there were days when the night didn’t end
didn’t break apart with the alarm
just laid on the floor beside yesterday’s clothes.
there were mornings that stayed night
trapped in the sheets, still cold from the night before
flat, dark in front of the sun between the blinds.
there were days when the morning and night dissolved together
pills and water, take one at bedtime every night
stomach cranking time to the hours between 12 and 12.
In an interview with journalist Jeremy Paxman, Russell Brand called for a revolution of non-voting in favour of a decentralised utopian system run by “admin bots” instead of “governments”.
Brand is an enticing rhetorician. And enticing, fast rhetoric is disarmingly dangerous. In this interview, he makes the same emotional appeals he denounces. Instead of offering concrete examples and names of organisations or individuals who embody his utopian ideals, he offers excuses that he’s “too busy”.
That’s a delightful illustration: Continue reading
From Melissa McEwan at Shakesville, a powerful critique of how popular media, as a vehicle of patriarchal systems, negatively affects men:
“Men who want to be in a stable and happy relationship with a specific person whom they adore are disappeared by the presumption that romance is the purview of women, and women want to be rescued, or fix a terrible guy, so let us make eighty-seven biebillion romantic comedies with the conceit that love begins with stalking, or the tragedy of incompleteness, or a jerk who needs to be tamed, none of which have wide appeal among men (or women) who want to see people who look something like their emotional selves projected back at them, so then let us conclude that men hate romance.
Men are dogs, who don’t want to settle down. Or: Men are weirdos, who want to control women.
You were beside me when I woke.
Your eyes reflecting the dark
except that you moved.
I was frozen hot, dripping
with fear, your dry brush legs
tightened like a fist
at my breaths, your body tenses –
Outside the curtains the Moon
is busy, watching
something rattle through the trash.
When you leave, (finally, you leave)
you move like liquid poured
down a dry wall.
All eight legs and eyes
releasing me as you dribble down
into the black,
invisible except that you moved.
So I have this friend, let’s call them J. A fairly enlightened person, J didn’t see why there was such a fuss about calling feminism “feminism”, and questioned the use of labels at all. To a crusty old feminist like myself, the reason why social movements benefit from labels and organisation is pretty obvious. To J, however, it wasn’t. Fair enough. To clear things up for my friend, and for others in a similar position, I created a short set of (imaginary) questions and answers around this issue that lead to an appropriate conclusion. (Note: this won’t work with people who think sexism doesn’t exist.)