Thursday, October 30, 2008
I just finished reading a book on self-mutilating. Just carrying it around sort of shields you from all but the truly strange. When I got my nails done the other day (I love this time of year because you can pick the darkest shade of black and people assume it's for a costume) and the woman asked what I was reading, and I told her about the case study I had just read where a woman poured gasoline on her jeans and set herself on fire. "Why?" she asked. I shrugged, because the only answer I could give was "Fuck if I know" and the woman spoke limited English, and I could not be sure if it would translate. "In my country, sometimes men eat the heart of snakes --very expensive and sometimes they still beating when you hold them. They think it good for sex." And then she launched into a truly horrific practice where people eat a four to six month old fetus to improve their health and skin. "In China. People very strange. Baby girl cost much less than baby boy. I see picture of one in bowl once."
Anyone who knows me knows I'm pro-choice, but this was beyond the fucking pale. I probably turned a lighter shade of white. I've been reading and seeing all sorts of horrible things lately; I blame this on writing a book about trauma. You draw it to you by the simple fact of remembering. In a very real way, we stay stuck in time when something terrible happens even on a chemical level since it's proven that the body never really recalibrates entirely. I'm glad to be done with the self-mutilation book. Its stories stay in my mind like the worst kind of cautionary tale. Whatever cruelty someone does to us, we can usually do better or at least more often, a self-perpetuating hell that goes on like our strands of DNA; they all look alike and yet everyone is different.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"It's happening right now... it's just not on film, it's not being recorded." Rodney King
Drinking television suggestion: Celebrity Rehab -- This is my big guilty pleasure of late. What's not to love about a show that stars the sanctimonious Dr. Drew Pinksy, Gary Busey (sent by the angels according to him to minister to other addicts -- favorite moment on the first episode -- extremely attractive model addicted to opiates talks to Gary for a minutes, grows weary of his voice, and says in the most succinct take on the whole encounter, I know he means well, but I don't want to get help from someone crazier than me), and Rodney King? So far, Rodney King is the most sympathetic person, Rod Stewart's son Sean, the least, but there's many episodes to go. As they say in Hands On A Hardbody, we'll see what transgresses through the night.
Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Devil's Night! I'm still sorting through contest entries, most of which will be posted tomorrow along with the winners. To lovely Lana of the Dreaming Tree -- for some reason (probably my demonic computer), I can't pull the images off my e-mail. If you send them again, I promise I will do an exorcism and get them on this blog.