Some women are emotionally invested in the butch/femme dynamic, but I’m not. I’ve discovered I just don’t care enough about it. This came up early this morning. Sitting around the campfire. One of our tents was dusty. Too dusty for Ally to sleep in. We were trying to figure out a way to clean it, but we didn’t have a broom. I wondered out loud if anyone had a Dustbuster. So then Ally tells me I’m femme, cause a butch wouldn’t even think anything like that.
So just like that I got tossed around from one category to another. Their standards, not mine. My standards say I am the same person I was a second before that thought crossed my mind and flew out my mouth.
Security is stressful, not because I’m afraid of bugs or strange noises, but because I’m afraid of men and their rage. Some guy rode by the front gate last night and yelled at us. Police stopped him, found out he was drunk so he got taken in custody. I like not being at the front gate. Men are willing to kill and brutalize to maintain control. Womyn usually are not. Then again, womyn don’t have control. Maybe Womyn would if they had control?
It’s 3:45 pm. WOC poety salon is going on.
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