Emily Dicenson Is a Big Dye

Emily Dickinson is a big dyke. Have you ever read any of her poetry? If you haven't, do not take this opportunity to do so, such an enormous waste of time it would be. I know some people who love her, maybe I would too if I was living in her upstairs room being locked inside with her for nights, Wild nights—Wild nights!, of long passionate lesbian lovin', then maybe even I could love her.

Yes, it is true; people do say I AM THE big dyke. Well, I am not even going to begin to deny that one again, too many years of living have already slipped away, wasted, on that one. Getting back the whole Dickinson thing—If Whitman, who I LOVE, can be a fag, than what reason is there for Dickinson to not be a dyke. She was pure, innocent, always stayed home in her room…shutting herself into her own little closet, she was well known for wearing white dresses, always shunning guests, and keeping her contacts to the outside world to a minimum. Sounds a lot like me…or maybe not.

I guess what I really want to see happen in the literary world is the movement towards a new type of critical review. Dyke criticism, with a capital D. We've got the feminist, the biblical, and the what-the-fuck-ever. Why not the Dyke? On that note, I would like to invite you to read and discuss the first literary article in the tradition of Dyke criticism.

Emily Dickinson, poet and BIG DYKE. How does one know this, by reading her poetry of course! Of the thousands of poems written by Dickinson in her lifetime, I have chosen to focus on three. The big three D, I will call them.

The first of the big three D is 249, if you didn't know this, Dickinson never titled her poems, being the big, closeted, mysterious dyke she was.

249

Wild Nights—Wild Nights!

Were I with thee

Wild Nights should be

Our luxury!

Futile—the Winds—

To a Heart in port—

Done with the Compass—

Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden—

Ah, the Sea!

Might I but moor—Tonight—

In Thee!

Just look at this poem…Dyke-Dyke-Dyke. I will begin with the more academic terms and later focus on the Dyke-rific details. Dickinson, a female, has chosen to address other items which are given feminine qualities in this poem, the sea and moor. I never would have known this without P. Scholl, I guess college has proven to be worth something now. She is expressing her love towards feminine objects, meaning that she must have been the butch in the relationship, got to have them both, the butch and the fem, that's what makes a healthy relationship. If you believe that, well…give me a call, have a got a treat for you!

As for dyke-rific details…Wild Nights, need I say more? The heart in port…well, if you cut off your tongue and looked at it would resemble a heart. I can't even seem to count the places where I can bring my tongue into port. Done with the compass—Done with the chart. She doesn't want men anymore, they always get lost using their stupid maps and traveling gear. When will they ever stop and fucking ask for directions? Rowing into Eden—rowing…water. I shouldn't have to explain, but for you men out there who are yet to master the art of pleasing a woman without the use of your penis, here goes nothing. I guess I could relate this back to Eve Ensler and her Vagina Monologue about the flood. This statement is obviously about the power of an orgasm. The rowing motion, in and out, back and forth, the power of bringing a woman to the point of orgasm, using one beautiful and delicate part of the body, your own hand. The 'See' which was once inside her, is now a moor. All because of you!

Dickinson's next dyke work is 613: The BIG CLOSET!

…They shut me up in Prose—

As when a little Girl

They put me in the Closet—

Because they liked me “still”—…

Okay, this is THE ONLY important part in this poem. The closet scene I will call it. We will keep this simple. Big DYKE. Little Girl. Kept in the CLOSET to silence her. What more do I have to say. The closet is a terrible place, they either need to start making them bigger, or adding the luxuries of free pizza delivery and cable TV…but only educational programming and the genius of Comedy Central…kinda making them identical to my dorm room I guess.

The final piece I have chosen to explore is 754. Big Bad Dyke with a Gun (BBDwG), as I have chosen to call it.

My life had stood—a Loaded Gun—

In Corners—till a Day

The Owner passed—identified—

And carried Me away—

And now We roam in Sovereign Woods—

And now We hunt the Doe—

And every time I speak for Him—

The Mountains straight reply—

And do I smile, such cordial light

Upon the Valley glow—

It is a Vesuvian face

Had let its pleasure through—

And when at Night—Our good Day done—

I guard my Master’s Head—

‘Tis better than the Eider-Duck’s

Deep Pillow—to have shared—

To foe His—I’m deadly foe—

None stir the second time—

On whom I lay a Yellow Eye—

Or an emphatic Thumb—

Though I than He—may longer live

He longer must—than I—

For I have the power to kill,

Without—the power to die—

Dickinson writes of her life as a loaded gun, a masculine symbol, and not to mention a giant phallic symbol right there, the long slender barrel of a gun, which as see as being a rather large strap-on vibrator, being under her ultimate control, beings that she IS the BBDwG, or just a 'butch' dyke.

Now that she has this big fake vibrating man cock, she must find a nice Christian girl to fuck. So she roams to woods, looking for that Doe. I am still not convinced that she was looking for a DOE and not a HOE. Either way, she found that girl. It is VERY obvious that this girl is maybe a little TOO GOOD of a Christian. Didn't her Mama at least teach her to trim down there so the forest wouldn't become infested? I guess not. She speaks for him. Well, what always happened when that boy in high school said he just wanted to 'talk'? Yep, then talking equaled making out, which has now evolved into meaningless sex/fucking. I think that is something one just has to enjoy while they are still young. So she is (having meaningless sex with) fucking this girl, deep into the forest and the mountains have a straight reply. Nothing in nature is straight, so she MUST have meant the river that flows out of the mountains near the forest, the great waters flowing from the source of her forested region.

After this beauteous experience with nature, all she can do is smile, and return to the valley, which is near the mountains where Vesuvius is about to erupt, letting the juices flow once again.

When night comes, Dickenson is absolutely beat. I can't imagine how the D/Hoe is feeling by this time, or maybe I can. Honestly, she has been passed out on the bed, on the feather pillow for hours. Master, or should I say Mistress, Dickenson, is guarding her own head, her entire body, not to mention her strap-on. She doesn't even want to think about what would happen if the D/Hoe got her hands, or should I say hips on that one.

Dickenson is a deadly bitch with her strap-on. Although she feels the pain that it causes others, she really can't really place her true feelings on the situation, just her thumb understands.

In the final stanza, great tragedy hits. Dickinson had been so power with her strap-on, but it no longer lives, the batteries have died. Knowing the great power she once had, she is greatly sorrowed by her loss, only wishing that she too could have the power to die and end her pitiful life which was based purely on rough meaningless sexHaving looked at all these examples, the big three D as I earlier called them, is there anyway that you CANNOT believe that Dickenson is a BIG DYKE? In conclusion, Emily Dickenson is a big dyke and I hope now you understand why. Thank you for your time.