Today is Friday the 13th, in February. As cool as that is, the almost-favorite-day title goes to February 15th, because you can get the orphaned Valentine’s Day chocolate for super-cheap. I thought a bit about the significance of Valentine’s Day in our culture. I had grown up thinking of the holiday as lovey-dovey-romantic-cupid-candlight-dinner time. Here in San Francisco, the overwhelming message from people, posters, and from my event mailing lists (from bookstores, don’t judge) all said: “LET’S FUCK! WOO-HOO!!”
This message was both compounded and confused by the fact that I had to draft an article about erotic literature while simultaneously clicking through a mandatory sexual harassment training module.
It made me think that there’s no right or wrong way to approach a subject. The grand subjects like love, death, sex, (and taxes?) are so deeply entrenched in our own understanding that it opens up thousands of possibilities for stories. For any given subject there’s an inspirational and enraging way to tell it. There’s a sumptuous way and a revolting way. What becomes more important each time is the build-up. It’s not just the event in isolation, but everything surrounding the event, how it came to be, and what comes after. It’s like giving birth, or orgasm, or jumping off a bridge.
Think about your perceptions of loaded ideas like sex and death. What are your patterns? How can you invert them?
“I live in the space between chaos and shape. I walk the line that continuously threatens to lose its tautness under me, dropping me into the dark pit where there is no meaning. At other times, the line is so wired that it lights up hte soles of my feet, gradually my whole body, until I am by own beacon, and I see the beauty of newly created worlds.”
“Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.”