Darling, Won't You Ease My Worried Mind?
December 14th, 1998

Until a man is twenty-five, he still thinks, every so often, that under the right circumstances he could be the baddest motherfucker in the world.
-- Neal Stephenson, "Snow Crash"

An Open Letter to a Friend of Mine,

This is arguably neither my place nor my business, but you once told me I was inspiring and sharp and all that so here I am, scribbling across the electrons as I've done to others that mattered to me, of what I believe.

"Hell is the state in which we are barred from receiving what we truly need because of the value we give to what we merely want." -- Jacob Needleman

I am very, very tired for physical reasons that are largely beyond my control, and what energy I can muster up is largely being consumed by unconsummated anger. I am so angry that I have no finesse. Nothing lithe and clever, just intermittent contemplation of whether or not this rope on my floor could be used as a garotte or a noose. Or both.

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile
e.e. cummings

I have enough stuff that I can't get done that I become livid with rage when someone who can get something done decides not to do it for what I consider inadequate reasons. The more I care about the person, the more enraged I'o good a friend, and too basically decent a person in this world of cheats and assholes for me to whimsically decide to eviscerate him. Which doesn't mean I'm impressed by his expressed reasons for deciding to be sensible instead of taking a risk.

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemmnon dead.

Being so caught up,

So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
-- W.B. Yeats

We all know I have a long history of not being sensible when I can enjoy life instead. But that aside, the fiction I've been sending you, I'm curious as to what you think. You've seen, what, eight pieces of it now, so it's high time you said something about it.

Your friend and comrade,
Auntie

PS: I had written something before, but it was so unremittingly harsh and ugly that I turfed it. As the man said, the world is a better place for not having it in it.

In its place, a poem that my ex-fiance wrote some years ago, that makes some of the same points anyway.

MEN ON THE NET

Oh weenie net men
You're spraying your semen
On every post all around.
It's obvious to me
You need sex badly:
You're testicles are blue
and weigh two pounds.

Oh men, poor men, go out there.
The women are around everywhere.
Get off the net,
That's a sure bet
Of perhaps getting dirty
And getting down.

Net life to me
Has become sure misery
For all the men are drooling fools.
One women posts
15000 responses she gets, at most
from men, all fondling their tools.

Net men! Net men!
Calm the fuck down!
blue genitals of two pounds.

And yet, I will tell,
That net relationships are swell.
I've met most of my loves on the pooter.
All my loves were netters.
And real go-getters.
Yes, net babes are certainly cuter.

Net Men! Net Men!
Turn off the machine!
Net Men! Net Men!
Wash up and get clean!
Net men! Net men!
Go on outside, not far!
Net Men! Net Men!
If you must drool, go to some awful bar.

At least try to be charming
Instead of sick nasty swarming.
It is embarassing to to to a net meet.
One poor woman gets surounded
And her brain must get pounded
With male attempts at being sweet.

Relax, for fuck's sakes!
Give the lady a break!
Give her air! Give her room!
Be yourself!
Sex ain't that big a deal.
Stop being a heel!
And put your libido up on a shelf.

Net men! Net men!
Grow up, and quickly!
Net men! Net men!
Stop looking so sickly.

Be less desperate in email.
Get some sun, you're so pale.
You want an asian bride?
Take it to snail mail!

Oh one last little chorus:
If love is really a forest,
Don't swing your axe,
Making random cracks...
Because when you do, it certainly bores us.

Net men! Net men!
Don't be so dreary!
Net men! Net men!
Try to be cheery!
Net men! Net men!
Mom said it best,
Women are always impressed
By a man who knows
And manages to show
That women are like men only not.
So stop flirting insanely,
To say it quite plainly:
All men who act like assholes will be SHOT.
-- Nikolaus Maack