My Ramblings – Page 76 – Bookish Butch

Vote ABC

Another nice day,

cold and windy,

but,

luminous and blue,

the bite in the wind?

less and less,

fierce.

I will not mention,

a certain hockey team,

they are in the,

proverbial,

dog house.

Moving on.

We are going,

to have a federal election,

here in Canada.

I can only,

hope and pray,

that my compatriots,

particularly in Ontario,

don’t succumb to,

the Conservatives’,

tactics,

the old,

us against them.

Less taxes,

more police,

less rehabilitation,

more prisons,

global warming is a myth,

God created the universe,

in seven days,

youth gangs are coming to do you in,

in your sleep,

immigrants are terrorists,

welfare recipients get rich,

while you work, for a living,

and let’s not forget,

family values,

as long as families,

are papa bear, mama bear and baby bears,

no other combo is appropriate,

or indeed,

moral.

One thing about our,

honourable Prime Minister,

he sure can pick,

cabinet ministers.

OK,

that’s not fair,

I’m sure Bev Oda,

and Maxime Bernier,

are good people.

Mr Harper,

has as far as,

I am concerned,

two good things,

going for him,

he likes cats,

and hockey.

In that case, maybe you should vote, for, ME:-)

When you appeal,

to people’s fears,

demons,

and prejudices,

rather than,

their,

dreams,

ideals,

and,

better angels,

sometimes it works.

I’m just hoping,

this is not one of,

those times.

I worry,

about Ontarians,

not because they are,

of a narrower mind,

than the rest of us,

but,

because they hold,

most of the seats,

and thus,

the possibility,

of being,

kingmakers.

Elections aren’t decided,

in Québec,

or The Maritimes,

The West,

The North,

or,

British Columbia,

they are decided in,

Ontario.

So in the immortal words of Danny Williams,

vote ABC,

Anybody but Conservative.

Herein endeth the rant:-)

Tomorrow I have a question for you all,

Do Real Butches Dance?

give it some thought.

Later girls,

Library visit

Beautiful March day,

which means,

cold and blue,

The Habs?

Don’t even get me started,

they’re playing like crap,

and,

duh?

they’re losing.

Controlled breathing exercise.

I’m trying to read,

Maurice by E.M Forster,

I have to say,

I don’t really like it,

but,

maybe,

I just need,

lighter.

Still reading,

the Bruce Chatwin biography,

it’s good,

but, it takes time,

and concentration,

two things I seem,

to be,

in short supply,

of,

lately.

Haven’t read much,

since the beginning,

of the year,

a lot of it has been,

very demanding,

some of it dark,

most of it,

excellent.

I went to the library,

today,

any excuse is good,

I had to bring back,

The Powerbook,

but,

it wasn’t really due,

I just wanted to walk,

on Ste-Catherine.

So, I picked up,

two Jane Rule books,

that I have never read,

The Young in One Another’s Arms,

and,

This Is Not For You.

I’ve read two,

of her novels,

Desert Of The Heart,

which I loved,

and,

Contract With The World,

which I didn’t.

Jane Rule,

is a woman for who,

I have respect and admiration,

tough, smart.

Seen her interviewed,

many times,

a fine mind,

a good heart.

These books,

aren’t too long,

and will help,

in my quest to know,

the history,

of lesbians and queers,

in general,

a long time,

interest.

I have also,

been reading,

Transgender Warrior,

Leslie Feinberg’s history,

of transgender,

an informative,

and,

enlightening,

read.

Can’t say enough,

good about,

Feinberg,

Stone Butch Blues,

is in my opinion,

a must read,

for anyone,

and,

everyone.

Well,

off to read:-)

Later girls,

With Love and Pride

Girls.

How are yah?

Personally,

I’m feeling good about,

myself,

but,

mostly,

about my friends.

My ex,

or as I usually refer,

to her,

friend extraordinaire,

has lost much weight,

and looks,

fabulous.

I always thought,

she looked good,

but,

now she weighs,

probably,

what,

she did in her,

twenties!!

Kuddos.

Another really good friend,

has written,

a novel,

that is about to be,

released,

By Bold Strokes,

April 18 Th. 2011

Here is the blurb:

Quiet and imaginative, Derek O’Reilly spends a lot of time watching a movie in his head. His fiancé Nathan, aka “Mr. Alpha,” wonders why Derek hasn’t taken any interest in their wedding planning. Aunt Fran—his spiritual guru—would like to know when her guilt-tripping nephew became some kind of kept boy. One evening, she drops Derek’s childhood journal on his lap, forcing him to remember the name he’s been trying to forget since he was eleven years old. Nicolai Lund.

Nick was Derek’s neighbor—and first love.

Weeks before Derek’s engagement party, a chance meeting promises the possibility of meeting Nick again. The last time Derek saw those cold blue eyes was seventeen years ago, but he vividly remembers the effect they had on his young, inexperienced body. Nick could flood his stale existence like a blond tidal wave. But Nick isn’t that sixteen-year-old rebel anymore. He’s a man hardened by invisible scars.

As Derek reads through his diary, Nick and Derek’s powerful relationship sways between past and present, sweeping over their emotional landscape, revealing what they were, still are, and might yet be to each other.

and here is the link to her Bold Strokes Authors’ blog:

http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com/products.php?product=Split-%252d-by-Mel-Bossa

I couldn’t be prouder.

Bravo.

Smart,

accomplished,

take the bull by the horns,

kind hearted friends,

what more could,

a bookish butch,

ask for?

immense riches?

kick ass good looks?

Kate Winslet to walk into my bookstore?

Nah,

I don’t need any of that,

I’ve got friends,

and,

family,

and love to the brim.

Reminds me,

of this,

little plaque,

my Grandmother,

used to have in her house,

My House Is Small, No Mansion For A Millionaire, but, There is Room For Friends and There Is Room For Love, That’s All I Care.

Words to live by:-)

Later girls,

Creative non-fiction

It’s going to be,

a beautiful day,

I just know it,

the patch of sky,

I can see from,

my desk,

is very blue.

As I was checking,

my emails,

this morning,

out of the corner,

of my eye,

I saw an add,

for classes,

creative non-fiction.

My first thought?

What the *&** is,

creative non-fiction.

But,

then,

I thought,

isn’t this blog,

creative non-fiction.

I think,

it may be.

A person,

very dear,

to my heart,

asked me,

recently,

how much is real,

how much is not.

Is BB, real?

The answer is,

of course,

she is,

and,

of course,

she’s not.

I don’t know.

I think I may have,

found my answer,

blogging,

and,

indeed,

life,

may all be exercises,

in creative non-fiction.

What do you think?

Later girls,

Nostalgia? Hope? Beats me

Kind of a grey day,

today,

The Habs are,

hanging in there,

should make the playoffs,

once that begins,

who knows.

I’m optimistic,

as my man Bruce,

once said,

people need,

A Reason To Believe,

hockey is as good,

a reason,

as any,

I guess:-)

I’ve been thinking,

about nostalgia,

a simpler, warmer,

time that never,

existed,

big market,

that,

for the merchants,

of schlock.

I feel myself,

succumb to it,

sometimes,

and I’m not even,

the target audience,

or,

Am I?

For instance,

I told you all,

I have been listening,

to the radio lately,

man, there’s a lot of crap on the radio, but, still,

we have this singer,

here in Québec,

Roch Voisine,

very big in France as well,

he is a pretty boy,

very pretty,

he sings,

insipid, love ballads,

the ones he writes,

yikes.

But, recently,

he released,

this album,

that has some,

beautiful,

old country ballads,

Crazy,

The City Of New Orleans,

that kind of stuff,

he does an adequate job,

country’s about feeling,

not range,

yesterday,

I was drifting,

I drift,

a lot,

when things,

are quiet,

at the bookstore,

I found myself,

singing along with,

this song,

I bless the day I found you
I want to stay around you
And so I beg you, let it be me

Don’t take this heaven from one
If you must cling to someone
Now and forever, let it be me

Of course, I sang the words wrong and off key but, so what

That’s an old,

Everly Brothers song,

I always liked their ballads,

I’ll do my crying in the rain,

I know the Everly Brothers,

because,

I grew up,

watching,

entirely,

too much,

television.

Happy Days,

a seventies sitcom,

is probably responsible,

for my discovery,

of fifties music.

But, I still like,

The Everly Brothers,

sweet melancholie harmony,

it’s not music of the mind,

or the loins,

it’s music,

of the tender,

part of your heart.

Let it be me.

Obviously, the merchants,

know what they are,

doing,

when,

they can make a grown butch,

sing,

and …

or perhaps it’s not about,

nostalgia,

perhaps,

it’s about,

longing,

and hope.

I don’t know,

I’ll have to chew,

on that.

Later girls,

The Powerbook, a personal response

There is no penance that can calm love and no regret that can make it bitter-The Powerbook by Jeanette Winterson

I’ve been busy,

but,

I have to share with you,

a powerful,

reading experience.

What little reading,

I’ve done lately,

has been spent on,

The Powerbook by Jeanette Winterson.

I’ve read this book,

before,

and yet,

I haven’t.

The woman, the butch:-)

who read this novel,

ten years ago,

doesn’t exist anymore.

She has been changed.

Life,

experience,

pain,

joy,

fear,

love,

transform you.

You don’t notice,

and then,

you hear, something,

you see something,

you read something,

and there it is,

the change,

the new you,

reborn,

from your scar tissue.

This work of Art,

that you saw,

heard,

or, read,

holds up the change for you to,

see.

As, I read this novel,

it reminded me of,

that old Roberta Flack,

song,

or for the youngest of you, the Lauryn Hill and The Fugees version,

Killing Me Softly.

I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud

I can’t really give you an objective,

opinion of this book,

it was a personal,

and,

visceral,

experience.

I can’t tell you,

it will have the same,

effect on,

you.

But, I can guarantee,

you will get,

something from,

it.

Later girls,

Yesterday, I went to the Theatre with my Grandmother

Today, was officially,

the first day of spring,

and,

it was magnificent.

This,

first day of spring,

is special,

to me,

in so many ways.

Most,

I won’t share,

the most important.

Too private,

and personal,

and,

too precious,

to share,

even with my girls:-)

But, I will write,

about my blissful,

experience at the theatre.

On Sunday afternoon,

I went to the theatre.

I never go to the theatre,

why?

I don’t know,

just never do.

I go to the movies,

not as much as I,

used to but,

I go.

To theatre,

I have been,

a hand full,

of times,

in my entire life.

Maybe,

it’s my working class,

peoples’ roots,

somewhere in my DNA,

I think,

the theatre is not,

for the likes of me:-)

I’m going to change, that attitude, never too late to grow.

So,

yesterday, I saw,

Michel Tremblay’s,

Les Belles Soeurs,

a musical version,

at the Monument National,

on St-Laurent,

the Main.

Michel Tremblay,

is Québec’s greatest playwright,

he is responsible for,

transforming our theatre,

from a faux French theatre,

to a truly modern theatre,

of us,

and by us.

Les Belles Soeurs,

which translates as the sisters in law,

is an ensemble piece,

fifteen women.

Written in 1965,

a good year for the birth of special things, people… just saying:-)

but,

staged for the first time,

1968,

it is the first play written,

in Joual.

Joual, is Québécois French, I guess you could see it as some sort of slang, I see it more as a dialect. Cockney, Yiddish, Creole, that sort of thing. A language of the people, the poor, the masses, the oppressed and disenfranchised.

Tremblay loves Joual,

for the same reason,

I do,

it is the language,

his mother,

her sisters,

and sisters in law,

spoke,

the one he heard,

sitting in the kitchen,

the one that gave birth,

to his imagination,

his pride,

to him.

Tremblay is twenty years older,

than me,

so,

with me it was,

grandmaman.

I adored my grandmother, she was smart, resourceful, tender and tough. A woman of her race and generation. She was also oppressed by her church, her society, her workers poverty. She was as important to me, as my mom and dad.

This play,

was severely,

criticised in 1968,

the elite,

were embarrassed,

by this language,

of the people,

and this depiction,

of poverty.

The elite was either,

of a mind that we were,

French or American.

We are,

were,

both,

and neither.

We are French in North America,

a modern society,

with colonial roots.

Les Belles Soeurs,

tells of the lives of women,

their struggles,

their joys.

It is funny,

and,

tender,

hard,

and sad.

It speaks of abortion,

and sexual freedom,

of child rearing

and caring for the old.

It is beautiful.

The musical version,

keeps most of the words.

The music is up tempo,

motown inspired,

I loved it.

A few times,

I looked over,

at my aunt and mom,

and I thought,

Grandmaman,

should be here,

with us,

but,

you know…

she was.

I hope I gave you a taste,

I’m not sure but,

I tried.

Later girls,

An anniversary and a small hiatus

Good morning, girls.

I apologise for my lack,

of communication,

over the last few days,

the truth is,

I haven’t had much,

to say.

Well, nothing that,

would interest,

you girls,

anyway.

I’m a little down,

on myself right now,

this too shall pass.

I have a busy weekend,

coming up,

and I have a whole,

pile of books,

waiting to be read,

that I want,

to write about,

Maurice, The Powerbook,

and one that comes,

highly recommended,

which,

I will mention,

and perhaps,

review after,

reading.

It has been,

a year,

since,

I started,

bookish butch.

So, it’s Happy Anniversary,

to me, time.

I have loved writing,

this blog so much.

It has brought me,

so much,

on a personal,

and a satisfaction,

level.

But, lately I have,

wavered,

focus wise,

so, I’m taking a few days,

to get back to me,

and what it is I want,

out of this experience.

I can’t thank all of you,

enough,

for reading, for commenting,

for being there,

where ever,

there is:-)

I’ll write next week,

I promise.

Later girls,

Pastiche: Impressions from the bookstore

Well girls,

’tis spring,

early days,

but still,

I got the suede jacket out,

and it’s looser,

than last year,

makes me feel good.

Some strange characters,

in the bookstore today,

and some that make you,

feel,

tender and mushy,

like the big guy,

who asks shyly,

where the,

sexuality books are,

and then brings to,

the counter a book,

entitled,

L’orgasme Feminin,

sweet,

he was,

a little embarrassed,

but,

said he would come back,

he had to pick up,

his wife,

adorable,

a man who seeks,

a better orgasm,

for his wife,

sweet.

A few weirdos,

it’s the full moon,

this week,

don’t tell me about, how there is no scientific evidence that the full moon affects people, twenty-five years experience working with the public, for me, trumps that.

Some slightly seedy,

looking character,

who wants,

to sell me,

antique books,

these would be,

old dictionaries,

he found in the recycling,

I know I walked by them,

I tried not to laugh,

when he said,

“I could let ’em go for twenty bucks.”

That kind of day,

not bad,

not good,

just weird.

I’m feeling,

pretty weird myself,

maybe I’ll take,

a few days,

off.

still trying to decide.

Later girls,

be well,

enjoy the rebirth of spring,

I wanna dance with somebody

Good Morning,

it doesn’t really matter,

what time of day,

it is when you read this,

I wish you,

a good morning.

I’m feeling silly,

and probably,

more than a little,

irrational.

I’m going with it.

The sun is out,

more and more,

it looks like spring.

In the spring,

the young feel the,

need to get out there,

meet someone,

get it on,

get laid,

mate,

or for the truly,

romantic,

make love,

and cuddle.

I’ll let you in,

on a secret,

so do the,

not so young.

It is the time,

of birth,

and rebirth,

of the crocus,

the daffodil,

the tulip.

You feel the blood,

pump through,

your veins,

in the spring,

like at,

no other time.

For those of us,

who live in a,

northern climate,

it’s also about,

shedding,

the layers,

or as,

my good friend,

busy writer says,

dumping the,

ten pounds of boots and coats.

In the early spring,

the coat gets unzipped,

semi freedom,

by the time April comes,

it’s,

Look,

I really do have a body,

sometimes we forget.

You become more,

sure footed,

in the spring,

the fear,

and,

possible,

humiliation,

of slipping on the ice,

rescinds.

You strutt,

you swagger,

even if,

only in your mind,

you feel it,

I am butch, hear me roar!!!

You want to dance,

you want to kiss,

you want to love.

How is that different,

from the rest of the year?

Well, that’s the mystery,

it isn’t,

but,

it is.

It’s about more,

and louder,

I think.

I sing louder,

I stomp my foot,

to the beat,

I want to dance with somebody, I want to feel the heat with somebody,

and in the spring,

I’m less,

discreet,

about it.

Cheeky, cheeky,

have a glorious day,

girls,

Later,