Hereditary Debt

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and seventeen

It's funny, they say that scent is the strongest sense tied to memory, but it's the seeing of other people that most reminds me of you. How different you were from everyone else. And -very rarely- I see a similarity. Like today, I met a man that had your mouth, crooked and broken. Gone too hungry too many times to ever leave leftovers on its plate again.

When we kissed I could taste the coffee on his tongue, and knew that he took it like you had, with too much sugar because that was free. A coffee shop favor, sweet charity.

"Dance with me?" He asked.

But I couldn't, because he wouldn't move like you had, and if we did dance, he would stop reminding me of you.

So we talked for a while, and I watched his mouth. It moved like yours. Parting just a bit. Not much to say, and not saying much when it did. I remember, I used to love you like this.

"A soft spoken monster", you called yourself. But you were my Arcadia. The heaven I never thought I could get into.

I still wear your shirt, not sure if I can actually feel you, or am just imagining your skin woven through the fabric.

The tag on it reads;

50% Cotton
30% Polyester
15% Nostalgia
4% Regret
and 1% ....

What is that last one percent? What is the thing that completes the shirt (and by shirt I mean me)?

People always want to touch the pretty things they see, and debt comes hereditarily to me.

Back then, I knew you were yours. Not mine, not theirs, and only fleetingly would I have the chance to take your poverty away.

I scraped off your barnacles while I could. You, so distant, barely noticed when your leeches became mine; your greedy black monkey, now attached to my spine.

I grew heavy with weight, but had a new, impossible, impervious 1%. I had found it in your lips, your mouth, your kiss.

So, the morning you told me, 'I have to go.'
I made too-sweet coffee and said, 'I know.'

And it's funny I guess, in a sort of sad way, that scent is the strongest sense tied to memory. Because try as I might, every. damn. night.
I really, can't think what you smelled like.

Creator of Words

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and sixteen

/ I keep putting my hand back into the flame

wondering if I'll ever catch fire/

So who are you?

She asks of me

She asks of me,

the mirrors three

three angles three angels three angler-fish

three curly cue lights on curly cue fish

So who are you?

I ask of her

I ask of her

the murderer

the killer the soldier the warrior true

the one who abolishes anything new

So who are we?

We ask of each other

We ask of each other

our blood and bone brothers

So how can I stop her?

 HE asks the three

the three different words

three versions of me

With fire!

With water!

With forgotten name!

Whispers the feather, onto the stain.

Whispers the heart, onto the brain;

"Stop her you must not,

for she is we.

She is the dear spine,

that ties you to me,

but spinal chords snapped,

she is the one

who tears us apart,

who rends us undone."

Then how can we keep her?

Whispers the flesh

Whispers the young one

Seven years fresh

"To keep her held straight,

you must lay her down.

Gently, alone,

weave her a crown.

Hands, this is your task,

tie it up soon.

Ribbons of flesh,

Weaved under the moon.

Muscles and sinew,

lend us yourselves,

lend us your strength,

your wicker-ous cells."

The spine yes she needs us!

Kneads us all day,

growing us weary,

Making us slaves!

"We cannot undo her,

or selves, fall apart.

We cannot taboo her,

or curse our own."

-heart

But body!

HE cries

She's not even of us!

"Wrong!"

-the heart lies-

"We changed once she loved us!

Souls are not separate, dependent beings,

they barter and wager,

trade parts between.

Like alloys of metal, once fused;

no refusal.

The fusion of love is a permanent rule."

Don't listen-

-brain starts

but heart beats too strong

HE cannot hear brain,

o-ver bloody throng

"Keep her we must,

and keep her we shall"

The pumping red boa

tells the other halves

And HE nods, for though she had left him un-spun

Left him a hero, lost and unsung,

this muse, this music,

his life's inspiration,

she left him a bone,

called 'pure desperation'

"Come back, come back,

my sweet Jezabel.

I'll light you a fire,

remind you of hell.

I'll stick in my hand, and let it catch flame.

I'll bat away bats,

keep darkness at bay.

Scorching my arm

and burning my wrist,

I'll keep you unharmed,

I'll make you my BITCH

No, no! I misspoke,

please don't run away.

I simply mean,

I will make you pay

STAY! I meant stay,

oh my tongue's all a twist!

My mind has been muted,

my thoughts, all a mist.

He struggles with matches

to bring her back.

No wood does he have,

but his cabin shack.

With hair from the witches,

he sparks up a pyre.

Throwing in notebooks,

beckoning, HIGHER!

The pages do fry,

their muse-master spire,

and he burns up their words,

A Love Affair Fire.

His product, his project,

his whole sense of being,

belittled and quitted,

un-requited it seemed.

But just as the last works

melted away,

a piece of ash rises,

like salt from a bay,

and yea here what have HE?

What have we?

HE says

"It's her,"

says the heart

"she's no longer dead."

And red-orange; heat mottled,

a minuscule bird,

a flame-feathered angel,

Creator of Words,

wakes up and blinks her, e-ternal eye.

"Come," coos the Phoenix "It is time to write."

12 Years a Slave; This is Not a Review

After drying my two-hour ravaged eyes, my first thought out of the theatre was, wow, I can't wait to review this movie, but now, sitting at my computer, I don't think I can.

I'm thinking where to start. I sit, almost too hot in my room, drinking to cool myself, wrapping myself in a blanket once that gets too chilly. I'm eating, not knowing if it's because I'm sincerely hungry, or merely bored. The ticket from a seven dollar movie that I saw on cheap night sits crumpled on my desk. A movie that featured people who never saw seven dollars in their entire lives.

I was going to review the movie, but I don't think I can. I don't think I can do justice to the harsh truths told. To the emotional blows delivered by both the story and the humans involved. I cannot spark-note an entirely new perspective.

All I can really say, is that we are lucky. We are lucky to live in this age, with these rights, with these freedoms. We are lucky to have a choice in the careers we may or may not pursue, we are lucky to be able to make love with whom we want and get mad when that is judged. We are lucky to even have the option to speak back, speak out, to speak at all.

We are so, so very lucky.

And we owe it to people like Solomon Northup to learn his story, tell his story, and do justice to his story. And that's just what '12 Years a Slave' did.

Please, go see it. You are lucky to have the chance.

-LF

The Hero of Humiliation

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and fifteen

Everyday I hang myself

I nail myself

I staple myself to the wall

Everyday I bleed myself

I let myself

I rub my blood out in the hall

Everyday I hate myself

berate myself

I get out of bed and mandate myself

to update myself

to curate myself

Artist the fuck up and create myself

Everyday I design myself
define myself
I put on my face and outline myself

Everyday I dissect myself

I correct myself

Take out my parts and infect myself

I change myself

rearrange myself

I paint all my organs and stain myself

Everyday I reword myself

martyr myself

Use the strings from the Beats to suture myself

I collect myself

Resurrect myself

My volition in life; to perfect myself

If I fail myself

derail myself

I'll have nothing but a cheap veil of myself;

a shattered bulb 

a melted fuse

a pack of matches burned and used.

No supernova, 

glory,

fame.

No concrete star,

with golden name.

Forgotten, faded,

dusty muse.

Mona Lisa,

cut and bruised.

My blood still smeared all down the hall,

my skin still nailed up to the wall.

My body scarred from mutilation,

mapped attempts at self-creation.

A jagged, 

torn up,

constellation,

The Hero of Humiliation.

Don't we all fear failure's kiss?

For if you shoot 

for the moon 

and miss,

you'll rot away in the abyss.

Some People Shouldn't Wear Yoga Pants

So. Lululemon is in hot water because it's founder, Chip Wilson, has said that "quite frankly, some women's bodies actually don't work for [the products]." This is outrageous. He like, totally told the truth.

Haven't we been joking for years that "some people just shouldn't wear yoga pants"?

it even has it's own FB page

Have we not always thought that yoga pants were too casual for everyday wear, all day, all the time? Are we not aware that when fabrics like those that Lululemon's are made of, do indeed "pill" when exposed to friction for long enough? Do not all clothes fade or diminish in quality like this when put under heavy use and rubbing?

Watch the outrageously tame interview here.

Women are complaining after the (very nicely worded) remarks from the founder have surfaced. They claim that LLL is discriminating against plus sized women. While I can see how LLL is not built for plus sized women, just because they're not catering to them doesn't mean they're discriminating against them, or does it?

At what point must a company serve every human that exists? Guess does not make plus sizes, and I'm sure that their jeans would thin in the thighs as well, under days and days of rubbing together. Yet we allow them to keep making clothes. Maybe because it's obvious they aren't built for fat girls. But LLL stretch, so nearly anyone can squeeze into them. And then this;

 "I'M IN, BUT YOU MAKE SHITTY CLOTHES BECAUSE NOW I'VE GOT A HOLE IN MY CROTCH. DAT NOT FAIR. LULULEMON EVIL. ME ALWAYS RIGHT."

What we have to realize is that Chip Wilson of LLL has not said that heavy (or "normal" sized blahblah) women can't wear his clothes, not even that they shouldn't. He has simply pointed out that their bodies are putting the clothes under a different condition than they were designed for, and that they need to be aware of this when they're spending 100-200 $ on a pair of fucking yoga pants.
"You can wear our stuff, but you might fuck them up a bit."-Total direct quote.

People with Hyperhidrosis (excessive body sweat) don't complain that white t-shirts stain when they wear them.

Chip Wilson was very polite and even tentative with his speech. Meaning he knew the world of women was going to freak out, and yet he told the truth anyways. What a fuckin' guy.

Best Girly Movies Everrrrrrr

GUILTY PLEASURE PICTURES

the girls edition

OMG yes I have a uterus. Yes I indulge in typical womanly things from time to time (selfies, holiday lattes, Friends). And yes I have a soft spot for certain movies. It's pretty well known that I love blood and gore and seeing the bad guy win. But every now and then I visit the world of women and have a girly night where I paint my nails and drink too much wine and eat things with avocado in them. I blame my mother.

Here are my top fifteen classic girl movies that get better and also worse with every viewing.

15

27 Dresses

At least one Katherine Heigl movie was sure to end up on here. I prefer this one to the Ugly Truth because BENNY AND THE JETS. That song is yes.

It's our doom to feel like that at least once a week.

14

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

Marilyn Monroe is the women of women. Her most iconic role as the best friend to diamonds, this movie and her performance hold up as hilarious after all this time.

13

Romy and Michele's High School Reunion

Baaaah so much teased blonde hair, so much synthetic plastic clothing, SO MUCH 90'S GOODNESS.

Seriously this is movie is our childhood. And also our future. All rolled up in a feather trimmed OHMAH-GAWD fest.

12

Breakfast at Tiffany's

Probably the best movie to get drunk to while feeling ridiculously girly and classy. Feel free to indulge in cigarettes and french baked goods as well.

Like a real gentleman.

11

Bad Teacher

Cameron Diaz not giving a fuck about her job or basically any other human in this movie is how I am most of the time. About everything. But instead of fake tits I'm saving for student loans.

Everyday.

10

(ps lol at Rose McGowan just mooping at the bottom of this poster)

Death Proof

QUENTIN TARANTINO MADE A CHICK FLICK AND THERE'S SEVERED LIMBS AND IDLE CHATTER AND THE SEXIEST FULLY-DRESSED LAP DANCE YOU WILL EVER WITNESS.

That's not a lot, really.

9

Clueless

This along with Romy & Michele are what's under the definition of the 90's Girl in the dictionary. Feather boas, flip cell phones and Brittany Murphy, what more can a girl ask for? (other than some Lisa Frank).

Look at lil Brittanyyyyy ooooooooooohhhhhhh.

8

House Bunny

Anna Faris + Emma Stone + slightly outdated university stereotypes = a really stupid movie that screams for poor girl's margaritas (mix & liquor, no blender) and Facebook creepin.

So dumb. So good. Anna Faris is a genuine babe.

7

Miss Congeniality

Every tomboy had her day of having to be a woman (9th grade grad was an eyeliner filled mess) and there is nothing that makes a girl feel good to hate being a girl like seeing Sandra Bullock get waxed and then twist her ankle in heels.

Little did we know how true this would become.

Also if ever I get forced into a talent show I am doing this;

6

You've Got Mail

UGH THIS MOVIE. It's one of the few romances that not only doesn't give me nausea, but it actually gets me. Every time. 

Something about that fucker Tom Hanks gets my heart growin' like the Grinch's. Plus independent book store vs big bad book store. Plus New York. Plus internet chatting that is so real and accurate and oh fuck this perfect film.

5

Bridget Jones

Oh Bridget. This is possibly the most lol-inducing film on this list. Seriously. And boys, if you somehow got onto this post and have made it this far, you have to love this movie. You have to. HAVE TO. It's just fucking fun for everyone. Cheesy christmas sweaters, british accents, a girl who can't cook and eats Ben & Jerry's wrapped up in a duvet;

There is not one part of this movie that I dislike. I would say Hugh Grant but he plays the douchiest douche so even that is satisfying.

My life.

4

Coyote Ugly

LeAnn Rimes, middle parted hair, and the man that I blame for all of our inexplicable swooning over the aussies. This is one bad-bitch flick with a good girl feel? I don't know how they made something so slutty so fucking wholesome and great. Although John Goodman may have something to do with it.

It's only gonna get worse, John.

And if you can stop yourself from singing along to this entire soundtrack, you don't have a uterus. Or a soul. Because real women CAN'T FIGHT THE MOONLIGHT NO.

3

She's the Man

A personal favourite, and how we all want to remember Amanda Bynes. So quotable, and I drop em on the daily even still. I refuse to grow up.

This is the Anchorman for women. Right down to the easy-to-imitate voice and real-life-applicable sayings like, "Rub some dirt in it." or "Ohmygod he knew." or "Bros, brothers, brethren?" or "check out the booty on that blondy" or "I gotta lifetime of knowledge." or;

2

Devil Wears Prada

Back when we used to buy DVD's and actually put them into a machine and then watch them on a screen that was meant just for that, I watched this movie almost everyday for a looooong time. It's got everything a girl needs in a film. A little drama, a lot of fashion and a homely girl fighting her way to the top for the job she wants. Quite sincerely inspiring for success, and really a stand up film in many ways.

Not too sure who Meryl Streep is but she's pretty good in this...??

Miranda Priestly is one of the sharpest female characters to grace us with her presence. Ever. Like a modern day Cruella De Vil meets Gordon Gecko.

And look at Emily Blunt being all new and fresh and playing supporting roles. PS you guys know she bagged John Krasinski, right? She really did do America right.

Of course, the queen b of them all;

1

 MEAN GIRLS, duh

Could any other film be number one? There's really nothing that needs to be said. This is the ultimate girls movie. Lindsay Lohan, Rachel McAdams, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler? Nope, nah, can't and won't be beat. 

So did my high school.

This film stereotyped many classes of people, but did it took it so far and did it so well that no one could possibly be offended. EVERYONE was torn apart in this film. Also this film is why I don't condone the term "betches". Because Tina Fey told me that we (females) can't keep calling each other derogatory terms. Normally I'm not uptight about it but betches is one that we made up for ourselves. If you haven't heard of this, it's sort of the female equivalent of "bros". Yeah, the Woo Girls who are the reason we have pumpkin spiced everything now. They made up this word that even makes them sound stupid. And that's ok for them, but I do not support the term "betches". 

...or Michael Kors.

I was always very glad we didn't do this at my high school. Why do american schools keep allowing these sort of ridiculous events that encourage hierarchies and then complain about clique-ieness and bullying. IF YOU PUNCH A HORSE IN THE ASS DON'T BE SURPRISED WHEN IT KICKS YOU.

My sentiments exactly.

So that's that, the pussy's out of the bag, so to speak. Now you know, I'm a woman and I partake in womanly things sometimes.

Ok brb gotta go rub some dirt in it.

LF

Coup De Grace

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and fourteen

will you live with me in poverty?

will you stay with me till broke?

will you take my hand and walk with me?

will you hate that I still smoke?

will you let me buy my cigarettes

when it’s them or food to eat

will you let me dodge my student debt?

will you help me steal and cheat?

will you let me write on anything?

even our own sex?

will you hold me down and call my name?

will you be my worst regret?

will you tie your fingers in my hair

on the nights that I can’t sleep

can you watch strange films with me?

can you stand my brazen cheek?

will you run away when I get scared?

will you stay here when I go?

will you judge my nasty vices dear?

will you laugh at all my jokes?

can I bite your neck all night

can I wear your clothes

do you mind that I can’t cook a thing?

do you mind that I can’t even sing?

do you care that I can’t stand myself?

do you think that I’m an easy fling?

Will you leave me when I do too much

or will you hold me while I shake

will you let me wear more ink than cloth?

will you hunt the demons that I’ve got?

will you help me kill my darlings true?

will you love me when my beauty’s through?

will you hold my skin while it rots off?

will you drink my blood when it’s got clots?

will you cut me open when I’m dead?

will you share for free what I have said?

will you keep my heart in a glass jar?

will you sell my teeth at a bazaar?

will you read my bones to know your fate?

will you let my innards dress your cake?

Will you take all that I’ve ever done

and show it to the midnight sun

can you leave me lying on the ice

so I never know true paradise

For I want to wander this damned place

until your body’s in decay

and when you can’t stand another day

I’ll deliver your sweet coupe de grace

Lights Real Low

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and thirteen

You look good with the lights real low

You look good when the music's slow

Tell me how you speak such prose

When all you do is say hello

You smell sweet in the summer rain

And you sound hot when you spit disdain

You curve my mind when you bend your back

and you give me what my body lacks

You feel like butter on my skin

You taste like cake when it's baked real thin

You look real cute when you're smoking soft

You look so nice when your clothes are off

Turn me into what you see

Cuz I can't tell what you see in me

I'm falling here into your hair

Soft and light like kindling fare

It's odd and sweet how you look so sour

When I come home too late an hour

It's crazy how you drive me sane

It's hazy how you clear my brain

Baby I'm just lying here

Wishing you were coming near

Hoping that you'll head my way

From your dimension out in space

Dazzle though, you have your place

and I'll just lie in shadows wait

Fractured prism glitter gleam

like a trick of light off a crystal peak;

You're nothing but a fleeting dream

A puff of smoke;

Dispersing steam

Lost in the Move

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and twelve

"Lost in the Move"

Forgotten in the rush of things. Packed up, thrown out, thought broke- no doubt. Picked up, dusted off, turned over; "Useless stuff". Tossed aside and left alone, someone else can take it home. But no home needs what's never needed and we'll never see what we've mistreated. It's left behind, dropped down some groove, forever gone; lost in the move.

"Do you want this?"

"I'll never use it."

"But you bought it."

"But you did choose it."

"I didn't need it."

"Neither did I."

"Then- what's it doing here?"

"Don't ask me why."

You left me lying, on your sill.

In the basement, softly spilled

out on the concrete

cold and hard.

You left me frosted,

in your backyard.

I could have fit

in all your boxes,

just lain on top

or slyly dropped in.

I could have slid

just down the side,

I know I was

an easy find.

But if you took me

in the van,

You'd surely lose me

underhand.

I'd roll back under

leather seat,

drift to the bottom

of the sea.

See when you got me,

I was doomed

to be the thing

lost in the move.

Hate Me

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and eleven

skip me, shun me

never touch me,

don't give in to my rushed lusting

bend me, break me

just forsake me,

leave me to my wild chasings

lose me, leave me

don't believe me,

when I say you'd get me screaming

haunt me, flaunt me

mock and taunt me,

tell the world you'll never want me

grab me, stab me

never have me,

tell me how you cannot stand me

fry me, tie me

crucify me,

leave me cuffed up; hang and dry me

beat me, bruise me

over-use me,

screw, abuse and tear into me

throw me, blow me

get below me,

show me how you'll never stroke me

rip me, rape me

tongue and take me,

come inside and rearrange me

cut me, gut me

shame and smut me,

rip my heart out while you fuck me

kick me, ditch me

pull-unstitch me,

spread my limbs and leave me twitching

tie me, lye-formaldehyde me,

out of sight and out of mind me,

live your life while I am dying,

pray no one will ever find me.

Reckless Mess

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and ten

Reckless Mess

Let the lightning strike me down

I'm leaving my man and skipping this town,

I'd rather go out in a flash than drown

I'd rather walk lone than march in a crowd.

Here I come and here I go,

hear me rattle down the road,

ain't got no silver

ain't got no gold

but I got my youth and I got my code;

Onwards and Upwards; never plateau

nowhere to be and all-where to go,

I'm chasing the sun

and racing the snow.

Leave me be baby

let lie your woe.

Sleep and you'll dream,

I'll dream while you sleep,

I'll dream in the ocean

I'll dream in the street

I'll dream while the city can't rest it's head,

I'll dream of the day I've earned to be dead.

For the wicked don't rest

and the restful are tricky,

They want what I've got;

but what I've got I ain't givin'.

It's called freedom, high strung,

a quick trigger finger,

Lungs nice and young

and a refuse to linger.

I've got powder for guns,

and frustrations to light it,

a rocket for one 

bad reasons ignite it.

Here I come here I go

while the night is still young,

and the air is still hot with the blood of the sun.

Not one silver or gold

to weigh down my steps,

I'm leaving this town

I'm placing my bets.

Call on my mind

and raise on my body,

I'm deaf and I'm blind

but far from done talking.

Because I'm still blessed with the ire yet fresh,

from my twenty-year-flesh.

Ain't no room to digest 

and reach peace or rest.

I am war, I am leather,

I am risky endeavor.

I am servant and king,

I'm my own everything.

Hear me come, hear me go,

running down open road.

Call me fool, call me lame

call me dumb and insane,

Call me cheap, call me broke

call me lowly and choked,

Call me loud as you can

for already I'm gone, to wherever I ran,

And as loud as you scream,

You're destined to be, just an echo of me.

So leave me be baby

let lie your woe,

You can sleep while you dream

and I'll dream while I go.

Screw The "Divine Feminine"

Be forewarned. I am about to address something that many will see as belittling women. In everything that I say, I do not mean to claim that men and women are the exact same, I simply want to point out some issues that I have with the “divine feminine” myth, in that women are more sacred or holy than men. What I will say requires you to believe in a soul, and who doesn’t hope they are made of more than a few expiring elements combined? I want to talk about a theory I have that souls do not have a sex, but the way our physical bodies influence our souls through chemical reactions that induce certain emotions and thoughts make us believe we are inherently gendered.

Open your mind and let my theories appall or enthrall you.

Yours recklessly,

Lillith Foxx

If women are the "divine feminine" then how come most major spiritual figures are men?

That’s not to say that men are more divine either, I’m simply pointing out that the evidence doesn’t allow for women to be held in a higher regard. You may think; but women can give the gift of life! They carry children inside them and give birth to humans that weren’t there before. Tiny little people walk right out of them. Women are like imperfect cloning machines.

My argument is this; when you give a man enough estrogen, he starts to act and react like a woman. No, his body may not be able to carry a child, but he feels as though he could. The maternal instinct is not in us as women, but in us as humans that have a certain hormonal influence. Just like if you gave a woman enough testosterone she would become irrationally territorial and competitive. Acting as if she were a man.

You go!..girl?

The only reason men and women are different is not because our “selves” or our “souls” have a gender, but the influence that our physical bodies (ie; hormones, genetics, periods) have on the way our mind operates. You’ve probably seen by now the scientific explanation of love, how it’s really just a chemical reaction influencing your emotions with the influx of dopamine and tempting pheromones when you look at someone with perfect symmetry and baby-makin’ features. Well that’s the same influence that hormones have on “spirituality”.

I argue that many have confused women’s open emotions with a knowledge of the ether. Females are so persuaded and often downright controlled by our emotions that we see pretty things and get happy, or see someone hurt and start crying because our bodies are telling us to. So that when we have children of our own we know to lay them on a bed of flowers rather than a ball of barbed wire. It’s that maternal instinct that basically rules our lives. Men on the other hand are looking for protection and strength to guard their families. This does not make them less spiritual, their instincts simply do not seem as gentle or peaceful as women's.

Her mom must have been wired wrong.

Women who themselves support the divine feminine ideal are supporting (probably unknowingly) a much larger issue that I won’t fully get into here, sexism.

Claiming that women are in any way more ‘special’ than men, (simply because we can carry babies-which we couldn’t do without men- and which we forget that we are not obligated  to do) totally negates every important stand that women have taken to demand equality.

We want the same pay! We want the same opportunities and treatment! We want to be seen as humans! Oh but we also want to be seen as more delicate, spiritual, intuitive beings than men. Do you see the insanity here?

I used to cringe at the word feminism, (which a friend recently pointed out simply means ‘the doctrine advocating social, political, and all other rights of women equal to those of men.’) because I was so used to the overly-righteous and sometimes straight up misandry from feminist activists that it was terrifying.

We’ve all seen the bitchy feminist character in movies who is usually pushed to the extreme of a man-hating, short-haired, soulless women who get’s cracked on a couple times and when she fails to jump on a dick within the first 30 minutes of the film she’s thenceforth referred to as a dyke. That is NOT equality. She is not your average woman and if our choices for cinematic representation are a dumb, likeable girl or a smart, hard-assed cunt, who do you think most women would choose?

Of course you are not the average woman (if you are indeed of the feminine persuasion), you are strong and independent and know how to download torrents all on your own so you demand a better representation than that. And I agree! But if you want society to give you the respect you deserve, you’ll have to let go of the petty ideals of being a woman. Yes you have boobs, yes you have a uterus, yes you can get dirty as hard as the men, no you may not expect special treatment or a reward for it.

Yes it’s usually tough women who make it in the industry (whichever one that may be) but it’s usually tough men as well. If you’re a pussy you’ll fail as either sex, so stop demanding a gentler hand to shake. This is not meant to be anti-feminine, this is simply anti-divine-feminine. This is for you to realize how unfair it is to rant and rant and rant about adequation, and still support the “uber female”. We, as beings, are born into infinitely different combinations of the exact same material. We naturally have access to all of the same knowledge, tools, powers that be, (or whatever you believe in) energy, feelings, attitudes and dispositions. They are not separated or divided unevenly at birth between the sexes, so why do we claim it to be so?

Obviously 'Mother Earth' is preggers. All the time. But still pretty right?

Think of this; we call her “Mother Earth”, Why? I doubt if there was a spirit of the earth that it would be in the shape of a human, let alone male or female. Do you really think there would be some sort of gender to something that powerful and whole? No. It would be some asexual spirit that gives and takes and keeps things in balance. If it were a mother, don’t you think there would be too many imbalances in the world?  As in no tree could ever die, because what mother would let her children pass away? No, it would need aspects of both genders to be a true god. But because the earth has “given birth” to so many things; animals and rivers and agriculture and such, we relate it to a woman. But there is competition and justice in nature as well. We have simply labelled it female because it’s easier for us to relate to.

It’s simpler to put things into black and white, male and female, hard and soft. The truth of the matter is, life is a kaleidoscope of colours and truths, and we are constantly changing and combining to form certain patterns and words and beings at one time or another, then separating again to become distinct personalities and shapes.

You are a man and I am a woman, if you pull back, we are both humans, pull back again, we are both mammals; farther, creatures of earth, members of our solar system, the milky way. Equal beings who are small samples of the bigger picture. But I am not more human than you, more spiritual, divine; only our physical bodies separate us, together we are yin & yang, but separate, we are whole.