Feminism was a myth invented by Capitalists to send Women out to work for a minimum wage.
Norman Mailer said as much before the Feminists all shot him in the head. He may have been a misogynist asshole but at least he was an asshole that spoke truth. It resonates a lot more than Anne Summers and her holy grail quest to touch the glass ceiling. She gave us one good book 'Damned Whores and God's Police' but then she started breaking bread with politicians. You'd think she joined the Mile High Club when she talks about flying in a plane with Paul Keating. 'Let them eat Bilson. You do not get a place at the table unless you're a mind controlled doll and I know this from the inside out because I've been that doll myself. I can spot a doll from 10 000 miles away now.
I've been watching Nigella Lawson tortured in the gladiator pit that made her a Domestic Goddess and I find it unbearable. I can't stand to see a woman torn to pieces in this way. But that's because I relate. I'm an Empath. Even though Nigella Lawson has nothing in common with me I feel her pain.
The Apaths would say (and they do) that Nigella was a Co Conspirator in her own murder. She is after all born to the ruling class. A card carrying member of the royal Jewry. She feeds off it's table and makes its lies look luscious. Her Daddy worked for Thatcher and her Mummy was jealous of her and around and round it goes until it ends up with Saatchi. The bride wore black. On some level she knew what was coming.
We always do.
But perhaps she was just trying to reach her destiny. As I watch her being called 'A habitual Criminal, Hi-gella. a drug addict, a bad mother' I think of the quote that I recently read from Carolyn Myss. 'Unless we are prepared to be humiliated we will never reach our destiny. Only our fate'.
Not the weak men. Not the bystanders. They're bitching in the kitchen with the goat boys and the girls . But the good men, the strong men, the men like my father are telling me to think like a Liberian Warlord. To reach in to the valley of the heart buck naked and bring it to the table so they can stick it on the BBQ between the sausages. 'Take no Prisoners' they advise which is very encouraging. But the girls are mostly keeping their distance. They're all eyeing off my pain like it's their prize. Their gaze holds both fear and envy. Fear that standing too close to me might blow their opportunity for success and envy that I was chosen to be taken for the ride.
They think I'm riding the stallion. He appears like a stallion. He has pedigree, success on the track, he is able to market himself effectively which is important in a stud. He's been linked to other high level mares. But the truth is he's a donkey that just wants somewhere to pin his tail.
What is it about me?
Why do I always get to ride the donkey?
What is it about me that makes that donkey head in my direction with his carrot between his teeth like it's a rose? Is it because he wants to watch me reach for that carrot as he swallows it? Does he like the sound of my gasp as he snaps it in half. How could a donkey be a sadist? Donkeys are harmless? Donkeys feature in fairy tales. They watched Jesus come into the world. They take donkeys to church fairs to give all the children a ride. Donkeys have a good reputation. It couldn't be the Donkey. It must be me. Everybody knows that. Especially the girls.
My latest Donkey ride has been very clarifying. It didn't teach me much about the donkey but it taught me an awful lot about my gender. It taught me I can count my girlfriends on less than one hand and that the rest are just waiting for me to turn up with the donkey. They don't mind sloppy seconds. They just want to feel their clit on the saddle as he clip clops them across the gravel. I should work out how to charge for this as I suspect it's my only real talent. And if you can't charge for your talent well it's not a talent is it? It's a Disability.
This week I was told by two separate girlfriends to 'Close down my facebook page and just pop in for a quick Merry Christmas. Put away my Crowd Funding as it makes me look crazy and desperate. Learn to play nice when playing with the big boys and perhaps it's time to go on medication. But failing that perhaps I might change my name or learn to breathe underwater.'
I don't need to take advise from people who are not as smart as I am. Who reduce my truth to an episode. Who tell me to forget everything I know. I don't need any sort of friends who view me as a pile of bad brain cells or dodgy DNA because they have no God and their grey matter has been colonized WITHOUT resistance. I know my disability and I admit to my weakness and life may have given me a bad case of truth tourettes and a bad habit of freezing when I'm surrounded by predators but but at least I'm not jealous. At least I don't have to put anyone down to make myself feel better. At least my disability didn't rob me of my compassion. At least I can cope with difference. I don't mind if you don't agree with what I'm saying but what are you doing working in the Arts if you're trying to take away my right to say it? Why don't you leave the arts and get a job with ASIO. I hear they're hiring. They're looking for Gangstalkers, Script Writers, Lomos and Nipple Kissers. The only qualification you need is obedience to the status quo. Making people want to commit suicide is a Futures Market. It's the New Nazi. No need for concentration camps just give them a nice short rope and enough reasons to hang themselves and they'll do the job for you. If I really am soooo crazy then what does it matter what comes out of my mouth? Why is everybody working over time to shut me up? What's the story? Where are you going? What did I saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay....
