Verbal Diarrhea: 7.30.17

So I’m going to stick with honest portrayals of what these are, for now, until I figure out if they’re anything else.

I fucking love Riot Grrrrl (spelled wrong, probably), man…or should I say woman? Kathleen Hanna, Le Tigre, Bikini Kill; the way that bass kicks up like a bucking bull to the teeth; those random turns into pure-pop ecstasy, write now (puns), I’m getting my Best Coast on, although I guess that’s really not Riot Grrrl….yep, it’s considered courtesy of Wikipedia as “Indie Pop”. Well, I suppose if you’re going not be punk, and sound like Shirley Manson refuse version 2.0, I guess you are really closer to grunge, anyway.

But back to the pointless: Riot Grrrl, and girl punk as a whole, and girls as a whole: fucking kick ass. A propos of my entire existence, I’ve always been kinda obsessed, and not just in the usual testosterone methodology you would probably think.

I fucking love the art of Woman, and Feminism, and the eternal struggle to not be a sex object. Not that I would know anything about that. I’m pretty much the anti-thesis of that mess.

But of all my favorite authors, auteurs, directors, bassists, musicians, pin-ups, et. al., I’d say the distribution favors the fairer sex, on a more regular basis. And that’s probably cause I’m fucking shite with women. British slang pronunciation for emphasis.

So, if you’re hip to Psychology – which I know my reader (I checked the stats, it’s a whole one, probably my mom) – is totally, then you may know of these things that Freud came up with called “Defense Mechanisms“. Now, I mean made up in the scientific sense of the word: He didn’t make up shit, he just observed this thing, slapped his name on it and called it something, and now his Male Gaze is slapped right all over it.

Humanity: the snarky comment.

Anyway: Defense Mechanisms are your brain resisting some harsh shit about your background processes: one of your .dlls is kinda something that your conscious brain just like, cannot deal with; but it also can’t delete the .dll from your background processes without like, turning you into a vegetable, and shutting down your entire brain. It would not be great. So, instead of letting this .dll see the light of day, conscious or external, it creates a shield of behaviors and attitudes that prevents it from doing too much damage. Depending on which behavior it chooses, it made a good choice; or, man, did it fuck up.

Fortunately for me I’m pretty hip to these swirling doo-dads that sit in the primal sludge of my dark down nothing. The bottomless pit where the Id chills with its prerogatives of “Fuck, Kill, Indulge, repeat” (Probably going to be on Slipknot’s newest cut in the near future). As a result my defense mechanisms tend to be pretty chill. They are regularly just me sublimating, transferring, suppressing, altruism-ing (totally a thing), anticipating, and, most importantly, making really mean jokes about myself so others can get a giggle.

Level 4, motherfuckers. (Seriously, read that wiki-article, it’s not well cited, but the information is good).

But back to Lady-Humans: For a long time I was a fucking punk-ass bitch about the whole process of romance and courtship. I mean, I had the standard anti-feminism culture pack installed originally because that’s how culture do. But then, over time, I also realized I’m not really great at people in general. In fact, I prefer my own company to the company of others on a regular basis for about 15 different, often good reasons.

And now, Scott walker. Mmmm, yeah.

Oh, right: I had problematic views of women, and it got pretty bad as my Virginity ticker ticked up and up and up and I got kinda desperate. I made a ton of mistakes…and there are other things best left unsaid. And, long story short, I had a pretty shitty view of women.

And, I’ve always been sorta obsessed with art in a way most would consider estoeric. I watch everything. Partially because I love it, but also because it gives me insight into the emotional truths of man, if not the literal ones.

Like, Clarice Lispector (heady sigh): she just knows…well, everything, really, but her perspective is so fundamentally female in all its glorious contradiction. She’s at once emotional, and thought-out, and up and down, and yin and yang; she can sell the fact that she’s a bomb dipped in liquid nitrogen that has been defused and can’t blow up, but will still totally blow you to shit if you touch it.

And that sense of inherent contradiction, that near buddhist sense of transcendent struggle is something I often find in the literary fiction and art of women. Stuff like “The Awakening”, by Kate Chopin, or Alice Munro Short Stories or Sylvia Plath or the music of Savages.

There is this feeling that women contain universes, but they’re stuck in this cultural fortress from which they’ve struggled to break; and in the human non-psychopathic sense, it’s enligtening, and painful to watch; but it also creates these beautiful vistas of emotion that flit around like Kaleidoscopes that are somehow one.

And I got real hip to it, because it allowed me to create a legitimate sense of empathy in watching and consuming. Gaining an understanding.

I’m not quite as simple as I want to be, or as I sometimes advertise myself to be; but I’m allowed to be complex. In the case of women, at least what I’ve noticed, is that confinement that they can’t break…cause Boobs, or some inane bullshit like that.

All this is really to say that I’ve been binge watching GLOW, and it’s pretty fucking great, so like, watch it. Because if you’re a dude, you can, hopefully, gain a sense of perspective; and, if you’re not, well, I don’t know, I’m not y’all.

But I have to piece out, and be a superhero. I would say Peace, but that isn’t quite honest.

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