I am currently reading Dot in the Universe by Lucy Ellmann and find the book outrageous! There are funny instances and mostly weird stuff she wrote. I am even wondering if she was rather high on something when she wrote Dot in the Universe or she is just a plain crazy woman.
And I love it!
Some snippets from the book-
Love, like defecation, is never a settled matter. It forms and re-forms itself, makes itself felt, makes itself a NUISANCE. Merely a vehicle for physical exchange with another- illogical to place so much importance on it.Like all gourmands, Dot and her hubby used food as a substitute for sex. But maybe sex is a substitute for FOOD. Food is essential, sex a LUXURY. Why else would it be so easily SUPPLANTED by shopping, gardening, cooking or watching TV (all unconscious FOOD-GATHERING activities- you may think you're not accomplishing much by watching TV for nine hours but you're actually accumulating DATA that might some day help in the search for FOOD: like a leopard up a tree, you're gaining perspective?)The world is not a unified and harmonious structure. From the baby's desertion of the womb to the clear demarcations between land and sea, night and day, oil and vinegar, chalk and cheese, inside and out, substances see SEPARATION. For every pull towards union there's equal or greater pressure to DIVIDE, disperse, disentangle, disintegrate. You never fully merge with anyone, you never fully UNDERSTAND anyone, including yourself. You come out of nothing, come out with nothing. It would be insulting to MISREPRESENT this, to suggest there could ever be togetherness that made up for how lonely we are.Ah, but near-perfection's not better! The haphazard, the untried. There is no FUTURE in perfection, nowhere left to go. There's no LIFE in it. You stop loving, stop trying, when everything is perfect.You'd think that by now the world would be overrun with ghosts- so MANY dead!- ghosts everywhere, YOUR ghosts getting mixed up with MY ghosts, a hundred to every house, confusing everybody with their thumps and whispers and dropped crockery and eerie trails of smoke. Ghosts in grey, ghosts in green.But they didn't die of ANOREXIA as everyone supposes. They died of BRONZING TREATMENTS, VITALITY DETOXES, MOTHERS-TO-BE SERENITY FACIALS, COLONIC IRRIGATION, BIKINI WAXES and RADIANCE. That ain't no colonic irrigation, honey, that ain't no BIKINI WAX. That's having the SHIT sucked out of you and the PUSSY ripped off you! And a mother-to-be serenity facial just means you get MUD slapped on your face because you got KNOCKED UP.They died of EUPHEMISM. It would kill an OX.This is why ghosts are seen wafting around their old homes: they're looking for their FUCKING BIRTH CERTIFICATE, the original not a photocopy. It's surprising that seances aren't jammed with spirits asking, 'What the hell did you do with my HANDBAG/ BRIEFCASE/ WALLET/ DRIVER'S LICENCE/ EXAM RESULTS?'People act like their child is their own personal DESIGN for the perfect person, but actually they have little control over what the kid becomes.People take you up, embrace you, welcome you, DROWN you in their own particular brand of BARBECUE SAUCE and then they drop you, no explanation offered!Dot's humiliation seemed complete, but wasn't! New facts emerged during the abortion, of physiological, gynaecological, ILLOGICAL nature: Dot had two vaginas and two wombs.In all the sickening concentration on CHILDREN (really a form of paedophilia) and CHILDHOOD (so beloved of psychoanalysts), all this IDEALISATION of children - their needs, their desires, their EQUIPMENT - what about US, what about the middle-aged? WE'RE the ones who are scared and alone.