“There is a language that I speak or that speaks (to) me in all tongues. A language at once unique and universal that resounds in each national tongue when a poet speaks it. In each tongue, there flows milk and honey. And this language I know, I don’t need to enter it, it surges from me, it flows, it is the milk of love, the honey of my unconscious. The language that women speak when no one is there to correct them.”  -Cixous (again)

The right to words, the right to write, is something we all claim for ourselves. likewise the right to political speech, the kind of speech that doesn’t disappear. It’s something we fight for and something that erupts from us without our asking.

I understand what Hillary Clinton meant–or maybe I do–when she said she was just finding her own voice. Getting melded to a biglivewhitemale representation of Power like Billy C. is silencing. Your good advice is absorbed by him, and your mistakes are wholly your own.

I allowed my self to be quieted by a man who didn’t cast nearly as large a shadow and I still lost myself or didn’t speak up with that voice that was me. and now I don’t want to let myself care about anyone for fear of losing that voice that still doesn’t surge like it used to. and yet my fear itself is weakening me.

Posted: April 11th, 2008 under Love, Politics, Writing.
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“I call poet any writing being who sets out on this path, in quest of what I call the second innocence, the one that comes after knowing, the one that no longer knows, the one that knows how not to know.” -Helene Cixous

Posted: April 11th, 2008 under Feminism, Writing.
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