I’ve been rereading The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test for a week now–I need to revisit it for the majorly druggy section of my bildungsRosman–and it’s so intense and so intensely racistsexisthomophobic that I have to put it down periodically and read something cooling and smart like this 90s interview with Toni Morrison. The biggest conclusion I have drawn (and it’s a fucking embarrassing one) is that next to Edmund White and Eve Babitz Tom Wolfe most influenced my writing style and methodology. I forgot how many times as a teen I read this book and all of his other books to boot. I even called myself the girl with the brown lipstick after a minor character in Bonfire. Oy, they say people don’t really change but the woman I am now can barely stand Wolfe’s status-quo-reinforcing jive. But his in-the-flow, in-the-glow, hyper-italicized, hyper-hyphenated, hyper-dimensional stream-of-consciousness self-possession? I guess it’s in my blood for good. Notice what you notice, he bellows in 24-point type, and I always have.
Do you hate when people tell you about their dreams? I don’t. I like hearing about them, and I like sharing mine. In this messed-up world, it’s the only time we talk about the divine unconscious, which is why dreams often offer an ideal entry point to my Ruby Intuition sessions. Goddess knows dreams reveal all.
Last night: A dream of tiny vicerous* teeth embedded in the diamond ring he once gave me; the nightmares always nightmares of other people owning my body because i am pregnant. i did not wish either state, either title. I did not wish to bear young nor be a mother. Nor did I wish to wed nor be a wife. Wife and mother, mother and wife: no thank you. I wished for writer, actor, woman of the world. And i knew by age 20 that it was a fancy of the wealthy–a fancy of the fancy, if you will–to believe that women did not have to choose …men butch people really didn’t but that’s because even in 2018 they were the exception to a golden rule if they made parenting their raison d’être. The miracle was they could choose at all and from an early age i knew my choice but did not own it until I was nearly the age I am as i write this. you are not living up to this calling, whisper the voices as i drift to the surface of consciousness. you must be of service not just nervous….
I wake with dread.
*a word my unconscious manufactured meaning “viciously, viciferously visceral.”