Hit the Fan

it hit the fan today in poet­ry class, but i do not feel vil­i­fied. what i want­ed was dis­cus­sion and by gum i got it. some few were offend­ed, most dis­cussed what exact­ly i was going for, rang­ing from satire to pri­ma noc­ta rights. some want­ed me to make the end­ing dif­fer­ent to acknowl­edge my under­stand­ing of rape = bad. oth­ers dis­agreed. every­one had some­thing to say. all was well. i suc­cess­ful­ly stirred the pot. then i was allowed to speak. i said that there have been a sig­nif­i­cant amount of rape poems writ­ten in this class by var­i­ous peo­ple and that i have had trou­ble engag­ing with­in them. there is the female vic­tim, which women can iden­ti­fy with, but for men there is only the rapist. i said that i do not feel that i am being addressed by these poems.

there was much dis­agree­ment to this. i was told i was wrong, that i was being addressed. alas, there was no more time for dis­cus­sion, because the pro­fes­sor made us move on. if so i would have respond­ed that if i do not feel like i am being addressed but i am sup­posed to be, then there is a fun­da­men­tal prob­lem with the poet­ry. also, i would have said that even if i did feel addressed, i am still offered no frame of ref­er­ence for how to asso­ciate myself as a non-threat­en­ing male toward a vic­tim­ized female. the dia­logue takes place between the rapist and his vic­tim only.

over­all the class became what i want­ed it to. i am quite pleased.

HORK!

i’ve been get­ting emails from the class i dropped late­ly. appar­ent­ly, the group i had signed up to do a pre­sen­ta­tion with at the begin­ning of the year had not real­ized i dropped the class over a month ago. i’ve been rev­el­ing in their email strug­gles to set up a time to meet with my pro­fes­sor. today how­ev­er, my sadis­tic voyeurism end­ed. the prof final­ly real­ized that i was on the email list and was no longer in the class, there­by inform­ing the rest of the group that “Adam Har­vey is no longer a part of the class.” i could sense the ven­om in those words, espe­cial­ly since she sent the email to me as well. poor crap­tas­tic ex-teacher of mine.

in oth­er news, i’m so tired of read­ing poems about rape in my poet­ry class that i am going to fight back. Now, the very fact that each week there is at least one poem a week writ­ten by a girl about sex­u­al assault or rape or the inva­sive, vio­lent aspects of sex, points to a vari­ety of prob­lems. first, that things like this occur on a scale such as this, sec­ond, that even if said writ­ers have not been raped, they still feel that they must write about it con­stant­ly. third, that i have yet to see a poem that is con­struc­tive or feels even slight­ly enjoy­able toward the sex­u­al act. And fourth, that the poems i’ve been read­ing about rape are so uncon­struc­tive and have become so stale that i feel that i must write a poem from the stand­point of a rapist. at first my friend Kate sug­gest­ed i write a poem as if i’d been raped. i imme­di­ate­ly changed it to being a rapist. its quite more con­fronta­tion­al and i think i can chan­nel my exas­per­a­tion after 13 weeks of rape poems quite nice­ly. what is my poet­ry class com­ing to? jee­bus.