Reading about Lesbian Separatism. The thesis is basically that men "just need to go." Okay, beyond the familial and cultural ties one would have to leave behind, beyond the general whiteness of queer communities one would have to enter, beyond that hetero- and bi-sexual women are kind of screwed (or not so much, I guess) as well as women who want to be friends with men, beyond that it doesn't go "beyond" the ninary at all for something from the 80's, it doesn't really explain where the men go. Are they killed, are they on another planet, are they underground, what? And does no one miss them at all? And what about gay men? Are they also bad? And what happens when separatists get separated, does one have to go back to the mainstream?


Alright, I have to go grill some chicken before Stef gets home and I have to pretend it's tofu. We got all this furniture that was going to be thrown out and matt put sheets on it and it looks so cool. We're such grown-ups. I, like, even pay bills and stuff. And I make awesome cookies with my easybake oven.

What does one write on the triumphant return of a blogger who, like the prodigal son on so many days of yore, has walked out into the field of dreams from whence all of us have to come, eventually. I say this as both a truism and a truth and sometimes, I must admit, I have trouble telling the difference between the two, like trying to tell the difference between the shadow and the soul, the walker and the walked, and wondering, who, really, is on the right side of the mirror, but sometimes you have to let go of these hang-ups, like doves, like small, metallic doves you hang your clothes on, like hangers, like love.


And so many of you wonder, "for how long?" "How long will this mystical dream flit inside my mind till she falls like sands through the hourglass out of the days of my life?" That, my friend, my dear friend, my close pen pal, my favorite work chum, that guy who lent me a quarter to take the bus home when it was raining but I actually didn't need to take the bus and I spent it on Mike and Ike's, that is a question for the ages, probably those between 17-24, since that's the one I check now on online forms. Not the sexy forms, though, not like manequins, but the ones that say they'll enter you in a drawing you suspect does not exist, but you enter anyway cause your a sad, sad sack, my friend, my dreamer, my coat of arms. And so we travel together on this journey we call life, we call truth, we call blogging. Take my hand, my electronic hand, call it a mouse, call it a keyboard, call it the disk that doesn't work anymore, but take it and walk with me. And maybe it will last longer, maybe just a bit longer, than it has before. Or maybe, just maybe, it will last forever.