(92) Potty Mouth

I average about seven people a year inquiring about my word choices. Most of them want to know why I swear so much. All of them, with one lonely exception, have been male. Let’s be specific, shall we? None of these inquiries occur during a philosophical debate, where word choice is an active and evolving part of the discussion (or, they do, but these are not the situations under scrutiny here). These are not points made after I have asked someone to edit my ish. (Or, again, they are, but those occasions are fine. CONTEXT/shut up.) A few of them have trotted the disgusted pony right out of my online existence, pinched cheeks splurting affronted turd splatters with every defiant buck. “Too many f bombs for meeeeeeeeee!” splurt

People want to know, I guess. I do know other words. I use them frequently. They are aware of this. Why, then, do I deliberately, belligerently, defiantly, uncontrollably, insist on using such offensive language?

My life isn’t a pretty picture book with a clickbait title and a texture grab like a furry white rabbit in the middle of it. My life is everything, all of it, relentless and unapologetic and raw. It is mundane and casual and tends to sneer at my attempts at optimism. Of course it has its delicate moments; tender gestures and aching soaring love and wordless nuance that cannot be replicated. Most of my life, most of any, I would argue, is crass and brutal, and often cruel and disgusting. Life is hard; it isn’t fair and it isn’t even gentle with any real consistency. It hits me without mercy. I wouldn’t, for even a fragment of a sentence, dream of selling that reality short. That is life. I can love it or hate it, but I cannot deny it. If I know enough words to bring people to tears with my care and my soul and my unwavering deliberation, then I will damn sure communicate just as accurately the bulk of raw and uncompromising brutality that is such an integral part of being alive. Fuck a form of communication that edits out the horror and the chagrin, the malice and the bite. Fuck a life that is a synopsis because to be more might be upsetting.

It goes back to the point of criticism. What is the goal? Mine, my word choices, are clear. If they aren’t, I happily explain or edit accordingly. *Side note: no one has second guessed the meaning behind my cussing festivals. The meaning is clear. The decision and intent is obvious. Therefore, what is the reason for the ask? Why ask me why I swear? It’s about control. I’m not that person they can pocket and yank out whenever they want something clever and safe. I’m not interested in what they need me to be (docile, gentle, pretty, coy, clever but not smart, classy etc etc etc), and as such, I am unsafe. If I decide to be any portion of their caricature, it is on my own terms and entirely independent of their conclusions. They have no power, and as such, I am threatening to them.

There’s a quote by Stephen Fry that everyone throws at you when they want to tell you to get over yourself.

“ ‘I find that offensive.’ It has no meaning; it has no purpose; it has no reason to be respected as a phrase. ‘I am offended by that.’ Well, so fucking what.”

The quote is never thrown at someone who is yawping about immigrants stealing jobs or how black on black crime is the reason for police brutality or how the war on Christmas is the definition of oppression. No. It is always always thrown at people, mostly minorities, who dare to claim that their experience involves abuse. Honestly, I love Stephen Fry. I love that quote, too. As far as offense goes, if you’re not willing to nail someone’s shittiness to a public entrance with a step-by-step cactus-fucking penal code next to it, then what is the point, really. Just be quietly annoyed and then have some wines and realize whoever pissed you off is just as irrelevant as most dicks on the planet and go about your business per usual. But when people (AHEM white people) throw this quote at minorities who have had enough and are not, contrary to popular gaslighting tactics, just meeping petulantly about inconsequential shit, they aren’t bringing up this quote to share with you some nuance about the English language that you didn’t know about. They are doing it to put you in your place. To control you and diminish your voice and your story.

So, here’s my fucking story, assholes. Now you know why I swear. Don’t forget to rub neosporin all over the splintered mess in your ass crack from the jizz crusted cactus wedged in there.