I'd like to meet:
On This
© Trina Rose, February 2007.
Let's consider that there are no boundaries between us. Let's
consider that "us" is a fiction, which maintains the schema of Self
vs. Other. Let's consider that we are really not an "us" (you + the "you" of me, "u" + "u" = u [plural] = "us") but that we are a
"this" without a "that". Here's a tiny story of my past: When we were
children, my brother and I named our pet finches This & That. This was
our favorite, and That died prematurely (probably because of it).
this: (pronoun and adjective) courtesy of dictionary.com
1. Used to indicate a person, thing, idea, state, event, time, remark,
etc., as present, near, just mentioned or pointed out, supposed to be
understood, or by way of emphasis: This is my coat.
Let's consider that we are a "this": a person, a thing, an idea, a
state, an event, a time, a remark, a present, just mentioned. Keep
reading and you'll find that we are "this"; we are not "us". We are
"this" without a "that" to its opposition. A "that" is a fiction
because whatever falls under the category of That is still undoubtedly
This. Really. I promise. Look at the second example:
2. Used to indicate one of two or more persons, things, etc.,
referring to the one nearer in place, time, or thought; opposed to
that: This is Liza and that is Amy.
That is a fictitious opponent to This because That is created only in
the process of maintaining the This. That is a byproduct of This, a
form of This, mediated only by the abstract notion of distance from
reference, place, time or thought. Here's a secret: there's nothing
substantial in that distance. Here's another secret: the distance is
only merely passing as Real.
And therefore, there is no "us". We are simply This. Really. I
promise. In referencing Liza as This, the model positions Amy as the
That. Would Liza have a name if Amy never spoke to her? We are
making the This, so let's cultivate it and rid ourselves of the Thats.
Let's stop making the Thats. Thats are fictions.
Myspace helps us cultivate the This. www.myspace.com/misstrinarose is
not MY space. It is our space; a virtual, abstract, party. We're
dancing with the clicks of our mouses and the tips of our fingers,
navigating, flirting and socializing with our eyes. It is as much THIS as it is
near to reference and just mentioned. Be mindful that it is easy to be
seduced into thinking that we are Self and Other [you being "Self", me
being "Other"]. But we are not This & That/Self & Other (remember?
it's a faulty schema). We are simply This.
Now let's talk of the fiction of the Self:
We are seduced, deliciously, into believing that we are separate
beings; that I, me, www.myspace.com/misstrinarose is something Other
than your own "self", the "you", the "me" of yourself and your
www.myspace.com/fill-in-your-name-here. Please don't be afraid. One of the truths of the This is: I create your you and you create my me. We are in contract; we agree to do this/This. It's a simultaneous and mutual transaction. Through it, we maintain the dominant schema (Self & Other) but if we look further, larger, wider...we realize that we are caught in the tangles of limited language and limited conceptual models! We are This. Look! You can write on my
page, on my virtual representation, my new media body. You are on my
space and now I am on yours.
Well, what about the body? Ha! The greatest fiction of all!
You do not own the "you" (not even the materiality of the "you"); it is
public property! We kiss, we fuck, we breathe, we sneeze, we touch
everyday and all the time! The "you" has many investors buying and
selling at every moment. The body is like money: it is
printed on and produced by the employees of the MINT, written all over with text like capital and shaped by the legislators of the Real into coins and bills; some of us made dollars and some of us
are made pennies, nickels, dimes. We are complicit (I'm not sure why) like improv theatre performers in the "Yes and..." game to participate in this value system. My dears, the body is fiction. Don't be mistaken.
This very webpage is an extension of my “bodyâ€: this is Trina Rose too
in as much as is the material entity you know as "Trina Rose",
brown-eyed and 4'2''.
See, this is why I know the body is a fiction:
When I enter a room,
my body somehow screams something very loudly. Very unnerving. I can't
hear it though, because my ears are too close to its output source. Yes, it must be a very loud sound as if it were that elephant in the room roaring as it lifts its trunk and we're hesitant to exchange glances with it or words (even to each other), despite the fact that we all feel the vibrations of the roar through the soles of our shoes. The only thing to do is to bow our own heads to look down at our own "body" in an effort to secure for ourselves the fiction that we have a "silent" one of our own. When I'm not a vibration-feeler but I recognize the bodies looking at themselves, I touch my nose: it doesn't feel like a trunk and I don't think I'm roaring. Sometimes, I know that my body must be singing like the music-maker on the L train walking through the aisles with his hat upside down in his hand (he is another kind of elephant in the room but this time, bowed heads mean something different: It is a sign for the music-maker to know that he is denied both acknowledgement and offerings). When this happens, when I feel like the L train music-maker, I look at my hands to see if I’m holding out a hat- I’m not. Does the scream, does my body-music beg you to listen? What do the lyrics ask of you? Is it a painful sound? Does it sound like the mermaid Sirens? I’ve been searching for the volume knobs for decades (not to turn down the music, but to turn it up so I actually can hear it too). So, you see: the material body is fiction because it is sometimes music, or it sometimes screams, or it sometimes asks for a favor, a gift. More accurately though, it is text on the social pages of the This. My body is a sentence with a footnote # , or * to the top right of it and the corresponding meaning shifts quite rapidly under my feet when I walk around, in and out of social spaces and in and out of time too. All of This creates the "body" of me, the fiction of me, the meanings of me, the Other -- hence the body of you, the meaning of you, the fictions of you, the Self.
The institutions that pride themselves on their "political correctness" refer to this specific me by a body-fiction: "a little person".
person: (noun) courtesy of dictionary.com
6. The body of a living human being, sometimes including the clothes
being worn: He had no money on his person.
By this logic, if I suddenly grew past my current inches, they'd probably call me a "trans-size-ual" or a "trans-heightual", placing yet another word in the sentence that is my body, another * or footnote and another cacophonious chord in the melody of the music. That/that is a waste of time, energy and language of our This. If they only knew that the body is a fiction (I'm on your space on
myspace and you're on my space and on myspace and we're This: me & you, Self + Other), if they figured this/This out, their categories will implode from the outside, in.
Now, if you're in on my project: touch the screen of your computer. Or
just move your mouse around. Or click on something. Engage with This.
Keep moving, keep thinking, keep breaking more and more walls
(conceptual and otherwise) for the great collapses! Let’s make more room so every socially-identified Other can engage too. Let’s remember that we are This, collectively and That is a fiction.
When you see, once again, another representation of "Trina Rose", remember that this/This is the project its working towards: exposing This as our stage (extending & extending & extending far beyond its putative structural boundaries) and This as our play and This is a truth and That is a fiction. (Please don't reprimand this piece of This for wearing red lipstick; I promise it’s worn with a feminist/anti-ableist/un-heterosexist/anti-racist consciousness). Engage PASSIONATELY all the representations of "Trina Rose" (the "body" version, the www.myspace.com/misstrinarose, the pictures and the literature copyrighted under the name) in a
conversation, or in a challenge, or in a kiss, or in sex, or a tea party, or in other material/spatial/conceptual sects of the This. Then, let’s re-read This (let's try to listen to its songs) and then, let's re-create it.
© Trina Rose, February 2007.