This has been a frustrating week. I’ve spent much of it staring straight ahead like a zombie or on my back with a pained expression on my face. I did figure out some things.
1. I spend too much time online, and it’s kind of freeing NOT to be online all the time. I’m not so freaked out by having written a song called ‘Incognito’ anymore. I may drag it out and examine it and see if it really is a co-write or not …
2. I am easily dominated.
3. I have a HORRIBLE immune system.
4. Under pressure, I fold like a cheap fan.
5. Sometimes, I treat my own hard work as though I take absolutely NO pride in it; even when I have been up to it for a long time.
I’ve spent most of this week with my neck wrenched into a ball of something I’m not really allowed to describe. I described it to a person that I’m in a complicated relationship with. I don’t talk about this complicated relationship, because I’m not allowed to have it.
That is a complicated concept that I don’t talk about. I don’t like to talk about a lot of things because rocking the boat and getting riled up (even justifiably) has proved disastrous and risky for me. Almost without fail. So I don’t do it.
I really want to finish my song for Fu. I’m trying to finish some other work too, then I guess I can get to my own stuff. But I’m pretty excited about my song, which I stole a luxurious half hour out of my Tuesday to write the lyrics to. I wrote them furiously in five minutes while very upset … then perfected them in the half hour that I had.
The song is about something I’ve been wanting to write about for a long time. It alludes to a certain type of woman. It’s like that courtesan who lived in a very rainy city. She aspired to be the lover of great men. It’s also a little bit about the female characters in Dangerous Liaisons. Or in that movie about the Marquis de Sade. The reaching up into service of these great men, women even. Great places. And the sexual in this.
But it is never enough, and this is so shaming. One feels as though there is much explaining to do. But what is the point? There are the powerful … and the not-so-much. Caste politics. And the secret yearnings of women moving in frightened corridors of history. And loving strongly into other humans, wanting to make love despite all of this distressing maneuvering. It all moves smoothly and distressingly in and out of itself, over-and-back on itself. I see so much of it in life. All the pretty pictures of it. Tiny little nuances. I know little things. A bit here, a little more there. And really, it all reminds me of books and drives me so crazy. So this is what I can do, I suppose.
So what does a woman do, trapped in silk, thwarted and shamed in a rainy city? What is she even talking about?