Leave now if you don't like people tearing off on occasionally
self-righteous #%*#&%* sessions.
Right. Thanks for stopping by.
This rant is for Sept 5th, 2001.
No, not physically, as those who have heard the slightly flatter
grumping growl of my voice can attest. It's where it counts that
I can't talk, or if I dare to do so it's in whispers in the corners
and roars breaking free at inopportune timings.
People who read me know I'm chronic. I'm the jerk who sticks her
nose where it doesn't belong and riffs off long speels on stuff
that no one thinks I can even start to imagine. I'm your middle
girl, demanding too much and giving nothing back for your time.
Scorpions stinging the foxes that are their rides from floods--yes,
But that's the case so far as the appearance. No, let's be more
accurate. It's the case so far as the translation goes.
I really should have a diplomat with me at all times, and that's
one of the many fun things about plurality that I *can*--or, if
you want to be even simpler about it, about being alive and using
your superego or your wisdom or your restraint. Do I, though? No.
I've given in to the illusion that I can say what I personally want
to while using my own self-moderational judgment. I choose to hope
that my intentions will shine through more strongly than my ragged
words, for otherwise why would I be interested in trying to stand
for the idea of plurality as a possible positive state of being?
But I can't talk, just in case I don't have the right keyword
for the situation. I can't say anything without it being gone
over by two dozen folks to make sure that it won't strike some person
out there as implying something it's not, and by that time it doesn't
have half the impact of what I want to say anymore. When I do, I
must be mute. That, or I end up coming across as gods-know-what,
because I want to spend my time talking about the idea instead of
double-checking every word to see if it just might offend an infinity
of possibilities in others. And I so very need a life, because it
does grate on me if I've done an injustice wrong by fluked degree.
Doesn't stop me from strewing about careless words left and right
though, does it? Hah, and here and there goes that feeling again
of the way you must be in order to fit into a strata--a group? a
genre?--where the biggest rule of thumb is supposed to be that nothing
has to fit in in order to be all right to exist.
Lord (Lords, lords, ladies, blessed chicks who ride the moon and
thumb their noses at me, and my former pet cat) let there be those
who understand that I don't ride sidesaddle on these trails, but
I'm still in the same pack of hunters as all the rest of you when
it comes to the elusive prey that's societal acceptance.
For words are what are endless frustrations here, not because they
aren't my native language--for they are--but because nearly everything
under the sun these days has become a label. Do I use the choice
of group or of household when I try to talk about plural organizations
of people in general? I know that we Courts aren't a household under
any stretch of the imagination, but I'm not about to bridle and
throw accusations at others should they turn that word towards us.
Nor will I ask them to change. Other people will use the strings
of letters that equates an idea in their minds for them; where they
might use system, I might use group, but I understand that we
are essentially talking about the same thing.
To an extent, yes--words are deadly, and they are what have kept
us in the place drilled out for us over the years. Disease. Disorder.
Fragments. Fictions. However, they are also means to facilitate
communication with any number of connotations attached to them for
each individual in a--what should I say here again? Structure, family,
nation? Kingdom, household, affiliation? I can't even finish a train
of thought without stumbling over if others will seek to slap me
for accidentally using a word they might not prefer.
For a while, 'alter' was used as a replacement word for 'person
who does not seem to have been in the body from birth and who might
not fit that body as it is physically defined.' The connotations
which went with that were negative; they titled a primary person
as real and alternates as choices that were not as central. Now
alter is being slowly phased out, though it resurfaces by degrees.
Still, the role that it played to sum up that long and convoluted
phrase was a necessary one for communication, and I'll stand by
and respect it for that even as I so very much detest the implications
that rode with it.
Inner, Outer, Other, Between. We don't have yet an official
lexicon recognized for the least amount of offense it grants that
I can draw from when I want to pin down these thoughts of mine in
offering to another. Rebekka's group, Rebekka's Court, the Courts,
a Court, the Cats, Rebekka's Cats, the Court with Rebekka in it.
How are you going to send things back if you want to address me?
Are you too going to just pick one and hope with bated breath that
luck won't have granted you something that I'd growl at it being
pointed in my direction?
Hoi, if you're fine with me and everyone else in here who wants
to be real *as* real, then you can call me just about anything you
want. I'll trust in your intentions as I can see them come alight,
when you're standing here with me and we're both looking to the
same horizon line.
And in the meantime, these words are killing us.
Right. I'm making a team of translators now, and then I'm going
to ship them out across the world and beyond in crates marked 'This
Way Up.' Particularly ones who can somehow phrase things well enough
that no one takes offense that I've used that verb at all, in an
implication that people can be put together like Legos. Let's hope.
I want us all to win and stand there proud at the end of being just
as much plural as we want to be, whether that's a lot or a little.
Let's hope for it. Someday I'll find the right words scrubbed clean
and sparkling for me to use to say that right. I'll hope for that