And from all of this, I can gather that I’m not a stereotypical woman. Some might assume that the above kind of reaction to being addressed as a little child could serve to render me in a rather deranged fashion. To that I say, “Yes, but those whose energies are focussed on finding a steretypical child-woman in our conversation will not find anything more odd, or more alienating, or more fantastical in the above performance, anyway.”If life is a revolution, then I want to dance — and at least this way I get the last laugh.
Laughing is important to me. I can’t imagine a culture which doesn’t have laughter as its main grist for the mill, its five-minutely relief process from constant stressors. This is the major reason why I have such trouble keeping the present manifestations of society in my mind’s eye. I’m simply unable to focus very much on most of the moralist’s intricate concerns, since most of these lack the larger than life grandiose potential of a cosmic joke.
I’m not even a typical woman, as the urge to bank up human flesh in my own bodily reservoir is very far from me. (I’m unpleasant in that way.) I think that having recognised my own flesh, by inch, in all of its proclivities, I desire something of the opposite — when I desire at all. An offspring of my own sounds like a terrorising prospect, to me. Having become both parents and child to myself, where would it fit in, in this overneat, hand-in-glove relationship? I can’t imagine any happiness for something springing off my genes. A child who can laugh raukously at the moon, though, I could sponsor. He or she could have my last cent. The importance in this, to me, would be to perpetuate the cosmic joke. It’s this or nothing.
A child who could laugh at the moon deserves everybody’s last cent. This, I maintain. Yet so few of these children exist any more — and those who do come into being rarely get this habituation from their parents. Where they do get it from — wide open spaces, a close encounter with threatening forces, an innate ability to pluck the universe of its abundance.
I would not expect this from serial television watchers, and I would not give up my time trying to raise them, in the hope that they could actually become the person that I hoped they would be.
To torment fate, as my parents did when they refused my right to a legitimate separation from their values, from the passivity of a female fate, is not something I could do whilst remaining standing.
Life requires responsibility.