My friends Bill, Weronika and myself got together last winter and wrote up these questions for the consideration of our “community”. Folks in Guelph were dealing with a lot of issues of sexual assault/reinforcing rape culture like many anarchist scenes often do, and we wanted to…
“Being triggered does not mean “being upset” or “being offended” or “being angry,” or any other euphemism people who roll their eyes long-sufferingly in the direction of trigger warnings tend to imagine it to mean. Being triggered has a very specific meaning that relates to evoking a physical and/or emotional response to a survived trauma. To say, “I was triggered” is not to say, “I got my delicate fee-fees hurt.” It is to say, “I had a significantly mood-altering experience of anxiety.” Someone who is triggered may experience anything from a brief moment of dizziness, to a shortness of breath and a racing pulse, to a full-blown panic attack. A survivor of sexual violence who experiences a trigger is experiencing the same thing as a soldier who experiences a trigger, potentially even including flashbacks. Like many soldiers who return from war, many survivors of sexual violence are left with post-traumatic stress disorder. Unlike soldiers, however, they are not likely to receive much sympathy, or benefit from attempts to understand, when they are triggered. Instead, triggered survivors of sexual violence are dismissed as oversensitive, as hysterics, as humorless, as weak. Well. Trivializing the concerns of a person whose traumatic experience of sexual violence has been triggered is a legitimate response. But it’s not a very kind or decent one. I will never understand why anyone wants to be the total jerk who evokes someone’s memories of being assaulted by blindsiding hir with a rape joke (or image, or metaphor, or whatever), in the guise of “humor.” No “joke” is worth triggering someone. Not if you understand what triggering someone really means.”—
I don’t have any fun memories to tell you right now Because I don’t have any fun memories that I’m just going to sit here and talk about. This makes me dramatic and intense and I only do it for the shock value and all of that shit. I didn’t have a fuzzy playful childhood off of TV movie or an after school special. And if you want something like that or thats how your childhood was then you may as well just go get validated off of TV because thats not what I’m here for. So anyways I’m not sorry for anything And Im just going to tell you that the truth ain’t pretty like a pretty little girl like me. No it ain’t pretty like a pretty little girl like me.
So I saw Lydia Lunch last year and I felt really validated by what she was doing And I was in the audience and I thought “God, fuck here is this woman who is doing all this cool shit.” Then I hear this guy say to this other guy "She’d be nothing without him, shes got a piece of him inside of her. The real rockstar lives on. "Incest is best" he says into the microphone. Big black hair hung over his left eye Like a pouty little girl child A sexy skinny little girl man child he is. Inspired by nothing but air. A stale defeat sound A muffled daddy voice inside of him. You can do better boy. Better, Better. You can do a little harder, a little faster, a little deeper Dig it in; dig it in a little harder faster now, harder faster now, harder faster now. "Incest is best, put your sister to the test" He says into the microphone
Im in the audience Im the sore thumbed girl in the big boy buddy butt licker scene I wanna scream so fucking bad "I hate him" I wanna scream but I know if I do the boy next to me will say "Aww come on he wasnt meanin no harm. You take things much too seriously”
One hand backwards gripping bloody bed post Smooth white and gold little girly bed post Dick me, Dick me Road runner sheets beneath me stained with his cum Road runner chased endlessly beneath me Flat and bright my slobber runs. Hand gripped tight blue Hardness, hardness Dick me Not my baby no. Not my baby angel little girl never, Not her. Hold on for you life girl. Hold on for your dreams angel. Hold on just a little bit longer, I will love your forever and ever girl. Dig me, dig me hard. My pussy dry like coughed up chalk An open wounded salt lick opened by you. My pussy dry like coughed up chalk An open wounded salt lick opened by you My fairy godmother is my moms hand on the door knob. He turns to him and says: "She only does it for the shock value."
So when Im angry I cry instead of screaming Because no one likes a girl with a red face. And I had this poster in my bedroom… When I was a little younger I got this poster Of a beautiful and perfect teenage girl Whose got this big diamond shaped tear caught in the corner of her eye. And I just wanted to be beautiful and large and loved and missed and sad just like her.
So we get home from the rock concert and my boyfriend wants to know why Im upset. "Please dont ask me why Im crying. You wouldnt understand” I say to him He keeps pushing me He promises me he’ll always love me, he can help me, I should get it off my chest "Look babe I really love you. I fucking care about you. If you cant tell me who can you tell? Youre really upset and I can tell and it really concerns me. You know I am here for you.” "Ok Im crying, ummm, cause my brother sometimes used to come into my room at night and fuck me. And my mom acted like nothing was happening And I know she knew. I know she fucking knew But its like she didnt do anything about it, she never It just makes me feel really angry And when I get angry I cry And It makes me pissed off And I just feel like How the fuck could she love me and let that happen.”
You start throwing up all over the floor You beg me to continue without omitting a single detail. Then you cover your ears with your hands and scream "Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!" Your vomit makes a little river thats heading straight for your acoustic guitar over in the corner I run to the bathroom to get a towel. When I return, Im all on the floor like mopping up your vomit And I look up at you and you say Well you tell me that you know, that I wasnt really crying for the reason that I said. Because people just dont cry People just dont cry when they are angry. Therefore…youre just as cute as a button when you cry. You are a mass of contradictions; you are a complicated and mysterious woman. What? .What? .what? You dont answer my question. You sit down; you pick up your guitar You remind me Im ultimately mysterious And you sit down to write a song about it. Fuckin Rockstar.
Holy shit. this doc made me laugh and want to hang out with my vagina. really awesome.
"After having watched Penis Size Insecurity By Men, it’s now time to move on to lesson two and have a look at womens insecurities: The Perfect Vagina.
Fronted by Lisa Rogers, this documentary focuses on the rise in vaginal cosmetic surgery, specifically labiaplasty. For the uninitiated, labiaplasty involves cutting off the inner labia so that they don’t ‘hang’ below the outer labia. Ouch! The labiaplasty business has skyrocketed over the past few years, and Lisa’s mission was to find out why so many women hate the appearance of their vulvas to the point that they’d willingly have pieces of them surgically removed.
Warning: May not be suitable for minors.”
*warning: surgical procedures..you may have to look away at a few points!
It’s not a choice. People don’t choose to hate themselves. -
It’s not for attention. It to feel comfortable with one’s body. -
If talked about, it’s not for compliments. It’s because sometimes, one needs to talk about it. -
People who have them don’t want “help”. People who have them want to fix themselves. If you try to force them to get help, they will resent you. What others consider “help” is counter-productive to them. -
People who have them aren’t always stick-skinny. Sometimes they aren’t that skinny at all. Weight, however, does not indicate lessened severity of the problem. -
If you see someone who has one eat, it doesn’t mean they are cured. It means that A.) they are trying to look like they don’t have a problem, or B.) they’ll beat themselves up later for “messing up”. -
People who have one are, in fact, people. They are as complex as any other human beings—which is complex. You don’t know what’s going on with them, so don’t make assumptions. Chances are, they don’t know what is going on in their heads either. -
Skipping a meal does not make you anorexic. Do not self-diagnose by this. Chances are, you don’t have an ED if you occasionally skip a meal because you want to lose weight. -
Also, do not try to diagnose someone else by their lack of eating or their weight. Once again, people are complex, and you don’t know. -
With a person who has one, the slightest put-down will seal itself in their memory forever. Maybe it helped motivate them; maybe it was in the back of their head as they considered ending their life. You don’t know.
Any of these are things to consider and remember. Any of these could prove to not be true for any given person; however, you don’t know. Don’t be ignorant, or judgmental, or think you know everything. Think before you speak. Don’t make jokes about it. Everyone will be better off.
“I’m so angry that I don’t know what to write, I just know that I want to write something, that I want to say something, that I want to scream something, something powerful and strong to make up for the helplessness I feel now … I want to scream at the guy who told me that women should stop complaining because they already have all the rights that they need. I want to scream at my brothers who read the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue and who watch the Miss America pageant… I want to scream because I am just as much of a human being as any man but I don’t always get treated like one, I want to scream because no matter how much I scream, no one will listen.”—GIRLS TO THE FRONT: The True Story of the Riot Grrrl Revolution (via thisworldishell)
still there are days when there is no way not even a chance that i’d dare for even a second glance at the reflection of my body in the mirror and she knows why like i know why she only cries when she feels like she’s about to lose control she knows how much control is worth knows what a woman can lose when her power to move is taken away by a grip so thick with hate it could clip the wings of god leave the next eight generations of your blood shaking and tonight something inside me is breaking my heart beating so deep beneath the sheets of her pain i could give every tear she’s crying a year—-a name and a face i’d forever erase from her mind if i could just like she would for me or you but how much closer to free would any of us be if even a few of us forgot what too many women in this world cannot and i’m thinking what the hell would you tell your daughter your someday daughter when you’d have to hold her beautiful face to the beat up face of this place that hasn’t learned the meaning of stop what would you tell your daughter of the womb raped empty the eyes swollen shut the gut too frightened to hold food the thousands upon thousands of bodies used and abused it was seven minutes of the worst kind of hell seven and she stopped believing in heaven distrust became her law fear her bible the only chance of survival don’t trust any of them bolt the doors to your home iron gate your windows walking to your car alone get the keys in the lock please please please please open like already you can feel that five fingered noose around your neck two hundred pounds of hatred digging graves into the sacred soil of your flesh please please please please open already you’re choking for your breath listening for the broken record of the defense answer the question answer the question answer the question miss why am i on trial for this would you talk to your daughter your sister your mother like this i am generations of daughters sisters mothers our bodies battlefields war grounds beneath the weapons of your brother’s hands do you know they’ve found land mines in broken women’s souls black holes in the parts of their hearts that once sang symphonies of creation bright as the light on infinity’s halo she says i remember the way love used to glow like glitter on my skin before he made his way in now every touch feels like a sin that could crucify medusa kali oshun mary bury me in a blue blanket so their god doesn’t know i’m a girl cut off my curls i want peace when i’m dead her friend knocks at the door it’s been three weeks don’t you think it’s time you got out of bed no the ceiling fan still feels like his breath i think i need just a couple more days of rest please bruises on her knees from praying to forget she’s heard stories of vietnam vets who can still feel the tingling of their amputated limbs she’s wondering how many women are walking around this world feeling the tingling of their amputated wings remembering what it was to fly to sing tonight she’s not wondering what she would tell her daughter she knows what she would tell her daughter she’d ask her what gods do you believe in i’ll build you a temple of mirrors so you can see them! pick the brightest star you’ve ever wished on i’ll show you the light in you that made that wish come true! tonight she’s not asking you what you would tell your daughter she’s life deep in the hell—-the slaughter has already died a thousand deaths with every unsteady breath a thousand graves in every pore of her flesh and she knows the war’s not over knows there’s bleeding to come knows she’s far from the only woman or girl trusting this world no more than the hands trust rusted barbed wire she was whole before that night believed in heaven before that night and she’s not the only one she knows she won’t be the only one she’s not asking what you’re gonna tell your daughter she asking what you’re gonna teach your son
“A slut is a person of any gender who has the courage to lead life according to the radical proposition that sex is nice and pleasure is good for you.”—from ‘The Ethical Slut’ by Dossie Easton and Catherine A. Liszt (via sexisnottheenemy) (via treesandair) (via feministhawaii)