much finer

I was hungover so I curled my eyelashes and drank some water, in that order.

Last night was kinda sad. Well, Su's solstice thing was, of course, lovely of mulled wine and music and a buncha little women in a communal kitchen. And it was Ethan's birthday, so happy 20th to Ethan! But it was just such a weird scene at his party...alcohol is great, yknow, but I don't like feeling uncomfortable and 'other' around straight people and I totally did. Spin the Bottle was an exercise in not wanting to kick this one girl who I kept unfortunately spinning. Whenever she had to kiss me (or another girl) she would loudly remark about no tongue (like I'd want my tongue in her mouth) and after that oh-so humiliating peck w/another girl--or, horror of horrors, a la-la-lesbian--she'd straddle herself onto the lap of the token straight boy. Said straight boy is, in my opinion, probably fucking his hallmate, so yknow.

Wow, this sounds so bitter. I guess it kinda is. Last night I looked at myself 4 shots of tequila and a two swigs from lukewarm vodka bottle in the mirror of my hall bathroom and I looked like someone had beaten me up and my knuckles had calloused, but I liked the way my cheekbones jutted like some ugly Johnny Rotten butch but my eyes were sad. Drunkenly wondering if dykes would be tough and blue if we were ever considered totally okay. So whatever, I don't mean to make queer the centerpiece of "my identity" and tell some tale about how oppressed I am or some shit cos I'm not. It's just my face looked drawn and my partnerlover white ribbed A-line and all four of us queers sat in a clump during that great game. And that stupid straight girl with such clear blue eyes you'd think she'd be a good person made me feel like such shit.

exactly.

This is long, but it's exactly what I've been trying to articulate for months. It's by Alix Olson, who I don't adore but sometimes hits it right on the head.

* * * *
Dear Mr. President:
I don’t wanna be in your military, I don’t wanna bury
my own kind
I wanna make up my own mind about who I hate,
not what the national slate
has in mind.
you see, the american interest is rarely in mine.
and I’ve got my own wars to wage,
I don’t need to engage in your war for oil overseas,
in-between my lover’s legs
is slick enough for me. I’m the lesbian minority, see,
so I don’t need a major to tell me what to be
or who to do things to
somewhere across the pacific.
my sex is too specific to report to a general.
and in general, dykes don’t respond to command,
so why do we demand
to a part of this irrational masculine swarmy
that poses as a national army--
see, I’ve seen armies
seen ‘em on picket lines, welfare lines,
seen ‘em storming the Capitol,
storming the streets,
demanding justice and peace.
I’ve heard of armies in history,
in Birmingham, in Montgomerey.
but these dressed-to-kill boys
with their made-to-kill toys
these yellow ribbons that choke trees, please,
it’s a joke,
a sadistic display of militaristic play that ends in
american dreams for the owners of both teams--
and who suffers? who buffers the attack?
who lacks the cash to decline the invitation
to the nation’s most expensive party?
those hearty boys promised schooling,
then sent on their way
to collect their pay from the grave?
well, I don’t mind being war-depraved, honey,
we can fight for more than big boys and their money:
I’d rather fight phil knight, bomb all his bonds
I’d rather wage a gay crusade on the pope,
grope my girl in front of his nose.
I’d rather pose a problem to disney,
expose michael eisner as a meiser,
mickey mouse as leader of the rat race--
just slice right down that rodent’s face.
and it’s a disgrace to be a rapist
of developing nations
when we can’t stop the rape
of developing girls.
I’d rather unfurl an attack
on our money guzzling undercover embezzling enemies-
imprisoning just us with no dollar power
impersonating justice from their donald trump tower
with their billion dollars trillion crimes
waging their personal war on the poor
for more power in this world of
ABC NBC CBS -- his country runs from
CEO to shining CEO,
Sending us across the ocean for the promotion
of their cash-devotion ideology.
well, I don’t desire your superstar badge of bravery
for enduring modern-day slavery
in your maniacally economically-driven death trap.
anyway, I’d give the U.S a bad rap,
I’d kiss every fine iraqi dyke on the front line,
fuck national pride,
I’d go to their side--
i prefer crossnational desire to crossfire anyway.
and i don’t need your fatigue uniform
to perform my battles.
I’m wearing layers of tired just from battling
the liars of our system every day.
and my Dear Mr. President:
I’d rather die, lyin’ in the heat of a fuck I call mine
than in the fuckin’ line of duty
you’ve made mine.
but, fine, it’s the new big thing to demand inclusion
in your land-intrusion ethic-free military,
to request same-sex affirmative action
to de-factionalize who dies in your
money-for-the-man
C-span cam scam, lost-and-found game
you call war
where we get to lose our lives
when you’ve found what’s worth more,
well, when this dyke goes down,
she’ll go down
knowing what it’s for.