maurice

i am maurice.

i have lost my scissors for the moment, ergo if anything inside my brain wanted to jump out and attack me, i would be defenseless against myself.  but this seems a safe enough topic, mocking myself for my edwardian tendencies--my belief that, no matter what the monstrosities in my head are, if i just behave (in public) like a lady, don't complain, and suffer in silence, one day someone will have to love me.  they'll see this self i've worked so hard to invoke for what it is--monstrous yet fine, beyond its own bounds because huge and ungainly, but fully inhabited, helpless against its own individuality, and therefore worthy, in some ravaged, broken, yet powerful way, of being seen as beautiful...

our struggles aren't the same: i'm not a gay man in edwardian england; i'm a bi woman inhabiting a time in which i could marry just about anything.  my struggle isn't with an illegal identity; it's with the beast locked in the cabinet of my memory.  but in every other way i am maurice: my mind is a brutal, slow-blooming plain--it responds to force, fire and rain--raw-hungering thunder and lightening-like pain--soul gutting the marrow--taught by its flesh--

to accept
no untrue
rest

captive will

in speaking of free will, i'm thinking in private terms.  i'm not thinking about nature versus nurture, chaos theory, God's will, fate, or the idea that time is fixed because people who look at us from their star will have to see the same thing in a thousand years that we do now.  i'm adopting as a premise, just because the argument to come requires it, that no matter how spelled out the future is (from whatever perspective), the human within it as a general rule cannot know it, hence the fallacy--or the mathematics--of free will.

so.  grant me the premise that it makes no real difference whether or not free will exists, because it's necessary to act as if free will exists.  grant me that life is supposed to be filled, technically, at least, with infinite possibilities.  it doesn't make a difference, and that's the frustrating thing.

the situation is supposed to be that, sure, we may not be able to go backwards in time, or sprout wings, but we can act however we want...but we can't.  take this scenario, in which i want someone who is wanted by someone else.  a combination of my discomfort with the situation of wanting said person, and being unwilling to hurt the "someone else" in the case, leads me to back down.  could i have made another decision?  according to the laws of possibility, yes.  but in reality, no.  just no.

not on any oracular plane.  not because aliens a thousand light years away will have to see my action as just such an action.  but because i myself can't do anything else.  if i had this decision to make a thousand times, a thousand times i would make the same decision.

it's not just my stupidity and stubbornness at play.  it's something larger, if only slightly--i am doing what i am capable of doing, making the choices i am capable of making.  i'm operating at my limit.  i'm always operating at my limit.  hence no choice is really chosen.  it may be a product of will, but not free will.