A young man in the audience is outraged. He accuses me of feigning shamanhood, playing "some kind of curandera" role. I do not mind. He is only angry for he is white enough to move forward, effortlessly, into amerikanmanhood, and I am his earthmama, reeling him back in and forwards. Into darkness.
I don't know why, but after reading over one hundred fifty pages of such grandiose woman-centered, manhating, drivel, it was that sentence which I circled, wrote 'godawful' in the margins, and threw the book back into my backpack, deciding that it would pain me, mentally, physically, and spiritually, to finish reading this book.
Cherrie Moraga can suck my balls.
Except, as a dirty lesbian, she probably wouldn't.