Willful blindness
A sliver of light seeps through the crack
illuminates possibilities
reveals choices made.
Hollowed out in the knowing
regret for willful blindness
things spoken too long past
self-inflicted wounds that won’t heal
Fun and Games
As the white and grey and brown and black of the 401 West streaks by my window, I am once again thinking about my relationships, and life, and of course, sex. The last time I did this drive similar thoughts were on my mind, but in a completely different context. I had just split from my Big Love, and the Catalyst had also left town. At that stage I didn’t think that the Catalyst would become an addiction that I’d only really kick four months later. If I can say that I’ve already kicked it. It was before the intense webcam sessions and professions of love. Oh, the internet and my love life.
The speed at which you can connect with someone on the other side of the globe. It boggles my mind that through video interaction you can fall for a person; you can feel like you’re really there together. Really connecting. It’s body language – the human mating ritual. And pure sex. Oh, the speed of online escalation. But I’ll get to that…
There was an article that a friend of mine sent to me in Time that discussed flirting and its different angles. As a purely biological thing, and yes – we are still animals – flirting is a pre-programmed form of human interaction that really acts as a social lubricant. And we all flirt, whether or not we’re aware of, or willing to acknowledge it.
I have a confession to make. I use sexuality as a social tool. I earn a living selling alcohol and desire. And it’s really fun. I have made friends and networked, while running around in cute little outfits and smiling sweetly. I rarely get propositioned, although I get random compliments here and there. Validation? Hell, yeah.
Last Sunday, for instance:
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I just think you’re so fucking cute.” – Tall Paul, one of those people you just know. You know, he knows people you know.
I was also just given twenty bucks and told by an all-American grown-up skater boy that I’d done a really amazing job running around all night. Apparently he had a crush on me and thought that he’d tell me that. Apparently I’m really cute. He wanted to tell me that too.
Cuteness, eh?
I guess the barely butt-covering black and white polka dot skirt combined with my Chucks and a slightly shit-kicking attitude might do the trick.
But this weekend I slipped up. I broke an important rule on Thursday night by giving one of the regulars my phone number. It was Valentine’s Day and I’d been taking shots with the Amazon to get myself through the horror of the evening. I was grumpy having just terminated my relationship with the Catalyst once and for all, and this guy’s attention was better than the other douches I was putting up with. Foolish girl.
There’s a line that needs to be maintained, and once it is crossed, it can become an issue.
Yes, I may have been causing trouble. Telling a guy that your friend told you that your outfit looked slutty, while smiling sweetly, isn’t exactly an ambiguous statement. I shouldn’t have been surprised that he grabbed me and kissed my neck. Hard.
And then he tipped me more than 25%.
Hmm…
So is it worth it? Not for me. Not for money. I don’t have the safety of a bar separating me from my clients. Yes, I can always walk away from a guy and/or give him a threatening “I have a whole team of bouncers behind me” kind of look, but I’d rather not get in that situation at all.
Yet lots of women do go to clubs and swap a little sex for some booze and maybe a few fancy dinners. Breakfast, at least. In regular interaction it seems perfectly acceptable to accept cash for advances. According to the Harper’s Index, 61% of American women in their twenties are willing marry for money. Boost that up to 74% once you <gasp!> turn thirty. Although, of course, it’s money and love we’re all looking for. Isn’t it?
At work there are games that are played to create an illusion of availability. I’m a really physical girl. I dance around a lot. I hug and touch my co-workers, and a lot of my friends come into the club with whom I’m really rather friendly. I touch guys on the arm or back when taking their orders. I have to stand close to people to hear what they want. It gets hot and sweaty in the club. I wear short skirts and little tops and run around with glasses on big trays and ice buckets above my head.
I think that it does get a little confusing for some guys. There’s the fantasy – the show – and the reality, which is that it’s just for fun. Look; don’t touch. They see me interacting with they guys: bosses, co-workers, good friends, and they think they might have a chance. That’s the point. But it doesn’t mean that they can cop a feel, regardless of how sweetly I smile and ambiguously I shrug it off when asked for my number.
Why do I flirt? Does it make me feel powerful? Yes, to an extent. I know that I can get further in life being extra friendly. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not going around exuding fuckability. I don’t think so, at least. (Comments here, boys?) I’m just really friendly, smile sweetly, and often get my way.
Flirtation is undeniably a social lubricant that makes little daily interactions more pleasurable and simpler for both parties. Why even pretend to deny it?
Now to get to the other direction I wanted to take this: the internet. The thing about the way in which I interact with men at the club is that it’s primarily physical. Signals are sent through body language. It’s a dance: a state of ambiguity. They don’t know for certain that I’m interested, but then, they also don’t know that I’m not. But internet interaction changes this; it’s all linguistic. Innuendo comes through word play. Intellect is oh so very attractive, and sometimes you may find yourself connecting with someone you might otherwise have overlooked because they aren’t the type to command a room. Or they seemed stuck-up at first glance. Or they live on the other side of the planet. Who knows who you’ll start talking to more on facebook or gtalk or msn or god knows what actual dating sites you’re visiting.
The thing is that in these situations, because everything is done through words, you can’t draw out the tension as long, and things can quickly escalate. I’m not going to judge this. I don’t think that it’s good or bad – it just is. And oh, is it ever exciting when you start down along the road of steamy messaging, especially when at work or in other equally verboten situations.
I guess this is all to say that I’ve been thinking about all of this a little more lately. In my own life I’m experimenting with various unconventional forms of human interaction. Being open to whatever comes your way is, in my opinion, the most honest way to be. If you’re not hurting anyone and you’re having a good time, who cares if you’re following the conventions of the dating scene? Flirtation is exhilarating. Allowing sex to lie just beneath every interaction with someone can be energizing. I’m all about the chase, anyhow. I was chatting to a friend on gtalk a few days ago describing the situation I’m now in with the Outrageous Director Guy. He said that other people are cattle, and we’re sitting here laughing, understanding what it’s really about. I don’t know that I’d go that far, but I’m certainly not afraid of defying convention. It’s just so much more fun.
Any thoughts?
I’ve decided to open myself up to a world of criticism. This is the treatment for the screenplay that I’m writing at the moment. I want brutal honesty.
Treatment for “The Pact”
Our story is set in Montreal in winter. As those who have witnessed a cloud-covered and moonlit night in this city would know, the sky takes on an eerie shade of soft yet vibrant orange. We come around a corner and walk down the stairs into Moe’s Diner.
It’s a Montreal landmark – the ultimate greasy-spoon that never closes. Day and night there are always customers: some noisily filling their alcohol-soaked stomachs, others sitting quiet and alone, seeming to have no other place to go. When we enter the diner, there are only a few people present. It is nearly 5am, and the breakfast crowd is yet to arrive, yet the late-night drinkers have mostly dwindled.
There are a man and woman in what appear to be their late twenties sitting in a booth in the centre of the room. They seem incongruous together. Lila is Montreal hip: short funky hair, a labret piercing, very little make-up, and dark rings under her eyes. You can see the edge of a tattoo where her shirt doesn’t quite cover her shoulder. She has bandages around her wrists. Her clothes are dark in colour, and she wears chunky earrings and jewellery. She is very attractive, but perhaps more cute than striking. Her companion is a well-dressed business type. He is clean-shaven, although he too looks very tired. Dan has short curly hair, and is not exactly handsome, but is quite pleasant to look at. While she appears not to have been home, he appears to have just showered and changed for work.
They appear to have arrived fairly recently. Their coffees are still mostly full, and there is steam rising from the cups. Dan looks directly at Lila and asks her the question that has been sitting uncomfortably between them since they arrived:
D: Did it hurt?
L: Yeah. Well, sort of. It was weird; I didn’t really feel it when I pressed the knife into my skin, but then it started throbbing. And I started to get dizzy pretty fast. Not really what I had hoped for. You know – I wanted it to hurt, but the throbbing…it just wasn’t what I expected.
Lila goes on to describe how it felt. How she felt like even more of a failure because she hadn’t even managed to kill herself successfully. They try to keep their conversation as light as possible, and even begin to joke about suicide, and all the reasons why they want to do it. Dan asks when she tried, and tells her that he had attempted it two days before.
L: Do you think it worked?
D: What do you mean?
L: Well, maybe we both succeeded and are now sitting in Satan’s playground.
D: Who knows? It would be fitting if Hell were a seedy luncheonette where I can’t get the fucking French toast I ordered.
Their conversation flows smoothly. They fill one another in on the past decade of their lives, both amazed at the synchronicity of their suicide attempts and at how unhappy they both are. They had each thought the other to be really happy. They discuss reasons why life isn’t worth living, seriously, philosophically, and at times in a darkly humorous way. Lila goes for a cigarette and when she returns, Dan is making a list of the reasons why his life is no longer worth living. Lila takes over, insisting that he needs to be more creative.
L: Dental floss.
D: Dental floss?
L: Yeah. Dental floss.
D: You’d kill yourself over dental floss?
L: It fucking destroys me. Every time I go to the dentist, the oral hygienist gives me shit about not flossing. And every time I leave, without fail, I have two or three more packs of the shit. I already have about thirty packs of it all over my apartment. In the medicine cabinet, on the shelves, in my jewellery box, my bedside table, in my handbags. But I never use it. I fucking hate flossing. And I feel so guilty about it all the time. It’s like those little blue and white boxes are mocking me.
D: Well, tooth decay and gum disease are important considerations.
L: They won’t be when I’m dead.
D: True. Okay…I’ll add it to the list.
They sit in the diner and open up to one another. Their banter goes from light and casual to really heavy and uncompromisingly honest. The waitress, magenta-haired, pierced and tattooed, brings them food, and refills their coffees from time to time. Dan tells Lila about law school, about getting married to the perfect woman. He tells her how much he loves Sarah and how great his life should be, but how completely debilitated he is by the feeling that he’s trapped and sinking into a vortex of his own making. Lila tells Dan about working in clubs, floating around the hipster scene: all of the partying, the drugs, the superficiality and loneliness that have come of it. She feels like the past ten years are a meaningless blur, but that she’s in so deep that she doesn’t know how to change.
It is still dark outside, yet the sky is beginning to change from the eerie peach to a pale pinkish mauve. Lila suggests that they go for a walk for a change of scene. They exit the brightly lit diner and begin walking through the oddly silent streets. There is a fresh layer of snow on the ground which crunches like Styrofoam under their feet, but aside from this, all is silent.
They arrive at the park, having walked there without speaking. Lila lights a cigarette and takes a long deep haul. Dan asks if he can have a drag and she passes it to him, giving him a quizzical look as he takes it. Momentarily their eyes meet, before he quickly averts his and inhales. They talk about high school. About being best friends and unexpectedly falling in love. About what happened between them, why it didn’t work out: what might have been, but was so far gone. You can feel the tension building between them. It’s cold enough that you can see their breath, but they’re standing apart, almost close enough to touch, but not touching. Dan bumps his leg into hers, and they both look down as he awkwardly apologises. He reaches his hand out to touch her when she’s looking away, but pulls back. They share another cigarette, and it feels as though they’re breathing one another in with each drag.
Clearly very cold, they decide to return to Moe’s for a coffee. It’s just beginning to get light, and there are a few people out on the street. They walk back into the starkly lit diner, and return to the same booth they were sitting at before. Lila fiddles with the ancient-looking jukebox at the table. They start talking about suicide again, this time discussing how they would do it. They go through all of the options before agreeing that a bullet to the head would be the best way. Lila proposes a pact: that if Dan is as serious as she is about ending his life, then they should do it together. He agrees and she makes him pinkie-swear, something oddly adolescent, but fitting.
Having agreed on how, they start discussing when. Getting guns is an issue, so it will have to wait a few days. Lila invites Dan to a show that weekend, and he mentions that he would have to ask Sarah first.
L: Why? It’s not like she can get mad at you when you’re dead.
D: Yeah. But what if they think we’re having an affair?
L: Us? Let them think what they want.
D: Maybe we should have an affair. (They laugh)
L: You are kidding, right?
D: Yeah. Well…actually. It would be nice to sleep with someone who doesn’t make me shower before and after and sometimes-
L: God, I haven’t had a sex in I don’t even know how long. We could, you know. It would be sort of fitting.
D: Oh right. Because you’re my type.
L: I was once.
(Silence)
D: Yeah. That was a long time ago. And a lot’s changed since then.
L: I know. You’re married. And I’m really fucked up.
They sit in silence for a while, each of them lost in thought.
D: So?
L: Tomorrow night? Same time, same place?
D: Sure.
Lila stands and pulls her coat on.
L: I guess I should get on with it. Looks like I’m not dead yet.
D: Hmm.
The camera follows Lila as she walks away raising a hand in a wave. She pauses with her back turned to Dan and breathes in deeply. The camera cuts back to Dan at the table, still looking at the door she exited, shaking his head and smiling sadly. He grabs the list and carefully puts it into his coat pocket, pays for their food at the counter, leaves a big tip for the waitress, and walks out of the diner. The day is clear and the sun is shining brightly, reflecting off a fresh coat of white snow. There are people rushing around going to work.
The camera cuts back to Lila who has walked around the corner and lit up another cigarette. She takes a few drags before she starts sobbing. She leans back against the wall and slides down into a squatting position, still crying and shaking.
We cut to Dan as he walks to his car. He takes the list out, looks at it again, and scrunches it up and throws it away. It begins to snow gently, although the sun is shining. Dan looks up at the sky as it snows. He gets into his car and sits there for a few moments, looking at the clock on the dial and sighing deeply.
Lila sticks her tongue out to catch a snowflake and starts laughing and crying at the same time. She stands up, brushes herself off and begins walking though the crowds of early morning commuters, pausing momentarily to look back over her shoulder at the diner before walking on again.
Poly Personhood: Creating Polyamorous Identity in a Mononormative World
This is what I presented yesterday, and had such a great time writing over the past while. Actually, there were moments when I wanted to kill myself I had spent so much time tying myself in knots and attempting to figure out where exactly I stood in all of this, but when it came down to it, I do believe a lot of what I say. What’s interesting is that I have no idea as to whether or not I would truly be able to be a poly person, but simultaneously, I have trouble refuting my (and Laura Kipnis’) argument about the state of marriage and infidelity. Hmmm… it’s all very tricky!
The dominant language of mononormativity works in such a way that it is seen as natural in our society to fall in love, become a couple and remain partnered for life: happily ever after, and all that. But looking at the 50/50 chance of marriage not working out, it doesn’t seem that this is all that realistic a goal. Behind this idealistic dream that is surreptitiously fed to us intravenously via Hollywood and Harlequin, is a scary truth: the idea that love conquers all and that human beings are naturally monogamous creatures, is in actual fact a social construct.
It is understood that in order for a relationship to last, we have to work at it. As Laura Kipnis notes in her polemic, Against Love, it does seem rather odd that somehow, “the work ethic has managed to brownnose its way into all spheres of human existence” (18). In fact, not only have many people’s relationships become work, but many people seem to prefer to stay at work, than to work on their relationships. Furthermore, it seems to have become not only acceptable, but normal that passion dies within a relationship. And then what happens? Desire makes way for a “mature” relationship, a mature love, which in translation really means no more sex, or that sex too becomes work.
For me, a rather more realistic interpretation of this 50/50 figure of success vs. failure in marriage might be that human beings aren’t really monogamous. But what does that say about this monogamous ideal? But wait! Within the mononormative, heteronormative framework, there’s room for infidelity. While on the surface we all supposedly desire this happily ever after, underneath it all, many discover that they aren’t capable of this, when years into working on a relationship, one or the other partner meets someone else, and rediscovers passion, or worse falls in love. Then there is the choice: make a decision to stay with your partner or to leave her for new love. Choose to tell and risk it all or live a life of lies and deception.
What I want to look at is why these are seen as the only options. When the statistics show the incredible number of people who are adulterous, and the extremely high rates of divorce, would it not be sensible to look for a viable alternative? And an alternative does exist. However, what I’m going to argue is that the constraints of language and dominant mononormative discourse mean that this alternative – polyamory – is kept on the outer fringes of sexual possibility for most people, and furthermore, when it is discussed, it is seen as childish or neurotic or even boring in contrast to infidelity which according to Ani Ritchie appears to be the only viable form of non-monogamy in western cultural discourse (587).
Polyamory is defined in various ways by various people, but the kernel of it is that it is “living by the principle that it is possible to love more than one person at a time without deception or betrayal” (White 17). Words used by the poly community to describe their lifestyle include ethical, responsible, honorable, open, honest, intentional, and principled. The idea is that one lives according to one’s desires and comfort levels, as well as those of ones’ partners, lovers and friends. There is enough love to go around, and as long as honesty and support are maintained, this can be a most rewarding way to avoid the traditional forms of non-consensual non-monogamy that pervade Western society. Through polyamory you can have love and passion flowing through your life consistently, rather than cutting it off with a golden band.
But why, if it sounds like such a reasonable way to live one’s relationships is it so very difficult for most people to fathom that a polyamorous lifestyle is even possible? There are a few reasons for this, our understanding of jealously being a major one, but primarily, I would say that it is discourse and social conditioning that mean that most people are incapable of considering non-monogamous loving lifestyles as a viable option. Because of the way that language structures our world, and thus constrains as well as creates meaning, the lack of language with which to describe polyamory renders it invisible within monogamous culture.
This is something that the polyamorous community has had to struggle with, as the only language available to account for non-monogamy is that of infidelity, language that is imbued with the idea that it is wrong to have more than one romantic or sexual relationship and that the only way to do this is to do it in secrecy. Many polyamorous people feel constrained by this language, and consequently have attempted to reinvent, or reinscribe meaning into words that give them positive connotations, rather than feel restricted by the lack of language available to them.
One of the most obvious examples of the reinscription of meaning into a word is Dossie Easton and Catherine Liszt’s reinterpretation of the word ‘slut.’ Easton and Liszt proclaim themselves to be ‘ethical sluts,’ a term that for them describes someone who respects other people’s rights and feelings, behaves with honesty and integrity, is not selfish, works for the whole community, doesn’t exploit people, and doesn’t treat people like objects (Klesse 644). An ‘ethical slut’ is a person who simply enjoys sexual connection with many partners. Easton further notes in an interview with Christian Klesse, that she has a strong interest in reclaiming language – taking sex-negative words and using them positively, and asks why she should let all of the people with negative views on sexuality define the words we use to talk about it.
In their book, entitled The Ethical Slut, Easton and Liszt note the difficulties involved in talking about polyamory without creating a new language, saying that most of the language that is available to us has built-in value judgments, like the word slut, which are a legacy of our sex negative history (Easton 39). Liszt notes in an interview that if you let your enemies define your words you give them the power to hurt you (Ritchie 591). By creating a new meaning for a word like ‘slut,’ not only can you unpack the double-standards imbued within the word – that promiscuity is bad in women and celebrated in men – but you can also see it as a strategy for resistance, when people proudly proclaim themselves to be ‘ethical sluts,’ which is something that you see on the poly websites and in discussion groups. However, outside of these safe spaces, it is still very difficult for poly people to step away from the dominant mononormative discourse that controls the language we use.
Describing relationship structures is a place where polyamory has had to create a completely new set of terminology, and not without complications. It seems that there are as many different types of relationships as there are people, and while many do use specific models, for instance the primary/secondary/tertiary model, the V, the tribe or pod, these terms themselves are up for interpretation. In my email correspondence with a woman I will refer to as Polygirl, she remarked to me that she struggles with the labels used in the poly world, as we can never really decide in advance who we will love and how much we’ll love them. She notes that she uses “the label primary to mean the relationship that involves children and finances… but not to define the intensity of love felt. She says, “I’m sure there are others out there who share children with more than one poly love and for them, ‘primary’ could mean something entirely different again.” Some people also have issue with the idea of hierarchical relationship structures, and consequently speak of ‘inner circles’ of relationships, or quads or triads, which attempt to maintain equality within the polyamorous relationship.
Not only are words reinscribed with new meaning, but often new words are created where none exist that sufficiently describe a feeling or type of relationship. For instance, lacking the word to describe a partner’s partner, the term ‘metamour’ was coined. This term came from discussions in the Alt.Poly group, and one of the participants in this thread commented that “there wasn’t a word for it but the concept got talked about a lot, so when someone coined a word it started being used everywhere quickly”(Ritchie 593). A ‘paramour’ is the unmarried partner of a married polyamorous person, and was noted by one poly group member, to have enabled her to recognize the relationship she had with her partner’s partner, which gave him a special relationship to her.
Another place that words have been created is in describing feelings, especially in relation to jealousy, which is popularly considered to be a natural component of romantic love or a pre-programmed response to one’s partner behaving or feeling sexually towards someone else. In polyamory, the word ‘wibbly’ is used to express when one feels anxiety and needs reassurance, but it doesn’t have the same sort of negative connotations as jealousy. Many people also use the term ‘compersion’ to describe the feeling of joy that comes from the joy your partner is experiencing with others. This word is pretty much the antonym for jealousy. Others who don’t like this word use ‘frubbly.’ As Ritchie and Barker note, inventing a word for this positive reaction to a situation challenges the traditional understanding of jealousy and can enable those within poly communities to rethink their emotions and experiences.
Because of the difficulties of living outside of the dominant mononormative relationship structure, many people can feel alienated and incapable of truly expressing an identity. With the creation of a language of polyamory, not only can poly people find a voice, but they can also express themselves within dominant culture and potentially challenge the mononormative understandings of emotions and relationships, and consequently attempt to bring polyamory into a more visible position within mainstream culture.
Some travel writing
Here’s a link to my other blog, and particularly to a little bit of writing I did this summer while I was travelling around in Asia and Australia. Thought a little bit of fun might lighten up the mood of the regular stuff I put on here. (p.s. Dom - this is the stuff that I should but am too scared to actually do anything with!)
Sextet
This is a play I wrote a few summers ago that was then performed at the McGill Drama Festival in Montreal.
It deals with the relationships of six friends and was my attempt to figure out where I stood in terms of all of the different possibilities for love and intimacy and where myself and my friends were at in our own lives and relationships.
Fin
This is the final section.
In reality, our relationship continued for a while later. We didn’t go to formal together. We actually stopped talking entirely for a long while. And then I went away to university. Moved to McGill. Thought about him sometimes, of course, but that part of my life was over.
Actually, when I went home at Thanksgiving he came out to see me and gave me a white rose and told me that he missed me and wanted to try again. That he loved me too much to let go. And so I went back. I’m not sure why. We talked on the phone a lot. I can’t even remember why I went back to him. It didn’t change my life all that much. I was at McGill enjoying first year with my friends, and he wasn’t a part of that. I broke up with him the day after Christmas. I remember it really clearly. He didn’t seem all that surprised, although he was obviously hurt. And then we didn’t talk for almost two years. Absolutely nothing. I saw him just before I left for Australia and got updates from Khaleed from time to time, but that was it really. I still think about him sometime. I hope that he’s pulled himself together and is doing something that makes him happy. I want to get in touch with him, but I don’t really know what the point would be. Maybe at Christmas when I go home.
Reconsider
I forgot how unhappy I was that summer after I got back from Ireland. It also terrifies me how willing I seemed to be to embrace co-dependence.
Rift
This is the second part. The little bit of added drama. The confused little girl. I can’t believe how little I knew myself then. That summer was a whirl, a dream. I know those feelings so well. Talk about not learning from the past. Well, maybe third time’s the charm?
Progression
I wrote a book for my final project for Writer’s Craft in my final year of high school. It was after everything with Ward had blown up, before we had tried to make it work again and became dysfunctional.
This is the first chapter. It also has the play I wrote in it that I somehow won Tarragon Theatre’s Under 20 for Under 20’s playwriting contest.
I just got shivers reading it. It’s funny how rereading something written so long ago can reignite those very same feelings. It’s also slightly amusing to see how little I have changed even though I thought that I had. Go figure. Turns out I’m still the same scared little girl, full of false bravado when underneath it all I’m terrified of really letting down my guard and allowing other people to really see me. I do hope that maybe one day I can change that.
I also feel similar emotions about Dom now. I was trying to explain to him that I haven’t felt this way since high school, and truly I haven’t. Especially now that I reread this, I find that I’m the same person looking for the same things. Except that the difference is, Dom somehow manages to see me even though I didn’t realise that I was letting him. It’s terrifying and amazing at the same time. And here I am writing this and I have butterflies. Goodness me.
