no no, it’s fine, ill text myself back
valie export, das unsagbare sagen (1992); video still
"In 2008, a watershed was crossed and the world saw the irreversible shift from a global majority of rural dwellers to a new army of urban residents. Mass urbanisation trends predict that the world’s urban population will double in the coming 40 years. The cities of the developing world will account for 95% of that growth. These are the megacities of the BRIC economies, the urban giants of Brazil, Russia, India and China. These people-magnets draw in rural workers with the promise of higher wages and a better quality of life, but the delicate balance between expanding population and limited physical space defines the human condition of these powerhouses."
You can’t objectify men.
An individual woman valuing him solely his “washboard abs” and “using” him for sex is not comparable to women as a class being terrified of leaving their house in the middle of the night and having that very same sanctuary morph into a dangerous place when an abusive partner enters it. Nor is it comparable to being sexually harassed on the street by random strangers and at home by a sadistic male partner (and to add absolute insult to injury, to be blamed when shit does happen to them). And it’s most certainly not comparable to women a class living in world built around the complete commodification of their bodies in what sex positive people like to call “sex work.”
In the meantime our hypothetically objectified guy lost out on a real, complex, significant emotional attachment to a woman (entitlement much?) that one time as he continues to enjoy financial, physical, and emotional security in every other fucking institution he wanders into.
Hell, people will even feel sorry for the poor sap who was just “friendzoned.”
I’m still going to try.
Meet the average Canadian punter
Let’s talk about his fucking choice. Violent rapist.
This was horrifying and sickening to read.
trigger warning for sure
Franz Kapfer, An Druck auf die Eier, 1999.
What To Do When Your Boyfriend’s Asshole Best Friend Says, “Hey, Never Trust Anything That Bleeds For Seven Days And Doesn’t Die, Right?”
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