January 3rd, 2009

fire walk with me

BSD

We think we know who the big swinging dicks of LJ are. theferrett , cleolinda , throwingstardna. ohnotheydidnt . But the fact is, they've got nothing on the Russian LJers. It's a whole LJ we don't even know about.

justbeast  sometimes reads to me from dimkin and translates for me. dimkin  lives in a remote village in Ukraine, keeps bees, at one point slept around a lot, is a writer and artist who lives in a hut and writes these Henry Miller-esque posts full of hilariously creative profanity. He has almost 9000 friends-of. He deserves them. I LOVE hearing these posts. The language is all wacky and unique and twisted. Today he posted about "dancing under the unfull moon." That is some nineweaving  shit right there. But he also refers to people he doesn't like as "evil Muscovites." And talks about daily life in his village in these awesome ways: "When someone is hurt or dying or giving birth, you just grab a bucket and run to the rescue. Run means run." And a recent favorite, after a horse fell down and got everyone in uproar: "I finally got to realize a childhood dream. To say to a horse: don't fuck around like that."

He's crass--though in an absorbing and totally interesting way--and weird and cranky as hell. He is to the limit. I feel him. I wish people understood that crankiness is actually one of the cardinal virtues. When you're cranky, you have no patience for bullshit, and you tell the truth.

I get wistful and fascinated listening to these entries. Because I want to be a big swinging dick. Not in the sense of audience, I could give a shit how many friends-of I have at this point, I stopped keeping track a long time ago. But I want to be a Milleresque hermity crank and write about fucking around and how evil Muscovites are out to get me (they are) and make up flamboyant new ways to swear. I want to be brash and sexual and angry--that's a big swinging dick, to me.

But I feel I can't--because I'm a woman, in part, so I just get called a bitch when I'm cranky. I do not have a big swinging dick, and so the standards, even in the blogosphere which is supposed to be so gender blind--are different for me. Male writers get laughs and camraderie when they're misanthropic and grouchy. I get dismissed, or loathed, or slapped down. And again with the issue of sex writing--either a whore or a chicklit lightweight. No hardcore awesome sex writing is admitted for women, I've felt. Whether or not to write about sex on this blog has always been a conundrum for me, because respect is hard enough to come by. Whereas for men, writing about it eloquently earns them huge respect. I guess I'm afraid of the consequences.

Maybe the key is not to care. I used to not care. I heard the words "bitch" and "cunt" a lot. A few times it got scary, and a couple of LJers made seriously fucked up threats against my physical integrity. If you live in a village where you gotta just grab a bucket and go, maybe that doesn't matter. Run means run. But I feel constrained by both that past and the social expectations that sit heavy on an under-30 female blogger.

And I get wistful for the Miller I wish I were.

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