Hi everyone! Veldie here. Court’s magnificent Metaphysical Vagina installation to the Curls blog has inspired me to put a little bit of myself out there for the blog as well. Also, I’ve got a few glasses of wine in me, so I can let the verbage flow. Boom.
I’m not gonna lie. I had to google the word “Metaphysical” to find out what it meant. Upon reading the definition, I didn’t feel so bad for not knowing anything about it. It’s obscurity at its best and since I’ve never taken a philosophy course, I’m ok with feeling a bit removed from the trancendental ideas that Court is implementing. Plus, I’m a realist. I’m grounded. I can really relate to what we physical experience on this physical earth.
So that leaves me to blog about one very obvious thing in response to Court’s brilliant Metaphysical Vagina installation: my very own birth.
First of all, think about this: We’ve all touched a vagina unless we were torn from our mother’s uterus by a latex glovened doctor. (Please let “glovened” be a word) For those of us who were lucky enough to be pushed out of the birth canal, we’ve all got something in common. And even those of us who were removed surgical-style were very well on our way down the vagina path before modern medicine intervened. Vaginas are the highway to life.
My life in particular began during a perilous snowstorm that pop-culture writer Chuck Klosterman profiled in his fictional book Downtown Owl. If you look through the first pages of the book, you’ll find a copy of an article from the Fargo Forum dated February 5th, 1984; my birthday. The article summarizes a freak snowstorm that ended up killing four people on Fargo’s 19th Avenue. Four people isn’t much as far as fatalities go, but I was born at home on a table cloth because of that shit.
I happen to be at an age now where friends are having babies and I’m learning the real deal about what childbirth entails. For my entire life I’ve known that I was born on the comfort of a waterbed. What I didn’t know was that when women give birth to babies, there are gallons of fluid that escape their bodies during the process. There is tearing. There are breadbags that need to be filled with snow to control the bleeding…
In the end, I took the Vagina Highway and burst into this world as naturally as one could burst. In the years since, I’ve heard countless stories of the day I was born; not necessarily because I was entering unto a new life, but because of the circumstances under which I entered. While it hasn’t inspired a song yet, the storm was enough to cause Chuck to write a book based in its setting. As the newest Dirty Curl, I can only hope that it can inspire some great tunes about the courage my mom and so many others have had to push an eight pound piece of flesh out of her life-giving vagina.
So that’s my realist approach to the Metaphysical Vagina; we all came into this world in a similar way, but we each have our own story that is influenced by circumstance. Mine is a freak snow storm. What’s yours?