nuances.
lady gaga has released three albums.
first, the fame. she establishes herself as someone desirable, as someone glamorous, as someone somewhat left of center. her strangeness isn’t merely accepted, but adored and exonerated. we want to see more.
the second, the fame monster. she elaborates on her quirk, becoming kink, becoming dark, becoming volatile. this spurs several intense reactions, which could be argued as all good, because any reaction is better than none.
thirdly, born this way. now, i’m reading all about the male gaze and ways of seeing and so forth. if we view the first album as an introduction, the second as a four am conversation, and the third as a defense and/or validation of any and all strange actions organically occurring because of the first two albums/marketing incidents/public presentation, then gaga is a fabulous example of the woman as both the surveyor and the surveyed.
in ways of seeing, berger states that women must both be aware that they are viewing (surveying) the world while being intensely (or mildly, depending on what kind of woman you are and choose to be) viewed (surveyed).
lady gaga is an incredible master of being a female surveyor. she’s almost been able to dictate her being surveyed because of the intentionality and specificity with which she has presented herself. not only presented, but justified her actions, and created her own world (read, cult following).
berger also argues that women, by presenting a certain surveyor, allow a certain kind of surveying. if i am crass in behavior, people may be crass around me. i have given permission through my presentation/actions/way of being as to how i may be presented to/interacted with/be treated. which would elaborate, in a more nuanced way, why lady gaga had to make that progression. after presenting herself as a certain person, behaviors or reactions she did not find permissible she had incidentally allowed. hence, the need for an entire album or career devoted to a sort of personal vindication.
i feel like many successful women could be viewed through this lens. if i were a more brilliant person, i would’ve thought of this sooner and done more of my visual rhetoric homework with this concept in mind. however, being in the place we are, my visual collection (due thursday) will be strongly influenced by this.
if you actually read this, baller status.
what is this tumblr for if not sharing my fascination?
i was momentarily incredibly upset because i missed the may 4th deadline for the crab orchard poetry contest. i’m disappointed in myself, because i confused the deadline with a scholarship deadline and either way wasn’t prioritizing and on top of my stuff. however, i did enter the UC poetry contest on time, and even if i get nothing from that, at least i did that one. lesson learned. moving on. don’t be neglectful when it comes to things of this nature. be on top of your stuff, mia.
A Guide to Letting Go.
Make no attempts to contact me.
Make no moves towards my hand.
Make no words on your tongue.
Make no plans for rain.
I will stay inside. You will cook, in a large silver pot, whatever bitterness I planted in your chest. Feed it to the needy. Pass it to the hopeless. When that’s done, relocate your joints. Proper placements helps us avoid each other, geographically, cosmically, forever. Now, at the same time, on adjacent street corners, put one foot in front of the other and walk.
Walk away.
i got! rhythm. i got! music. i got! my gal.
so you want to be an artist?
i can help you there, young man.
let’s have a look at you.
it’s good you’re thin. it’s good you’re fatigued. it’s good you’re somewhat gray in pallor and blue in mind. let’s keep that in mind.
so you want to recreate the world?
because there’s a problem. we’ve identified that. you think it’s broken. i think it’s just a little off-kilter. but this isn’t about me. it’s about you, and what you think, and want to feel, and would like to say, and probably should scream, and when you should go to bed every afternoon evening or sunday morning.
so you want to experience everything?
let’s have a look at you then.
are you ready for blood? are you ready for immense pain of your spirit and mind? are you ready for a third world that you can’t repair no matter how often you send a letter to the editor? are you ready to realize there might not only be a god but also not a santa or a satan or a feeling of true love? of course. you’ve been the hell and back and you’re only about nineteen years old.
what a delightful young man. what a healthy beautiful thing.
oh, you’re definitely cut from the right cloth.
how do i know?
it starts in the corner of my eye, the left one, and trickles down to the tips of my toes.i know because it falls asleep in between my legs. it rests there, and that’s where art begins. in the bowels of your lust. in the discomfiture of your genitals. in the itch, rub, rancid riot or rot where your heart gave up and your mind left town.
so you want to be an artist?
don’t waste your time talking to poets. don’t waste your time with girls.
don’t waste your time. it’s few and futile. remake the world, you beautiful bright thing.
remake the world.
but you can give me the electric twist.
i just ate the remainder of my pringles from last night, with hummus, and vegan chicken nuggets. which is silly, because there’s absolutely no chicken in them.
my life is in constant motion. everyone’s is, of course, because even if you lay in bed for weeks, things will still occur around you. decay will take place. other forms will grow. people will take buses and fly planes. but my days are filled, and my weeks ahead are terrifying. the sheer amount of stuff to do is unreal.
let me make a list. for my brain. for posterity.
for makeup: make a morgue. get notes from faces i missed. figure out how to do mia farrow from rosemary’s baby. figure out why i picked that. style wig. don’t punch anyone in class. or outside of class.
for poetry: do two missed prompts. reply to posted poems. draft chapbook. check status of illustrations. compile portfolio. don’t get shot.
for english: rewrite first essay for better grade. attend class. interview two people. make up research. submit research as real. analyze d14. actually go to class. really.
for acting: love shaun more.
for rocco’s: keep being awesome.
for movement: see above.
for ulysses: begin reading book. again. what does it mean to be a prism? process yesterday, for as long as it takes. rejoice. learn an irish dialect.
for boards: don’t fail maddie. finish proof. do meisner and other prep. understand that catherine’s body is not mine, she is more erratic and enclosed.
but i’m not behind. i’m not lagging. i’m not procrastinating (much). i’m preoccupied. i’m joyful. god, i’m so joyful.
i worry, because when you can see and feel and taste a change occurring, can you be so brave as to trust it? dare we?
the world is an infinite playground, and i’m just trying to master the monkey bars.
IT’S THE YEAR OF APOCALYPSE, I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO LEAVE MY HOUSE.
is that seat taken?
pretend i’m writing this to you.
and i’ve always want to talk about chaos theory. the only thing i know about it is that it ends badly for everybody. but it won’t happen for a while.
at least, that’s what i’ve been led to believe.
pretend i’m writing this part in the hope you feel the same way.
i was looking at the stars last night, wondering if they’re blazing brighter and hotter than ever in an attempt to combust. they looked so peaceful in the deepest navy sky. like patient pins holding up a funeral shroud for the earth. i can’t wait for the day when it drops down, and we can quietly cross the cold arms of our mother nature. may she rest.
at least, that’s what i believe she needs.
pretend i’m writing this part to another person, but that’s an excuse.
i notice how enclosed you are. you collapsed a long time ago, and only hold yourself upright because evolution told you so. i have a cherry pit in my stomach, and i want you to reach in and grab it. plant it at the base of your spine. a tree will grow strong and steady, and instead of a backbone, you’ll have branches and trunk and flowers after about five years. maybe, one day, you’ll even bear fruit.
at least, i think you’re capable of it.
pretend i’m writing this to you.
i started editing my thoughts. did a mental word processor grow in place of my medulla oblongata? that would explain the clicking sound my blood makes. because of this, i see war zones everywhere i go, and i hear peace pacts being made in secret. because of this, i don’t know what to give up for lent. because of this, i don’t know what to say or how, only that i’m dying to.
at least, i’d imagine this is near a desire for death.
pretend i’m writing this part just for myself.
i’ve always wanted to understand quantum physics. and if the world will really end this december. but an intersection in ohio has no answers and my body is raging against the air around me and there simply aren’t enough books written on the subject of how to put one foot in front of the other. everyone just assumes you picked that up on your own. god, it’s like getting out of bed in the morning. just because you’ve always done it that way doesn’t make it right.
at least, that’s what i’ve been led to believe.
get up stand up get on it.
do you ever have those moments when you’re convinced your living someone else’s life?
but like, really.
except that you absolutely can’t be because no two lives are exactly the same. and anything in a novel is definitely based off something you saw in a movie and the rest was found in one really big day you had once. some lives are fairytales. some are tragedies. mine’s like a farce. or a sketch comedy show. or i’m giving myself too much credit.
most of the time i feel really silly. really young. really. sometimes i feel tired and contrived. i’m mostly in the tired realm, but i don’t have the time to nap. which is dumb, nineteen year olds should always have the time to make. make the time to nap.
i keep thinking of this thing john steinbeck said to his editor. “i nearly always write, just as i nearly always breathe.”
and if nothing else, nothing ever else, i’d just like to write till my hands fall off and my brain runs dry of language.
