I have spent the last couple of days thinking about truth, reality and other things you should have a philosophy degree to contemplate. I’ve also spent far too much time giggling over romance novels I was intending to satirise, if only the darn things didn’t satirise themselves. Oh, and I now have superhuman abilities and am intending to call myself the Incredible Snot Tap.
The construct man is a strange thing, isn’t it? I’ve known friends who were almost allies, known boys who I knew and trusted. I’ve watched them grow into beings that might as well be a different species. The stream separating us has become an ocean and now I am just a thing to be judged by my fuckability. Sure there are exceptions, patriarchy is not so perfect that it can mindfuck everyone into their ordained places. And this is where philosophical thoughts about words, interpreted meaning and communication comes in. How can I communicate to a world that gobbles up pop lit about men and women coming from different planet, a society that creates films like Forgetting Sarah Marshall (I want that hour and a half of my life back), how can I communicate the pointlessness of putting people into boxes? There are always more boxes, boxes of different sizes, boxes for everyone.
Well thank dog for post-modernism, because I can actually pass this piece of goo as something. Post-modernism has influenced my senior school English and History education. Do teach the children that nothing matters, and then tell them to study several hours a day, that’ll work.
I have a confession to make. As well as being a science fiction nerd, I’m a D&D nerd. I was creating a feminism class (and no, it wasn’t a paladin knock off) when I realised that creating the class would be wrong, because all of the classes can be feminists, plus it isn’t how cool your characters class and race is, it is all about character development. My favourite character of all time was a human fighter. She was awesome. I’ll create a secret society instead, with pink robes for everyone, even troglodytes. Faerun could use a little more feminism.
I’m not particularly stupid or crazy. I know no matter what I write, how I try to communicate, an iron cobweb of perception will separate some people from me. I know that those boys were never free of patriarchy, I do remember having to play Poison Ivy again and again. I want to know how communication can fail to such an extent that places like Auschwitz have actually existed somewhere in time and space.
In the end it comes down to men. You know how happy I was that I didn’t need them? No desire to please them, only a bright new world. But they are everywhere. Positions of power, man, man, man, woman. Like a game of duck, duck, goose.
I don’t want to be a superhero. I want more than that. I want to change the world, change how we communicate, change how our realities interact. I don’t know what is more scary, the knowledge that I will probably fall flat on my face, or the possibility of succeeding.