deliriumcrow: (Default)
Haha! Back on my own computer again! This means I can post at least some of the rants I've wrotten, though some have gotten a little too long for anyone to actually read excepting me.

So the short one, which is, admittedly due to my combustibly happy mood entirely inappropriate the first thing that wil go in. The unfairness, I swear.

So without further ado, the rant.

In which I feel that I must come to Remy’s defense.

It has come to my attention that certain people whose names have not been revealed to me are quite happy that I am no longer with Remy. Well and so, there are many reasons to have that opinion, but the one they have chosen is so blatantly untrue I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. There are many things to blame him for, for which he was actually guilty (like leaving me in an emotional crisis just before finals, that I passed rather well not withstanding) that there is really no reason to make up causes for disliking us together.

They seem to think that he made me more weird than I already was, relating specifically to my magical beliefs.

Umm, no?

This actually narrows down by several years the number of people this could be. It would have to be someone I met since I got together with Kevin, because when I was with him, I curbed my tendencies to talk about my beliefs, simply because I don’t like to be laughed at. Shortly before he broke up with me, I knew it was over and began looking for some way to break up with him myself. And why, you might ask? Because he saw evidence of the strength of my admittedly odd beliefs, both my own and those of my friends and family, and he laughed at them. Derided them, was generally rude and intolerant, and I knew that I could never spend serious time with him. When he brought this up, and I reminded him of that event, he laughed at me again, laughed at Avery and my brother, and I was reminded just how truly happy I am that we are no longer together. And just how relieved I was when he broke up with me.

Remy was not the source of my belief in fairies, that preceded my meeting him by a good 20 years or more. Nor was he the source of my belief that one could interact with them on any level at all. That was formed, quite simply, by my childhood. I have seen too much at this point not to believe. That I post about it in my journal Kevin complained about as well, and you know something? First, not that many people read my posts. It’s not like I expose myself to that much criticism. Second, most of the people that do read my journal, indeed, most of my friends at all, have similar experiences or were involved in the activities discussed. Most of them have some degree of belief, many of them have beliefs as strong as mine, and experiences as strange. Thirdly, I write this journal for myself, not for anyone else. What I write here, no matter who sees it, is for myself and my own consideration. I do not write this for you, though I may let you read it. And yes, some of that is the hubris of believing that to preserve a person’s journal through history is to allow them to live forever through their own thoughts, as well as the fact that it preserves some small part of what is now the modern world. I read journals that were written hundreds of years ago, and have gathered much of how history appeared to the literate classes. And I’d like to believe I can be a part of that tradition in some way, especially in a world where history changes so quickly and spin erases memories. I write this so I remember. And I don’t lock most of my entries, because I really don’t care what you think of me. I am exactly as I appear, and if you can’t deal with that, then so be it. As to why my opinions never appeared before Remy came along, well, consider how long I had the journal before I met him. I think it was in the range of a few days to a week. Not that much time to go having interesting fun experiences in my grandmother’s woods, now, was there?

To give Remy credit or blame for my oddness is giving him far more credit than he is due. Ask almost anyone I dated before him, and they can tell you without a doubt that I’ve always been like this. You could just as easily blame Matt, who knows what I was like in high school. You could blame Avery, who was present on the night that kevin still laughs at. Avery, the first person I was ever able to work with magically, who saw the manitou wild in his native Colorado. Remy, when he came along, simply allowed me to express fully and without fear of ridicule all that I have held dear. This does not imply that he made me weird, just that he let me be as weird as I already was. There is a tremendous difference, and for the honesty with which he allowed me to live my life these last three years I will always thank him. It’s a great and brilliant thing to be allowed to live without masks, and I have sworn to myself that I will no longer allow anyone to make me feel that I must hide myself away again.

And yes, you’re more than allowed to think me crazy. But I know what I have seen, and I know what I have done, and I have witnesses. And I also know more than well enough to hide my life from those who actually have the power to lock me up again.

And consider this: I write fiction. I write fantasy stories, mostly from the first person. How much do you really know about the truth of what I write in here?
deliriumcrow: (Default)
Found out today why there are so many cats around our house, and it creeps me out greatly. The house next to ours was recently evicted, and all the contents have been making a rather slow progress out to the curb. And there are lots of them. Today I heard what I thought was a catfight in the little overgrown patch behind the house, but there was only one voice, and decided that instead it was a cat in trouble. So I went back to see if I could see it, but was of course barefoot. Remy put on shoes, and while I was staring off into the trees, the man that owns the house asked if it was one of ours. Then he said to come up, to see what was going on. The last tennant had not lived there, he was in Schenectady, and used this house to raise cats in. The owner suspects ritual use, or something like that, having found stuffed cats, and dead cats, and all manner of unpleasantness. The previous resident had left hidden about 50 pounds of catfood, and when that had been dunped, he left more, even after having been ordered off the property by the courts. He doesn't work or go to school and was just making money somehow off of these cats. Which, of course, wants me to do more to rescue them. Because that was just wrong. Aside from the general wrongness of it, ever since my dog was killed in some ritual in the woods several years ago I have taken animal sacrifices far more personally. How fucked up do you have to be to even contemplate doing something like that?
deliriumcrow: (Default)
So one of the classes I have to take in order to graduate here is a class on diversity in America. Different experiences in childhood, growing up, etc. It sounded really nifty. It's listed as an English class and thus can be counted towards my minor, which was an advantage that other courses that filled the requirement didn't have. So I took it. And decided on the particular class that fit most neatly into my schedule. Makes sense, no? Ha.

To start, the books we were assigned are all depressing, to various degrees. I realize that childhood sucks. I lived through it too. That's not so bad though, in that pretty much everything I read is in some way disturbing (Though it may not be so brilliant an idea to be reading Bastard out of Carolina, All Quiet on the Western Front, and an account of the homeless population living in the subway tunnels in NYC all at the same time. Breakdown waiting to happen. Again.)

Then there's the fact that the population of the class is all either appologetic about being born white, defensive about being white, or constantly pissed. My role seems to be that of counterexample, or the one who knows of them. I seem to exist soley for the purpose of forcing the realization that no one fits into these nicely categorized littel boxes. This does not endear me to much of anyone in that class, least of all the professor. She seems to have the most guilt about her race. Usually I find this almost easy to ignore, if a bit laughable, and am usually fairly good at ignoring the fact that she talks down to us so often.

Today, however, I was thoroughly insulted be her. She brought up the topic of fairytales in the American experience and how damaging they are to childish minds, and how biased they all are. I agree--Disney is biased. That does not mean all the fairy tales are bad. Most are not, despite the violence that was just as present in the society in which they were written as it is now. And I am not the only one who has heard them, else where would I have gotten them? Or anyone else I know who has heard them? And then when I suggested that I write my paper on fairytales in the American Experience, she said that I have had enough of an uncommon upbringing that she didn't think I could manage to keep it to the stories that everyone knows. I'm sorry, isn't this a class in diversity? How is my experience not American? How is my experience less valid than anyone else's? I grew up here. In America. This is an experience that does not get shared with teh general public, it was not a Dick and Jane childhood. It was not neat, or clean, or pretty. I can pretty well guess where she would like to pin me in society, and that's not where I fit. How is it that she does not recognise that no matter how many catgories you may tey to put a person, how many labels you try to fit them with, how you may try to generalize, the box never fits? Yes, I am made up of all sorts of things, from the cultural background of my ancestors, to who I happen to want to fuck on a given day. There are certain things that are roughly static, but most things change, and I am far more than the sum of my parts. There is no box into which you can put a person and expect that it will always fit. People change so rapidly, there is no solid way to define them. I am not even always Cate. Sometimes I'm someone else entirely.

Remy says an infinite cardbaord tardis will alwas fit.

I have never had the entirety of my childhood experiences so invalidated before--and certainly not by someone who claims to have such Knowledge and Wisdom and Enlightenment that we miserable middle class white kids will never hope to attain. (May I add that I am not, nor ever have been, middle class) Yes, it was unusual in many aspects. Yes, I learned many tales that aren't in the common oral tradition. But then, neither is the story of Rainbow Crow, and that is a decidedly American tale. So how are the selkies that my father used to sing about or Tam Lin any less valid? I am not the only one who;s had this experience, lived in this culture. It may be a minority of a culture, but it's there. It needs to be seen too.

The sad thing was, I asn't even going to use the odd ones, except as a very small contrast point. I was simply going to point out some of the more positive uses of fairytales.


Then the photo lab was closed.

The upshot was that when I met Remy after class we went to Borders because I decided that the free drink card would bring me the chai that was the only thing that would stave off either a massive depression or a homicidal killing spree. And when we were there we ran into my "twin", who hadn't responded to my email of a few months ago because she never got it. good reason. :)

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