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am white, so many complexities of individual and institutional racism are not present
     in this book like they would be if I were, say, a Filipina-American writer whose ancestors
     founded a ranch outside Houston before the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was signed
     in 1848.
    I am a lesbian who wouldn’t oppose a tumble in the hay with my housemate’s boyfriend’s
     twenty-year-old brother who lives in Peru and is achingly beautiful, so likewise with rigid strictures of hetero- and homosexuality.
    I am an American citizen from a mid-middle-class family that was supported solely
     by the sweat of my mother’s brow. As such, I have never been without shoes, food,
     education, shelter and other fine trappings of subsistence.
    When I was three, an accident with a street-cleaner bristle blinded me in my right
     eye. I’ve lived through the deaths of my father and youngest brother. I started writing
     as a child to survive a spiritually blighted landscape. I obsessively devoted my life
     to writing so I wouldn’t go insane after my brother died. I’m a vegetarian, but I
     like watching people eat spareribs.
    All this greatly influences my perspective.
    As does a prayer my mother has hanging in her kitchen, now, then and in the hour of
     her death: “You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars.
     You have a right to be here, and whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe
     is unfolding as it should.”
    From the poetry of Sappho to the zines of riot grrrls, personal experience has proven
     to be a very effective way for women to communicate. Sharing individual knowledge
     contributes to the whole, and has been a foundation of women’s power, in cultures
     spanning the globe, since time out of mind.
    Here in America, at the dawning of the post-patriarchal age, a growing understanding
     of our differences and commonalities continues to emerge full force. Because we now
     have more means to communicate than ever before, histories based on personal experience
     are increasingly poised to unite all women.
     
    Women are blue-black as the ocean’s deepest knowledge, creamy-white ’n lacy blue-veined,
     freshly ground-cinnamon brown. Women are Christian motorcycle dykes, militantly hetero
     Muslim theological scholars, Jewish-Chinese bisexual macrobiotic ballerinas and Chippewa
     shawomen who fuck not just lovers, but Time and Silence too.
    Women are drug addicts, anti-abortion activists and volunteers for Meals on Wheels.
     Women have AIDS, big fancy houses, post-traumatic stress disorder and cockroach-infested
     hovels. Women are rockstars, Whores, mothers, lawyers, taxidermists, welders, supermodels,
     scientists, belly dancers, cops, filmmakers, athletes and nurses.
    There are not many things which unite all women.
    I have found “cunt,” the word and the anatomical jewel, to be a venerable ally in
     my war against my own oppression. Besides global subjugation, our cunts are the only
     common denominator I can think of that all women irrefutably share.
    We are divided from the word.
    We are divided from the anatomical jewel.
    I seek reconciliation.

Part I
The World
    (wûrd) n.
    a tidy little prelude
     
    On the choice occasions popes and politicians directly refer to female genitalia,
     the term “vagina” is discreetly engaged.
    If you will be so kind, say “vagina” out loud a few times. Strip away the meaning
     and listen solely to the phonetic sound. It resonates from the roof of your mouth.
    A “vagina” could be an economy car:
    “That’s right, Wanda! Come within five hundred dollars of the actual sticker price,
     and you’ll win this! A brand new Chrysler Vagina! ”
    Or a rodent:
    “Next on Prairie Safari , you’ll see a wily little silver-tailed vagina outwit a voracious pair of ospreys.”
    Say “cunt” out loud, again stripping away the meaning. The word resonates from the
     depths of your gut. It sounds like something you definitely don’t want to tangle with