spring is here & tucson is in the 70s. i slept as hard as i have in a while, no dreaming, on old sheets ive been meaning to change for days now which i just made clean right this moment. if there is anything i got from granny taylor--i should be so lucky--it's the ability to live louder than most--though ive kept this facet mostly internal, esp in the years of my late twenties. granny had a roaring cackle laugh that made people raise eyebrows & think goodness gracious, though the place she laughed from, always to me, was pure & beautiful. hence, i decided along w/ clean sheets to live a loud year--to finish my twenties being particulary robust. why not? thurs afternoon comes: scream out the window. what a happy practice--my smile was from such a pure place afterwards, & i felt brilliant, truly, truly brilliant. go wake the neighbors w/ this animal delight. norma jean taylor seems to me now more like a french grl than american. in all her stories to me as a child she seemed indignant to the hilt, & i loved that. packing all her stuff in a wheelbarrow & hauling it up the hill to stay w/ her granny when she was a child. always acting out. loud. jitterbug in the kitchen. one of the first women in the south to see a therapist--she had to drive hundreds of miles--which surely meant she was crazy. she stuck out, especially coming out of a culture where women arent necessary supposed to be so 'independent spirited' & 'outspoken.' i like how in french movies the lamenting grl goes out into the yard & kicks the tree, full of grief or whatever it may be (it can be so little, sometimes) & rids herself of through spectacle. i like those movies. american grls dont typically kick trees & involve themselves in great spectacle/s. a nation of drama in fact--every player, plays--but the violent bear it away (all debt to ms o'connor, i love) & we grls tend to stay inside the house as is perhaps 'code.' perhaps it's that our american men are quick to call us women 'crazy' as is. this is true. american men might be more adolescent than most it seems to me--that is until they hit 40, as my mama's aunt jean tells her: men are just no good til they hit 40. perhaps that is a true statement. perhaps women should not care if their men call them crazy as they kick the yard tree. this, thank you, norma jean, is my 2011 stance. you think i was defensive (or whatever you thought), that id be always alone--what a joke--this is me kicking the tree, gleeful or lamenting or whatever i want--this is me waking the neighbors w/ such animal delight. i think mandy got a lot of this too--& it is just starting to come out of her now. she is strong; she is not going to sit quiet. i hope she is cussing & kicking a tree in LA right now; i hope she gets this senseless nastiness & cruelty out of her body brought on my a cruel man, & then moves on in a magical way. we women do not have to keep it/bear it away. im so sick to death of men acting out in their spectacles--drunk at bar, fighting at bar, headbutting cars, screwing young grls when they should not be--im so sick of it i could break a tree in half. get it out, get it out, so that i may move on in a magical way.