A Lesbian Poetry Journal to be Named "Diatribe" : Where Diatribes are More than Allowed

If ever I am the position (lotus or otherwise) of starting my own feminist-lesbian-queer writing journal, I have a name for it ready: Diatribe. I cannot tell you how much I love this name, love this word. I want to go on a diatribe. Oh wait, I am. Diatribe, yes. It gets to the point (hahahaha). Ranting, a thing to avoid? Maybe. But ranting with style: it works. Embrace the rant. The rant is peaceful and powerful and empowering. Non-violent worded political art! I find "Diatribe" very empowering. It makes me feel better. It can be about self-acceptance and validation through art, as well as about the art itself. It feels fierce and righteous, that powerful word. Women have been dis-empowered, their voices muted: Diatribe is the safe place for all those "angry, man-hating lesbians" (the construction created BY men to stigmatize further feminists). In my head, it exists.

I'm inspired and anxious. Biting one of my nails, too. School did this to me. It's the old, familiar pressure to "do something" that often stops me from doing. Anyway, as I am searching to and fro, internet and Poet's Handbook, looking for the right fit for my poems; I am finding that I don't "fit" nicely (productively) in most journals. Big surprise! Not. There just aren't many journals out there who center on the lesbian experience. Whenever I read, "No porn, please," I always feel awkward and resentful. Like, what do you mean by "porn?" What constitutes "porn" and where is the line drawn? Will you misinterpret my writing for porn? For instance, I frequently use the word, "cunt," in my poems. Will my they be overlooked by "fine" journals because of this? Probably by some. Dang. My poetry is out-of-bounds: it's erotic and dark but at the same time it's philosophical and even old fashioned (romantic?). It's a really strange mix because it's me. I guess, like my poetry, I'm just not for most people. Most people don't get "me" so they won't get "it." (I'm kind of an odd-ball, minus the ball.) But a few will, I hope. I only have this (my) voice to work with...my stories to tell.

I came upon a treasure of a poetry book in the bargain basement of a bookshop in Northampton, Massachusetts back in 2002 when I was a student at Hampshire College. Lesbian Poetry: An Anthology (with Elly Bulkin, Persephone Press, 1980). I love this book. I fit in this book (not literally, although some might suggest otherwise after reading a couple lines from one of my highly acclaimed middle school poems: "That girl, she's so skinny/An inch small piece would be her whole meal" or "She could fit on a pin and there'd still be room." Wow - and I didn't even include examples of my non-compliant breaks with traditional, patriarchal grammar and spelling (I love you, bell hooks). I was writing it about myself (me = "that girl" -neg.= symbol for modern girl struggling with impossible images of beauty in the media, yadayadayada). (That was right after I finished the kid's meal, chocolate shake and Hershey's pie from Burger King.)) Back to the book that makes me happy: I feel at home with the writing in the Lesbian Poetry book. Not that this needs to be said, but. Diatribes are allowed.

Living in the Country with a Dying Goldfish : Stumps and Hand Shakes, in My Book

I should have noted that I was not the only one having "an experience" at Ultimate Image two weeks ago; Darah, too was having a special moment of her own: she was having her hair cut in a salon for the first time. She was very serious and well-behaved. Her stylist, Abby, caught her attention when she picked up the blue smock covered with brightly-colored fish. Darah loves fish. Her first phrase (or word) was "Hi, Fishies." We took her to pick out fish for her aquarium when she turned one. Golda was the most traditional fish in the trio. She was orange and petite. She was just randomly scooped up by the net. I selected Schindler; he was unlike the rest and very active in the tank. Schindler was large and a shimmering gold color. And then there was poor Frou Frou, whose time in our tank ended too soon. Frou Frou got caught in the filter and did not survive her injuries. I placed her in a plastic Gerber baby food container, a small but fitting casket for a friendly little orange and white fish. That left us with Golda and Schindler for a while, it wasn't until we brought Snaily into their lives that Golda and Schindler started behaving oddly.

In my story of their lives, Schindler was the bully of the bunch. He followed Golda around, and seemed to bully her. But that all changed around the time that Schindler turned black. I think he and Golda were having identity crises. Golda's tail disappeared. I was convinced Schindler nipped away at it until it was just a stump. (Did I mention I feel creeped out by "stumps," especially the word, "stump?") I read that tails grow back, but Golda's tail never grew back. It stayed stumpy, while the rest if her grew and grew and grew. Now she's at least triple the size she used to be. We thought she might be pregnant, but that didn't materialize. She just grew up, I guess. After that, Schindler started acting sickly - shrinking and lying still at the bottom of the tank for long periods of time throughout the day. He doesn't seem to be capable of eating. Maybe he's blind. I haven't seen him actually eat pieces of food in months, but he's still alive. I think he eats off of the aquarium floor, because it is easier for him. Something has gone amiss: what it is, we don't know. Snaily lasted almost a year. Now we have three new neon fishies, Zig, Zag, and Zippy, and a new zebra snail (who does have a name that starts with a z, but it escapes me...I know it's not Zit, Zit would be the little creature that was born on my lip a few days ago).

With her fish smock on, Darah was a perfect little client. She sat still the whole time, and when she was done she ran over to me to show me her hair. She hardly noticed that she was running over a whole head of my hair on the floor. She stood in front of the mirror. When Sandy asked her what she thought of my hair, she ignored the question and very lovingly and excitedly admired her adorable reflection. I guess she has some of those Mason genes - we're notorious for staring at ourselves in the mirror. I was shocked to find out that not everyone does this. I thought it was part of the human condition, but, no, apparently it's a genetic thing that affects one in every two Masons. After I was done with my appointment, I knelt beside Darah and asked her what she though. "How does Mummy's hair look?" She said, "It wooks boo-tifooh." I couldn't have dreamed up a better response. Then, after all was said and done, we went to the Macomb Public Library. There were two kids in the children's library room, and they seemed very interested in my appearance. I was happy about it, because I felt it would challenge their stereotypical idea of what a mother should look like. If they asked their parents about it later on, that is a wonderful thing, in my book, because it creates an opportunity for discussion and learning. Gees, I should get paid for this stuff.

Actually, I haven't had many responses, negative or positive, to my head. People do seem to notice and do a second take, but generally no one seems to care. Yesterday, I ran into the store to buy a couple loaves of bread. A dirty-lookin' farmer in his eighties was standing beside me as I waited to check out. The coverall suit that was covering his overalls had practically fallen off. He walked with a limp. He has a scruffy, gray beard. He said, "Hey, looks like ya nearly shaved all yer hair off?" I looked right at him, with my glasses over my eyes and my giant sunglasses sitting on my head, and tried to respond. "Yeah, I did just about shave it off." Although we were standing two feet from one another he shouted back at me, "Ain't a thing wrong with that. Not a thing. I was shavin' a fellar's hair this morning, and ya know what I told him? If I go a fourth of an inch closer, I'll give ya a clean shave." Well, I'll be darned (derned)!

Funny thing is, I have run into this man and his son quite a number of times at the grocery store. The man always starts a conversation with me about something I am doing or wearing while his son stares at me. I suspect his son may not be capable of living on his own. It's a bit foggy, but I recall him introducing his son to me once while I was standing in front of the oranges.  Maybe he was trying to set us up on a date? His son stuck out his hand, which was covered in dirt or dust or newspaper ink,  for me to hold or shake. I did. He (the son) enjoyed it. Immensely. Then the son repeated the gesture a couple more times. I was awkward and did not know how to handle the situation. I let him hold my hand again, and then I smiled and went (hustled?) to find Sandy in another aisle. It's hard to know what to make of those situations. And harder to know how to handle them. If he was a four year old boy, I would have no problem shaking his hand a few times. But a man in his forties who may or may not have the brain of a four year old boy - that's surely more complicated. Anyway, the old farmer had some wise words for us all: ain't a thing wrong with that.

My hair is growing rapidly. I like it better like it is now than I did when it was first shaved, but I wouldn't have known that had I not done it. Maybe I'll like it even more when the next inch or two grow in. It's fun to watch something grow. It's fun to feel something grow, too. I love the low-maintenance aspect of this whole thing. Shower, and that's it. No drying. No pulling out hair. No brushing. No nothing. Just a good shake under the towel and it's finished. If I go out in the rain, I don't have to deal with frizzy, wet hair. I never have to worry about my hair at all. If a bird poops on it while I'm walking into a restaurant, no problemo. I walk into the bathroom and rise it off and, voila, it's fixed. It simplifies life. And with two little ones at home, simple is the answer. Maybe it's the answer regardless of who's at home. Now, my leg hair is another story. A more shameful, difficult one. I shave those two...for swimming class. What a cop-out! It completely contradicts what I am trying to do with my head. So why is it scarier to have hairy (and I'm talkin' really hairy) legs than to have a shaved head? Maybe when I'm forty I'll go all the way.

Poetry Announcement: Read These Lips, for Starters.

I am very excited today, because one of my poems has been accepted for publication by a lesbian e-lit magazine/journal. It is my first OFFICIAL publication in a poetry journal. Praise be The Lord (The Lord of Lesbian Poets, that is)! The poem will be published in Read These Lips. One of my poems was included in an unofficial poetry journal through the University at Buffalo's English Department (student-run, I believe but am not entirely sure about) back in 2004. They held a reading at a trendy spot in Allentown, but I did not attend. And, for the past two years, a couple of my poems/creative pieces have been included in the Western Illinois University Women's Center's Women's Voices Journal. I was very determined to engage fully in the submission process back in 2007, just after I graduated. I spent a few months editing my work and submitting to journals. I was submitting manuscripts to chapbook contests, too, though in retrospect I know I was aiming too high too soon. The goal then became getting a (single) poem published. Who will want to publish a chapbook of my work when I haven't published a poem? I guess I was foolishly hoping to "be discovered," and to have someone see potential and quality in my work. But that is not how it works.

Once again, I remind myself: the world does not revolve around Jessica Mason McFadden! So then the goal became getting a couple of poems published so that I could have "a list" in my biography, like all the "other people." Every journal that I was reading included biographies of poets with previous publications. I kept wondering, how does anyone ever get a start in the world of publication? If you generally have to be published (to have...a record) to get attention from journals, then how do you tap into that? I think, for many poets, the key is to engage in a network of some sort - either through a community of poets (yes, to engage in "the scene" wherever it/one may be) or through a graduate program in composition. Many graduate students seem to have an easier time "getting involved" and getting published because they are, by virtue of their academic endeavor, involved in and engaged with a community of writers. They also often have the advantage of being published by college journals (which are usually pretty darn credible). I am neither a graduate student nor a person in a geographical area in which a large network of poets (let alone lesbian poets) exist. I am also a stay-at-home mom, who is busy with the simple joys and sometimes daunting tasks of 24/hour, seven-days-a-week childcare.

Once I got pregnant with my first daughter, everything slowed down. Or just stopped. I was sick for three months, so that pulled me right out of the writing world I was trying to enter. From there on out, it was hard to somehow reconcile the two worlds: the childcare world and the world of writing and editing. Childcare is exhausting, breastfeeding is exhausting. It has been hard to get into writing, while feeling so exhausted. In order to write, I will need to do so with MANY interruptions. Unless I work late into the night, which carries its own difficulties (say, waking up early in the morning to start all over again?). I know I have a lot of editing work to do. I enjoy working with my poems, but I need to decide how to work it into childcare. I haven't figured it out yet, but I have managed to get my first poem published. So that's a start. Maybe the start I was looking for, or maybe something else. Time - she will tell. My five month old is crying. It's break time.

Sex, Backwards: Conceptualizing Sexuality

Jessica Mason McFadden thinks sex has too many backward meanings
PKelsey Curious, can you say more? We were just discussing Sarah Baartman in my grad class last night, so this is definitely on my mind....

4 hours ago · SPayne Hmm... Like?

4 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden Funny you should mention Saartjie Baartman, since I recently put this link up on my Facebook page. I was thinking of her after thinking of the ethics of animal zoos in general. http://www.saartjiebaartmancentre.org.za/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=52&Itemid=66
4 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden I was thinking about something personal, which is - of course - also political. Ah, sexSex - personal, political, nonsensical, exoticized, used for, used against, made of nothing, made into something, constructed, deconstructed, created, defamated, confused with gender, exacerbated, made into art, made into argument, made into entertainment, made into "love" and "romance," used to separate, used to create hierarchies, used to oppress and subjugate, used for exploitation, used for work, used for empowerment, used to create a sense of "otherness" and fear/hate....

4 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden And then there is the whole construction or expansion of the meaning of sex in other forms...in other cultures, communities, worlds...the cyber dimmension, for instance - it certainly has transformed "sex."
Sex -ism, -uality
- constructed identity

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden Sex on a map. A map of sex.
"The Sexes" (the language of "the battle of the sexes")

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden Sex as creation, sex as manipulation, sex as/for profit, sexual abuses, sex and religion/sex as religion/spirituality

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden The language of rape...and how it relates to colonization and the oppressions of peoples/women.

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden The violent dimmension of "sex" - the propagandized transformation of it.

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden The sexualization of women, of groups of women and peoples as a method of disempowerment and colonization.

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden The criminalization of sex...also used to disempower women.

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden The institutionalization of sex.

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden The objectification.

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden The power abuses against land/location and women. The (symbolic and physical) relationships between bodies of land and women's bodies...and the violent treatment of those bodies.

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden Penetration...pillaging...of lands/bodies.

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden (okay, that's all for now...baby on my lap is in need of a diaper change)

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden Oh, and the oppressive sexualization of non-european women as a means of creating "otherness"

3 hours ago · Jessica Mason McFadden People often find difficult the fact that Dar and Elan were conceived via a form of "sex" (yes, the insertion of penis into vagina can be problematic for some who want to construct and define lesbianism and monogamy in "certain terms"/"in a box"). Even I found it difficult, in my own way at certain times. Our constructions of what it means to be a lesbian AND our constructions of what it means to engage in "sex" can create a lot of discomfort and misunderstanding. When we cannot lay it all out neatly into a category, fear often starts to trickle in...

3 hours ago · PKelsey Thanks, Jess, I always feel I learn from you and your intellectual process. It's no coincidence that to the left of this comment box I see bell hooks is your social theoretical identity. Love to you, P.

about an hour ago · Jessica Mason McFadden Love to you! (We typically don't say "Sex to you!") Wish I was in your grad class...

55 minutes ago · ACarr Jess, it sounds like you've a paper or book in the making here . . .

53 minutes ago · PKelsey I'd love to have you in the grad class, Jessica! And it's true, I think you have a book (or seven) in you at any given moment.

DAR AND ELAN, the androgynous versions of their names

 

  

 

Midwestern Refrigerator

Status updates, from back in the day when the game was Ms. Lady Lay Lady________

is happy to have Weber's Mustard and Miller's Cocktail Sauce in her midwestern refrigerator...they've come a long way, they've come a long way... 

is so excited for and proud of her sister for getting a job, a really great job at that...wow, I'm impressed. Go Missypougmaseester. 

is grateful for all the pots that you all offered up and very grateful to Anne for her generous help with the photo recovery process! 

Darah asked to "wash her hands" and she made a huge watery mess in the bathroom. I came in to clean it up and said, "Oh, Darah, you made a mess. Oh this isn't good. I told you not to make a mess. Ohhhhh. Look at all the water." Darah says to me, very calmly and sweetly, "Calm down, Mommy. Calm down. What's wrong, Mommy?" 

The baby has been screaming bloody murder on and off since early this afternoon...she screams the worst angry, terrorizing screams when i try to feed her breastmilk...as if the boob is causing her pain...she only quiets when she tires herself out or I carry and bounce her vigorously...teething already at three months...ah, help 

While coloring Valentines, Darah announces: "I dot wohk ta do." Then after drawing a purple scribble, she says "I dwaw a woman." That's my girl. 

Reformulates: is not a fan of TOO much testosterone... 

While scanning television channels, I stop at the Ellen Show and say, "Darah, who is that?" She says, "a guy" (even though I don't recall using that phrase very often to describe anyone). Then Heidi Klum walks on the stage, and Darah exclaims, "It's Gramma Sue!" Well, well, well.

feels sad that the kid who fired shots in the air and then at himself did not feel he had other options... 

When I tell Darah we're going to a birthday party tonight for her friend, she says "No, it's Myyyyyy birfday. It's mine. I bwow out tandles." Oh dear. 

feeling nervous about the stange small, hard lump on the back/lower, right side of Elanah's head...just under the skin...it moves around a bit...it is hard, like it is trapped under the skin...it is new, as far as we know...errr, hmmm

had a fun morning - library with my girls, playgroup with lots of wonderful people (including Biodad and Elisa), lunch and hot chocolate after, now it's nap time quiet for a little while...let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. And then, in March, let it be over with and let the sun shine so I can take Dar and Elan out... without getting slushy and mucky car exhaust all over everything. 

goodbye Lenovo PC, hello MacBook...thank you Wife. 

if you say you're gay (lgbtiqectectect) in many different ways and voices why not try saying it with your mouth? Like this: "I'm a lesbian." I said it (and lived through a tough time) and came out feeling liberated. Here's to being out of "the closet," from one LESBIAN to another!!! 

Darah's first: "I don't like you, Mommy. Ah doh (go) away. Doh (go) in the dedroom (bedroom)." 

 

Elan sleeps now to make up for being up in the early am (I'm talking 3-4-5am)....and here I sit, in a haze, watching Darah clean her stuffed lamb with tissues and a toothbrush. 

 

Thinks everyone with children should have an Adam and Elisa (also known as one unified "Elisa") in their lives...(thanks for all you do) 

 

feels sorry for Sandy's feet and wishes she could lend them an arch (and more) 

doesn't like that, for some people, being lgbtqiaetc is only acceptable when it is considered "something you're born with." In my opinion, I WOULD choose to be gay; I just wouldn't choose to be punished or persecuted for it.

 

Darah loves to have jobs to do...she excels in delivery and transfer... 

 

There are no elephants in this room.

I am a Closeted Lesbian : "Get that Woman Out of the Oven this Instant:" Why the Closet is OUT-dated

I'm thinking about closeted lesbians again. I cannot help it. They run from me with rainbows on their backs, as if they are saying "Please, Closet Opener, take me out of the oven before I burn." Why don't we call closeted lesbians what they are truly: ovened lesbians - roasted and broiled lesbians. I don't think the closet really depicts the confines that lesbians put themselves and are sometimes forced into...sure, they're dark and creepy. But closets can also be cozy and comfortable and relieving. As long as closets are occasionally fun places to hide and play in (and they are, my friends), then the lesbians who inhabit them need other motivations to get themselves out and about. We could get right to the point if we said "Oh, she's an ovened lesbian." Ovens are dark and dirty when they are turned off. No one wants to hang out in there, make love in there, make a fort in there, curl up with a good book in there. When ovens are on, they are burning. Even if the oven is off, no lesbian in her right (or left) mind would want to risk being in there when it is turned on. If we point out to the lesbians who are all too cozy in their closets that they actually are in ovens, then perhaps they might decide to come out for a breath of fresh air.

I never identified with the closet, anyway. When I was "closeted," I felt like there was a fire in my center that would eventually eat through or explode the rest of me. I felt like I was in an oven that was set on pre-heat. It was only a matter of time: I would either burn alive or get the hell out of there. Luckily I did get out of the oven. No, it's not all fun and games on the outside. I still support getting out, though. The remnants and scars of second and third degree burns stay with you for life, but better to be burned than to be charred. And better to be charred than to be dead. You may be spit on or ignored or ostracized or persecuted but you'll (hopefully) be alive.

The other benefit of the oven reference is that people will start to feel socially responsible for the PROBABLE TORTURE of those who are stuck or hiding in the lesbian ovens of the world - yes, it will become an issue of social responsibility. Others, who are cool and dry, will be more inclined to help their friend out of an oven than they would be to help her out of a closet. Instead of the live and let live or lazy approach ("What? She needs my help getting out of that closet? Why can't she do it herself - I have more important things to do. And maybe she likes it in there. Who am I to decide?"), people will be more inclined to intercede ("WHAT? She's in the oven? Holy fucking shit! Get her out of there before she's a pile of melted flesh and ash. We don't have time to debate this. MOVE IT, people- open this mother up!"). Oven-opening will eventually become a thing of the past just as will ovened lesbians, but while there are still lesbians in ovens and ovens to be opened it is our social responsibility to raise awareness about their marginalized and unreported/recorded state of existence. For every oven that is opened and lesbian who lives to tell about it, there will be three or four more to follow. The progress of the ripple will take effect; eyes will be opened, and the overheated lesbians of the world will learn to heal. I may be an idealist, but I think an Oven Theory of Lesbianism has a chance!

For now, I'll stick with the concept that you are probably familiar with - the ironically outdated yet ever-present "closeted lesbian." If I were a student right now, I'd be tempted to put the women in prisons on hold and focus on the women in closets. Prisons, closets - they are very similar, so I might even be able to pull off some intersecting, simultaneous projects and studies. Prisons are the closets of lesbians. Closets are the prisons of lesbians. Prisons have their closets. Closets have their prisons. There are lesbians in prisons, there are prisons in lesbians. The language itself deserves academic treatment, let alone the realms of realities, stories, and stats. But since the closet is a proverbial prison, I'd start there and see where it might lead. There are several jobs I'd be interested in, aside from being a Professional Student in the area of Women/Gender/Sexuality/Language Studies. I envision myself counseling women, perhaps women in prisons or closets or ovens of all-of-the-above. And then, as an extra, I'd like to work on a writing project for women and/or lesbians in prison. Empowering women through counseling and writing - helping them reach their goals and find their voices and, sometimes, just survive.

(More closetedandovenedlesbian blog entries to follow. )