A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || March 30, 2003 || 1:18 pm

I am here because I will say the shameful things. I will speak the words of love and regret and burning, rapacious want that all women feel but are hesitant to put a voice to.

All my life, every last day of it, there has been a tickling at the back of my psyche and the threat of a soul coughing has loomed large. The tickle has grown in intensity and insistence in the last handful of years, threatening to explode me like a vigorous sneeze in a hushed theater. It, in a nutshell, will move me to action, flailing and precise and not looking back, or eat me from the inside, leaving me an old, regretful woman (for the record, I’ve never pictured myself getting old, so laying bets on the former rather than the latter would be in your best interests if you’re looking for a windfall).

The problem, my dears, with a lifelong lack of regret is that eventually it will catch up to you and there will be either more regrets than you can name or one so big that it squashes the breath out of you when it seats itself squarely upon shoulders.

I have gone on record before, and will again here now, as stating that I love men. I love them unabashedly, exuberantly, fully. I find them fun and witty, achingly complex in their simplicity, fascinating and full of false bravado and on and on and onnnnnn. You could ask me why I love men and I could sit, espousing on the topic all day (here a funny thought occurred to me: “I mostly love men because they are not women…”). Then I’d be moved to hug the next fella that crossed my path.

I spoke at length yesterday with two men that I really, really like, but who couldn’t be more different from a personality standpoint. Each had his own view to a kill and each had very valid points to make on the situation I shared with them. I was moved to dump it in their laps because they’ve both been in the situation I’ve come to cradle in my arms, not wanting it to slip through even as it squirms and makes me fret, as of late.

Lately I have been morally challeged from a ‘conventional morality’ standpoint, but I’ve been assured by outside parties that from a ‘universal morality’ perspective, I’m right on track. In the end, what does it matter? If I’ve erred, I’ve erred and I will be married to the consequences. Likewise, if I’ve done something greater than myself and anyone else involved, then I’ve opened the door for all sorts of wonderful eventualities for all parties.

God bless us, every one.

The one thing that I would tell all those men out there that I love so very much, love for their smells –all of ‘em– and their laughter and the timbre of their voices and their sinew and their knuckley hands and their not-long-forgotten-momma’s boy ways, is that we women spend a lot of time shaking on the inside from the very concentrated wealth of emotion that God in his merciful(less) wisdom has bestowed upon us. We burn with it while blinking nearly all outward traces of it away so that we might function in this world, one that does not favor the richness and strength and fierceness of what is contained below our sternums. To be a woman is to own an ever-present ache. To be a woman is to be torn to bits on the inside, a constant re-building that waxes and wanes, a perpetual state of weighted flux. To be a woman is to both love and despise your condition, to be firmly and lovingly anchored in all that you possess yet wanting to flee it all for what possesses you.

We are charged as women, quite silently, to never voice these things. That is the curse handed down from the Sins of Edentimes, not childbirth as you have so erringly been told. The angel with the flaming sword may still stand watch at the entrance, but he buried the sword deep within the belly of womankind. Pause to remember that on occasion, you menfolk, and rock your woman to sleep, stroking her eyelids and murmuring to the too-full heart and kissing the belly that holds all man’s sins so that you do not have to know the heat and the burden of them.

I am a traitor to the task: I am here because I will say the shameful things. I will speak the words of love and regret and burning, rapacious want that all women feel but are hesitant to put a voice to.

14 worked it out »

  1. @feckless 3.30.2003

    morals. i’ve been making many an immoral plan in my mind these days, but so far no follow-through.

    but it’s rather an unconventional universal morality that i will follow if i get the chance. and i want the chance. if i’m being true to my own self and this hurts someone, someone that i have refrained from doing the hurting thing to, at great personal cost, …

    or conventionally, does one break up an unhappy but functional family unit in order to have one’s dream of a lifetime? is that selfish?

    women conventionally aren’t supposed to want such thing, that much i know.

  2. Jett 3.30.2003

    feck: I say love wins, no matter the cost to life and limb. if there are two loves? well, as of late I’ve been leaning toward the one that leaves you sick to your stomach and unable to sleep at night.

    whatever you do, steep it in great passion.

    now to live by my own words….

  3. @feckless 3.30.2003

    there’s only one love. but chances are it’s just a vivid fantasy, i have those, & am often deluded completely. on the other hand, there are different fingers.

    see i did say that it was a love that wasn’t limited by whether it happens or doesn’t, in the actual reality sense. i said that. all spiritually at the time. so living by my own words? hmm.

  4. April Love 3.30.2003

    Thank you for putting the things in my heart into words. I never think of things the way that you do, until you slap ‘em out in front of me. I can definately relate to the burning.

  5. Sean 3.31.2003

    Wow… just… Wow…

  6. Jane 3.31.2003

    Thank you. Your arsenal of words is astounding. Your understanding of the human “heart” even more so.

    Thank you.

  7. Jettomatika 3.31.2003

    April: I love you, you spirited, kindhearted whore. (an’ that’s whore in the best possible sense of the word!) Down with the Dance Nazi!

    feck ole pal: we should speak at length on these things when we are both suitably drunk, waxing lyrical.

    Sean: It’s nice to move a fella. Makes m’ nether regions all TINGLY. hee!

    Jane: high praise coming from someone so gifted as you. You have a good soul, and it’s nice to be of some esteem to those with said souls…

  8. sarabella 4.1.2003

    dearest jett superior

    you, like my hero, the lil folk goddess ani difranco, have the ability to put things into words that are itching at my psyche as well, but i do not have the ability to put them into the eloquence that you so easily do. thank you for doing it. and please keep on doing it. and if you are not familiar with ani d, look into her, you may be soul sisters.

  9. Jett 4.1.2003

    actually, sare, ani and I swapped phone calls and cd’s back in the mid-nineties; time has a crazy way of sweeping you away from folks, though, and we’ve not communicated in a long, looong time.

    and thank you for your kind words. “may they be returned unto you”

  10. April Love 4.2.2003

    How I love you Sarabella. I have forever referred to Ani as a lil folk goddess. Were we sisters in another life?

  11. Angel 4.4.2003

    Though I’ve always loved Ella Fitzgerald, there was always an optimism to her that belied even the most somber songs. This post, I would liken to Billie Holiday, tinged with a bit of sadness, even as it joyfully states it’s mission. To reveal. Revelation seems to be something that women fear, even as we enjoy it in others. So many roiling thoughts that we are afraid or ashamed to admit. So many emotions bubbling just below the surface, yet serenity we portray. I welcome your revelations, as I welcome to know more of women in general (I find I like men mainly because they are not women as well) as I begin to enjoy the communion of women who are open and reveal and do not hold back, even if I may do so at times. I linked this post, I hope you don’t mind.

    Speak on.

  12. Jett 4.4.2003

    God bless America, talk about pressure.

    When life gives you sow’s ears, make lemonade.

    Or try your damnedest to crank out some silk purses.

  13. sarabella 4.6.2003

    maybe soul sisters april. but i think she refers to herself as the lil folk goddess.

    jett…i am so jealous. GREEN. how can you LOSE contact once you have MADE contact with a lady such as ani d?!

    what do you mean you exchanged cd’s? are you a musician too?! i havev a whole new respect for you jettgirl…

  14. john 4.10.2003

    Because my surfing is as random as my thoughts, I came late to the post here. I admire the eloquence and the magnitude of emotion conveyed in your words, but it also confused me. Naturally, I can’t know what it feels like to be a woman. I try to approach things logically, but it’s due to a torrent of emotion lying in check. If I favor reason, it’s only because I can hear the howl inside and I know that it’s only the will that keeps it at bay. Maybe love and hate find a prime source female to male. How else can we explain that now science reveals that there are killer sperm. How many from the multitude reach out for life?

    I am not sure if it’s a shameful thing to say that men are made of rage, because there is that small part that strives for life and love, but it’s surrounded on all sides. Maybe that’s why so many of us run through life.


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