achieving. The generalization being men are visual beings and women are emotionally bent. What I want to inform or rather, make genders comfortable with is the truth: women are visual beings, too, closing their eyes they imagine their desire: an embellished scene that is distanced to the event of the moment. But why can’t women speak up more? Why are they self-contained? Men orgasm—are expected to—knowing that there is a product that will have to show for it. This all speaks to the man’s ability to be touched by the moment and most importantly, their ability to let go and be out of control. The more informed I am by this, the more I can’t help but wonder whether the displeasure of men comes from witnessing a woman’s inability to be genuinely involved—to go the same distance as himself. I know I may challenge the norms that females are comfortable with, but I can not pretend like I support the side that feels disadvantaged, claiming that during sexual engagement it was all about the man—he was the one that got off, etc, etc. I can’t feel distanced from men in this regard, because I know I have been treated otherwise. I know I have had the same opportunity to achieve the same sort of “effect”. And often times, I have been given more opportunities, allowing selfishness on my behalf. My desire is to shock women into motion, exposing we are vehicles with the same type of power that society wants to continue and pretend men have more of. Each one of us is responsible for the extent of one’s own feeling—if we want to feel something deeper, something empowering, we should be able to let ourselves. 

Much more to say about Sunday's scandal, but now I have to go. Kaufman awaits and my eyes cannot wait!