and a bonus post about slash
Dec. 8th, 2004 11:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
radfrac_archive_fullOne Clever Thing I came up with, in terms of LJ, is to dial in, open all the pages I like to read, then disconnect to save money (mum's) and read all the journals like the morning newspapers. I am constantly foiled in this by the elaborate use of cut-tags. And yet I do see their utility. Which is why I am thinking about:
slash hurts
There's apparently a general slash discussion floating around among the LJ writers I'm reading and their peripherals. I sort of want to read it and I sort of don't, because slash (particularly m/m) and discussions of it still have the power not just to turn me on, but to hurt me in a very particular way; not deliberately, not by bad prose or strange character development, but in a kind of unnamable place that's about being loved and being seen. I read slash for that feeling, but having it talked about, even by people who understand it similarly, can be unbearably sensitive. It has something to do with being trans, and often feeling on the outside of the Great Palace of Love for that reason. (However often it is gently but firmly pointed out to me that I have probably had as good a tour of the Palace as anyone, if not slightly more extensive.)
There's a great line at the end of Henry & June, where Anais Nin, bumping through the street in a vintage car with her husband, everything around them looking terribly terribly French, narrates: "I cried because I had lost my pain, and I was not yet accustomed to its absence." Transition was like that for me; it resolved a lot of things, but sometimes you miss the state of unresolvedness. It's much better to be happy (well, you know, relatively happy, happy for me) and productive (see above), but sometimes you miss that exquisite longing. And slash for me is all about that longing, a kind of treasured agony.
{rf}
slash hurts
There's apparently a general slash discussion floating around among the LJ writers I'm reading and their peripherals. I sort of want to read it and I sort of don't, because slash (particularly m/m) and discussions of it still have the power not just to turn me on, but to hurt me in a very particular way; not deliberately, not by bad prose or strange character development, but in a kind of unnamable place that's about being loved and being seen. I read slash for that feeling, but having it talked about, even by people who understand it similarly, can be unbearably sensitive. It has something to do with being trans, and often feeling on the outside of the Great Palace of Love for that reason. (However often it is gently but firmly pointed out to me that I have probably had as good a tour of the Palace as anyone, if not slightly more extensive.)
There's a great line at the end of Henry & June, where Anais Nin, bumping through the street in a vintage car with her husband, everything around them looking terribly terribly French, narrates: "I cried because I had lost my pain, and I was not yet accustomed to its absence." Transition was like that for me; it resolved a lot of things, but sometimes you miss the state of unresolvedness. It's much better to be happy (well, you know, relatively happy, happy for me) and productive (see above), but sometimes you miss that exquisite longing. And slash for me is all about that longing, a kind of treasured agony.
{rf}
losing pain
Date: 2004-12-08 11:14 pm (UTC)The interesting part happened when the author was relating a tale about a mathematician who got migraines. Some fellow finally determined cheese was the culprit and didn't let the mathematician have it any more. The migraines went away, as did his ability to do higher math. He had to make a decision to either be migraine-free and lose what he loved most or deal with the pain to do what made him happy. The author mused a bit about how she's a different person for having to deal with the headaches and how it's strengthened her.
Sometimes it's the things that cause us pain that not only make us who we are, but remind us from time to time *that* we are.
Lovely about the job. If all conversations are monitored, you'll have to come up with a way to send odd coded messages to those listening. Saying scandalous things to people who don't get it is certainly a fun thing to do at any job!
leirdal