Page 133 of Nearly Roadkill
Chuang Tzu taught that the mousetrap exists for the sake of the mouse: once the mouse has been caught, you can forget the trap.
He further taught that words exist for the sake of their meaning: once the meaning has been grasped, you can forget the words.
And the fool in me extrapolates that identities exist for the sake of relationships: once the relationship has been established, you can forget the identities.
Now here I yam, looking for someone who’s forgotten identity…
So?
—W.
To:Winc
From:Scratch
Subj:My brain with fries to go
Yes!! Me! Me! Take me! I’m forgetting identity! Trying anyway!
—S.
END SCRATCH JOURNAL ENTRY
GWYNYTH DIARY ENTRY
Word has gotten out that the orphans of the cyberstorm have various safe havens online created by none other than moi. Not good. If the “good guys,” as Toobe calls them, can find those two, then someone else can too.
I’m sure I can put together a white light spell that’ll blind anyone who makes the mistake of looking in my direction.
But hackers are afoot, breaking down bridges as soon as I build them. Winc has been tagged and needs extra links, which still don’t hold very long.
Note to myself: Collect more sage.
END GWYNYTH DIARY ENTRY
13HEAT
FUNNY OF THE DAY
We’ve pretty much come to the end of a time when you can have a space that is “yours only”—just for the people you want to be there. Even when we have our “women-only” festivals, there is no such thing. The fault is not necessarily with the organizers of the gathering. To a large extent it’s because we have just finished with that kind of isolating. There is no hiding place. There is nowhere you can go and only be with people who are like you. It’s over. Give it up.
—Bernice Johnson Reagon, talk given at the 1981 West Coast Women’s Music Festival, 1981
SCRATCH JOURNAL ENTRY
To:Scratch
From:Winc
Subj:Make it or take it
I guess you can know now: Trenton, NJ is my home sweet home, I moved here from New York after it got too expensive. You see, I was quite the flamboyant fixture on the Lower East Side, but I’malso a private person. Everyone knew my name, said hello to me on the street, gossiped with me in all the shops and corner stores—but no one knew a thing about me. Queer culture was all around me, but I didn’t hang out with anyone. You and I have different ways of being private, darling. On the bright side: even after moving down here, I kept my job. ::lopsided grin:: You can do phone sex from *anywhere*.
It’s pretty fucking bleak here after NYC. The streets are so narrow, and flamboyancy is not an option. So I’m stealth. My face tat makes folks look twice, and I’ve made a couple of old ladies cross themselves when they see me.
Look, you didn’t do anything wrong. Neither of us did. This whole thing is making me think deep, and that’s always good. I have a tendency to put on a great big smiley face, like all the best circus clowns. I’m just too tired to put on a big ol’ smiley face for you, my love.
::sigh::
