Prayer for the Man Who Mugged My Father, 72

May there be an afterlife.

May you meet him there, the same age as you.
May the meeting take place in a small, locked room.

May the bushes where you hid be there again, leaves tipped with razor-
blades and acid.
May the rifle butt you bashed him with be in his hands.
May the glass in his car window, which you smashed as he sat stopped
at a red light, spike the rifle butt, and the concrete on which you'll
fall.

May the needles the doctors used to close his eye, stab your pupils
every time you hit the wall and then the floor, which will be often.
May my father let you cower for a while, whimpering, "Please don't
shoot me. Please."
May he laugh, unload your gun, toss it away;
Then may he take you with bare hands.

May those hands, which taught his son to throw a curve and drive a nail
and hold a frog, feel like cannonballs against your jaw.
May his arms, which powered handstands and made their muscles jump
to please me, wrap your head and grind your face like stone.
May his chest, thick and hairy as a bear's, feel like a bear's snapping
your bones.
May his feet, which showed me the flutter kick and carried me miles
through the woods, feel like axes crushing your one claim to man-
hood as he chops you down.

And when you are down, and he's done with you, which will be soon,
since, even one-eyed, with brain damage, he's a merciful man,
May the door to the room open and let him stride away to the Valhalla
he deserves.
May you—bleeding, broken—drag yourself upright.

May you think the worst is over;
You've survived, and may still win.

Then may the door open once more, and let me in.

- by Charles Harper Webb

(thanks to polymexina, who shares a similar taste in poetry with me)

Random Heretical Thoughts

I think "goddess-sized" is a ludicrous euphemism for describing large women. Goddesses came in all sizes. There's nothing wrong with saying you're fat. Fat is not a swear word or an insult. It's just a descriptor. That jiggly stuff on your belly, thighs, boobs, and butt? That's fat. That's not goddess padding. And do you know what? There's nothing inherently wrong with that.

I have a heretical, blasphemous view. Rape jokes can be funny. So can murder jokes, disease jokes, dead baby jokes, and a score of tasteless jokes made about a vast array of other horrible things. And these jokes can even be funny to people who have been raped, have had loved ones who died of these diseases, etc. Just because you don't find those jokes funny doesn't invalidate the humour other people can get from them. Gallows humour is a pretty common coping mechanism. And there's a reason dark comedy and horror movies/literature are so popular. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. So is comedy.

It's legal for women to be topless in public in Ontario. But movies that show boobies are still rated as not acceptable for children to watch. Not even for kids young enough to remember what their Mom's boobs look like at very close range. How silly is that?

Some pro-breastfeeding activists wish to desexualize breasts. Why? Boobs can be damned sexy. So are nice arms and gorgeous eyes. Or maybe toes are what do it for you. There's nothing wrong with sexy. Please don't make sexy a bad word. Just don't ogle. Especially don't ogle someone who's uncomfortable about it. That's just plain rude.

You Don't Want My Help

You don't want my help.

A telemarketer just called, asking me for $300 to support the local symphony. I interrupted her spiel to say, "Look. I'm a dancer. I'm willing to donate my time as a performer to raise funds for the symphony, but I'm a starving artist myself, and just don't have money to donate--only time and my skills."

I knew she wouldn't go for it.

They never do.

.........

I have a good news, sorta bad news situation today. The good news is I got the dance scholarship I'd applied for. The bad news is it's only a partial scholarship, and only covers three classes, which is about 25% of what I was hoping for. It doesn't cover the butoh week intensive in January, which was the part I was most interested in. Still, it's more than I had before, so I'm glad for that. I just can't help but feel a bit disappointed.

I think I can swing the tuition for the intensive. Transportation will be a bitch. If I'm lucky, I'll find a place to stay in Toronto, and won't need to commute from Kitchener to Toronto every day on the bus.

.........

Time to go teach a class. Sorta. Kinda. Theoretically.