Write the body Cixous urges. Write the feminine, write the body. And my body aches to be written.
But there ahead always lies danger. An immediate fight or flight response that paralyzes my hands, a shrill whisper, a reminder of the threat.
There are material consequences for sharing your truths, of what you know and how you came to know it. And somehow seeing them in print seems to seal my fate——my thoughts my desires my experience appears, a mirror.
The blood rising to my cheeks, flushing guiltily. I am guilty. But my shame emerges from that bizarre tense of “should.” Ashamed not of my desires, at what I have done and wish to do, but shame at how unashamed I am.
Bound tightly, a web of shame guilt fear keeps my busy hands still.
Dorothy Allison and Amber Hollibaugh write about dangerous desire, about growing up working class, about femme identity. Their stories are echos of my own, they reverberate and resonate through me. They compel me towards this business of telling one’s stories.
I believe in stories more than I believe in most things. But my stories….when I begin them I immediately must face a two-fold fear that Allison and Hollibaugh both articulate so precisely: a fear that I will betray someone, that I will betray my family my communities my lovers my friends and the fear that if I try to compromise for a specific political agenda then I must somehow transform the chaos of my identity into something uncomplicated, to deny my nuances my contradictions my danger and my pleasure.
Currently and simultaneously with my MA thesis, I am writing a collection of creative reflections that explore the relationship between memory and sexuality.
When I began writing them, I learned just how messy this business of storytelling can be. Because my stories are just that: messy.
I did not anticipate just how violent, ugly, primal, my desire, my sexuality, my past present daydream memories could be. They are indeed dangerous. Thrilling, sometimes reckless, they are the truths of a queer high stone femme slut bitch. They exceed the dominant paradigms of traditional feminist thought and theory. They find a warmer home in feminist pornography then they ever would at a Women’s Leadership Luncheon.
While academic language, in all of its density and inaccessibility, allows me to make similar claims, to write about the same themes and concepts, I feel safe wrapped in my theory, in my ability to abstract and examine. “I” am propped up, vindicated by evidence, an authority of someone else’s voice, someone who is worthy where I am not.
But writing about sexuality, about queerness, about pornography, and desire that is pornographic I cannot help but to be immediately present in my work.
Writing about masochistic desire and subbing makes me confront the deeper, darker, complicated colors of my sexuality and my identity. The deep burgundy, mahoganies, the blues and greens of bruises. Writing about the figuration of the femme, I confronted the aspects of my femme top desire, my stone encased mystery. The way I cock my chin upward, hold her glance, let her know she’s the only thing I want. My arrogance, my shy way of knowing.
In my writing, I am always, and at every moment, vulnerable.
Which is why I find it necessary, this second practice of writing my body. It is where I nourish the parts of myself that are too rich, too juicy, sloppy, messy for academic language. I write the places and the textures and the longings that too often find refuge in silence.
I will be brave, I am a story teller. I must.
- Blog Tour: My Writing Process
- Scoops on Peep
- Review: The Smart Girls Guide to the G Spot by Violet Blue
- Peep’s Picks: Books for Beginning Scholarly and Practical Kink Studies
- Review: Pop Tops Deluxe Silicone G-Spotter from Pleasure Works
- Looking and Exhibitionism
- Feminist Porn Con: A Love Letter
- Review: We-Vibe Touch
- Review: Sensuelle Point
- Review: Icicles No. 5
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