The Gynecology of Morals

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SadLuckDame
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Post by SadLuckDame » September 27th, 2009, 10:48 pm

Exactly true
paranoia when already living paranoid.

I used to visit this communal house, a bunch of guy friends; hippies, who traveled to shows together. So they bought this huge stained glass windowed house to share. We called it The Looking Glass house.

Well, you can imagine the hallucinogen scene inside.

My girlfriend and I were the two kind sisters who visited. I flirted with the long red-headed poet, whose intellect was way beyond mine, but I was smitten and she flirted with another. We'd flower pick and assemble wild flower bouquets for them practicing our wooing. Just two dumb girls and a group of dumb guys.

There was one who became so overly paranoid, (he'd dipped into too many paint roller pans of lsd, leading to it.) So, there he'd be curled under the giant windows, peeking up over to look for who ever it was he looked for. It was a sight, he was a gigantic bear of a guy.

Once he'd attempted to mush his big lips on mine. He told me I was to be a kind girl and I'd better start behaving as such. His enormous mouth. I think of it still.

O.K. so I was going to keep it short and not only use him as an example of paranoia living paranoid, but also to explain my ex.

My ex with his big mouth. I thought he was the most intelligent man I'd met. He talked me into circles, into corners, into wedding him. I never knew anything he'd said to me.

I'll return if you want to hear more of it.

P.S.
I wrote it down about the oranges.
May appear in a poem sometime.
I never know.
I just write so much random things down.
I have notebooks, pocket size floating around
everywhere round me.

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SadLuckDame
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Post by SadLuckDame » September 27th, 2009, 11:31 pm

I'm just going to finish the story. Have to keep an orderly schedule as soon as Sunday bows out every week.

I think it worked at first because of it. He had me at his advantage, I felt stupid as shit in his presence. Of course I'd try to keep to my gut instincts, but he managed to over-rule them using massive vocabulary. I, being only an uneducated, dependent and determined Mother. My job 'Mother', I was completely proud of it, I still am.

But, if other matters arose, his mouth got so large and the words trapped me. I became the silence. Easiest.

After the Catfish started his entertainment and I couldn't stop from listening. Jack K went on the road? What? And what did he get to do? Tell me...

I woke up. No idea why I'd let the ex's big mouth consume me. I don't know why I didn't feel entitled to exist, or become anything but one simple thing. Once his encouragements started though, I couldn't stop.

I was hungry.

He fed me something with a taste to it, not a dull diet. And I read it all, I'm still reading.

I'm his project, product of Bronte, Hawthorne, H. Miller, T.S. Elliot, etc. But, though I used and abused, one thing important--Monumental even, happened,

I knew what the ex's big mouth was saying finally. Ha! And really, from there it was bound to get dirty.

The predictable stuff, I grew dull of his tyrannical self, and what I'd thought of as intelligent before, became not but mush, like the big guy's lips.

Intelligence wasn't vocabulary to use to corner a dumb broad, to gain a power over her and bully with T-Rex jaws.

It was what my friend the Catfish used it for, to encourage me, just a silly girl. To believe what greats before had, to step forward.

I could keep going, but I'm embarrassing myself.

It doesn't need to be poetry.

It's just the message. Then putting it out there, I guess.

Nietzche was mentioning about labor. I agree.

Going to bed with my paranoid self. Sleep well.

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SadLuckDame
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Post by SadLuckDame » September 28th, 2009, 7:11 am

More on paranoia and on Nietzsche's labor pain discussion, afterthought.

Paranoia and my head trip over the Dear John letter.
I was going to tell him how much I'd hated him
which the emotion surfaces till I let the dame talk me out of it.
But, I was going to mention how the poet was a nice touch
gentle and sweet with me at times, even if it was shallow as far as
actual details, I'd none on him
You won't know a thing I mean
you're just an innocent at the end of my whim
my apologies
and I was going to share my frustrations about drivers gunning it
down highway 1, full speed ahead, skunks dead on.
And how hitchhiking put me in the seat with non smiling joes
who were weary on the road too long and cared not for my conversation, only to think of warm skin. Bah! nice touch too thanks catfish. yes, I'll drink coffee black. here it turns into the labor pains part...
in labor you forget you can't handle it because there's not much option. Tricky, but neat the body just does it even though you'd not think it could push like that, open like that, just go go go
it does it regardless
pretty cool to me
whatever trucker, I just go, I don't think in any 10 step way any longer. forgive a girl like me. I won't waste my time hesitating, I'll sleep screaming in my head at the dame easily now, no sweat, paranoia for skin, voices for company, I'm just game.

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SadLuckDame
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Post by SadLuckDame » September 28th, 2009, 10:21 am

Authenticity, fictitiousness, shallowness they are my Demons, they haunt me. Apparitions in reality, my imagination is more real than damn reality.

I told the therapist this, it's my psychosis. I don't believe what he says to me, he's only trying to calm or sooth me, I believe none of it. Do you think I should screw him since he says I'm beautiful, or since he says he understands? I don't believe he understands, and beauty is everywhere, easily found, so that doesn't hold me to it. She'd thought I was off my rocker. She even asked me if I felt she too was only saying things to flirt with me, relax me and asked if I thought her fictitious too. I did and said so, politely because I'm polite delivering my manias. The world woos, it flirts, it's shallow.

When I'd read that about the scent of men, I knew.

It wasn't about getting laid to me, if I were to do it to flirt for money, to be taken care of than I'd become a prostitute which is more straightforward. There's more decency to it if you announce you'd like to be paid for sexual favors and honesty goes with the territory. I got it, could swallow that.

I feel bad for him, not myself. He was a nice guy, very decent. He didn't deserve to be mistreated the way I had. But, my mind is screwy. It's the only explaining I have.

I write because of it. My dame became more real than my body and reality. If I pen it out than there is something real to be read, I let the dame live so I can live, so I can sleep at night until I'm but a body in the ground.

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SadLuckDame
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Post by SadLuckDame » September 28th, 2009, 10:36 am

I'll also take a moment to say something for my heart too, because I'm not completely horrid. I did tell him repeatedly that he could go screw other women if he wanted. I was sick with the head flu. I didn't expect him to go starve. I pointed out attractive women, one in particular whom paid him special attention. I encouraged it fully. Go for it I told him. I told the therapist too. I told her I had no issue if he went at it till I fixed my head. I freaked her out. I figured I didn't need a therapist because since childhood I've been misunderstood and since then I've also accepted it.

What does it matter, I wouldn't believe it if they told me they understood. I'm precious, I don't need pity. I'm well equipped to deal with myself.

Then I read that about the scent, and I became alert to it. First time I felt understood. I didn't lie. I was serious.

Thanks for the Therapy Dr., if I may call you Nietzsche.

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stilltrucking
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Post by stilltrucking » October 3rd, 2009, 6:30 pm

I just finished reading Influential Heights.

Still ruminating on it.

Stein recognized the onset of enlightened false consciousness in herself and turned from it. William James had taught her to keep an open mind. ...

The poetics of the common knowledge By Don Byrd
Hey you know me
the google poseur
I have not read the book, just that bit.
And something you wrote poped that bit about gertrude stein into mind. Well I guess a woman is a woman is a

gertrude stein reminds me of my grandmother. It is uncanny.
The Uncanny (Ger. Das Unheimliche -- literally, "un-home-ly") is a Freudian concept of an instance where something can be familiar, yet foreign at the same time,

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SadLuckDame
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Post by SadLuckDame » October 4th, 2009, 12:54 am

a woman is a woman is a woman
but all three different from women

Trucker, I was honestly relieved to return to these hidden away threads. It's the better of the choices when I'm under a lunar mood.

Hope Anais turns out a good broad for your reading influence. Her and Henri match up in compliments. I read Henry Miller first, Tropic of Cancer, then Tropic of Capricorn. Next Henri and June, then Black Spring...plus more. Like an addict.

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stilltrucking
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Post by stilltrucking » October 4th, 2009, 5:01 am

someone said I was a latent racist.
Nothing latent about my racism.
A woman is a woman is a Jewess.

I don't know where the bit in the KJV is about the circumcision of the heart.

The women in my family had me convinced that there is a difference between Jewish women and all others.

I don't guess it is too different from an Italian woman wanting her son to marry and Italian boy, a good Catholic.

Diamond Lil, I call her
What the women in my family put her through when my brother married her.

Well that is just chit chat I suppose. One of my maternal uncles was trying to get a gig in a synagogue as a cantor. He has/had a beautiful voice. But I remember him grilling my grandmother for hours it seemed about her mother, and her mother's mother and her mother's mother. The synagogue wanted proof he was a Jew.
It is recconded matrilineally (spelling) Don't matter who your daddy is, itis something handed down from mother to daughter. Obama may call himself a black man, but if his mother was Jewish he would be a Jew to Jews.
It is in the blood. Not the religion.
Jews were never much for winning converts. They just want to take over the world according to what I have read. (sarcasm) I wish somebody would let me in on the plot.



I am not sure I understand what enlightened false consciousness is. It is the name of a French Teen Band according to google.

I printed out Influential Heights, I may have to print out all your stuff because it is difficult for me to read on this monitor. . My eyes are not what they were. Her influence on your writting is not obvious to me. I have read nothing by her. Yet.

Your punctuatian seems impecable to me. That is why I had to print it out to read it more carefully. Ah the pity of punctuation. I have no idea. I toss punctuation marks around subliminally (spelling) I have no idea. And at this late date, in my geezer hood I hear Lew Welch's turkey buzzard flapping around over my head I feel like it is too late to learn basic English grammar let alone scansion.. (sorry yejun) I am going to find a list of proof readers marks and use those when in doubt.


The Pity of Punctuation


Hoard of words released like manic
spring with its quick gush blooms of bright
where endings have not even a small chance
life forever resurrecting itself without the monster
splotch which when shrunken to depressed
the psychoanalyst calls the period
of realization and the patient hangs on
for her dear however listless
existence like a hyphen at the end
of its rope searching for its dropped
letters like I wait and hold my breath
for my letter that the male carrier might bring
with the possible swerve of love
before any wall of stiff brackets
and the unforgiving is embedded
into the type you know the type

where false hope lies in the dash and never forget

the pun how could one for therein
lived the fun when it was lost inside
me as my body and all punctuation
was temporarily erased eight years ago
same as the symbol of eternity
in April that whore month
with its hoard of all that is
possible while the sun slowly pitched itself
into the lake and he left and suddenly

too many commas crawled in carrying
colons with their screaming litanies of lists
and question marks with WHYWHYWHY
on their small hooked spineless backs
and the parade would not stop

until finally the period did roll in so bleak
and yet what a tiny thing it was
as I began to feel the fade into
the seamless midnight sky
with my being given
no choice but to curve onto that dot
and disappear with it


Copyright © 2005 by Susan Hahn.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission
Last edited by stilltrucking on October 4th, 2009, 5:28 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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SadLuckDame
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Post by SadLuckDame » October 4th, 2009, 8:44 am

Yes, my punctuation is a horrid sight. I throw commas around like ice cream cone sprinkles. Only one real improvement I noticed, is I do use ! less than I used to. I used to !!!! everything.

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stilltrucking
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Post by stilltrucking » October 4th, 2009, 9:56 am

Is it?
I thought it was pretty good.
I was serious
One of the reasons I printed the poem out was so I could take a better look at it.
This sentence for example.
"Through her confessions she'd found herself."

Took me two reads until I notied the period. I wanted to read it as she found her self indifferent to Hugo.





But don't let me encourage you.
I hate to write.
I don't even like to scribble
I just want to chit chat.

With these things called women.

Those others who are so like me, yet so uncanny.
For years I used to think about women as men with breasts.
Oh boy
Viva La Difference

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SadLuckDame
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Post by SadLuckDame » October 4th, 2009, 10:47 am

Yes, she was indifferent to Hugo. He was weak. Her mind was too wide open for him to begin to grasp what it was she talked of.

Which ties in another thought I've been dabbling in my mind with. The 'lady love' talk. Why would Anais; a straight woman, find herself falling on her knees over June. And why other women, at times, fall madly for a woman. Including myself, although I'd look but not touch.

I think it has to do with what you'd mentioned.

There are times when a woman sees another woman, whom she understands her so fully, especially when noticing a lack of understanding towards the woman from men; ex. Janis
so as a woman you get such an overwhelming desire to embrace her, fully as no man had ever, could ever or had decided not to.

It's not very sexual, it's sisterly in a mature sense but mingled with affection children don't show towards siblings.

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SadLuckDame
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Post by SadLuckDame » October 4th, 2009, 11:35 am

Hmm, I'm not sure I fleshed that thought out very well.

It's just a first thought though and I'll think on it more. What I had been thinking about was that Henry and June flick I'd posted to you, and was thinking of crazy stuff about penetration, but that girl of mine is quiet now. I've not her to depend upon to continue that idea
and so this of me is entertaining it more in this fashion, much more subtle.

Also wanted to comment:

They say a woman is a woman is a woman
until you pick her up.

neener neener neener :P


The poetics of common knowledge

~edited to add link correctly :P
Last edited by SadLuckDame on October 4th, 2009, 9:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.
`Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,' Alice went on...`when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And you'd have deserved it, you
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll

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stilltrucking
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Post by stilltrucking » October 4th, 2009, 2:46 pm

"a woman is a woman till you pick her up"
dam I wish I could think of something to say
to that.

One of my favorite movies is Life is Beautiful.
Has the most charming pick up sceene in a movie I know of.

<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2p3iKqG_krM&hl ... ram><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2p3iKqG_krM&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>

The bit with the key the chocolate ice cream and the dry hat you would have to see the previous sceens to get that. Love this movie I have watched 15 times. Six times in Italian with subtitles because I love the sound of the Italian language

picking up women in my truck

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stilltrucking
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Post by stilltrucking » October 4th, 2009, 2:52 pm

a note on those long links

paste the link here and close it with another bracket ]then put the title here and close it with

[ur*=http://books.google.com/books?id=pNHvUp ... ss&f=false]The poetics of the common knowledge By Don Byrd[/url]

I used an * in the [url= instead of an l because I wanted to screw it up so you could see it.
otherewise it would look like this
The poetics of the common knowledge By Don Byrd

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SadLuckDame
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Post by SadLuckDame » October 4th, 2009, 5:47 pm

Thanks for the link tip. I still gotta figure out how to pop the videos right in the page too.
I never watched this movie before. I'm crying. Everything eats me alive. But, this guy paints his kid a picture, from what I've watched so far. I had tears when he took the kid in the room and they spoke over that speaker, the wife had such a relief. I'm still watching.
`Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,' Alice went on...`when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And you'd have deserved it, you
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll

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