mad/up words and wom words
a shevolutionary haibun
an owom maytreearchy womocreativa
The way the first war began was when
the tricktriarchy was challenged by
the new unknown element pricktriarchy. Before that everything had been
fine--the cystem worked perfectly. There was only one race, the male race.
All other creatures, as they were so malelabeled, were merely creatures,
that is, tied to nature with all her water and blood and flesh and soil.
There was never any problem with separation
of man and the others within sexhism, and never had been in hisstory as far
back in mantiquity as it
went. Maledumbination, as himbodied in the maxhim, manatomy is destiny,
was just a way of life--the way of life. One, after all, had one's fallow man,
what more could one want?
It was the complacency of the tricktriarchs
that kept them from knowing
that a change was taking place, though every once in a while they had a dishardened dimmenution in their very bones. A few of the manaliezers suspected something, but they were unable to classify what was happening or who was causing it to happen.
They knew from henormous amounts of
mennobling manecdotes that their
wives, servants, oxen, and asses couldn't and wouldn't cause any trouble.
They knew their place just like the men knew theirs. It's got to be coming
from within the malestream, one hackadimic seerr said tentatively, from
right here in our very own supremalecy. Unheard of, were the quick replies.
A meating, however, was called by one
of the past presidense. All the
males--everyone--attended. And even though a meating of this type had
never been held, they followed their usual sirface formulies. They set up
their customary square. The holey byeble was ceremaniously brought in and
their expert byeble profit read passage after passage from the old testicle
which continually states that god is male. Then he turned to the new
testicle which further and forever confirms that male is god.
Being sticklers about freedumb of reliegion,
he concluded with the grate
liene: one in the same, same in the one, which had a way of satisfying all.
The him, 'power-over,' was sung, but since they were in somewhat of a
hurry, only the first eight verses.
Moving right along, a suckcessfull
double pphhdd with all the manswers was called upon. He lectured that all the
malescholarshit confirmed these
mancestral teachings. He spoke of the vast liebrary in which truth was overrunneth, of the mannotated manthologies, and of the gigantic ironclad dickshunary.
Treasures, indeed, all agreed. And,
as if on cue, the wrongwingers rose
enmass and maninfestoed the speech on the virility of male deafinitions
which had been onored since forever. As the voices began to taper off, the menister asked for silence, which he then broke to give the preyer.
Everyone, of coarse, amened and amened.
Finally, the meating proper began.
The menutes were read. The
bureaucrazy was approved. Now, said one of the liecensed diwrecktors,
what we want to find out is: who is doing what and when did it begin to be
done? All one in the same, same in the one began to talk at once. The talk immediately turned into a fistical contest. It got rough. Rougher than usual.
It went beyond winning is everything. It became . . . well, the word was yet
to be contrived.
Above the din of grunts and groans
came a string of slogans: down with the tricks, up with the pricks; pricks not
tricks. Needless to say, after much
man/ia, the pricks won. This heretofore unknown element calling itself the pricktriarchy defeated the tricktriarchy. And, in doing so, the most
practical of all male tools was concocked.
As soon as the squirmish ended, male
being male, they showered together, flipped each other with towels, told jokes
about the armlets in their lives,
made fun of the heroineetteesses menvented for hisstory, and laughed at the hardups among them who couldn't score. And right then and there in the
locker room, the pricks said that if the tricks perked up and got tougher,
they would probably be able to help run things every now and then. Maybe
we would even switch the power-over groups every four or six years, they
said, just for the heck of it. You, too, can be a pricktitioner, one said,
slapping a back side.
Clean and shiny, they met in the lounge
for booze and decided that all
needed a manhoodwinked ceremany to amalegamate themselves and to
reward and rejuvenate their squirm. Since they believed in government by
of for etc the male, all were allowed to participate. Whatever age.
Whatever level of genius. Those who had produced nothing and those who
had produced masterfragments. Male prIde was, after all, male prIde.
So all the boys and men forged another
square, toasted (up with malego!)
their new-found sport, established the term war for it, and after the third
drink, someone cleverly called it 'real war won.' The head printerr entered
war, along with its deafinition (open-ended, because some said they were
already planning 'real war too'--for the fun of it, of coarse) into the
dickshunary. No one seemed to care how drunk the printerr was--all words
that were devised by any of them at any time were always entered, whether misternomers, wrecklamations, or what not. After all, every two or three
hundred years, a committhee would go through and edit or johnit or tomit
any mistertakes that were found. If it wanted to.
With bottles in hand, all marched to the muzemen where a lietenant dickclared conflict to be the solution to all future hisputes, and hemanded the liericist to hevelop a manthem to war, and the mannalist to begin preparing next year's manniversary. That done, they toasted the guylery of phallible icons, the wreckcorded hisstory of truth, the malepractice of professions, the dumbination of the world, and dumbinion over all. Now, thoroughly smashed, they began thinking of lust and entercoarse, and the bash broke up. Each man left in high sexpectation of finding a sexuation. Ah, each said in his own way, to live in a sexhist sexciety is where it's at. It's grate to be male.
When the first indickcations of a new
sort of the male problem became
apparent--some months back--all woms from everywhere had an owom they would soon be seeing one another. This is different trouble, worse trouble, they intuited collectiVely. When the day arrived, each wom sensed it, and all began gathering and talking.
What's happening? they asked each other
and listened. The tricks, some
said, are being challenged by a new group, apparently a self-styled bunch of pricks. Sounds serious, sounds terrible, one wom said. I can occasionally
put up with a trick or two, said another, have even liked a few, but prick
sounds like bad news. Truly bad, they all agreed.
We had better put our heads together,
one suggested, and had better--does anyone remember how?--create a taliswom
in the form of our ancient sister, neander valley wom. Slowly a gathering of
earth and water and red was
formed and shaped. Each wom sat silently and searched her memory and
heart and finally one by one each brought forth an ancient ipro. But, what
are these? some of the woms asked. As they held them in their hands, they began to realeyes that what had been secretly wrapped in brown paper
sacks and only whispered from mother to daughter were their own powerful symbols of womness. Ipro, the sacred image of our goddess and of
ourselves, divined an old wom.
The woms sat together, inwardly aware
that they had formed a circle, and
with wonderness sensed each other's thoughts and feelings. Slowly, even
though they scarcely knew one another--forced to live such separate lives, isolated--they began to look deeply at each other, at all. We don't look--
now that we are truly looking--like hevil woms, they said to one another.
You do not look weak, two said to each other at the same time. You don't
sound frivolous or flighty one sang to another. You don't seem irresponsible
or incapable, said another wom.
We are not! they said altogether. And
one heplorable lie after another that
they had been told about themselves by the manothers was dispelled. They began laughing and crying and hugging. Their aionarap dropped away.
They indiVidually and collectiVely felt it dissolve. The man/acles fell. I see
how my spirit has been damnaged, one wom hissed with stridensee. I'm
croned-off, nagged another. They began croning about all the misterfortunes
in their lives and pursuits. A long wail began which overlaid the noise of
the tricks and pricks.
Each wom expressed her grief in depth.
They spoke of their loss--an
unnamed feeling which they now understood all had carried within. They
were sad. Then all the woms changed their minds and were mad again.
Their mutual anger rose from deep inside and nothing stopped them: they screamed, they screeched, they squawked, they shrieked, they shrilled.
Then the woms drew closer once again and aware that all had started
bleeding began gathering blood from each other. Those past their bleeding
years bled moon memories. Those too young felt churnings in their bodies.
The woms exchanged blood and, covering each with each other's, they
birthed themselves in dance, in song. Wompower, shouted a nine-year-old.
And after the initial shock, all woms joined joyously in the chant.
Cunctipotent, squalled a ninety-year-old--
every wom stopped immediately. That word . . . it's not real, yet it seems real,
some murmured. Oh, yes, it is
very real, creaked the cunning old wom, even in trick/prickglish it is a real word--though it's in few of their dickshunarys. And not only a real word,
but a real power; she does exist! Spontaneously a frenzied dance began,
orgiastic reveling began. A more than naked ritual began. Wet-ons
abounded, goddess spots were discovered, orgasms continued continuously.
A womtra, 'om-wom-om,' filled the air. Witchmas, hagged the old wom, has
At length the sweating and bleeding
woms, with all kinds of sensations of
peace and stridensee and all innate feelings in between, began talking again.
We will create a cuntionary of our own words and our own feelings and our
own thoughts and our own sensibilities. Beginning now! We will redefind ourselves and therefore the universe. We again are a . . . and they struggled
to bring back from the past their word, we again are a maytreearchy. Maytreearchy was the first word formed in the cuntionary.
As in the beginning.
In april the maytreearchy marched.
Each wom felt shejuvenated, and all
left the shetreat with a wondersense of their shevinity and huewomness, of
their sherelatedness. Our sisterfull! passed between their lips as each
marched. We have profound our right to no, our rite to yes, our riot to shevisions. The spiralution is on! was heard throughout the eartha. And
eartha too from her very depth and height and middle was filled with sheuphoria. She could feel the himpurities shevaporate which for too long
had been himposed upon her by himportant himbeciles of the
Sherumbled, sheroared, shespewed. Fatherpieinthesky
came tumbling down
in a tiny splat of flupt. Shecackling and herthunder innermixed in the womosphere at the sight of the himmaculate himception which had been himplanted in all. The hepitome, furyed the woms, of pricktriarchal eddupecation. What a himperfect himage we were told to himitate, vixened
an eleven-year-old wom. More shecackling and herthunder filled the orgynic sky. On with the spiralutionary march, shesnickered eartha.
One wom bansheed as she entered what
once had been her housegrip. But,
but, aren't you my woeman? cried her not-any-more hisband, knowing all
too well that everything now was changed. A wom amazoned as she looked around her former dumbicile and heard, but, but, aren't you my laydy? from
the himfamous himpotent woemaneyezer. Another wom nymphed as she
stood in her once semeningly-tasteful beddoom and watched the mighty
sexspurt jabber, but, but, aren't you my feemale? One wom cunted as mr. himpressive went on and on about the himpersonal sexyouall lieberation and asked, but, but, aren't you my himmodest hookher himmersed in my
Another wom sirened as she peeked into
what once was her brightly-lit
catchin and stared at the himpaired himmortal waiting to be fed. A wom dragoned when an authorihatetive voice began himpinging his views on the mendurance of pricktrimonial marrage vows and rowmanse. One wom
maenaded as a sIre spoke of the maskculine onor of hejackulations for the himperishable heafter.
All over the planet woms were making
known their minds: no more of your intimmendation, no more of your mendependense,
they spinstered. We are
no longer your menettes, no longer your laidys. We see through the
phallicies; but more shewisefully we see through the helitism and hegalitarianism of good guise.
On and on the maytreearchy marched.
On to every governbymen. On to
each demockracy, on to each area of soshallism, and on to each form of
dicktator jurisdicktion and himperialism. On to every amerryca, on to every wishywashyngton of the world. One wom stood between statues of losting fathers and began reading the preramble to the rich white male
All the woms gorgoned over the documen
and shrewed about the pricktriots
who had said it spoke to all. That's what the sucksession of male presidense have said, spiraled the woms. Come out uncle sham, they fated, and we'll
set you straight. And bring out the cabinut, and bring out the male just us cystem, and, in fact, bring out the entire himbalance' asstablishment of
lieberty, they dryaded. If not, norned the woms, we'll get the federal
bureau of infestation after you. Or better still, two woms weirded, the
central imbeciligence agency. Now, the maytreearchy sistered, on to the pentagoof to see how taxus collected by the infernal revenue servethem
have been spent.
Knock, knock, anyone here? They must
be guarding their gnashunal
suckcurity, one wom augured. Or maybe, another one oreaded, they are
watching their bmoviestar wars. Let's look for their bar/gaining table where they perpetuhate arm stalks and world piece with such polittlecal
savvy. Over here, look at the sign on the door: nuclear gladness. From here
the himmeasurable backdoom palicies are himplemented with deadication.
And here's where the joint chiefs of stiff have their himparative male
meatings on the h/arms race.
So this is the himpetus for pentagone
spending, sylphed a wom as she
flipped through the unbudgeit of militearism written by a. pentagoon, the
5th, with a picture of the first atomb bomb as centerfold. In groughed
voices the woms read chapter headings: a bomb a nation; concocked supremalecy; pricktriganda; gnashunalism; pricktrocities; powwar. It is
their himpulsive fistosterone himpelling mannihilation on the world,
nightmared three woms. No more, shesqualled eartha . . . now on with our
On to the tallest buildings, and on
to the smallest buildings of big busyness.
On to the multignashunal corporapetions with their manpowwar and
malechines and dicktation of heconomics and consumer profucktion. Across
to the manufracturers of bads himbued with professionalisn't, and on to the greasy store and salt marrket conglobberates. Who's in charge? hexed the
woms. You can have your himploymen agentcy for addmenistrative hiring of
the upwardly boring. Your alcohaulics and pinchhers. We don't want your mensurance palicies or your hospitiful care from the medical assassociation.
No sirgin or abnormale sickcallogist. Not another heternity at law, spirited all the woms. No more henouncements on prison refirm or aborshun from the himpeccable himmorality of himpudents.
We are through, hagged the woms, with
all of your hessential hacktivities.
On to ball street: out with your redickulous sticks and binds marrket. On to mad/ison havenue: down with your dumbmenhate message through hadvertisements and pornografty and musigals for himmediate herections.
No more taken woemans to please your concept of hequality. In fact, no
more hiscussion of bioillogical destiny and the place of woms in the
faminely or for that matter on the planet.
Eartha shebellowed and shehowled as
the maytreearchy marched further through the dumbmains of pricktriarchy. Right
to the holey allieance of the world's grate reliegions. And on through the himpropriety
of himprovised arkeology and monarcheology. Eartha sheyowled as a wom heathened
the pews of the casholick church, as another wom paganed into the
chainbers of the funddumbmental factshun, as other woms heresyed into the vindicktive isn'tisms of muhammadead and into the pomp and circumcisions
of the orthococks.
And into the biassed godhe of himmaterial
booda. One wom spooked for the menraptured poope to quote the lard's preyer
as another naiaded for
squeezeus christ to arm and get em. Not one more crucifixation. Not
another henominational preachather, not another shameman, not another crushtian sain't, not another isayah, witched a chorus of mad/ams. Not one
more bigit, covened the movemenout alltwogather.
On and on viragoed the maytreearch
marchers. On to the hollowed halls of duelistic diechotomies. In to the menshrined
lieceums and menstitutions of endarkenment and hescapist philossophy. Right
through the himpoverished
age of male rezone and lienear thinking from the manthropocentrick braiwns
of hefensive mancullturationalists. The woms webstered at the scores of background male musick and pages of himpartial litterature. They virgined
at the phallick symballs and pixyed at lieberal and wrong-of-center
dobaders and the compiliar of facts. And more than anything they cunned
at the herasers of woms and wompast. This, the maytreearchs snaked in spiralution with eartha, is a dire misterdeed--unsheforgivable.
Suddenly a shescreech shesounded all
over the planet. And now,
shewrathed eartha, on to that which sherages me even more than all of your hevil abuses of minds, bodies, and spirits--and from the depth of her
cuntionary she brought forth shewords never heard, never dreamed. Even the woms began to shiver as eartha sheraved and sherawed. Nature abhors
a man-filled vacuum, shetantrumed as herlightening shezagged across
hersky. Look what you hewmans have done to my shelightful forests and grasslands, to my shebeautiful rivers and oceans--to all of my shegorgeous me. And oh, oh, to my shemagnificent earthamoon.
A sheawefull sheruckus filled all of
the world. No more of your toxsick
wastes from your heplorable fucktorys, no more of your dieoxin, no more of
your chimical sp/ills and hemissions. Not another heveloper of mendustrialization. No more acid reign. Out with your menvented
newkillair facilitys. No more herosion of my bodysoil, sheshrieked eartha. Menvironmental profucktion agency, defartment of menergy, clean aire pricktitioner, hecologist.
What manrotic contradickshuns and dumbfounded
hedicks, eartha sheblared. Your conservashun, your animal wrongs, your hacks
of god. You have domessticated and contamenhated until you have concocked a
You have dumbmeneered this shewonderful creation into one of diezease
and hestruction with your predicked repeter dicktum man/ia. Your male wisdumb has led to a pricktricentrick deathstyle. But, no more. No longer
will you subdo!
Pricktriarchs everywhere rushed to
their computers of himpending doom, to their lieaphones, to their blackboxes
and buttons. As pricktriarchs
everywhere rushed to push their computers of himpending doom, their lieaphones, their blackboxes and buttons, sheearthaherself poured forth all
of her sheternal and all of her sheforever. Your naycheer is no more, eartha shewhispered. And in a sheinstant there was shevolution.
i am no beginning i am no end
i am chaoscoswommos
from my womwomb all is
from my gynitals all flows
Chaoscoswommos began to shespin. From her womomatter shefolded and unshefolded, and into herself shedelved, humming in herharmony, shethreading in herwrapping, shebraiding hercolors of womosource. Sherounded and sheovaled, shethrilling in her wompulsing, shetrilling as wommoist gynsations shestirred within. In shetwistings and shewhorlings chaoscoswommos shelavished and shelanguished in herflowing. All through herspace chaoscoswommos gynflooded over and again in shelirious sheravishings. Shedampened in herdew. Shemisted in hermazing. Shespreed in herfrolic.
in mysheself i am all that need be
For sheons chaoscoswommos shecentered in herecstatsy, bathing in her shesoft womdulations, arcing in her gyngushings, floating in her womwetness. Shejoyful in heressense of sheslime. Sherotic in sheriotous herstuff. Shemoaning sherupted in sheswells of womooze . . . shemurmurings of sherisings and shesettlings, and of more sherisings. As sheons and sheons passed, chaoscoswommos sheplayed and shemused, shememoryed and shethought. Shesearched her womtality. In one shemoment of shechurning chaoscoswommos shesought deep into shewareness of hermystery:
shesharing i will make myself into ourselves
sheyes again i will shegive a big birth
In a leap of shedancing chaoscoswommos unsheshrouded her shespirit. In a song of shesinging chaoscoswommos unsheveiled her womiverse. As hercolors sheflashed and shespread, chaoscoswommos begin to shedrip and to shespatter throughout hervastness.
Chaoscoswommos sheformed her wombrane, sheprepared her womolecules, shereadied her double womosomes. Shepulsated herparticles, sheswirled hervapors, shescattered hercarbons. Shecycled her sheclipses. And in womovoice to all in her sheswelling womwomb:
i give you hydrogyn nitrogyn oxygyn shelium
i give you parthenogynesis wommutations
i give you moon moonstruation moonopause
i give you yourselves womocreativa
In shespiraling, sheheaving and shebreathing, in sheblissful shespasms and sherapturous shesweating, in gynprimal shescreaming chaoscoswommos sheopened into herself. Of every hue, age and shape sheplants and sheplanets throbbed forth, of every hue, age and shape shemountains, shewaters, shestars sprang forth, of every hue, age and shape all-legged and no-legged sheanimals surged forth, and woms of every hue, age and shape whirled forth. Alltwogather eachherown orgynism shebounded into the womvironment. Shedanced into the sheocene of shelife.
As tallgrasswom awoke she knew from her womdream that this day was to be her moonarche. In the warm pool rippling with reeds, she soaked in the sky, then lay on the bank glowing in delight. She felt herself join more deeply with eartha beneath the lingering full moon. The woms sensed tallgrasswom's joy as she returned to the gather and began to prepare. Tallgrasswom unwrapped her piece of seasoned wood and turned it over and over in her hands. Humming and carving she brought out her image.
The woms circled around and a greenbowl of nourishment was shared. Singing spread among all as they followed tallgrasswom to the grove of images. She placed her shapespirit near that of her mother's. Then tallgrasswom bent down and in eartha scrawled:
into blood more as moon more as wom
Sparkling stars lit the gather as woms drew near each other. It was the waning moon knowing-time, the nodding-time for the beginning of a babywom. All knew that fernfrondwom was not ready, that leapinglightwom had no interest, that flowerpetalwom was nearing moonopause. And just as easily all the woms sensed that deepwaterwom glittered from her face, glowed from her body. Old silvermoonwom began the nodding chant. Deepwaterwom glistened under the stars as the hum turned to fingers and eyes of yes. She smiled at her chosen mid-sisters and in preparation for the grove of fertility-gathering, deepwaterwom scribbled in eartha:
with eartha out of eartha with wom through wom
On the day of longest days, of sun at her dazzling height, old treebarkwom spoke softly to the gather of her mindheart design to complete her moontime. For a long space the silence of woms was heard within the flutter of leaves. At length two sisters moved slowly with treebarkwom to the wading river, to the bathing river. As flowers were braided in her hair and as red was smoothed into her skin, treebarkwom droned the song of her mothers for her daughter, rockmosswom.
When she finished, rockmosswom returned the song to her mother, both smiling, all smiling in the wonder of treebarkwom, and of her spirit to continue within each. And on the night of the shortest nights the gather journeyed to the grove of further change. There in the barest of light treebarkwom with the barest of movement scratched in eartha:
birth of wom harvest of wom
In the cave of womsigns runningvinewom was nodded shawom for the moonly womlink. Within the deepbreath circle each wom turned inward for a time to find that special moment of her day to share. When runningvinewom sensed that all were in the moment, she stirred the fire into reds and at the wall stirred her paints into color. She knew that some would want only to speak their womlink and others would nod for her to womsign. Shadows flickered and innermixed with the splashing of womsigns as each wom hummed a moment of her shebeing.
muzemen pronounced: mu ze' men; wom rhymes with dome; aionarap: paranoia, backwards; cunctipotent 'all powerful, omnipotent'
three painting series included with
'the great mad mother earths plus a glad'
Kyoto Journal #33 1997 ('heresy and orthodoxy' issue)
series since '79 contents'
'cave painting: womtra: om-wom-om'
'haibun: mad earths in my room'
back to 'essays reviews haibun self-interviews self-reviews contents'
back to 'main contents'