Author: lilbaoboy

No, this is not my self declaration of straightness and returning to the closet. However, I think that Feeling Utopia by Muñoz offers me another layer to think about my identity and how political it can be. It strikes me with some kind of loss of words when I read, “We have never been queer, yet queerness exists for us as an ideality that can be distilled from the past and used to imagine a future.” When I think of the past especially as it pertains to queer history, I think of Marsha P. Johnson — a trans activist who fought and envisioned a society that would accept and redeem a community of people who have been outcasted by society. Much of the work we see today is built on the foundations that Marsha and many others have laid for us to walk on. With this in mind, Muñoz asks us to consider queerness that “propels us forward”. This rhetoric of looking back to move forward is something that is deeply engrained in practices outside of queerness as well. I think of oral traditions and master practices that are only continued and thriving because younger generations have taken on the skills of the ancestors and teachers before them to continue the lineage defined by them. Moreover, knowing what has been done gives you more direction to understand what still needs to be accomplished.

Why does this matter, and what does it have to do with being queer? Well, If we think about queerness as potentiality — something that could be in the future, it then becomes something we constantly fight for to maintain this presence for a future. We’re nearly over half-way through 2023, and the abundance of incoming news about tragedies that hit queer communities and people of color is disgusting. It is clear we are still a long ways away for fighting for a rightful seat at the table and to actually be listened and heard. To be queer is an act of resistance, a movement in a way to normalize what has been deemed abnormal. Using the “past to imagine a future” in a way Muñoz has an optimistic outlook on what he sees can be a future for queer people.

This “ideality” is an interesting word to me. What does it mean to be ideal? My definition can look so different from what you might think and in a way I think that’s the beauty of it. The future of my queerness is infinite and ever fluid — why should it be constrained to fit one niche box. Policies in our system create rigid blocks that police our queerness and undermine our complex identities. When I think of ideality, I think of a nature in which the complexities and nuances of queerness could be seen.

Using this framework of queerness as an ideality for a future, in a way it brings me back to Brokeback Mountain — and the ideality that Jack had for Ennis and himself to have an idealized life together. It is because of the lingering stigmas that exist in the parameters of even their story that it diminishes a potentiality for even a queer future for the two of them. Their story thrives within Brokeback Mountain, but in the “real world” it is only a fantasy.

I have been really thinking about this idea, of what it really means to put language to an identity. Especially how it signifies, symbolizes, and gets used. This thought also renders me quite a predicament when language isn’t used to label identity, and rather abandons it all together. Without the use of language, can we still rely on simple experiences to explain our identity? In Annie Proix’s, Brokeback Mountain, Ennis and Jack have just had their first sexual encounter “Without saying anything about it both knew how it would go for the rest of the summer, sheep be damned” (15). Here, words seem to cease from their vocabulary and yet with this line it insinuates that both Jack and Ennis will continue on their sexual escapades. I also found this to be an almost comedic approach to lessen the sexual  tension between the two. Rather than admit to the enjoyment of each other’s company, instead they recognize their future failure to uphold their duties as sheep herders. 

Following this, in a conversation between Jack and Ennis, “Ennis said ‘I’m not no queer,’ and Jack jumped in with ‘Me neither. A one-shot thing. Nobody’s business but ours… They believed themselves invisible” (15). In reading this exchange between the two, I couldn’t help but re-read this section over and over again. After having read the two having sex together initially, and more and more taking risks each time – I had to ask myself is this maybe not queer? Ennis would definitely say he is not gay, but the actions he takes would convince us otherwise. Does having “queer” sex make us queer? Taking a deeper look, “queer” in the context for myself as I read over this line, is probably much different than how “queer” for Ennis would look like. It reminded me of how Eli Clare had examined language with explicit vs implicit definitions. “Queer” in a sense for Ennis might possibly represent something so obscure from his identity that it makes it hard for him to acknowledge it as his own. This framework also related me to this idea of  Halberstam’s “metronormativity” where it is believed that being LGBTQ is only appropriate and safe for the cities, and where rurality ceases the cultivation of these experiences. However, I think even as Jack and Ennis claim their heterosexuality on the mountain – the connection that they have been able to find on Brokeback mountain supports this greater claim that queer life can exist and flourish in rurality. It may be because of the “rurality” of the mountain that allows them to explore what “queer” means for them.

 

Certainly, we know language to be a powerful tool. The words we use can easily uplift those around us as it can be inflicted to hurt people. The infliction of this pain can take up many different forms as it isolates, eats, and destroys you from inside out. In reading Eli Clare, his words are chosen carefully and openly explained to describe their unique experience as a person intertwined with many identities. In the chapter of stones in my pockets, stones in my heart – it bubbles with the emotions in which words can interact with the way he experiences them. Especially as disabled queer person, “All too often, the thieves plant their lies, and our bodies absorb them as the only truth. Is it any surprise that sometimes my heart fills with small gray stones, which never warm to my body heat?” (152). While it is clear to see Clare’s commentary on the way that people’s actions and words have negatively affected his life, the use of the word “thieves” poses a more insidious imagery. A thief, someone who takes something without asking, insisting that Clare’s thieves robbed him of his own identity. This idea of stealing and reclaiming makes me think about how some words in the queer community are in the process of being reclaimed. Words like “faggot” that have far too long been used as weapons pointed at queer people to deminish their queerness. By using it, steals power from those who carry its title like a target. In turn Clare says we give these “lies” much too power for them to hold. 

In reading Ecofeminists perspectives with how climate change is inherently connected with queer studies, it is interesting that the words he uses like “plant”, “absorb”, and “stone” have associations with nature and the environment. This I see as not a coincidence, as much of Clare’s life is also defined by nature and childhood in Port Orford. These moments with nature gives us a glimpse of Clare’s thinking in the perspective of how he views the world around him. There is also something to be said about the ways that bodies are inherently plants as well requiring the necessities of food, air, and water. These foils also exist as Clare talks about “gray stones…never warm[ing to] body heat” – when plants aren’t provided with the necessities to function, it inhibits their survival. Therefore, just as the gray stones inhibit the bodies’ ability to function properly and to “warm”. This is layered with the idea that the words inflicted on Clare’s body stole his ability to function. 

Thinking bigger, Clare’s experience dealing with the dynamic power struggles of those who have torn him down asks us to consider why we allow the power of words and language get the best of us. In a way, thinking of Michael Warner’s, Trouble with Normal, we are also asked to embrace the ways that have been deemed abnormal and different. Why do we insist on sticking to patriarchy and the heteronormative standards? When the words have no longer served its purpose then they have no use.

It has been pretty clear how much of a chokehold Louise has had on our narrator per say. One of the themes that this novel dives into is the idea of morality and the way that extra-marital relationships can affect lives Winterson writes, “We were patient enough to count the hairs on each other’s heads, too impatient to get undressed” (162). The use of the words “patient” and “impatient” bring the tone of carefulness and un-carefulness that juxtapose Louise and Elgin’s relationship versus Louise and the narrator. Careful enough to not get caught around Elgin, but willing to risk it all when Louise and the narrator are together. “Undressed” also undoubtedly has the connotation of eloping. It is also emphasized to a certain extent the extra initiatives in place to tread lightly by the use of the metaphor of tediously counting hairs.  Another huge theme throughout the novel is vulnerability. We catch glimpses of these moments which allow myself as a reader to peer into who this narrator really is. Winterson follows by writing, “Neither of us had the upper hand, we wore matching wounds” (163). The narrator expresses this feeling of remorse, and shares the ultimate lose-lose situation because they know that what they are pursuing is something that can ultimately cause pain on both ends. Whether or not the narrator ends up with Louise, someone has to get hurt and that acknowledgement can also fuel that desire and passion of being “impatient to get undressed”. It is also important to note the references to body parts; “hairs”, “hands”, and “wounds” – the recurring theme of limbs and body parts reveal the way that bodies hold and an important variable to connecting with others in the perspective of the narrative. Written on the Body, as a title also queues us to believe there is something to be discovered or learned from the body. These few lines alone – show us how our bodies can carry so much of what we know without words. The narrator goes on to describe, “Skin is waterproof but my skin was not waterproof against Louise. She flooded me” (163). By stating almost an achilles heel for Louise, the narrator shapes our perception of her to be this epitome of “love” on a pedestal. While the narrator’s use of poetic form insinuate a deep feeling for Louise, it also brings in a factor of “distorted” pain. What I am trying to say is that the feeling that also triggers connection and vulnerability with Louise, also ties with feelings of instability and worry.  To be flooded with emotions can have both a positive and negative connotation. I think a big reason for this is the societal norm founded through monogamous christianity. While this relationship exists outside of this circle it causes the internal questioning but also the questioning of the relationship itself.