kethrai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Peacocks and Arrogance for Breakfast. A long time ago, I was talking to a New York Preppy Lady. We were talking about the local all-organic hippie goth restaurant, where they specify that the fried chicken was free-range and the oil was organic, and it's decorated in extreme kitch. She was complaining about it, actually, because it was the local freaks n' geeks hangout that stayed open late enough that folks could go to a rave and then get eats there. "We went in after shooting pool one night," she said, "And I hated it. I felt like I was TWELVE." Secure in the fellowship of my local geek tribe, I nodded and felt secretly superior. I mean, hey, wearing funny clothes and looking wierd in public is nothing new to me. I've been an oddity my whole life. While the intention of the geek tribe is not usually to make the normals feel small, sometimes, sometimes, you prop up your ego with what you got--even if it does look funny. But now I'm noticing, hanging out again with the freak tribe, that there's a freaker-than-thou vibe going on. I suppose it was always there, but as I'm older now, and calmer, I guess I’m just getting exasperated. There’s a one-upmanship thing going on here that makes me just wanna hurl. A tres-sophistique, I-have-done-more-than-you, you-will-never-understand-me-because-you're-backwards vibe. It's downright rude, people. You know me and the notion of Hospitality. You know how I feel about rude. I haven’t been to Paris. I don’t read Dostoyevski. My synonym for “art film” is “nap time”. But I'm slowly, finally coming into sympathy with the New York Preppy Lady, because I'm damnded tired of being treated like I’m TWELVE, with no reasoning faculties whatsoever, because I’ve lacked certain sorts of experiences. DUDE. We’re all locked up in our own little brainboxes. I don’t make the arrogant assumption that I can see what goes on in your head—why are you assuming you know everything about my existence because you think my history is dull? There is always a certain amount of peacocking when people meet, and in the phreak community, where the social skills are not always finely honed to start with, the peacocking seems to go on much longer that your average cocktail party. I’ve been noticing it a lot this summer—and arrogant or no, largely absented myself from the process. I have no objection to introducing myself and explaining who I am and what I do—outshouting someone who is busy trying to one-up me in the Pain or Freak Story or General Wonderfulness categories is a good way to get yourself a) ignored and b) laid up with a really raw set of vocal cords. Dear NSR—I do not say this is not out of some sense of false humility. I’m both arrogant and vain. I really am as good as I tell you I am. I have delivered poetry performances that set my audience rocking with laughter, and once a Vietnam vet came up to me after a show and stood holding my hand for ten minutes solid, told me what some of the images of one poem meant to him. I once told a fairy tale to a bunch of punk adolescents, and the boy in the back sat still for over 20 minutes with his cigarette burning into his fingers until the story was done. I am indeed an actor, and a performance poet, and the only humility I’ve ever exhibited in my life was beaten into my hide by my mother, and it remains uneasily on the surface, like poorly-glued veneer. You’d better believe I’m goddamn arrogant. But Goddess gifted me with a pair of ears to listen to folks with, and my mother managed to beat basic courtesy into my hide so that I do actually listen to others and frankly, of the two, I’m more afraid of my mother. And somehow, some way, in the Phreak Peacock Dance, people are mistaking Kethrai’s quiet for Kethrai Being Lacking In Anything To Say Or Being Of Any Interest Whatsoever. And they're starting to test me. Don't go there. Don't mistake quiet for mute. Or worse yet, assume that because my experience isn’t as broad, or my history as exciting (and, y’know, considering that they didn’t even listen to the 30 seconds of info I did manage to jam in edgwise into their egotistical recounting of All Their Traumas, I’m wondering exactly how they’re judging the depth of my history of the broadness of my tolerance) that I should be Protected from Their Exciting, Important Lives. Um, fuck you. Don't mistake quiet for "unable to handle it", whichever "it" you're thinking of. You wanna protect me? Sorry, that’s not what it’s about. I decide the risks I take. And the ones I choose not to take. If you decide for me, you have reduced me to an age I don’t want to contemplate. I'm running on the assumption that we're all grownups together here, and if you can bear to tell me, I can bear to hear it. And further? You didn't listen to me, fuckwit. You have not clue one if my life is as Exciting and Important as yours, because, well, you don't know. You can't. You never asked. Don't mistake quiet for stupid. You think I don't get it? What, you think because I live in microcosm, I feel that way too? You think I can't understand pain or rejection or fear or joy because don't have the capacity for feeling that YOU do? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? You think I didn't CHOOSE microcosm for a reason? You think I live quietly because I'm not CAPABLE of anything else? Don't mistake quiet for an empty vessel. Or a small one. You think because I don't parade my pain and fury and the horrible things that people have done to me, in the Holy Name of Love or Exploitation, that somehow I am not worthy to recieve the confidences of your oh-so-battered soul? Or that I'm simply worthy as a recepticle, and there is no useful help I can offer? Don't mistake quiet for empty. I expect that everyone should be the Loudest Person In Their Own Head. I know I am in mine, and in spite of societal programming that says that women should be concerned for others first, I like to think that most of the time, I can actually make choices for me that are right, without choosing the thing that will only benefit others and empty my soul in the process. I think of it as self-preservation, and also the best way to ensure I can keep on giving, keep on being helpful, keep on being a useful person. The well goes dry, if you block out the spring to feed it. And then everyone goes thirsty. But useful doesn't mean pack mule. Dear NSR, go along and look up the original etymology of the term "scape goat". Not its modern meaning--the original. I will be damnded --again, incidentally-- if I am driven again into the wilderness, bleating in ignorance and still bearing the weight of the sins of others. You wanna look me in the eye and share your pain? Fine. You want to bend me over and boot me in the ass to make yourself feel better? Hold onto your handbasket, dear. You're on your way. Don't mistake my exquisite sense of Hospitality and Honor for ignorance and gullibility. Don't mistake me for less than I am. Because I am the dragon, I am the Valkyrie, I hold the Goddess's hospitality and I can and will eat you and crack your bones and if you offend again in your youth and arrogance I will do it without a second thought. Open your ears. And shut your goddamn mouth. 6:43 p.m. - 2002-09-04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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