“Ancient moon priestesses were called virgins. ‘Virgin’ meant not married, not belonging to a man - a woman who was ‘one-in-herself’. The very word derives from a Latin root meaning strength, force, skill; and was later applied to men: virile. Ishtar, Diana, Astarte, Isis were all called virgin, which did not refer to sexual chastity, but sexual independence. And all great culture heroes of the past, mythic or historic, were said to be born of virgin mothers: Marduk, Gilgamesh, Buddha, Osiris, Dionysus, Genghis Khan, Jesus - they were all affirmed as sons of the Great Mother, of the Original One, their worldly power deriving from her. When the Hebrews used the word, and in the original Aramaic, it meant ‘maiden’ or ‘young woman’, with no connotations to sexual chastity. But later Christian translators could not conceive of the ‘Virgin Mary’ as a woman of independent sexuality, needless to say; they distorted the meaning into sexually pure, chaste, never touched.”—
Monica Sjoo, The Great Cosmic Mother: Rediscovering the Religion of the Earth (via tierdropp)
But then, the truth was never really the point. Thin women don’t tell their fat friends ‘You’re not fat’ because they’re confused about the dictionary definition of the word, or their eyes are broken, or they were raised on planets where size 24 is the average for women. They don’t say it because it’s the truth. They say it because fat does not mean just fat in this culture. It can also mean any or all of the following:
Just plain icky
So when they say ‘You’re not fat,’ what they really mean is ‘You’re not a dozen nasty things I associate with the word fat.’ The size of your body is not what’s in question; a tape measure or a mirror could solve that dispute. What’s in question is your goodness, your lovability, your intelligence, your kindness, your attractiveness. And your friends, not surprisingly, are inclined to believe you get high marks in all those categories. Ergo, you couldn’t possibly be fat.
“Our culture’s fear of dying alone (and, much worse, living alone forever) might be even more powerful than our fear of getting fat—although the two are undeniably linked. Loneliness is treated as a fitting punishment for fatness; the “fat = subhuman” branding campaign should be taught in every marketing textbook. The fact that I, a fat person, am not lonely inspires a level of internet vitriol I don’t get from even my most controversial posts on rape, abortion, and politics. The idea that losing weight functions as a cut-and-dried “cure” for loneliness is seductive—it allows people to avoid their darker, knottier issues and obsess over this single superficiality. To declare that fatness and loneliness are not synonymous, that happiness springs from something much less quantifiable, is terrifying to a lot of people.”—Bad News, Internet Trolls: Loneliness Is Deadlier Than Obesity (via brutereason)
“When you are an affluent-seeming white man and you ask for things that don’t belong to you, sometimes you’re not really asking. It’s sort like Bill Clinton asking Monica Lewinsky to have sex with him. There’s a context behind the asking.
When you ask a serviceperson for something that doesn’t belong to you, there is often a subtext of, “If I complain to your manager, you know your manager is going to listen to me. Just look at me, and look at you.”
And sometimes, of course, this is not the case at all, and you’re just being a garden-variety annoying customer. Or a bully.
“Some people cannot imagine themselves being happy without children, or a particular body shape, or religion, and so they cannot imagine that I am. They have put my lived experience through their validity prisms and decided that if I say I am happy in circumstances in which they could not be, I must be lying. Or in denial. Or using a bit of bravado in order to mask a secret unhappiness. Accusations of some flaw in me, to obfuscate a failure of basic empathy.
Sometimes, it’s people who are themselves childless, or fat, or have had a crisis of faith—and the unhappiness they feel because of those things is so profound that they cannot imagine anyone being happy in similar circumstances. It may be genuine disbelief, or it may be envy, that invites their suspicion and repudiation of my happiness.
And some people who have children, or are thin, or go to church every week, claim these things make them happy, when in fact they are deeply unhappy. They hate parenting; they live a life of restriction and self-denial and hunger to unnaturally maintain a thin physique; they go to church only because they feel like they should. And they resent that they sacrifice so much shit to do what society tells them is “right” yet remain miserable, while I reject the imperatives to reproduce, to hate myself, to engage in religious ritual, and feel happy and free as a result.
There’s no effective response to Happiness Policers, because there’s no way to convince someone of your happiness when they are determined to believe otherwise. If you ignore them, they will interpret that as PROOF! that you are unable to refute them and thus they are right. If you insist you are happy, they will accuse you of “protesting too much” which is PROOF! that you are secretly unhappy and thus they are right. It’s a losing game. Which is entirely the point.”—Shakesville: The Happiness Police (via brutereason)
Gay marriage is unnatural. So is straight marriage. Marriage of any kind is unnatural. To attempt to become one with a single person is pointless. Eventually we will all become one in the void. All hail the void
What To Do When Your Boyfriend’s Asshole Best Friend Says, “Hey, Never Trust Anything That Bleeds For Seven Days And Doesn’t Die,
OR The Only Poem I’ll Ever Write About Periods.
Don’t excuse him because he’s had
at least three lite beers
and is sweating through his black button down
that his mom or exgirlfriend
probably bought him.
Don’t excuse him because he’s been turned down
by the last six girls he went on dates with
after meeting them on tindr
with a picture that’s seven years old
Don’t excuse him because
he’s usually such a nice guy
because you don’t want to be a bitch
because you don’t want to cause a scene
because when you were seventeen
your sister told you
no one likes an angry feminist
Let me explain something to you.
Every goddamn motherfucking month since I was eleven,
a part of me
tore itself to shreds
ripped itself apart inside me
and then remade itself.
So yes, I bleed for seven days
and I don’t die
You know what else can do that?
Things of legend.
Fuck, I can even
So I say, never trust anything that can’t
bleed for seven days and not die.
You know what that makes it?
So let’s see, hon,
What you’re made of.
If you can bleed for seven days
and not die.
Rip out his jugular with your teeth.
And when he bleeds for seven seconds
spit on his corpse and say,
I thought not.
“While evolutionary psychology suggests that women pass on casual sex due to an inherent lack of sexual desire, Conley says there’s an entirely different reason. She posits that women say “thanks, but no thanks” for fear of being judged. She also says that women have serious reservations about whether a one-night stand would be enjoyable with a new partner. She tries to explain to men, “The reason women are turning you down for casual sex seems to be that, for one thing, a lot of you are calling them sluts afterward.” Also, “A lot of you aren’t bothering to try to be good in bed.” Preach.”—
“Ellen Page said she’d been scared to reveal her truth, and in response way too many people responded with, ”In other news, the sky is blue.” The fact that so many felt comfortable being that rude to someone who’d just publicly shared a private struggle speaks volumes about how important they consider the issues of gay women to be. We should be wary of these people. People like them are why so many believe this country is post-racial or post-feminist when this country is racist as fuck and hates women.”—From A Tale Of Two Ellens | Autostraddle (via exceedinglytoosmall)
Say hello. Say “nice game.” Perhaps give him a compliment on a tackle, or a catch, or a great run. Maybe throw in a high-five or, if that is too uncomfortable for you (it shouldn’t be), give any another indication that you’re happy he’s on your team, even if he plays for a different team off the field.
Step 2: Acknowledge that he’s human
Ask a question about his life. How’s his family? His partner? Talk about shared interests (Yes! You likely have shared interests with this homosexual human!) If you don’t know what this person likes, ask. Or talk about the weather! Or Beyoncé! Not because he’s gay, but because everyone, gay straight, male or female, Madagascan village elders or Inuit whale hunters, has something to say about Beyoncé. She’s the universal conversation starter.
Step 3: Get undressed
Because you just spent two hours playing in the mud and dirt, and it’s a locker room and you’re an adult — and get over yourself and seriously — you have to change out of your uniform. You smell like shit.
Step 4: Realize at this point, you’re looking at your gay teammate more than he’s looking at you
Why is he not looking at you? You’re attractive! You work out! Are you not his type? Maybe he’s only into punters. Oh my God, it’s almost as if your teammate is concentrating on getting cleaned up and getting home to his life, just like you were supposed to be before you got preoccupied with checking him out to see if he’s checking you out.
Step 5: Do your usual stealth glances of other naked teammates
Because straight men size each other up all the time in locker rooms. But it’s from a place of competition, which is far more acceptable for some reason. Bros bein’ bros, etc.
Step 6: Realize at this point, you’re being paid millions of dollars to exist on this team with this gay person, so you’ll survive somehow
At the absolute worst, this teammate finds you attractive and has a moment of weakness and lets one little glance slip that you catch, and you notice because you’re (of course) already staring at him. Now you know how the thousands upon thousands of breasts you’ve stared at slack-jawed in your lifetime feel. Congratulations, Margaret, you’ve just become a woman!
Step 7: Count the number of half-naked teammates around you and divide by 10
That’s how many actually are gay, whether they’ve stated it publicly or not. And they’ve been there all along, since you started playing football in high school, and somehow you’re still alive and unscathed and making millions of dollars.
Step 8: Shower
Because, again, you smell. If your gay teammate is showering at the same time, kudos to you for noticing he walked into the showers. Why are you watching him so closely, anyway? Seriously, are you cruising him?
Step 9: Dress, go home
And play with the piles of money you’ve earned from somehow being brave and manly enough to put on skin-tight capri pants, a jock strap and give other grown men really aggressive hugs and wrestle them to the ground.
once one of my straight male friends who has a significant amount of sex asked me ‘when two girls do it how do you know when you’re finished’ and to this day thats one of the saddest things ive ever heard
In some older versions of Persephone’s story, she was a young woman, not a young girl, and instead of accidentally wandering away, she had gone deliberately adventuring, when she fell, or was lured, or was kidnapped into Hell. Here Persephone’s adventurous spirit leads her into difficulty, instead of her being a passive victim of the wickedness of others. Her relationship with her mother gives her the courage to explore her world, and when events take a bad turn, their relationship gives her the strength to survive.
In a still older version, Persephone heard the despairing cries of the dead and chose freely to go into the Underworld to comfort them. Hades does not appear at all, in this version. Here Persephone’s descent to hell illustrates inclusiveness for every being, whether in the Underworld or in our present one, and shows that mercy is integral to her nature.
In the most ancient layer of myth, Persephone’s name means “She Who Destroys The Light.” She was the powerful Goddess of the Underworld long before anyone knew of Hades. Like the Indian Kali, the Irish Morrigan, and the Sumerian Ereshkegal, she was the Goddess of Death.
The Guardian‘s website decided to have a rainbow “G” in its title during the past few days in order to support LGBT rights, and to thumb its nose at Russia (a few other news broadcasters/outlets did, too), just as Google did last week with its rainbow doodle. I’m sure they feel very pleased with themselves. But did they do anything symbolic in support of Nigerians, Ugandans, Malawians, Zambians when they needed support most, when the hate that US televangelists were funding throughout subsaharan Africa was coming to fruition, in tandem with opportunist political manoeuvres by savvy local politicians? Nope. These are powerful corporations. They can do a whole hell of a lot more than include pretty pictures and colours in “support” of causes (this sort of gesture is similar to other inane nonsense like buying red stuff to spread “awareness” of HIV and AIDS). Google and the Guardian: what about doing something substantial, like countering the monies that US evangelical churches siphon to African countries with funding for the LGBT communities in those key warzones?
Russia’s disgraceful treatment of LGBT people has also given US liberals a fake moral premise to take the piss out of Russia (see US internet passim – reporters have even started making stuff up to get hits). These are the same people who have nothing to say about the US’s own anti-LGBT laws, who are uncomfortable saying anything about how political prisoners like Chelsea Manning have been relegated to the rubbish heap of US history, while those whose actions she spoke up against remain quite free to receive my taxpayer dollars as part of their salaries/retirement. While companies with cute graphics project themselves as serious, sophisticated, ultra-modern advocates of LGBT rights (and don’t do “evil”), they are just old-fashioned nationalists who do nice things that don’t cost them politically or financially.
This just in: the Cold War is over, people. And anyway, that war was actually fought in Africa and South/S.East Asia all along. For all the morally superior US Google-liberals, over the weekend one of our readers posed a question for you: “Should other countries boycott if the US hosts an Olympics because of its drone program?”
IF I COULD BOLD EVERY WORD OF THIS I WOULD. IF I COULD MAKE EVERYONE READ THIS SEVENTEEN TIMES UNTIL IT SUNK IN, I WOULD.
By the way, the whole “reporters making shit up just to get hits” thing is really nota joke.
LGBT solidarity and awareness of oppression is great, but this endless hypocritical, worthless posturing, I can’t. Maybe Google and the Guardian doing those things actually helped LGBT people in the US/UK by giving them more recognition that their lives and issues matter? Maybe, IDK. If so, that’s the only benefit to come out of this, and the self-congratulatory bullshit is really starting to pile up from where I’m sitting.
When [an abusive man] tells me that he became abusive because he lost control of himself, I ask him why he didn’t do something even worse. For example, I might say, “You called her a fucking whore, you grabbed the phone out of her hand and whipped it across the room, and then you gave her a shove and she fell down. There she was at your feet where it would have been easy to kick her in the head. Now, you have just finished telling me that you were ‘totally out of control’ at that time, but you didn’t kick her. What stopped you?” And the client can always give me a reason. Here are some common explanations:
"I wouldn’t want to cause her a serious injury."
“I realized one of the children was watching.”
“I was afraid someone would call the police.”
“I could kill her if I did that.”
“The fight was getting loud, and I was afraid the neighbors would hear.”
And the most frequent response of all:
"Jesus, I wouldn’t do that. I would never do something like that to her.”
The response that I almost never heard — I remember hearing it twice in the fifteen years — was: “I don’t know.”
These ready answers strip the cover off of my clients’ loss of control excuse. While a man is on an abusive rampage, verbally or physically, his mind maintains awareness of a number of questions: “Am I doing something that other people could find out about, so it could make me look bad? Am I doing anything that could get me in legal trouble? Could I get hurt myself? Am I doing anything that I myself consider too cruel, gross, or violent?”
A critical insight seeped into me from working with my first few dozen clients: An abuser almost never does anything that he himself considers morally unacceptable. He may hide what he does because he thinks other people would disagree with it, but he feels justified inside. I can’t remember a client ever having said to me: “There’s no way I can defend what I did. It was just totally wrong.” He invariably has a reason that he considers good enough. In short, an abuser’s core problem is that he has a distorted sense of right and wrong.
I sometimes ask my clients the following question: “How many of you have ever felt angry enough at youer mother to get the urge to call her a bitch?” Typically half or more of the group members raise their hands. Then I ask, “How many of you have ever acted on that urge?” All the hands fly down, and the men cast appalled gazes on me, as if I had just asked whether they sell drugs outside elementary schools. So then I ask, “Well, why haven’t you?” The same answer shoots out from the men each time I do this exercise: “But you can’t treat your mother like that, no matter how angry you are! You just don’t do that!”
The unspoken remainder of this statement, which we can fill in for my clients, is: “But you can treat your wife or girlfriend like that, as long as you have a good enough reason. That’s different.” In other words, the abuser’s problem lies above all in his belief that controlling or abusing his female partner is justifiable….
”—Lundy Bancroft, Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men (via seebster)