On the Thermodynamics of Hellfire

Some say we, the people, are rational little beings walking around on two legs, unmoved like boulders. If that’s true, I’m the most ridiculous of boulders, because everything moves; it’s like I’m molten. There are no guidelines to follow. No street signs, no traffic code, not even the laws of thermodynamics apply here. This is lawlessness made rock. Made frog in my throat. Choking up the passageways like too many words in mid tumble. Makes me cry like an elephant at a roadside funeral. I should soak myself in iodine and jump into a pool of cotton balls. I should get healed. (As if someone, something could do it for me). I should climb into an industrial sized garbage bag (perforated) filled with echinecea leaves (dried) and then jump into a vat of hot water (boiled). I should practice cynicism, and be stoic. I should leave Dionysus alone, relegate him back to lonely mount Olympus where he belongs; leave him to his soiled libations undisturbed.

But I want to make sense of this. I want to squeeze it between my fingers like crushed grapes, or ground slugs. I want it to speak to me, and tell me where I’ve gone wrong. I want it to jangle around and make noise like a mariachi band. I want it to sing ballads in the name of lost heroes. I want it to tell me all the alternate endings for stories that were never begun. I want it to teach me something. But instead, I’m Tantalus, wading through swamps of meaning, as dream interpretation books float by. If I were a butterfly, i’d crawl back into the genie’s lamp. (He’s got a hookah in there somewhere.)  I’d fly into the flame, preferring brilliance to whatever this is.

I stopped in the fire the other day
Watched the snow fall like parachuting marines
And thought about my uterus
I’ve carried it around all my life,
Barely recognizing it was there
Until it started giving me trouble
First it was the right to own property
Then the vote, of course
And now. It hurts.
It does unruly things
Keeps me worried and awake
It used to be so neutral, so nonchalant.
So non-confrontational,
Like a lone hippie in a head shop
Simply content, unassuming.
But now, it’s always lurking around.
Making rude comments and watching for my reaction
Like a brat testing the boundaries
A visceral gadfly

A blood-and-guts terrorist

A cantankerous Cunt

If this is a gift, as the propaganda proclaims
Then where’s my gift receipt?

The values of higher education

Scene: Discrimination and the Law in Canada. Course given at unammed University in Montreal.

Prof: Quebec Canadian Judge, presiding.

Subject matter: Harassment/discrimination.

Prof: I had one case come before me, in which a woman filed a complaint against a mechanic because he had put up a poster of a woman in a tiny little bikini on his office wall.

random bursts of giggling swirl like wind through tall grass throughout the class.

Prof: (smiling) “Well, you know, some poeple feel uncomfortable with things like that, it’s important not only to be objective, but subjective too.”

(Girl raises hand) Prof, pointing to girl, “Yes”

Girl: “If it were a picture of George Clooney, would it be the same if the situation was reversed? If it were a picture of George Clooney, on a woman’s office wall ?”

Prof: “every situation is different, you see.”

My hand shoots up, Prof looks over, nods.

Me: “IT’s not just that it’s a picture of someone. If it were a picture of a fully clad Julia Roberts, it probably wouldn’t be offensive. If it were a picture of a sharp-looking George Clooney looking good in a suit, that would also not be offensive.” (white guy behind me pipes up, speaking over me, challenging: “that would make me uncomfortable!”) Now if it were a picture of a chippendale, nude on a sandy beach but for a barely-there g-string it would be different.

White guy behind me, gelled hair, tight black t-shirt: “Whatever, so what if it’s a girl in a bikini?! It’s not like she’d totally naked, and what would it matter anyway?”

First speaking girl looks perplexed, intemittently nodding and shaking her head.

The whole class bursts into sharp snippets of speech. People’s heads nodding, shaking uncontrollably.

Prof: “We must always provide for the region in which a complaint is made. This is from Saskatchewan, even a big bikini has a different effect than it would here. Maybe if it were here,, in Montreal, even a g-string would not…. Oh, I don’t know, actually… Anyway, let’s move on to pay equity. Which is that a job mostly performed by women should not be paid less than a job mostly performed by men if it is of equal value.”

Snickering spreads through the class, dying quickly.

Me: (screaming silently inside my head, eyes wide; disbelieving. Checking watch: one more hour of this…)

-Fin-

If you can’t join them, beat them…. I mean, if you can’t beat them….

Btw: finding pictures of lewd male models on beaches is actually surprisingly difficult.  I’m so tired of this society.

Pachabell