The fucker uses my metaphors. I mean that's crazy and I know it. You can't own a metaphor. Not really. But I have my metaphors. I want to scream keep your fucking mind off my metaphors. And the part of me that is rational, the very small part of me that is rational at this moment, tells me to take a breath and let go and knock it off. But I'm pissed. And I want a witness. I want to tell the whole story and have a witness who gets it. Except of course I'd be telling it from my perspective and that's not the whole truth and to get it you'd have to have the whole truth. And the rational part of me reminds me of all the things I've come up with to save myself from this pain but that's MY FUCKING METAPHOR and I'm pissed and I'm hurt and it is not fair and it's not OK and I'm not OK. Fuck.
And now I've written a post that will no doubt result in me getting bombed with nasty spam all because it's the middle of the afternoon and I need to concentrate and I can't because I'm so fucking pissed off. It's my fucking metaphor you can't have it. You can't use it. You can have everything else. You do have everything else. Leave my fucking metaphor alone.
But it isn't mine. I don't own it. Of course. Of course. I know that. I need to breathe and let go and let go and let go. But it so fucking not fair. It just isn't. It's just not. What am I going to do with all this rage?
I'm so mad. I'm so fucking mad. I'm just so fucking mad.
Don't anybody tell me to calm down. Of course I'll calm down. I'll take a walk. I'll put this out of my mind. I'll let go and let go and let go. I'll do the work. I will. Do the work. I will do the fucking work. I'll be fine. I'll be here now. I'll see more clearly. I'll see things for what the are. I will do the work. The fucking miserable work.
It's my fucking metaphor. You can not use it.
4 comments:
So I arrive here strangely, via technorati, wondering naturally what this blog is all about...
Your anguish over the use of a metaphor in this way strikes me like a bell because... because...
how easy would it be to write a line, a phrase, or use a metaphor that had been used before, and without knowing whence the source?
Does this person know? Was his appropriation intentional?
It worries me because I use a great many metaphors, and the last thing I would hope for is another person to torture him/herself because we had both independently (or through unconscious allusion) come up with the same idea.
Yes. No.
I mean.
Does this person know?
I don't think so.
Was his appropriation intentional?
I very much doubt it.
I was insane. And ranting. And I should take down this post. But I have a desire to let my worst self be out there as well as my best self. So ...
Does this person know?
I really doubt it.
Was his appropriation intentional?
No. Not at all.
I was clearly off balance when I wrote this. But. I get that way.
You clarified. I see no reason to yank the post unless you yourself are uncomfortable with it. Blogs are too prone to the censorship of the commons as it is: don't listen to us. I was just concerned about what it is we're capable of doing to one another as writers. What I might be capable of doing without knowing. Having lately seen my own words echoed back to me in altered form, I get the feeling, though I don't know whether it's anger or fear. Fear that everything, anything can be appropriated, and without the legal protection of an army of lawyers, the public crafting of words seems more and more risky. What can you do? I don't know. But I wouldn't blame you for feeling anguish. Or expressing it.
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