Hello women, How are you all? In good mind, body and health I hope. So I was thinking that I would ask a huge (little) favour of all of you. You see, I'm sort of working on this poem, or play, or story, or research report, or gonzo type project, and I need some other voices and opinions to harmonize with. I know most of you are probably thinking, you don't even know who I am, or perhaps didn't have this woman in a class once, or why does my grand daughter, coach, tutor, research assistant want my help for a poem, or play or story or research report or gonzo sort of thing. It's a cliteracy project (giggle, I know it's a funny word). And I've found that it takes more than one to know one. Cliterature is asking and writing and drawing and photographing and painting gynocentric, woman-positive …things…. You see it all started some months ago when a serious apathy for all things began brewing in this poor little Roo; and I said Maryszka you need to get some good vibes into your education. So I started looking for things that might have both good vibes and things to teach me. I looked all over the place, in books and lecture halls, in shopping malls and hair salons, on the fridge and in the oven, under rocks and in potholes, downtown and up stairwells…and well when I looked up a stairwell I saw something very good that got me vibrating and told me where to look; so I bent over and had a peek between my legs. Low and behold…well I was blushing good vibes and education. So now I'm writing but I want more input. So I'm calling for all of your cliterature. I'm looking for anything: writing, or drawings, photos, or citations that inspire you when you think of what it means to become cliterate: why are you a women? Please don't think I am looking for anything in particular, or profound, or that would take any woman a lifetime to think up. Take it anywhere you want; go downtown, to the gynaecologist's, to the morgue, take it to the birthing centre, the office, the film studio, the bedroom. I just want some ideas, and some voices other than my own. Even if all you've got is a three word response to this email about my strangeness, I would deeply appreciate the sound of your voice. What am I using the voices for? Depends really; strongly poetic voices may be asked to step into the poem, others may be spring boards into the report, and some whispering sorts of voices might be used as titles. It may happen that all your voices remain silent, in which case your silence will act as a sounding board for my mouth to cry about the climbing iccliteracy rates of our communities' women. Questions: just ask. Responses: just email. Want to join the project: just well email that too. I hope to hear from all of you or some of you or one or two of you. And if you know cliterate women who might have a word or two for me, please pass my email along. Mother, sisters, daughter, aunts, grandmothers, co-workers, piano teachers, pastors please…anyone who has a voice. In the mean time, stay strong in mind and body and health. I gift you all peace and mud for making a mess.  ps. men can respond to, the topic, why are you a woman/what makes you a woman/ gynocentric woman-positive… pps. see three examples of cliterate responses, though not necessarily to the question, below. 1. a doodle in alphabet crayons woman smells heavenly cream on salt skin more cream saintly smelling like sweet cream on woman skin 2. Introduction to Ethics <1 .2.2007=""> I had a discussion with a woman, once, about bad education. Or maybe I had the discussion twice. Nonetheless, I've had the discussion about bad education with a woman, or women. We said, there's no music to this education; some days the harmonies are all cacophonous. Coughing phlegm on stiffies and calling it knowledge. Humph, we said, like camels, and giggled…like women do. We said our bad education doesn't listen, doesn't even know that harmonies like drumbeats exists in education. Our bad education insists our drums be quite in class, our class education be quite in drumbeats. My women and I talked about how real education requires fingers and toes. Peripheral collisions of sensory, quiet sensory of course, overtures of input that out bang our drumbeats. The female education needs sand between the toes, oceans to stick our fingers in, and well I don't need to get too detailed about what my women and I discussed. Most of it I couldn't say anyway, decoded giggles, long pauses, hair, fingernails, deodorant. But I discuss with my women, or my woman, when silence breaks into laughter, that nature of sitting up straight, shoulders back ears up legs…closed (a habit we all agree). When silence breaks into laughter, we say humph to this bad education, its time that our education was— do we really need to be introduced to ethics… Professor: Woman this is ethics. Ethics, woman.>