improperlyhuman: (Default)
Given the time I wake up every morning, I should be going to bed right now, but I'm not really sleepy. One of my sleeping pills would make me sleepier, but not necessarily allow me to sleep. If I took one, I could end up lying on my sleeping pad, too sleepy to get up and do anything and too not sleepy to fall asleep. That is a terrible state to be in.

This afternoon I left a voicemail for the shrink and terminated therapy. I just woke up this morning tired of the bullshit and wanting to spend my time on more productive things.

The shitty voc rehab counselor still won't respond to me about paying my legal fees so that I can get a lawyer to finalize my editorial contract. She sent me an email that didn't address my question. I've had to contact her supervisor before for her lack of response.

According to...I guess established sleep hygiene knowledge, I shouldn't be here using a screen so late, but I tried getting away from screens before and it made no difference.

Ok, I just took a pill. I'll keep trying this way for a while.

I listened to some music today, more than I've listened to in a long time. A bit of Queen, but mostly Snake River Conspiracy. I have a song playing over and over again in my head, and, far worse, a diffuse sad/nostalgic emotion that one of the other tracks from the album gave me.

I finally decided to an re-created a LinkedIn account today. I'd been worried about how my lack of network would impress potential clients. The creepiest thing ever: on the suggested connections page was...shit what's her name? Starts with an "a." My ex.

Like how the hell did they know that we knew one another? I think I listed her as a reference, but never online, just on paper.

I guess I'll go read a bit of philosophy of science before bed. I have such huge appreciation for being able to read and other stuff I can do now that my fatigue isn't so intense. I have a new zest for life, and I've been motivated to work on stuff I'd put off for a long time.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I woke up early so I dragged myself out of sleeping bag and caught the bus to the hospital. They gave me a blood test and told me that my levels were normal. Was so out of it yesterday that I didn't notice that I meant carbon monoxide, not CO2 like I kept typing over and over again. Duh.

The doctor said, however. that low levels of CO can cause my symptoms. I felt ok while I was out today, but now I feel fatigued again. It doesn't feel like sleepiness. I can barely pay attention to typing this.

People calling me "sweetie" in the emergency room. No matter how old I get, I still strike people as a youngster.

I used to have music playing constantly. I loved music. I still love music. Over the years, however, I've noticed myself listening to it less and less. Even when the idea to listen pops into my head, I brush it off. I think I'm afraid of having my emotions manipulated by music. 

There is this jazz number by Miles Davis et. al. called In A Silent Way/It's About That Time, and it just kills me. I can't listen to it too often; it's like getting lost. I can't even identify the emotion. It's like a borderline painful, murky ecstasy. Not the whole song; just the part with the vibraphone. At least I think it's a vibraphone. Some type of tonal percussion instrument.

That portion of the song is basically a set of repeating bars, which I usually find boring. But some sounds, very very few sounds, are so perfect and pregnant that I could listen to them repeat forever. It's like there's never any resolution to those bars, so they're always full of promise and wonder. Maybe it's the key.

I also avoid my Tony Bennett playlist. I took the time to construct a playlist, and now I avoid it. My k.d. lang playlist too. I'm ok with using metal to pump myself up for a workout. But this other stuff, it's too much. Too delicate, too shimmering, to pregnant.

There's nowhere for those emotions to go. It's like taking a puppy out of a cage just to put her in a crate for a bit.

The good thing about being tired is that I don't have the energy to worry about what people think of me.

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I don't understand the appeal of music journalism. I was out on my bike a couple of weeks ago when I stopped to pick up a local paper about music. I wanted to make a concerted effort to imagine what a person could get out of such a publication.

There's never any way for me to get much of an idea about what the music sounds like from the descriptions, so music journalism seems very unlikely to help me to make a decision about what music to try. The articles are made up of the authors' impressions of the music; music being quite subjective, I can't see how anyone can benefit from this beyond the satisfaction of curiosity about other people's impressions. Certainly some of the readers share some of the journalists' perceptions, but there's no way for a given reader to know that without more or less blindly trying some of the covered recordings, and the sheer amount of existing recorded music makes that seem random to the point of uselessness.

Of course my perspective is influenced by my own tastes. I am very particular about the music I listen to; others will listen to almost anything (that is pop music). I prefer distinctive music because I listen as a foreground experience much of the time, while others probably don't sweat the details or care that their choices sound like a million other songs because they play it in the background. I listen to music from several different genres, so I have a lot to sort through when seeking new music; someone who only listens to one or two different genres would have a smaller search, a search that would therefore not be rendered quite so impossibly broad as mine, even given the seemingly useless direction of music journalism.

The landlord is getting impatient. He called me today and I had no information for him because I hadn't heard from my tech at the housing authority. I got a call back from her a bit later this morning, and I guess the apartment was approved because she is trying to schedule an inspection. They take forever to do these damned inspections and I have no idea why. Actually, the whole process takes forever. Maybe that's part of the reason why some landlords are so disinclined to accept these vouchers.

I'd hoped to find a vegan pizza at the discount grocery store today, but they were all out. I didn't feel like going somewhere else to shop, so I settled for this not-very-discounted stuff: a four-pack of frozen black bean burgers ($3.99), a loaf of eureka! Top Seed bread ($3.99), and a package of Fresh Express Iceberg Garden lettuce ($0.99). At least the bread does not contain any shady preservatives; I'm willing to pay extra for that.

I cooked my food in the community college cafeteria again. Being frozen, it took a bit longer than people usually take to heat up their lunch. Someone was quietly waiting for me to finish. No big deal; this is common given that there are only two microwaves. Still, I felt conspicuous and therefore slightly uncomfortable. A four-stack of frozen burgers (I cooked them all at once because I'll have no way to store or cook the rest after I leave the campus) wrapped in paper towels is certainly not what people typically heat up in the microwave. I felt almost visibly homeless, even though my homelessness was far from obvious.

As the dull but inexorable lunchtime roar that characterizes cafeterias began to get under my skin, I recognized that I was getting a little too worked up. I have been thinking about this for a while, but I decided at that point that I need to do something concrete to help myself to relax. Fortune is on my side today, for I'll have some guidance from a couple of books about anxiety that I happened upon while looking for an appropriate desk here in the college library. Piggy-backing on some advice I just yesterday considered giving to someone else (a creepy thirty-year-old OCD sufferer who is fixated on some very specific physical features in eighteen-year-old females, incongruously enough), I've decided that I'll simply remind myself upon waking every morning to not worry about how I appear to other people.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I went to what was supposed to be my six-month dental checkup today. The receptionist called my health insurance company and found out that bi-annual checkups are only covered for clients under the age of 21. Wut.

So the entire day was wasted for nothing. Every time I go out for the day, I hope that it'll be the one time I somehow manage to avoid the exhaustion that always comes at the end of days away from home. I'm always disappointed. Since I've arrived home, I've managed to do little besides play Mah Jong.

At the moment I'm listening to a Chopin (a piano concerto, I think), a CD I got as a teenager. Striking is the difference in the moods occasioned by the music then and now. As a teenager, I found it somewhat gloomy, partially because it seemed so long. I had only been into classical music for a few years, and I was still working out how to develop a taste for the longer works.

I remember finding the CD in Kmart and feeling nervous about asking my dad to buy it for me. I knew that he knew nothing about classical music and wouldn't understand, wouldn't even recognize the name Chopin, and I was accustomed to being scrutinized for interests that were too "white." His "girlfriend" at the time looked at the track list and laughed when she read the "Death March." Such memories I have.

Hearing the music now, after all these years, is much more pleasant. The variety of classical works I've listened to in my 23 years as a fan seems to have put the concerto's tone in a non-gloomy context. I no longer dread listening until the end. There's a bit of...I don't know what to call it, nostalgia, maybe. No, more like tenderness and understanding towards my teenaged self.

I have since devised a way to enjoy new musical works that are long: I put them on in the background several times over the course of days or weeks, allowing myself to merely hear, without committing myself to the burden of focused listening. After a while, I recognize enough of the song such that conscious listening isn't so taxing. Coping technique for undiagnosed auditory processing deficit, I'll bet.

I finished a Udemy course on anger management today. About three days ago, I chose the course as part of Udemy's early review program, then decided to complete it for my own benefit rather than simply scanning through the videos for the review.

It was very helpful! The course was made of up very short videos, totaling just one hour of content, and I was disappointed that it ended so soon. I made sure to work through all of the reflective assignments, and they were quite instructive. The instructor was engaging (of course, I mean my type of engaging, not feely/charismatic engaging) and made the course very comfortable despite the subject matter.

To put it simply: I don't feel angry anymore. It seems almost foolish to type that; to say that something that's been bedeviling me for...years? now is gone in a matter of days. I'm almost afraid that I'm wrong and it's still here with me, just masked by today's exhaustion. Then again, it doesn't seem quite so sudden considering that it had begun to fade before I'd started the course, back when I figured out that I was mainly angry with myself.

A lot of things came together for me as I finished the course this afternoon, and I think being overwhelmed by the mental work and the sudden clarity and release of...whatever I released, contributed to the exhaustion, which came on shortly after I'd finished watching the last videos.

The layer underneath the anger is made up of resentment, so that's what I have to deal with next. I think that'll be a lot harder to "fix." I wanted so badly for the anger management instructor to have provided a course on resentment as well. I looked for some books and other online courses, but I didn't find anything promising.

I noticed that a lot of the material on this topic revolves around forgiveness and close relationships. Neither of those applies to me. Forgiveness is just...it doesn't compute. It has no meaning to me and does not seem relevant to me. As stupid as it feels to type it now, most of my anger issues revolved around situations with strangers. I'm not dealing with betrayals by trusted loved ones or anything seriously intimate like that (which is probably part of the reason why forgiveness is irrelevant).

This post is long!

After more than one hundred and fifty pages, finally some lesbian action today in my current love interest, the novel Carol. The protagonist, Therese, was joyous, and I was happy with and for her. That made me think of something I'd read about schizoids: that they enjoy relationships in their heads more than relationships in the flesh. I know that I would feel terribly anxious in Therese's place, anxious to the point of avoidance. I think that I've not quite yet reached the point at which I'd rather read about it than live it, although I'm certainly close.

improperlyhuman: (Default)
My flannel sheet isn't working out too well for me, so I'm going to be getting some cloth diapers for my reusable toilet paper.

The job invitation I received today indicated that the client had been referred by one of my current clients. The first thing that went through my mind was, "oh no, I'm starting to get a reputation, so I'll have to live up to it." Anxiety.

One of these days, someone is going to figure out my dirty secret: I'm not a real editor. I have no formal training as an editor, and my informal training is sketchy. I learned (actually, I'm still learning) my craft through used books from Amazon and ebay. This is the kind of shit that goes through my mind.

I've also just received an invitation for a research job to help the client find an apartment in Washington DC?!

I've discovered a simple (I hope) solution to my need for a business website: WordPress. With a Paypal plugin and maybe some type of escrow service. I could get the premium WordPress package for eight bucks per month and a domain name for eighteen dollars per year.

I feel strangely warm when I put glycerin on.

I reported the rooster/frizzle chicken to Animal Control again. I hope something actually happens this time. I reported the creature as a nuisance rather than an illegal pet. I wonder how other people can sleep through the crowing. If Animal Control doesn't fix this, I'm going to take it up with my representative.

I found out that Clif Bar's cocoa may not be slavery-free :( This should help to keep me from wasting money on them. I'm seriously tired of cooking, though; I don't know what the hell I'm gonna eat, especially since this gas has gotta stop. Speaking of cooking, the non-organic potatoes I bought taste bizarre. The flavor is much stronger than what I'm used to.

I've been seriously thinking about taking ole Frederik out of zir's case, but I don't want to disturb my neighbors. I don't know if they'll still be able to hear me if I use one of my mutes, and I don't want to chance it. The most silencing mute is Yamaha's Silent Brass, but it's an electronic item, and therefore probably not vegan and not good for the Earth. Being prevented from playing by my living situation is upsetting :( 

I could take zir out to the park or one of the schools after classes are over, but I'd have to make time for that. There aren't enough hours in my days as it is, and leaving the house is always such a big production for me.

Sometimes I think that I would like to rejoin the county band, but I doubt that I'd want to put up with being packed into the tiny band room with sixty other people. Come to think of it, why are we musicians always so tightly packed in wind bands? I'd be forced to talk and listen to other people and blah not so worth it maybe. Of course the biggest obstacle is my complete lack of transportation. But I do so miss making music.
improperlyhuman: screenshot of Apocalypse from X-Men: The Animated Series (apocalypse)
Men ruin perfectly good songs with the sickest misogyny imaginable. I'm ok with stabbing and killing. It doesn't mix well with "fucking," though. Disgusting pricks.

What I wonder about is the cognitive dissonance that this guy's wife must go through, having "sex" with somebody who has it connected with violence and retribution and his step-mother in his mind.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I'm looking back over my posts lately and it seems like my writing ability is...I have the word "disintegrating" in mind, but that's not the word I really want. It's worsening just a bit. Just a tad. I feel much better today than I did last night. I knew that all I needed was some rest. I got plenty this morning, but the construction noises are really cramping my camping style. I kept hearing their voices and thinking that they would see me, but it never came about.

It took me a REALLY long time to figure out that womyn generally aren't into casual sexual comments. A really long time like I just recently figured it out consciously in the past year or two. I mean general casual sexual talk, not something that is directed at the specific person I'm talking to, that would be extra creepy.

It was ok with my guy "friends." I guess I just tried to carry over the same type of socializing. I remember the moment when it occurred to me that maybe I shouldn't make those sorts of comments. I said something to one of my co-workers. A dumb joke. I've also begun to see that my jokes never have the intended effect because they are too "inside." Like, only I know what I am talking about. She was weirded out and I felt...weird. Bad but in a more twisted way. But at that point, I still didn't have the conscious thought "womyn don't usually roll like this," and didn't have it for a long time afterwards.

Slow iconoclass. So damned slow. That's ok, my raw sex appeal makes up for it.

So I gave the Korn album Untouchables a chance over the last couple of days, and it is SO much better than I thought it was. I'm tempted to say, the best Korn album I've heard so far. It's a sonic joyride, very melodic, one of the songs so much so, it's almost too much to listen to, the aural pleasure just hits like wave after wave and there's little room to catch a breath. And it's not one of those patch albums with good song, then crap song, then ok song...I like all but one or two, they're all solid good shit.

I think that I want to be a rock star when I grow up. I need to find a vegan guitar to purchase; everything is made by slaves nowadays.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
Early Saturday evening, I called the information hotline for resources pertaining to assistance purchasing food. There was only one available resource, and I'd been looking forward to contacting said resource for the remainder of the weekend. I called the church which administers the program this morning and was asked for an address, as program eligibility is at least partially determined by a home visit. When I stated that I was homeless (a term whose implications I do not like, and whose use I prefer to avoid), I was told that I would receive a call back after program rules were clarified.

Most food assistance programs operate on a "take what we give you" basis, which is not only unacceptable because the food is never even close to vegan, but it usually isn't terribly healthy either, consisting largely of refined carbs (there is always an excess of white bread), the very food that will give me the worst blood sugar issues. Additionally, the food bag giveaways, in my experience, cater to clients who have kitchen access; the last time I received a bag of food, most of it required cooking, even though I explicitly told the coordinator that I was homeless. In short, I was really hoping this program would come through for me due to a lack of options.

The person to whom I had previously spoken called me back shortly and told me that  program participation required a permanent address; that it was geared to the housed because so many other programs already served the homeless. I could have mentioned my health issues (I'm sure that I'd score no points by mentioning the vegan diet issue), but a combination of talking-fatigue, numbing disappointment, pessimism, and a sense of the finality of the program rules prevented me from doing so. I was particularly irritated by her suggestion that I contact the sorts of programs that I was specifically avoiding.

So I'm stuck eating roughly one and a half meals per day until the first, at which time I can augment food stamps with some of my cash assistance. I had a ten-ounce lentil wrap this morning, and part of my one-half (five ounces of bread dipped in peanut butter) this afternoon. The other five ounces of the bread, peanut butter, and a ten-ounce falafel wrap for tomorrow are in my bag. At least I have books and the Internet to distract me from hunger.

I also finally got in contact with a veteran's rep from the Easter Seals about housing this morning. I must have said this so many times so far, there aren't any new ways to express it: I hate, loathe, despise, and can't stand when people don't LISTEN to me. We spent forever on the phone, me repeating several times that I COULD NOT stay in a shelter. Him asking me about other places I'd contacted, and me responding that they only had shelters to offer. What does he do? Contacts one of the same places and e-mails me a list of shelters that I already know about and could have easily obtained myself. I wasted precious cell phone minutes on numerous calls with this person. It's been a week since I got my monthly allotment, and already nearly one hundred out of two hundred and fifty minutes are gone.

I'm not going to call anyone else about shelter. Clearly, there is no acceptable shelter available. I gave it a try, and now I'm just done. Furthermore, I feel more relaxed and psychologically capable of dealing with my living situation when I do not think about escaping it. There is something about talking to charities and such that makes me panicky, makes me see the situation in a very negative light. It isn't negative at all. I have food, water, a warm place to sleep, it's fairly easy to keep clean (spray bottle). My little woodlet is quiet and peaceful and, best of all, innocent of my least favorite animal: humans. The ONLY negative aspects are the people and the laws poised to prevent me from living in this fashion.

In fact, I view with the dread the time when I will leave for an apartment, assuming the housing voucher comes through. The voucher will most likely be granted in the local county I hate the most: the most "developed" (i.e. paved over) county in the area. No more dirt, no more bushes, no more dozing off to cricket choruses. I feel strongly that I can no longer continue in cities without tumbling into long-term depression and irritability, as I did when I lived with my mom and sister in the summer of 2012. My ultimate goal is to live on womyn's land in the Oregon forest. I've noticed that I've had no migraines since I stopped living in the van. Outdoors is the place for me.

The highlight of my day today was happening upon a mind-blowing music ensemble on Youtube. It's called Babymetal. They're Japanese. The reader has been warned. I can't get them out of my head. They're insane. I all but hate dancing, finding it bizarre and vaguely obscene, but...I want their dancing. That's the only way I can put it.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I have no patience with dealing with people who are not on my level.

My mom called me today and asked me to call my sister's health insurance company and verify...stuff. She didn't seem to have a coherent question; it took me forever to clarify what the hell she wanted. She said that she had called them herself, but couldn't get answers, I guess. I was frustrated that she could not complete such a simple task, and couldn't articulate what she wanted for me without a lot of questioning on my part. How can a person want something and not even be able to say what it is? She isn't cognitively disabled. I suppose that I forget that people have are on different levels.

What I really struggle with is people who share my ideology, but do not seem to have reached the depth of understanding that I have reached. I tend to rush to share the insights that I have come across, probably when such information is not even wanted
or before the other party is ready for them. I forget that other people are not as passionate about things as I am.

Julien-K has released material from their new album (the third) on Youtube. It's almost emotionally overwhelming for me, really good stuff with a clear New Wave influence. I never buy albums, but I've considered purchasing their record because the music blows me away, and a good New Wave album is probably rare these days. Does that even make sense? I'd be paying for novelty.

I feel relatively peaceful today; having gotten my bike squared away and picked up my clothes from the forest on the other side of town yesterday last night, I don't have any errands to run today (except my daily food run, which I accomplished early this afternoon). Pinto bean pseudo-burritos today, yuck. They would be ok if I could have gotten some lettuce to go with, but it wasn't in the budget. I'm seriously missing vegetables, and I'm alarmed at the amount of wheat that I'm forced to consume. Everything will come together after the first of August; just have to wait it out. I'm tentatively planning to celebrate the end of my temporary penury with a biggish meal.

Mosquitoes have been eating me alive, so I had to set up my tarp tent in the woodlet. To conserve energy, I left it up when I left today; I'm a bit concerned that it would be noticed if someone ventured back there (I usually keep my stuff somewhat hidden behind trees and such), but, fortunately, I sprung for the camo pattern tarp, which soothes my worries somewhat. Besides insect bites, I've a crazy amount of lacerations over my body do to the prickly berry bushes in the area. It began raining early one morning a few days ago, and I woke up and fell ass first (I feel secure enough to sleep in the nude) into one of these bushes as I rose to get the tarp over myself. My sheer grogginess eased the pain somewhat, however.
improperlyhuman: (thinking)
I can't stop listening to this song. This is different for me. I usually hate songs that are repetitive. It's the same thing over and over again, even the lyrics, but it just does something for me, to me. It's as if it reminds me of something bittersweet that I cannot quite remember. I don't know why this is; I guess I just like new wave style.

It makes me miss being a musician so much. I can't even put it into words. Actually, I've never even tried to put into words what it is like to be on stage and surrounded by sound. I wish I hadn't given up playing the bass, and I have this crazy, reckless urge in me to go back to it, something in the pit of my stomach.

Somebody put together a video. I see these people on stage and I feel like maybe my life has been wasted. They look like they are having so much fun. Like, why did I spend so much time in rooms, alone, studying crap? Why couldn't I have made more connections with people, not necessarily so that I could have a band, but so that I could have some semblance of HOPE of having a band? I suddenly feel like I've been missing out on a ton of things whenever I watch this video. I wonder what it's like to have been friends with someone for years, not just friends but bandmates, and to share something as profound as music.

Brain Fog

Feb. 10th, 2014 08:18 pm
improperlyhuman: (dyke)
Last night, I dreamt that k.d. lang came to town (actually, it seemed like I was living in another town, not my present location). I came across her shopping in a small, crowded food market on a sunny afternoon. I tried to play it cool and not behave like an obsessed fan. I went about my way doing my shopping, but tried to subtly position myself where she would notice me. It didn't work. She finished her shopping (did she not buy anything, or was it the lack of details in my dreams?) and went out to her vehicle parked at the curb, a monstrously huge pickup truck. Somehow she suddenly had an baby in her arms, a cute bespeckled blonde boy that she carried roughly and awkwardly by the arm to be strapped into the back seat.

I sat and watched her go, stupidly wondering at what had transpired. Suddenly, I felt someone touch me, on the shoulder I think it was. It was the sexy lady from the clinic! I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life; if I couldn't get a date with k.d., who's appearance had thrown me all in a tumult of feelings, SL was definitely my next choice. She was sitting close with a radiant smile. We exchanged a few words and decided to hang out. We went somewhere, a basketball court? and suddenly I had a skateboard and was doing flip tricks and actually landing them rather than injuring my feet like I normally would be doing. We didn't do much besides walk around the court a bit, and then I woke up.

My brain has not been working well this past week. There are several things that I've been planning to post about; but I've too much brain fog to undertake such an intellectually taxing endeavor. It would take forever to think of the words. I haven't even been studying much; that's what makes this stand out to me so well as strange: I'm a NUT for studying. I spend a lot of time sitting in my van not getting things done, staring off into space while my mind spins its wheels, trying to stop myself but not having the energy. I assume this is due to me not sleeping well of late. It takes me forever to get up in the morning, and the mere knowledge that it's bath day (which is every other day) is paralyzing in its implications for requisite energy output. I was supposed to run an errand to the bank today and couldn't manage it. I try to avoid scheduling errands and bath day on the same day.

I have become a huge fan of Tony Bennett overnight. This officially marks me as an Old Person.
improperlyhuman: (dark Mulder)
Knowing that the library would be closed over Christmas, I loaded up a bunch of my old music collection onto my mp3 player so that I would have something to do. Now I'm slightly re-obsessed with my old obsession, the band Orgy. I've spent all freaking day here looking up info about them on the Internet. I'm kind of depressed over the fact that they disbanded (not helped by the fact that I've once again let my blood sugar drop, which makes me crazy), and weirded out that the singer re-started the band with all new members, under the same name. I tried to look positively on the band still existing at all, but I could find only one of their songs (which was nowhere near as good as the original Orgy music), and, apparently, they are not signed with a label, don't have the money to produce an album, and have already lost a member!

It is an undescribably horrible feeling when the band that produces music that one has gotten really attached to breaks up. I don't even really know how/why I got so obsessed with them. It's such a big deal, I've toyed with the idea of learning to play guitar myself so that I don't have to rely on fickle pro musicians to provide my entertainment.

As I'm watching the youtube videos of the new bands, I'm reminded of how all of sudden bands of dudes will do/say some bullshit and ruin the experience. Half-naked women prancing through the video and crawling all over the fucking band members is old hat by now. I'm like, get a new video idea. And then I'm like, oh great, I liked your music but now I see that you're all about the endless women as eye-candy fucktoys thing, so now I have to classify you under A for Assholes. And I'm listening to the lyrics and the asshole is like, this song is called Suck It! and then proceeds to sing, I don't love you, I don't want to know you, blah blah blah your body is just a object to me. The song and the band's whole vibe ruined again. Men always ruin shit with their misogyny: music, books, movies. Life.

What if women refused to play the bullshit roles men conceived for them? What if they never took the part of useless love fuck interest in the movies? Refused to be dolled-up in lingerie for video shoots? Only modeled clothes, never skimpy swimsuits? What if women collectively had enduring narratives about men (just like men have enduring narratives about women as all just being closeted sluts who love abuse and other such nonsense), and passed them down generation after generation, told our young about how all these stupid games of dress up men proposed were just a manifestation of their disrespect of women and their warped sexuality, and girls en masse steered clear of all that bullshit?

Why don't we have these narratives circulating by now, that men are not to be trusted? Why do we still have young women getting drunk/drugged at parties and being sexually abused by men, as if it were not common knowledge? Where is our unity?
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I listen to Peaches when I go to bed sometimes. She sings some of the most vulgar stuff I've ever heard, but there is just something about her voice. It is so fucking soothing to me. It is weird. I think she is a witch.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
There is this song sung by Janet Jackson; I think it's called Let's Wait A While. This song bothered me when I was a kid. I'm not sure if my analysis was right, but, at the time, I had made up my mind that she was singing about waiting to have sex. I couldn't have been much older than about 10 when I was hearing this song on the radio, and didn't really even know what sex was all about, but I knew for damn sure that it was not something that one wanted to wait for. I think I was irritated because I really liked the music and her voice; the song sounded like it would be something lovely when it began, and then she would mess it up by singing about abstinence.

I think it was late one night, and maybe I was half asleep, and I had a cheap, static-y little radio, but I could have sworn that I heard Janet Jackson's song Anytime, Anyplace being sung by a children's choir. I never could figure out what I had heard that night, but I was reading a review of one of her albums over at amazon.com last night, and something clicked for me when I came to the part that made a statement about her voice being, paradoxically, simultaneously girlish and mature.

There's always been this sort of...jail-baitish air hovering over Janet Jackson's songs that, heretofore, I have not quite been able to put my finger on. I guess it's like...the subject matter of some of her sexier songs contrasted with the pitch of her voice. Whatever it is, it is what creeped me out when I heard her sing Anytime, Anyplace...and it might have been her that I heard that night and mistook for children's voices in a sleepy haze.
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