I need feminism because I’m done holding back my anger because it isn’t pretty. I need feminism because I’m done telling myself to shut up when other women need to hear my voice. I need feminism because I’m afraid to leave the house if I’m bloated from PMS or have a bad skin day and my outlook on life shouldn’t be dictated by the way I look today. I need feminism because fuck the fact that when a homeless man tells me “Smile, pretty girl” I am trained so obediently that my facial muscles react before my mind does. I need feminism because I feel unsafe riding public transit and always have. Today a man with apparent mental handicaps started talking to me on the bus. Our conversation was going great and he was talking about how he gathered walnuts to feed the squirrels in the winter and something about that seemed so endearingly kind. Then when we got to main street he started pointing out all the “hot blondes” on main street. Then he kept staring at me and told me the reason he hadn’t talked to me at the bus stop was because my boyfriend was standing with me. I began to feel unsafe so I pulled out a book and started reading. I felt like a line had been crossed where instead of being a friend I had turned into an object to this otherwise gentle person. It says something that even those whom we are instructed by society to give the benefit of the doubt to or pity, such as homeless men and men with mental handicaps can make women feel unsafe at the drop of a hat.
Okcupid (Internet Noun) is a place where people with severe emotional problems and/or sexual/love addictions can interact and thus pay out certain dramas that correspond to their disfunctions. It is a breeding paradise for low vibrations.
Good luck on okcupid.
I’ve met some very interesting people online. There’s Steve who currently resides in a prison, who I remember sitting at the table of the Wilmington library fidgeting and drinking a Rockstar energy drink while showing me an album comprised completely of the bad photos that people throw away. He found them dumpster diving. Or, there’s Blake, whose Myspace page was ‘The Void,’ and instead of being a bunch of angled seflies and ‘surveys’ (Why did people take those anyway?) it was an archive of occult information and beautiful psychedelic paintings. I didn’t even know what he looked like until I met him in person during a mewithoutYou show. Beautiful blue eyes and instant connection. Luckily for me, he is now my boyfriend. But sometimes you fall in love with someone’s online persona and things in person become a bit hairy. Once, I flew halfway across the country for a man who now would be unlikely to lift a finger for me. He was utterly convinced of a mode of alternative healing called Ayurveda which I have since incorporated into my life. Ayurveda, for those unaware, is an ancient method of healing revolving mainly around constitution types- Pitta (motivated but angry control freaks), Vata (skinny creative neurotics) and Kapha (lazy-but-lovable. Santa?) As well as the concept of agni (“digestive fire” or hutzpa if you will) and ama or “mucoid plaque” buildup, which according to Ayurveda, is the root of all disease. And if you eat past 9 PM, you’re getting ama-ed up, and cancer will be in your life forecast. Not really according to Ayurveda, but those were some of the rules this Milwaukee man lived by. I believe now that he was very much a reaction to his past. He woke up at 5 am to use the bathroom outside because a book told him to, yet he worked at a toilet factory which, even now, in my bitterness, I find poetically just. He lived completely according to the Aghora trilogy, which if you are unfamiliar with, speaks in bizarre parables and helps to shed light on the path of enlightenment through Tantra. Overcoming your fears through extremes until your are impenetrable to life. Surrounding yourself by death until it no longer phases you. Beautiful spiritual concepts, though whether or not the stories within these texts are to be taken literally is very up in the air. To this day I am flabbergasted to the lengths this man went to convince himself and everyone around him that this was of living was the only one. But for some reason, I loved him, in perhaps the way one loves a flesh eating bacteria that has gained them some pity and attention. I put my copy of Aghora at the Left Hand of God down at the sink of the Milwaukee airport, in the women’s bathroom shortly after landing. Here I nervously stared in the mirror, at my impeccably lovely outfit I had spent way too much time and money preparing. I was about to meet this person for the first time, after exchanging emails and snail mail for months. It was in this same bathroom that I met another girl with the same name as me who was also meeting a man she had met online (This was one of those scenarios where fate brings an instant friend into your life, perhaps to keep you from dying from an anxiety attack). I can only hope that a bored soccer mom has found my Aghora book and discovered the wonders of meditating on corpses and eating your firstborn son for Shiva.