reflections on life – Page 9

watercolour with a girl pushing a boy in the crowd at school

The vaginaless monologues (7)

Published on 02/09/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski2 Comments

I hit a woman once. She was fourteen, as was I. We were classmates. It happened at school during the lunch break. We all entered the congested stream of students passing through the main corridor in the direction of the school canteen, and while slowly moving towards the smell of the chef’s latest invention, at one point I felt someone behind me brutally pushing me. I turned around. It was her. What surprised me even more was that when I asked why she was pushing me, instead of answering, she started kicking me. And then it happened. Without a moment’s thought, I instinctively slapped her. It was as if my hand were acting of its own accord. I was as surprised by this act as she was. Of course, she and the friend she was with immediately ran to complain about me to the teacher. As you can easily guess, a scandal broke out. My parents were called to the headmaster because the girls didn’t bother to mention kicking, so I was accused of an unprovoked physical attack. Fortunately, at that time I already had the reputation of being a quiet, harmless bookworm, so the headmaster believed my version of events, which they ultimately confirmed. Of course, this did not explain my reaction, and I had to apologise to her, but the whole affair ended without any serious repercussions for me. Two things make me wonder, though: why did I respond to the attack by attacking instead of running away as usual (I was a cowardly type, which infuriated my father every time I came home crying), and how did my hand know to stay open instead of balling into a fist? As a boy, I knew how to use my fists and had a fight or two with the boys in the yard, even if I usually preferred to run away. And more importantly, would I respond the same way now, as an adult? Although I never did it again, I never experienced being assaulted by a woman again either.

watercolour with husband and wife at the table

Survival

Published on 02/09/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

Burying a dead bird, we listened to Gil Shaham’s violin in L’inverno.
Then I kissed your ink-stained hands as if nothing had happened,
and we embraced the routine: uneventful nights, quiet mornings,
and tedious climbing up whatever followed, day after day,
with the help of white lies and unsolicited acts of kindness.

Is it possible to die when life is an obligation and love is a calamity?
Can I at least change my mind on the little things once I tell you a story
about my day—an ordinary day, one of those where it’s possible to pass by unnoticed
like an idea of happiness, when it’s easy to regret since life is selfish
and a hug requires a script?

In a way, the word morbid sounds like a promise
that, with some strong language, the light could manage to get through
the shrouds that cover windows, and you no longer have to choose
between Latin and Greek profanities, knowing that survival is nothing
but performance.

watercolour of a man standing between another man and a woman

The vaginaless monologues (6)

Published on 01/09/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski2 Comments

They say that policemen know the best cop jokes. By that logic, the funniest guy in our bunch had to be gay; only then did we call them fags, and being perceived as one was social suicide at the very least. Why be surprised if even the Catholic Church, which should have taught brotherly love, called them sodomites? So it never occurred to me to identify as one, even though I loved running naked in the fields with my friends in the summer and happened to have a moment of pleasure with one. But these were nothing but monkey business, and we all soon began to fall in love with the more physically developed girls from our school. And personally, I’ve always been a little obsessed with plump breasts, even more so once I saw Pamela Anderson in Baywatch—how stereotypical! But from time to time, I felt like doing it with a friend, especially when we were watching porn on worn-out video tapes. I just never had the guts to do anything about it, and my admiration for women’s breasts has always been much stronger than any of these urges anyway. And now that I have lost the vitality of youth, it’s all just barren musings since neither women nor men fancy me. How ironic.

watercolour with a boy reading a book on the floor next to the sofa and a painting with the Virgin Mary on the wall

The vaginaless monologues (5)

Published on 31/08/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski2 Comments

I had my first orgasm on the couch in my parents’ bedroom under a shoddy reproduction of the Black Madonna of Czestochowa. I was about twelve and reading a book as usual when I felt this strange tingling sensation in my crotch. Intrigued by an unknown feeling, I reached there with my hand, and when I touched my willy, it started to grow, and each subsequent touch was more pleasant, so I started stroking it until it finally became as stiff as a stick, so I grabbed it in my hand and started rhythmically—well, you know the mechanics of that. I don’t know how, but I instinctively knew what to do. While I was doing this, I kept staring at the face of the Black Madonna, sad as if she were upset because of me and what I was doing. It didn’t take long before an unexpected spasm hit my body, and something unknown gushed forth from the organ that had previously only been used for peeing. And just like that, I discovered that there is more to life than books and grandma’s cream puffs, and that pleasure is laced with guilt.

watercolour with a woman shaving her armpits

The vaginaless monologues (4)

Published on 31/08/202331/08/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski2 Comments

I cried the first time you did it. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw your pubic mound—stripped of hair, skin chemically burned because you used some horrible depilatory cream. All the photos I had seen of victims of chemical attacks during the Great War flashed before my eyes. I bet you didn’t even notice. I begged you never to do that again. Same with shaving your legs and armpits. To no avail. Your excuse was the comfort but also the embarrassment of being seen in public with a hairy body, with emphasis on the latter. I have never understood that. I like body hair. I couldn’t wait for winter, because then you wouldn’t pay much attention to shaving since you were wearing pants and long sleeves anyway. But as soon as the sun began to shine brighter, you always returned to these barbaric rituals. And why? Because of some bizarre social—i.e., male—norm imposing a quasi-paedophilic image on women? Or maybe women are doing this to themselves of their own volition; perhaps they are the ones who actually incite each other, since I sincerely doubt I’m the only one who enjoys playing with short and curlies.

watercolour painting of a married couple with problems in the bedroom

The vaginaless monologues (3)

Published on 30/08/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski2 Comments

At first, you think she is shy, which is kind of cute, and you two just started dating, so even holding hands counts. Later, you convince yourself that it’s her religious beliefs about virginity, which you respect, or at least try to. Of course, the wedding night is a fictitious event, and everyone is wasted anyway. But then regular life begins, and still nothing happens. Not because of a lack of effort on your part, though. And with every new excuse, your resentment keeps growing until you reach the point where you just can’t do it anymore. You call the fiction what it is and say out loud the unthinkable—divorce. Only then does something crack in the fortress walls, and you finally reach what you have been waiting for all this time. For a while, everything seemed to work out somehow, despite frequent ups and downs. Then the big question pops up, and out of nowhere, your intimate life turns into a precisely scheduled chore. But you don’t complain—it’s still the intimate life after all. Well, in a way, since it makes you feel like a semen injector sometimes. After the little one arrives, you don’t expect anything any time soon, and you both are exhausted after countless sleepless nights with colic and whatever else causes endless crying anyway. But eventually, life settles. Only intimacy is still a minefield. You talk and try to find a way to make it work, sometimes with success, sometimes without. And the resentment starts to build up again, which doesn’t help either. There are days when everything seems great and you dream of a perfect ending in the bedroom. Then the kid goes to bed, and bam, she sparks an argument over some trifle, quick to resolve but enough for her to say she’s not in the mood. Eventually, there is nothing but bitterness and resentment left, and you wonder: What on earth is this love thing all about? But whatever you think, it’s always your fault; you can take that for granted. After all, you are the one who only thinks about sex, aren’t you?

The vaginaless monologues (2)

Published on 29/08/202301/09/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski3 Comments

Never get married before thirty, at the very least. If you feel ready, believe me, you are not. If you think you love her more than anything else in the world, think twice. Before you commit to someone else, outgrow that man-boy still trying to figure out what this is all about and who that terrified face staring back at him in the mirror is. Don’t lie to her—more so to yourself. Do you think she will not find out one day? Do you think she will not see through you eventually? And are you absolutely sure that, even if she is content with what she is getting now, she will not kick you out of the door once you finally become the man you are supposed to be and she comes to the conclusion that she actually doesn’t like that person? It’s one thing if that only affects you, but it is a whole different story when kids are involved. Not to mention your pocket—hardly deep enough to cover the lawyers’ greed. But if you still decide to jump into those muddy waters, at least make sure you have a well-written, signed, and secured prenup. Maybe one day it will save your skin. Then enjoy your love ride to the very end—its or yours, whichever comes first.

watercolour showing a man on stage during a monologue

The vaginaless monologues

Published on 28/08/202301/09/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski4 Comments

I have no vagina; I haven’t been blessed with one. I am vaginaless. I was born with this sausage-like front tail called a penis instead. And believe me, it’s not a blessing—try peeing after waking up with a morning wood, for example. Ah, you don’t know what it’s like. Well, so do I when you mention your period. It looks like we both have things we just have to take on faith. And please, before you accuse me of mockery, try to see me for who I really am, because your body drives you crazy once a month; mine, on the other hand, is a thorn twenty-four-seven; at least it was for the younger, testosterone-fuelled version of me. Now that I’ve crossed the magical forty mark, it’s actually not that bad. Originally, masturbating at least twice a day went down to at most twice a month. It’s that damn biology, you know. Obsession with sex may be funny in Hollywood comedies, but in real life, it’s a hard thing to deal with, especially for an average guy like myself who doesn’t look like Brad Pitt or is rich like those dudes at Google. And just to be perfectly clear, I don’t condone any of the terrible things that have happened and are still happening to you and your sisters. I’m the furthest from that. And this whole patriarchy thing is as bad for me and my brethren as it is for you, even if some of these morons are not even aware of that. So, let’s talk about how to change our lives for the better.

watercolour with a view of the city centre in the middle of the day

In transit

Published on 28/08/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

Lately, I have developed a peculiar fascination with symmetry,
like when I read a digital clock and the hour equals the number of minutes
or the time turns into a palindrome. It’s not like I impart any significance
to all those random congruences; I simply find them visually appealing.
But would that imply my divine affinity? Frankly, I find it enough
that I’m already nothing but a non-zero sum of the realised and possible in transit
between pre- and post-individual selves, endlessly rehearsing
the mouthful-ridden opening soliloquy on symptoms mistaken for causes.
There is no need for additional exaltation.