Shhhh...

Shhhh…now tell me a story. Slow. Smooth. Wrap me in your words. Intoxicate me with your experience. Take me. Take me to where you’ve been. Whisper where you’re going. Caress me with the sounds your ears make love to. Sing me the song of when you were young. When you were fearless. Speak to me of the beauty in isolated lands. Words whirling around us, wrapping us in identity. Now tell me the story of who you are. Tell me who you are when you are not who you are. Seduce me with your stories. Shhhhh… Seduce me.

More about Me

I love education and thinking. Expression is sexy. I don't understand the world we live in, and yet I cannot escape the effort to try to make sense of it. I have yet to find what I want to do with my life. Since I am not independently wealthy, I must work, but working does not afford me the time to do what I want to do, which is dance spontaneously with the muses, free of time constraints. I have one child, my son, who is often my muse, or the muse behind the muses. 

I stand at the border of OCD and ADD, dancing and dangling my toes, crossing the lines--sometimes intentionally, sometimes unwillingly. I was born a decade or maybe even three, too late. My obsessions lay with the unconventional, the obscure, and the unknown. If my body were as active as my mind, I would be Ms. Universe. 

A good cup of coffee solves any problem.

21st Century Woman

Silicone goddesses, melting in the sun
Skin showing, skimpy attire
Flat bellies, fat breasts
Pouty lips
Risking surgical slips
From nose to toes
Fake breasts make you best
Eyes to hide lies
A tummy tuck
So you don’t have to suck
Your belly in
Shave, wax, wrap, and tan
Slave to the attention
Of man

Goddess

I wanna get drunk

Like in the old days

Drink whatever my hands touch

Let the giddiness set in

Courage and its troops invade my veins

And hold my blood’s purity captive

Warm flushed skin alerts

That transformation's happening

and I become beautiful

and I become sexy

and my ass wiggles and waves hello

As my voice becomes silky smooth

And I become a goddess

Meet a guy and take him home

Or go back to his place

Have an animalistic fuck

Or make love to a stranger

Be whatever I want

Because no one sees

Behind my mask

To know that I am a mere human

And then morning comes

And my stomach feels the devastation

Caused by poisonous intruders

As it, in a revealing reprimand for my fallibility,

Impeaches me and strips me of my divine title

I wonder how often Ma, Isis, or Aphrodite

Dropped their heads into a

Porcelain bowl to make their own

Offerings to the gods

As I look at the floating bile-brown remnants

From last night’s escapade

Memory begins to infiltrate my brain

Piece by muddy piece

With pounding anxiety

For those places still empty.

Milan Kundera's "Identity"

Kundera’s Identity is a novel which travels back and forth between the believable and the unbelievable. Kundera magnificently transitions between reality and fantasy. Often it is difficult to distinguish between Kudnera’s two worlds, if it is possible to make the distinction at all. There are many parts of Kundera’s story that seem very real, very normal; however, the bulk of the story has a surreal atmosphere about it.

From the beginning, the story reminded me of a dream. The way the story shifted from scene to scene without any warning and the way so many of the actions, attitudes and characters seemed out of place all gave the story an otherworldliness about it. I found myself thinking either the book consisted of dream scenes, or it was about people who were demented and was written by someone who suffers from severe psychological problems.

The novel beings like a passionate love story. Chantal is in Normandy waiting for Jean-Marc to arrive. She is in a restaurant when she overhears two waitresses talking about a television show, “Lost to Sight.” Chantal thinks about how difficult it would be for her to lose Jean-Marc, to never know what happened to him, and to have to live the rest of her days in misery, because suicide would be a refusal to wait for him. You get the impression she has as deep and intense love for Jean-Marc. For Chantel a life without Jean-Marc would be a life of misery.

Chantel has to spend one night alone in Normandy before Jean-Marc arrives. During the night, her sleep is broken, and she has a dream involving people from her past. She finds the dream disturbing. I think this is where the story shifts to fantasy. Although many parts of the first half of the story seem believable, Kundera never says Chantal went back to sleep after the dream. I think Chantal continued to sleep, and it was during her sleep that she dreamed the rest of the story. Perhaps it was sleeping without Jean-Marc that caused her sleep to be so restless.

The novel hints of having a surrealistic undertone early in the story. The story regularly shifts from scene to scene and has situations and conversations that seem out of place, much like the dreams so many of us have. From the beginning I found myself asking how certain situations could be true and thought it reminded me of a dream.

When Jean-Marc finds Chantal in Normandy, she is unable to embrace him. When he tries to comfort Chantal, after she says, “men don’t turn to look at me anymore,” she pushes him away. With the exceptions of how she came to live with Jean-Marc and when they met at the ski lodge, Chantal never mentions Jean-Marc with much affection. I found this to be rather peculiar since in the first chapter she thinks about how miserable life would be without him. If her love for him is so strong, then why can’t she embrace the man she loves or allow him to embrace her? This suggests the scene is Chantal’s fantasy.

Then there was the emphasis on Jean-Marc’s mistaking Chantal’s identity and his inability to recognize her form other women. In the beginning, when he first arrives in Normandy, he mistakes Chantal for a woman on the beach whom he describes as old and ugly. He questions Chantal’s identity again as the scene with the letters is unfolding. He beings to think she is a simulacrum. When Chantal’s sister-in-law is talking with Jean-Marc, he again thinks that the woman he loves is a simulacrum. His questioning Chantal’s identity is even evident on the train when upon seeing Chantal, he is unable to recognize her hand or her laughter and her happiness even though he knows it is indeed Chantal. I don’t think Jean-Marc caused the identity issues. I think Chantal is a very independent and strong person, but her love for Jean-Marc causes her to feel emotional vulnerable, and it manifests itself in her dreams.

Chantal believes the author of the letters to be the first man in the bistro, and later she believes the author to be the old man under the tree. When she begins to figure out that it is Jean-Marc who wrote the letters, instead of being touched, she is angry and paranoid that he is spying on her. This paranoia of being spied on leads her to a graphologist’s office. In the graphologist’s office, Chantal recognizes one of the men as the man from the café in Normandy, and again he makes her feel she is in danger. Most women would be touched if their husband or boyfriend sent them letters calling them beautiful. They would think it was very sweet. They would not be convinced he was spying on her. As for the man in the graphologist’s office being the same man from Normandy, sure, it could happen, but I find it highly doubtful. Besides, if the scene were real, why did it take Chantal so long to recognize him when he had cause do much panic in her in Normandy? Once again, Kundera was subtly telling his readers that it was all a dream.

It is odd that when her sister-in-law arrives with her children, of all the things to play with and to get into, the children find the letters under Chantal’s brassieres, thus causing Chantal to ask her sister-in-law to leave. Shortly afterward, Chantal also leaves the apartment. For a woman who loves a man so intensely that she could not bear the thought of losing him, Chantal finds it too easy to walk out on Jean-Marc.

The point when I could no longer believe what the author was writing in was at the train station and the succeeding scenes. Chantal leaves Jean-Marc and has no idea where she will go. She tells him that she has to go to London for work; however, once she leaves the apartment, she doesn’t know where she will end up. She decides to go to London for the evening, and she just happens to run into her colleague in London. Then, when Jean-Marc decided to go after her, he happens to go to the exact place that Chantal is at. In reality, what is the likelihood of that happening? From there the story only gets more bizarre and travels into the obscure at an even quicker pace. Chantal sexualizes the train ride, from the way she sees the train descending into the tunnel to the way she sees the older refined lady as the victim of an orgy. Her mind is constantly thinking sexual thoughts. When she is at the house of the orgy, Jean-Marc follows her there (red was a recurring color through out the story), he quickly gives up when he cannot gain entrance into the house. When Chantal is in the salon with the septuagenarian, the septuagenarian is calling Chantal the name Anne, again bringing up the issue of identity. This is the point in the story where there are the most dramatic scene shifts. It is at this point that it becomes obvious the story is a dream. The deeper our sleep becomes, the more obscure our dreams become. It is during sleep that we often find ourselves in situation that make no sense and that dreams are often the most disturbing.

I think in a very subtle way, Kundera may have been trying to tell his readers that he story was a dream. There are many scenes involving sleep, dreams, and consciousness. However, as readers, we have a tendency to believe what we are reading, and unless the author tells us otherwise, we rarely question it. I think Kundera tried to make us believe the story, and when we find out the story is a dream, it is more difficult for us to figure out which parts are reality and which parts are fantasy. Kundera tries to make the distinction even more difficulty by asking the reader who to whom the dream belongs.

It appears that the story shifts from reality to dream when Chantal is asleep in Normandy the first night waiting for Jean-Marc. However, her dream doesn’t become ridiculously far fetched until the scene at the train station.

For the most part, Chantal was the dreamer. In the beginning, while waiting for Jean-Marc in Normandy, she is sleeping and is awakens in the middle of the night by a dream involving people from her past. Kundera never says that Chantal stayed awake for the rest of the night. I think that Chantal fell back asleep after the first dream and that is when the rest of the story occurred. It is probably when Jean-Marc arrived, perhaps while Chantal was asleep, that he went to sleep beside her and woke her when she began to scream. It was in the salon that Chantal started to feel that sense of danger that one usually feels just before one screams during a dream. I think the dream belonged to Chantal entirely rather than to Jean-Marc. Jean-Marc did not seem as paranoid as Chantal, and the story focuses more her thoughts and emotions. Jean-Marc seems more like he is someone who is an actor cast in her theatrical production. Chantal is the one who screams in the dream, and it is Jean-Marc who comforts her and reassures her that “Chantal. Chantal. Chantal. It’s not real.” By doing so he returns her identity to her. At the very end of the story, Chantal does not want to let Jean-Marc out of her sight for fear that in the second it takes to blink, she could lose him. Jean-Marc doesn’t say much or show much emotion at the end of the book. It is Chantal who is emotional, just as someone who has had a very emotional dream. Had it been Jean-Marc’s dream with the thought of losing the woman he loves most, he likely would be more emotional upon waking from the dream.

Kundera does a wonderful job of making the reader question the reality of what is being read. For the first two-thirds of the book, almost any of the scenes could be perfectly believable on their own, but when they are added together, they become more difficult to fathom. However, I think if anyone has ever had an obscure or upsetting dream and pays close enough attention to Kundera’s clues, then he or she can see that the story is fantasy from the beginning.