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.
Today, at the co-op I was looking through homeopathic treatments. I tried to pull one out and all of them came crashing down in on the ground. I cleaned them up, purchased the GABA I came for, (An excellent yet controversial anti-anxiety neurotransmitter suplement that blocks nerve impulses and slows neuronal transmission) and on my way home realized some Phosphorus 30 had fallen into my cowboy boot. Seeing this as a ‘sign from the universe’ as I often do, I decided to take some. Tonight I find myself completely fascinated by homeopathic constitution types. I took a quiz on mine, and Phosphorus came up on the top. I realize how controversial homeopathy is, among most alternative treatments. I had written it off as pseudoscience, and then I met a woman in Arizona who told me a homeopathic snake venom treatment, Lachesis, had cured her cancer. I remember the feeling of well-being and balance I had after receiving acupuncture and a personalized bachus flower remedy after visting a naturopathic student clinic. I’m excited to be opened up to learning more about homeopathy and bachus flower remedies. My mind feels comparatively still tonight. The anxiety that has been my constant companion this week has settled and I can finally think clearly. It also may very well be the GABA finally taking effect. Things like these truly inspire me to study alternative and natural medicine further. I’d like to someday help people to heal themselves as I have on my own journey towards wholeness.
A Profile of the Phospherian Constitution, from The British Homeopathic Association:
The constitutional picture of Phosphorus was described by Kent in the 19th century. Many authors have elaborated on this model and added a psychological profile of the Phosphoric type.
The Phosphoric individual is pale, anaemic, with full red lips, thin with a narrow high arched chest: the appearance typical of someone suffering with tuberculosis.
Romantic literature of the 19th century is full of Phosphoric heroines. Dumas’ La Dame aux Camelias is a notable example. Greta Garbo gave a brilliant portrayal of the consumptive heroine, Marguerite Gautier, in the Hollywood film and brought Phosphorus to life for homeopaths.
The constitutional Phosphorus is extrovert, bright, lively, with sparkling eyes and a charismatic nature. One feels invigorated in her company. She is intensely sympathetic and acutely sensitive to mood, atmosphere and all sensory impressions. She is impressionable and clairvoyant. She is imaginative and bubbly, the typical “bright young thing”.
Mia Farrow as Daisy in the film of Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby demonstrates the shadow side of Phosphorus. Daisy is a social butterfly, narcissistic and highly-strung. Although she probably loves Gatsby in her way, self-preservation and self-interest take precedence. Her character is shallow and emotionally immature; she is incapable of the intensity of love that Gatsby feels. In difficult situations, she falls apart, descends into histrionics and demands intense sympathy and support from others. She needs protection from the harsh realities of life. After the drama of Gatsby’s tragic death, Daisy continues her life as though nothing had happened; the ugly events do not fit into her idealistic view of the world. It is as though Gatsby never existed.
Just as with the element there is a darker side to the personality. Being so open, the Phosphorus type is prone to fears, anxieties and the result of a vivid imagination. There is a great fear of the dark, the supernatural, fire, storms, disease and death. The element Phosphorus is unstable; it rapidly turns into the gaseous form when exposed to air. Likewise, the Phosphorus archetype lacks boundaries on every level. The intense sensitivity to “other worlds” and the fears are one expression of this lack of personal boundaries.
This tendency extends on a physical level too. There is a bleeding tendency leading to nosebleeds, bleeding gums, heavy periods, bruising, and clotting disorders, which can result in anaemia.
Just like a match, the Phosphorus personality is prone to burn out. This may be emotional, leading to depression or nervous exhaustion, or physical illness may result. A dose of Phosphorus rapidly restores the spark.
As a tubercular remedy, there is a tendency to upper respiratory complaints: sore throat, hoarseness, bronchitis, asthma and chest infections. The bleeding tendency leads to blood streaked sputum, and the pains are burning in nature. There is a deterioration of the condition as dusk approaches, and the patient becomes fearful, craving company and sympathy.
In expert medical hands Phosphorus may be used to treat serious disease, such as epilepsy, liver conditions, including hepatitis, arthritis and destructive bone diseases. Phosphorus is an immensely important remedy in homeopathy, one of our desert island remedies. It is full of contradictions, as gentle and loving as an affectionate kitten yet as dangerous and destructive as the deadliest of poisons.
I enjoy homeopathy’s personification of the mineral and its aim to treat the emotional root of the problem.
Aim of religion, method of science….
With phosphorescent smiles,
Dude, why is WordPress only letting me post 4 photos in a gallery? I mean, this isn’t life or death but there’s a chemistry test I’m seriously trying to procrastinate studying for, so this is of upmost importance to me at this moment in time.
Anyway, these are some photos from the Wilm-a-gogo Car Show from last month. Joyfully narrowed down to a measly 4 photos.
Edited: Figger’d it out. Hu-hu hyuck. :B
Double Edit: It now appears that a polar bear from outer space appears above each post. I enjoy and approve of this.
A very important milestone in my life. The visitation to the Enchanted Forest, a legendary abandoned amusement park behind Safeway in Ellicott City. To brace ourselves for this grand tour, we began by visiting a fairy store.
What a strange place Ellicott City is. And then, we find the legendary park in a strip mall. We sneak through behind a gate, behind the castle walls into the woods.
Still a relevant topic, no? Beyonce is applauded for her bravery in the lyrics of “Pretty Hurts” but she perpetuates every stereotype she speaks out against. This is the strength of the cage. Several funny, yet home hitting things I have read on various feminist blogs have hit a resonant chord with me, as I have failed to pay my ‘lady tax’ this week. I have displayed a non porn-compliant face. This week, my ‘invisible without mascara’ eyelashes were allowed to disappear into obscurity. I have embraced the constellation of adult acne that kisses my face like rainbow jimmies on an ice-cream cone. I did not use foundation so my skin might have the texture of a powdered donut. Today I shirked my social responsibility to style my bangs so that I could be recognized as a ‘manic pixie dream girl’ to some lonely & misunderstood bastard in vintage Adidas sneakers. I just let the suckers be absorbed into the homogenized grease ball of mouse colored thin hair that whispers across my scalp. At Victoria’s Secret they promised that I was a 32 C. But I know I’m a glorified A. I have hairy toes and an outie belly button. When I’m tired I have fine lines under my eyes from smiling so much. My under arm body odor competes with any man’s as I have discovered from a week of avoiding deodorant. A noted lack of compliments has resulted. I paraphrase, “They say I am letting myself go, but that’s okay, because I have been captive for too long.” The drive to ‘be pretty’ is so innate and internalized that I have found myself in the past giving other naked faced women ‘mental makeovers.’ I dart my eyes around nervously at work as I wonder if other women are doing this to me. While deep in activity my self consciousness is lost for rare fleeting moments, especially in nature or during exercise or prayer. I think about Einstein’s hair and how much time he must have awarded himself from not worrying about vanity. I think about the skull under my bones and my body slowly decaying and I find peace. Yet, at work this is a rare solace, as a small mirror sits behind the front desk belonging to my coworker. It sits like a cruel reminder at all times that my job is to be friendly and pretty and docile. I hide it behind the computer. I wonder if I am not doing my job to greet the mostly male clientele and “be pretty.” I am still greeting everybody, still being friendly yet feeling inconsolably neurotic over a lack of mascara. This week I am teased on several occasions for my eating and studying habits. Of course, it must be because of the lack of makeup! My mind projects. My vulnerability attracts energy vultures.
Are these things real or projections? I have no concrete proof.
What other conclusions may be drawn from this adventure will be charted. Will I go back to makeup, deodorant and pushup bras? Stay tuned.