Cuntfessions

Welcome to the online home and personal website of Prolix Kant aka Sarah aka anyone else I may be cosplaying at the moment. I'm using this website to conglomerate all my work under one crackhead...or masthead, whatever.

I've been struggling with questions of identity lately. Not the easy ones, like who am I? Or what is my purpose? Or that laughable old chestnut why was I born? The ones that I have been kicking around at night in my bathtub while I try to sleep are more: is privacy a relic of the 20th century? In a world with around the clock surveillance, is it even worth having a private life anymore? Why do we only want to put our best foot forward, so to speak, especially when we are so fascinated watching other people getting their feet dirty? (feet porn for sale, enquire within) Why should we hide the worst parts of ourselves, in a world where capitalism inveigles us to love ourselves so it can sell us more bullshit?

I've been trying to juggle the different parts of myself, unsuccessfully. I've alway said that metonymy is the root of all evil. I usually thought of this in an economic context, the way capitalism wants us to trade our time and efforts and labor for our survival. But I see now that interacting with others requires certain synecdoches of the self too. Some are for practical reasons, of course; we don't need or want to have everyone know everything about us. But what happens when a self has to suppress itself so much that life doesn't feel worth living anymore? That is where I was before I started asking myself these questions. I've tried so hard to find other people who would understand me, but I've come up empty so many times I've decided that being a part of society is the ultimate circle jerk/jerk circle. We are not made to fit in to this world, we were made to expand its edges, that it might accomodate those like us who will come after.

I am envisioning life now as part social experiment, part art project, part mental illness/meltdown upon realizing that the modern notion of self is starting to just be a bunch of simulacra of selves we curate to look good for the camera and for whoever is spying on us at the other side of the screen to scry us into existence. Late stage capitalism makes whores of us all. Some us flash our gashes for cash, some of us beat up our bodies and grind them down to construct whatever empire we're enslaved to at the moment, some of us splay open our longitudinal fissures and shake out our brains to pay the pipers. The machinery of money and power wants us all to each be our own brand manager, turn ourselves into its products. I want to make my life an attempt to mismanage the brands from belonging that would otherwise burn me.