more thoughts about stories that may or may not be told

I’m staying away from the whole voice/lies/literature thing that’s been bouncing between burningBird, Jonathan, stavros, etc. (My only contribution directly is to say that maybe Dorothea had something, talking about learning to read too early, and that I was reading at three as well.)

instead, I’m turning towards something that I finally read today which turns around in entirely the other direction: To all the guys I’ve f[*]cked before. I had clicked on it originally, from Joe Clark’s home page, not thinking that he meant it literally. but he did; there is a list, by description rather than name, with the brief story of his interaction with the man in question. wonderful evocative writing that doesn’t shy away from the intimate (and sexual) details. there’s an “explication” at the bottom (linked from the title, but I didn’t notice that at first), which goes into his philosophy of life as a person in the modern world:

But what has not been recognized is that mores have evolved yet further so that the former order is inverted. Young people disclose or discuss things unless they have a fantastically persuasive reason not to, and that standard is considerably higher now that almost nothing is embarrassing or shameful anymore.

I find the idea liberating, compelling, and terrifying, in something of that order. I have a story not entirely unlike Joe’s (okay, quite unlike, but not dissimilar, if that makes sense), which I have told, but only in person, to friends. There are details that I think make great story, and people who were fascinating characters. (I’ve even already been thinking about stories of the past that have yet to be told, not all in the vein of Joe’s.) and like Joe, I find I can’t not write, despite my last entry; there are almost always words forming themselves in my head, even if they’re not anything more than a retelling of my day.

on the other hand…I worry about what other people think. I know, it’s old school of me, but I spent most of my “real” life around people who are not part of the generation Joe describes. (that thought, in and of itself, deserves an entry that will never be written.) I admire people like Joe and Mark, but I’ve not yet the trust in either myself or my world to follow them. I am too shy, too self-consious, too closeted about half-a-dozen things that probably aren’t even worth the effort.

I can’t tell you how sad that makes me.