Saturday, July 05, 2003
Quarterlife crisis? Knotmag have not invented the concept! I was re-reading "Generation X" the other night (Coupland writes compellingly; he is up there with Douglas Adams on my list of favorites), when I came upon: "Mid-twenties breakdown: A period of mental collapse occurring in one's twenties, often caused by an inability to function outside of school or structured environments coupled with a realization of one's aloneness in the world. Often marks the induction into the ritual of pharmaceutical usage." Yet another instance of the young being persuaded of the fact that they have invented the wheel -- which is, always, the charm of youth. I sound like a middle-aged bourgeois, I know; but I am only young: I, too, believe I have invented feeling like a middle-aged bourgeois at 20!
[Barry White is dead! It is a loss...]
Speaking of an actual Generation X, however disinclined I may be to agree with the reduction of a number of cultural occurrences to the status of a well-defined, easily digestible "culture" and with the extension of such a "culture" to an entire mass of people living contemporary lives, I must admit that I find a great part of myself in the pages of the book. I am Claire -- petite, bob, independent, intellectually androgynous, a healthy dose of cynicism, witty, craving spiritual communion -- without the fear of radioactivity, the horrible dates and the McJob. I am probably more spiritual, more determinately creative and have more faith that she does, but a lot of her cultural references are mine. And although she chooses to counter emotional alienation with physical estrangement, while I choose to counter it with the assimilation of more, more, more cultural information, I can very easily see myself packing it all in and moving to the desert. I would probably return in a couple years with an immense craving for life in the spotlight and run for office, though.
[Barry White is dead! It is a loss...]
Speaking of an actual Generation X, however disinclined I may be to agree with the reduction of a number of cultural occurrences to the status of a well-defined, easily digestible "culture" and with the extension of such a "culture" to an entire mass of people living contemporary lives, I must admit that I find a great part of myself in the pages of the book. I am Claire -- petite, bob, independent, intellectually androgynous, a healthy dose of cynicism, witty, craving spiritual communion -- without the fear of radioactivity, the horrible dates and the McJob. I am probably more spiritual, more determinately creative and have more faith that she does, but a lot of her cultural references are mine. And although she chooses to counter emotional alienation with physical estrangement, while I choose to counter it with the assimilation of more, more, more cultural information, I can very easily see myself packing it all in and moving to the desert. I would probably return in a couple years with an immense craving for life in the spotlight and run for office, though.
Thursday, July 03, 2003
I am watching Queenie on TV. Such incredibly annoying British imperialist crap! And I'm an Anglophile!
Oooh! New version of Blogger! Lovely! The conservative in me does tend to cringe when she discovers such changes, I must admit. But tis hokay.
In the brief big news, is this: last Sunday night I was raped by two drunken laborers coming out of the pub. I was not harmed physically; the blood tests came out negative; I am doing ok psychologically. It happened just outside my building, at 10 pm; I called for help but nobody cared. I have not yet reported it.
In large, there is a lot to tell, of course. But not enough time has elapsed to allow me to become aware of all the implications. I am, however, sure of the following:
a) rape is not as much of a horrible tragedy as our culture makes it look. Granted, it is a violation of one's bodily integrity and a forcible trespassing of boundaries. It is not a degradation or an act of humiliation, though, as these entail the concurring participation of the victim. I was caught by a couple individuals that are not fit to kiss the soles of my feet; I had no chance; I had no choice; I was lucky to escape without injury. It was a simple case of brute force prevailing, which leaves my personal worth undiminished.
b) my sexuality is unaffected. I am not less of a horny girl than I was before Sunday. I am still able to admire people on the street and to fantasize in the privacy of my own brain. I orgasm in the exact same way that I used to, thinking about participating in intercourse.
c) I feel drained (have been sleeping a lot), but not disconnected from my life. My boyfriend dumping me in 12th grade was much, much worse in this respect.
d) I feel angry and entertain murderous fantasies. But, at the same time, I comprehend my assailants' psychology: they were starving apes and I was the fruit. There was no question they wanted to procure me for their enjoyment. There was no question of my being regarded as an individual with a will of my own. Like starving apes, they only used the amount of force necessary to secure my procurement: they squeezed the shell so they could get to the juicy insides, but they ate the insides relatively daintily, if I may use such a parallel, which, I assure you, should not put any images into your heads that do not belong there.
e) I do, indeed, tend to be passive in confrontational situations. Which is something that needs to be worked on.
Life goes on something amazing, though. I am alright, undiminished, in one piece emotionally and morally. I've been through a number of worse stints (why, o ye horrible gods, why?) and have come out of them scrumptiously. I'm coming out of this one equally scrumptiously.
Hmmm... I'm realizing that my tone is explanatory and lightly persuasive rather than introspective. I don't want you people to worry unnecessarily, is all. Your Illy is just fine.
In the brief big news, is this: last Sunday night I was raped by two drunken laborers coming out of the pub. I was not harmed physically; the blood tests came out negative; I am doing ok psychologically. It happened just outside my building, at 10 pm; I called for help but nobody cared. I have not yet reported it.
In large, there is a lot to tell, of course. But not enough time has elapsed to allow me to become aware of all the implications. I am, however, sure of the following:
a) rape is not as much of a horrible tragedy as our culture makes it look. Granted, it is a violation of one's bodily integrity and a forcible trespassing of boundaries. It is not a degradation or an act of humiliation, though, as these entail the concurring participation of the victim. I was caught by a couple individuals that are not fit to kiss the soles of my feet; I had no chance; I had no choice; I was lucky to escape without injury. It was a simple case of brute force prevailing, which leaves my personal worth undiminished.
b) my sexuality is unaffected. I am not less of a horny girl than I was before Sunday. I am still able to admire people on the street and to fantasize in the privacy of my own brain. I orgasm in the exact same way that I used to, thinking about participating in intercourse.
c) I feel drained (have been sleeping a lot), but not disconnected from my life. My boyfriend dumping me in 12th grade was much, much worse in this respect.
d) I feel angry and entertain murderous fantasies. But, at the same time, I comprehend my assailants' psychology: they were starving apes and I was the fruit. There was no question they wanted to procure me for their enjoyment. There was no question of my being regarded as an individual with a will of my own. Like starving apes, they only used the amount of force necessary to secure my procurement: they squeezed the shell so they could get to the juicy insides, but they ate the insides relatively daintily, if I may use such a parallel, which, I assure you, should not put any images into your heads that do not belong there.
e) I do, indeed, tend to be passive in confrontational situations. Which is something that needs to be worked on.
Life goes on something amazing, though. I am alright, undiminished, in one piece emotionally and morally. I've been through a number of worse stints (why, o ye horrible gods, why?) and have come out of them scrumptiously. I'm coming out of this one equally scrumptiously.
Hmmm... I'm realizing that my tone is explanatory and lightly persuasive rather than introspective. I don't want you people to worry unnecessarily, is all. Your Illy is just fine.
