Something for my feminist theory class.
I’d love to see the reactions to this from a crowd. I can kind of imagine a quiet, solemn understanding from the ladies and a lot of confused questions from the guys… If my memory of art school serves me.
In 9th grade English we read Laurie Halse Anderson’s “Speak”. For those of you who haven’t read it, the author makes it abundantly clear that the teenage protagonist, Melinda, was raped, before the protagonist actually says it.
Our English teacher asked the boys in the class what happened to Mel. They came up with the most ridiculous answers. Every girl in the class just knew.
This just goes to show…
Not all men menace women, but yes all women have felt menaced by a man.
Every girl understands this because every girl knows the fear implicit in this image.
— Basho (via thecalminside)
It is certainly not a comforting book. But it may help a few grownups to be less complacent and more compassionate, to support Ralph, respect Piggy, control Jack, and lighten a little the darkness of man’s heart.
At the present moment (if I may speak personally) it is respect for Piggy that seems needed most. I do not find it in our leaders.❞
— E.M. Forster on Lord of the Flies
— David Mitchell explaining what it’s like to have autism, in the forward of The Reason I Jump
It was a rough school year. Since Day 1 I felt overwhelmed. Why does everyone want something from me all of a sudden? I struggled with all my responsibilities and had to make sacrifices.
But enough time has passed for me to realize that I got shit done and had good times too. I finally had the courage to check my grades from last semester. Not the terrible flaming ship wreck that I was expecting. I’m getting good at my job and my finances are in check. I have some great people in my life. I’m moving forward into adulthood and I don’t want to go back to how things were.
Every time the caller ID flashes “Home,” I have this gut wrenching feeling that when I pick up the phone my parents will simply state "We know."
The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behing the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside him in her apron
To tell them “Supper.” At the word, the saw,
As if it meant to prove saws know what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap -
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all -
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart -
He saw all was spoiled. “Don’t let him cut my hand off -
The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!”
So. The hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then - the watcher at his pulse took a fright.
No one believed. They listened to his heart.
Little - less - nothing! - and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.