now I was in what all those men writers call “an existential position. ” that, contrary to the lewd images that might be evoked because Im a woman, is when youve given up everything youve ever
tried, or havent tried but definitely had planned on. in my case, being quite taken with the arts, that included having mustard rubbed into whip wounds (Henry Miller), fucking Norman Mailer (Norman
Mailer), and being covered in chocolate and licked clean by a horde
of Soho painters (me).
now the problem with telling you what it means for me, bertha
schneider, to be in an existential position is that I dont have Sartres
credibility. I mean, theres just no emotional credibility that I can call
on. look at Jackie Kennedy for instance, there she was, John dead,
her very very rich, and she didnt have emotional credibility until she
married Onassis. I mean, we all knew right away that she had done
the only thing she could do. I mean, if De Beauvoir hadnt been Sartres mistress, do you think anyone would have believed her at all? or look at Oedipus as another example of emotional credibility, suppose he and his mother had fucked, and it had been terrific, and they had just kept fucking and ruling the kingdom together, whod
believe it, even if it was true, or look at Last Tango in Paris, when
Maria Schneider shot Brando most people didnt believe it at all. how
is it possible, they asked, why did she do that? me I believed it right
away.
so look at me. here I am, bertha schneider, someone not so special
as these things go, right with my heels on the existential edge and my
toes curling over the abyss, no men, no women, no boys, and what I
want to tell you, though you wont believe it at all, is that its better
here than its ever been before, bertha schneiders existential position
is that shes not going to be fucked around anymore, now maybe that
doesnt sound like much to all of you but I call it Day One. I figure
that when my mind and body heal its my mother Im going to get it
on with after all. I always did have a high regard for that woman
although it did get obscured by the necessities of daily life, when I
think of bliss, not to mention freedom, frankly its my ma and me
alone somewhere kissing and hugging and sucking like God intended. and despite the obvious pressures I will not have second thoughts, or be unfaithful, or gouge my eyes out. thats my promise to
posterity.
as for my ex-husband, well I didnt have Marias good sense. Im
told he suffered a lot when I left, oh I dont kid myself, it wasnt out of
love or regard or anything like that, whatever he called it. it was
more like when a limping person dripping shit leaves you, you figure
youre in real trouble and even a Clint Eastwood fan has to notice. I
mean, when the baseball tells the bat to fuck off, the games over and
I for one am never going to forget it.
for right now Im reading a book that says women can reproduce
parthenogenetically. its a biology book so I have reason to hope for
the best, frankly Im just going to curl up with that book in any existential position I can manage and concentrate on knocking myself up. I never did like that crap about the child being father to the
man.
how seasons pass
