how to...explain my version of rebellion.
being rebellious: putting on a bikini in march.
i'm jumping into frightening deep waters, swimming from one pisces to the next, this time to celebrate in persona and therefore even more elaborate than with "just" a long-planned blogentryphonecall3emailsvideoandaconceptualparcellightinweightheavyinmeaning.
in this case a computer and an envelope are not enough to deliver my attentiveness towards west. i need the boys car to pack all my love, groceries, half of my kitchen, utensils to live it up, my sis and her boyfriend. i put in the 5th gear, turn on some music, and enter the highway....
...as it is 7am only, streets are as empty, as my mind is full. i go through all my to do lists, i run through my provençal menu again and again, pre-cooking everything mentally, as the courses are a challenge in time and severity.
...who worth keeping my mind insanely busy? - la mama. blessing the world with her wonderful existence for 50 years now. celebrating her birthday: champagne for breakfast. being surrounded by nature, enjoying the early spring warmth. dancing eccentrically on the terrace not minding the neighbours watching. indulging sensually in food - as if it would be the first meal, every time.
a tough game indeed. let's guess where i got me genes from....
not from her, in terms of cooking. before the whole family falls asleep by the fire in the early morning with my father percussioning [pretty much the same groundhog day-ending of fiestas de la famiglia K ever since]: they had to eat what i've been feverishly fantasizing of the past 2 weeks, from a vague idea to a fancy french 3 course menu - get your local french wo/man of trust for the translation [bisous to my personal one...!]:
- tartare de thon sur son lit de mousse de cresson relevé à l'ail
- lapin confit aux herbes servi acev une galette de pommes du ciel à la truffe et recouvert des sauces au pissenlit & safran
- sorbet de rose, figue glacée au porto, mousse de tomme de chèvre aux miel d'orange, sablés provencaux.
not to forget: a postmodern bouquet des fleurs, and my newest invention in terms of patisserie, a postmodern 5-layers-passionfruit/physalis-cake.
...speaking of my mother and postmodernity: due to its natural proximity to the 6th, she always wants to celebrate her birthday on the 8th of march.
maybe it hurts her, that i nowadays resist to revel 2 days later with her, but she knows why.
- as it was of course her watching me grow the past 28 years - from a little tomboy to a big rebel girl, with poster subjects in my former bedsit changing from "men" [welcome to my world, where identities are apostrophized] with lipstick, to a powerful fist, it was her who drove me to my first political meetings and parades, and finally it was her, who offered me her sewing knowledge for pleated trousers, as she heared me screaming "fuck womanhood!" when i was ~23. by all extremism she supported - from that point on it was hard for her to follow my post-postmodern politics of action. but still, she understands, that behind my brusque "no!!" when asked if i am a feminist, is something more radical.
....usually i'd state "fuck yeah!" until i know people a little better.
you need to know the rules, before you can break them. in my case: you need to know my - oh, this is so on purpose - herstory, before you can understand why i have a massive problem with affirmative action these days. after someone w/ a witty mind, dressed in heavy boots & combat trousers from the SF bay area changed my life. j.b.what a turnabout it was to welcome you in my life, how you made me understand myself....
i only curtailed my disposition on 1 occassion [read the last sentence here, if you want to know what i was saying], probably because i 1.) was terribly high from a unique gathering with my above mentioned role model and 2.) because i thought that i'm in a sort of safe haven of understanding.
now, one third of that haven was maybe surprised, to find out over the time about my socialisation, but even more i was surprised to receive a "stop your feminist shit!"-response during a random conversation once.
although i'd agree in the end, as my agenda is to smash restricting labels such as "female/male", and support as much diversity as possible: i had to ask myself, if it is the approach of a younger generation than mine, to say things like "history has no gender" with ease. feminism seams to be a swear word, sometimes even for people who float in a liberal bubble above the ordinary world.
to me it is the basic rule which i learnt, and am now able to break - necessary for my own deviant self-image, a better/equal future, and as a foundation for explanations, that rebellion is still necessary, and the only legitimate life style.
- the mentioned specialist in terms of un-gendered history lives my rebellion unconsciously anyway. otherwise i wouldn't call her my counterpart.
the same serenity applies for my mother, as i definitely appreciate her fight for the freedom which i now find restricting; i'm fine if she sticks with celebrating her birthday in purple overalls.
and i'm so damn fine, if my rebellion stays misunderstood. i don't mind being opaque. i don't need clarity. i don't need a transparent, fixed, coherent identity. it could be easy to label me with feminist, postfeminist, as a typical modern guerilla girl, a boring postmodern subject with the usual insecurities: in the end i don't give a fuck about my reputation. - as long as i can scream it out loud, when i'm not occupied with eating, and my voice is heared.
the revolution can be danced, and i definitely do so!
i'm jumping into frightening deep waters, swimming from one pisces to the next, this time to celebrate in persona and therefore even more elaborate than with "just" a long-planned blogentryphonecall3emailsvideoandaconceptualparcellightinweightheavyinmeaning.
in this case a computer and an envelope are not enough to deliver my attentiveness towards west. i need the boys car to pack all my love, groceries, half of my kitchen, utensils to live it up, my sis and her boyfriend. i put in the 5th gear, turn on some music, and enter the highway....
...as it is 7am only, streets are as empty, as my mind is full. i go through all my to do lists, i run through my provençal menu again and again, pre-cooking everything mentally, as the courses are a challenge in time and severity.
...who worth keeping my mind insanely busy? - la mama. blessing the world with her wonderful existence for 50 years now. celebrating her birthday: champagne for breakfast. being surrounded by nature, enjoying the early spring warmth. dancing eccentrically on the terrace not minding the neighbours watching. indulging sensually in food - as if it would be the first meal, every time.
a tough game indeed. let's guess where i got me genes from....
not from her, in terms of cooking. before the whole family falls asleep by the fire in the early morning with my father percussioning [pretty much the same groundhog day-ending of fiestas de la famiglia K ever since]: they had to eat what i've been feverishly fantasizing of the past 2 weeks, from a vague idea to a fancy french 3 course menu - get your local french wo/man of trust for the translation [bisous to my personal one...!]:
- tartare de thon sur son lit de mousse de cresson relevé à l'ail
- lapin confit aux herbes servi acev une galette de pommes du ciel à la truffe et recouvert des sauces au pissenlit & safran
- sorbet de rose, figue glacée au porto, mousse de tomme de chèvre aux miel d'orange, sablés provencaux.
not to forget: a postmodern bouquet des fleurs, and my newest invention in terms of patisserie, a postmodern 5-layers-passionfruit/physalis-cake.
...speaking of my mother and postmodernity: due to its natural proximity to the 6th, she always wants to celebrate her birthday on the 8th of march.
maybe it hurts her, that i nowadays resist to revel 2 days later with her, but she knows why.
- as it was of course her watching me grow the past 28 years - from a little tomboy to a big rebel girl, with poster subjects in my former bedsit changing from "men" [welcome to my world, where identities are apostrophized] with lipstick, to a powerful fist, it was her who drove me to my first political meetings and parades, and finally it was her, who offered me her sewing knowledge for pleated trousers, as she heared me screaming "fuck womanhood!" when i was ~23. by all extremism she supported - from that point on it was hard for her to follow my post-postmodern politics of action. but still, she understands, that behind my brusque "no!!" when asked if i am a feminist, is something more radical.
....usually i'd state "fuck yeah!" until i know people a little better.
you need to know the rules, before you can break them. in my case: you need to know my - oh, this is so on purpose - herstory, before you can understand why i have a massive problem with affirmative action these days. after someone w/ a witty mind, dressed in heavy boots & combat trousers from the SF bay area changed my life. j.b.what a turnabout it was to welcome you in my life, how you made me understand myself....
i only curtailed my disposition on 1 occassion [read the last sentence here, if you want to know what i was saying], probably because i 1.) was terribly high from a unique gathering with my above mentioned role model and 2.) because i thought that i'm in a sort of safe haven of understanding.
now, one third of that haven was maybe surprised, to find out over the time about my socialisation, but even more i was surprised to receive a "stop your feminist shit!"-response during a random conversation once.
although i'd agree in the end, as my agenda is to smash restricting labels such as "female/male", and support as much diversity as possible: i had to ask myself, if it is the approach of a younger generation than mine, to say things like "history has no gender" with ease. feminism seams to be a swear word, sometimes even for people who float in a liberal bubble above the ordinary world.
to me it is the basic rule which i learnt, and am now able to break - necessary for my own deviant self-image, a better/equal future, and as a foundation for explanations, that rebellion is still necessary, and the only legitimate life style.
- the mentioned specialist in terms of un-gendered history lives my rebellion unconsciously anyway. otherwise i wouldn't call her my counterpart.
the same serenity applies for my mother, as i definitely appreciate her fight for the freedom which i now find restricting; i'm fine if she sticks with celebrating her birthday in purple overalls.
and i'm so damn fine, if my rebellion stays misunderstood. i don't mind being opaque. i don't need clarity. i don't need a transparent, fixed, coherent identity. it could be easy to label me with feminist, postfeminist, as a typical modern guerilla girl, a boring postmodern subject with the usual insecurities: in the end i don't give a fuck about my reputation. - as long as i can scream it out loud, when i'm not occupied with eating, and my voice is heared.
the revolution can be danced, and i definitely do so!
mironja - 9. Mar, 02:17
