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One life. Six words, What's Yours?
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One life. Six words, What's Yours? Bought book last night: Six-Word Memoirs. The online storytelling magazine, Smith, asked readers to submit six-word memoirs. The result: small sagas of bittersweet romance ("found true love, married someone else") to proud achievements and stinging regrets ("After Harvard, had baby with crackhead"). I will give samples of results. Then offer my memoirs in six-word phrases. After that I will request yours. Some favorite six-word memoirs from book: Catholic school backfire. Sin is in! Found true love, married someone else. She said she was negative. Damn. Write about sex. Learn about love. Now I blog and drink wine. Followed rules, not dreams. Never again. Love the men. Hate the commitment. Shy Jersey , overcompensating ever since. Inside suburban mom, beats urban heart. Brought it to a boil, often. Women seeks men. High pain threshold. Mixed blood. I am America's future. Fell in love. Married. Divorced. Repeat. I write because I can't sleep. Educated too much, lived too little. Was rebellious . Now raising one. I couldn't possibly fuck him again. Secret of life. Marry an Italian. I write stories. They come true. Dreamed of endless love. Awoke alone. Adolescence. Internet, internet, internet, internet. Eight thousand orgasms. Only one baby. Found a demon to love forever. My life in six-word memoirs: Lost virginity at 24, in threesome. Loves books. Married twice. Still learning. Teaches logos. Loves<b> eros. </font></b>Contradiction? No. Youngest of three. Father of three Bi-coastal. Half New Jersey. Half California. Wife discovered affair. Led to threesome. My Supplement Left Eden, Found Babel, Seek Pentecost Near the beginning was the word. Library: my refuge from tyrant volcano Logged on for sex, found community Blog Beyond Confession, Share Our Privates I write, therefore I am language Embraced history to get beyond past. Deconstructed my marriage, reconstructed my sexuality Discovered real world: heart and imagination Your life in six-word memoirs? |
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3/31/2010 1:21 am |
Dear Ms. V, Yes....sin fronteras. The frontier in the American West has always been a contact zone....not between civilization and savagery...but one civilization and another.... Alas, the results of that contact has been, far too often, bloody, very bloody: a place of unredemptive violence performed in the name of God or liberty or manifest destiny, etc. I see the American West as Anzaldua looks at it: as a place of conflict, of culture clash, of killing bodies and souls. But I also share her vision of a west that is a borderlands: a place where we come into contact with each other not to conquer the other but to merge and learn from each other. Crossroads and intersections are dangerous places....if the drivers are bad...if they don't know how to merge...if they have to get ahead of each other ruthlessly. Anzaldua, who is a lesbian Chicana, is a voice that maps out for us a way to interact in the borderlands without crashing together.... through an ethos of cooperation and appreciating difference rather than through the competition and conquest...and the tyranny of trying to strip away all differences to make us a homogenized, vanilla oneness. Let us be a crossroads...and let us learn how to merge rather than crash in these crossroads. p.s. Ms. V. Your photo reminds me: Do you have a cowboy hat? What about spurs? And chaps?
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3/29/2010 9:35 pm |
Do you know the lovely sculpture "The Winged Victory," currently in the Louvre? It's this goddess who has gone through some struggles, has lost her arms. But the core of her is absolutely one of the most powerful, stunning, ephemeral images of a woman I have yet seen. She courses out from her pedestal there on the main staircase, as the humans slide around above and below her. She's beyond that. She's taking flight, her wings spread and animated, in spite of her thousands of years imprisoned in Grecian marble. Winged Victory and Victoria seem to meld together in my paradigm of your charming spirit, and the phoenix remarks from earlier have played into it. Somehow. And don't please don't don't don't get all bogged down in who has said what or read what or seen what. Fuck that shit. You have done stuff I haven't done. I'm not all 'but I don't have any kids, so I couldn't possibly write a poem about children...' right? Mariana (to her friend Winged Victoria) I love that name for a woman who refers to herself as a "test pilot" [image]
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3/29/2010 9:11 pm |
Dear Ms. V., Yes, of course, I am getting a kick out of this blog with all your interweave of voices. Boys on the playground tended to be quite hurtful with nicknames. The ones I remember were: Igor, Weasel, Turtle. We went to "Igor's" birthday party, and I remember his Mom asking us that, just for his birthday at his house, could we please call him by his given name, "Greg." This might have been one of most first glimpses at how cruel kids could be on the playground. I love "pussy willows" (and loved them even before I knew that pussy had an erotic meaning....damn, I watched "Goldfinger" at an age when I didn't hear any double entendre in the name "Pussy Galore"). [image] I think this blog is beginning to branch off like the pussy willow pictures, and I love it.
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3/29/2010 8:59 pm |
Dear Ms. V, By all means please feel free to call me what feels right. Junebug! Pussy Willow! Petal Lips...do you like any of these for you? Or another? I have a friend in the New England chatroom who I call Honeycunt. She loves it. Some women say 'fi fi' when I do. That's ok too. She's got lovely honey colored golden wheat tresses, and she's very sexual and earthy. What could be more suited? I'd call each of you a nickname if I was bidden. It's that surplus aesthetic of mine. I always seem to pile on more more more. I need to get busy and clean out my closets. It's a habit in my actual world as much as in my literary cloud-land. MT/Mariana/E (my actual first intial)/dragonfliezzz (my other Adult Dating zone name) 
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3/29/2010 8:54 pm |
./. - I was my parents' divorce therapist/mediator > - I was as a kid up till college destined for greatness, an over achiever, super star blah blah ... - I had one after the other after the other sexual relationship, and well...these are notches on the headboard I reckon {} - I fell in love with my soulmate (two halves made whole)...but ^ - he hung himself (mental illness, I can't really bare to bare all here) {*} - my heart was broken, I brust into emotional flames, phoenix rising (see previous 6 word autobiographical statement) - >>> - I was 'flat' for some time, and now I'm back to relationships, including one that ended last year (a 7 year relationship)...I probably should have typed >>>>>>> (but that's too literal and messy on the eye) (mystery solved. See how the symbols allowed me to cheat and fit in much much more than 6 words.) I read your blog and I see the phoenix...and many more beautiful mythological creatures.
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3/29/2010 8:47 pm |
great post. love it. once more  My life in six-word memoirs: We found each other. I left. I am in love with you. He taught me. Speak your soul. Commitment? Run, Forrest, run. Lol. Do i contradict myself? Hope so. Always at crossroads. To give directions. My favorites: "Do I contradict myself. Hope so." "Always at crossroads. To give directions." I love how this last line updates a favorite poem of mine by Anzaldua. From Gloria Anzaldua, "Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza" To live in the Borderlands means you are neither hispana india negra espanola ni gabacha, eres mestiza, mulata, half-breed caught in the crossfire between camps while carrying all five races on your back not knowing which side to turn to, run from; To live in the Borderlands means knowing that the india in you, betrayed for Soo years, is no longer speaking to you, that mexicanas call you rajetas, that denying the Anglo inside you is as bad as having denied the Indian or Black; Cuando vives en la frontera people walk through you, the wind steals your voice, you’re a burra, buey, scapegoat, forerunner of a new race, half and half-both woman and man, neithera new gender; To live in the Borderlands means to put chile in the borscht, eat whole wheat tortillas, speak Tex-Mex with a Brooklyn accent; be stopped by la migra at the border checkpoints; Living in the Borderlands means you fight hard to resist the gold elixir beckoning from the bottle, the pull of the gun barrel, the rope crushing the hollow of your throat; In the Borderlands you are the battleground where enemies are kin to each other; you are at home, a stranger, the border disputes have been settled the volley of shots have shattered the truce you are wounded, lost in action dead, fighting back; To live in the Borderlands means the mill with the razor white teeth wants to shred off your olive-red skin, crush out the kernel, your heart pound you pinch you roll you out smelling like white bread but dead; To survive the Borderlands you must live sin fronteras be a crossroads.
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Do you know the lovely sculpture "The Winged Victory," currently in the Louvre? It's this goddess who has gone through some struggles, has lost her arms. But the core of her is absolutely one of the most powerful, stunning, ephemeral images of a woman I have yet seen. She courses out from her pedestal there on the main staircase, as the humans slide around above and below her. She's beyond that. She's taking flight, her wings spread and animated, in spite of her thousands of years imprisoned in Grecian marble. Winged Victory and Victoria seem to meld together in my paradigm of your charming spirit, and the phoenix remarks from earlier have played into it. Somehow. And don't please don't don't don't get all bogged down in who has said what or read what or seen what. Fuck that shit. You have done stuff I haven't done. I'm not all 'but I don't have any kids, so I couldn't possibly write a poem about children...' right? Mariana (to her friend Winged Victoria)     
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Married for love, divorced for sanity Mother of 4, 4-legged babies Lover of life, enjoying the journey With age comes wisdom if lucky Many acquaintances, few friends, perfect combination If I have stopped by your blog, please be sure to sign my permission slip Pimp Me, Pimp My Blog, But Let Me Do The Same With You 
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Dear Ms. V, By all means please feel free to call me what feels right. Junebug! Pussy Willow! Petal Lips...do you like any of these for you? Or another? I have a friend in the New England chatroom who I call Honeycunt. She loves it. Some women say 'fi fi' when I do. That's ok too. She's got lovely honey colored golden wheat tresses, and she's very sexual and earthy. What could be more suited? I'd call each of you a nickname if I was bidden. It's that surplus aesthetic of mine. I always seem to pile on more more more. I need to get busy and clean out my closets. It's a habit in my actual world as much as in my literary cloud-land. MT/Mariana/E (my actual first intial)/dragonfliezzz (my other Adult Dating zone name)
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./. - I was my parents' divorce therapist/mediator > - I was as a kid up till college destined for greatness, an over achiever, super star blah blah ... - I had one after the other after the other sexual relationship, and well...these are notches on the headboard I reckon {} - I fell in love with my soulmate (two halves made whole)...but ^ - he hung himself (mental illness, I can't really bare to bare all here) {*} - my heart was broken, I brust into emotional flames, phoenix rising (see previous 6 word autobiographical statement) - >>> - I was 'flat' for some time, and now I'm back to relationships, including one that ended last year (a 7 year relationship)...I probably should have typed >>>>>>> (but that's too literal and messy on the eye) (mystery solved. See how the symbols allowed me to cheat and fit in much much more than 6 words.)
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I'm going to offer a second one. This one will be in symbols/punctuation. Cause I want to see if it's decipherable to anyone but me. And if not, that's OK too. MT ./. > ... {} ^ {*} - >>> (I so doubt that will make sense to anyone but me. no offense, savvy bloggers.)
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Never grew up, but finally blossoming. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
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3/25/2010 7:42 pm |
Spanish and English, Inglés y Español Two languages, two countries, one identity Inteligencia=erotismo 
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Oldest of three. Mother of three. Loves math;foreign languages.Professional Student. Leaved in more than 30 countries. Three citizen ships. 4 different languages. Bedroom gymnastics, swimming in hot tub. Successfully having sex for over threeyears.  ~~I may be no better, but at least I am different.~~ Jean-Jacques Rousseau ~~Stop by my adventure land ~♑~Reambiguating the world~♑~  
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Innocence stolen at 13, damn bastard. Self discovery. Self suffice nt. Self esteem. Married at 30, mistake by 31. Two beautiful children, two beautiful souls. Now happily divorced. Happily ever after. I'd rather regret the things I've done than regret the things I haven't done. ~~~~Lucille Ball
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great post. love it. once more My life in six-word memoirs: We found each other. I left. I am in love with you. He taught me. Speak your soul. Commitment? Run, Forrest, run. Lol. Do i contradict myself? Hope so. Always at crossroads. To give directions.
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suicided phoenix metamorphosis - contradicting punk-rock debutante
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