Australia has a female Prime Minister.
I'm going to repeat that because I'm still having trouble believing it.
Australia has a female Prime Minister!
The Honorary Julia Gillard became the first woman to hold the title of Prime Minister of Australia earlier today. She was sworn in by our first female Governer General.
I'm still having trouble believing that this actually happened!!
Today I am not listening to people who make sexist jokes at her expense. Today I'm not listening to people who say our country is now doomed. Today I'm not listening to people who say she not fit because she's childless, or atheist, or unmarried.
Because today I weep for joy.
I stuck her photo on the staff room cupboard with the words "Gillard Newe PM" cut out of the newspaper. I wrote a message on the whiteboard in my room so that everyone could see my joy. I bought cake and chocolates for my coworkers so we could celebrate together. Because I am so unbelievably happy right now.
I tried to explain it to one of our students. She wanted to know why this made me so happy; all my coworkers did. I looked at my room full of toddlers and babies. My room mostly filled with children presumed female.
And I said, these children are growing up in a world where a woman can be Prime Minister. It's not a dream, or a hope, it s a fact. That is the world these children are growing up in.
I couldn't keep the break out of my voice, or the tears from my eyes. Because today it became a reality.
Australia has a female Prime Minister!
And I can't help but weep with joy.
24 June, 2010
17 June, 2010
Creating an Equalist Playlist
Please suggest me songs!
This is just the start! More songs will be added as people suggest them. Yes, I am actually buying these songs and adding them to a playlist.
Jill Souble: I Kissed A Girl (lyrics)
Lily Allen: Fuck You (Lyrics)
Lily Allen: Knock Em Out (Lyrics. Warning for some ableist language in this song)
Lily Allen: The Fear (Lyrics)
No Doubt: Just A Girl (lyrics. There's a popup on this site)
They Might Be Giants: Your Racist Friend (Lyrics. Warning for some ableist language in this song)
My definition of Equalist can be found in my profile, visible at the side of this page.
This is just the start! More songs will be added as people suggest them. Yes, I am actually buying these songs and adding them to a playlist.
Jill Souble: I Kissed A Girl (lyrics)
Lily Allen: Fuck You (Lyrics)
Lily Allen: Knock Em Out (Lyrics. Warning for some ableist language in this song)
Lily Allen: The Fear (Lyrics)
No Doubt: Just A Girl (lyrics. There's a popup on this site)
They Might Be Giants: Your Racist Friend (Lyrics. Warning for some ableist language in this song)
My definition of Equalist can be found in my profile, visible at the side of this page.
10 June, 2010
When she was twenty-two...
MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNINGS!! Warning for talk of abuse, self harm, sexual assault...
And this is just the stuff i can remember.
"You're too young to be depressed."
"Why are you so sad, you've got your whole life ahead if you?"
"What could have possibly happened to make you this way? You're only..."
"You're too young to know what real suffering is like."
"You're too young..."
I've heard it all before. Since I was a child, people were telling me that I had no right to feel bad, no right to be depressed. After all, what could have possibly happened to me? I was only 6, 10, 13, 15, 17, 18, 22...
The earliest I remember feeling depressed is when I was six. I tried to explain it not my mum. I didn't have the words. I told her I felt sad, listless, like I couldn't care about anything. She said "You mean you don't care about God or Jesus or your family? That's a horrible thing to say!". Not horrible that a six year old would feel like that... That I was a horrible person, as if my inability to care about things meant I didn't love my family. Because that's how she interpreted it.
How was she to know I was depressed? I was only six. How was I to know? I don't even know why I felt that way, my memories are far too fuzzy. I only remember guilt, and shame, a fear of my bath, a fear of rape.
When I was ten, I was sexually abused by someone I trusted, an adult who was so much a part of the family that we called him "Uncle". A good, upstanding Christian man. He groomed me first. He bought me treats, and sweets, was kind to me, did anything I wanted. When he touched me, he made me believe that it was an accident, that it was my imagination. When he rubbed my back, he said it was just friendly, he was just helping. My mother scolded me, telling me I was never to let a man touch me like that again.
When he pulled my pants down, he made it seem like an accident. He was just playing. When he put his hand down my nickers and grabbed me, he grinned and apologized for being so rude.
He left me feeling, to this day, that the assault was my fault. That I had caused it. Didn't my mother warn me? Why did I let him do that? Did I make him do that?
When I was in school, I was subject to a never ending tirade of abuse. From shunning to insults to people who pretended to be my friend just to see me cry when they insulted me. It got to the point where I would rather die than have to face school again.
When I had "friends" who beat me up at fourteen, I thought, at least they're paying attention to me.
When I had "friends" who made clear how much they hated me at fifteen, I though, at least they arrant beating me up.
I was thirteen when i started hurting myself. I would tear out chunks of skin with my fingernails. I would heat up a spoon with boiling water then hold it to my skin until it burned, leaving huge blisters on my hand. I would punch walls with bare fists as hard as I could, leaving my hands covered in scrapes and bruises. I would scratch at my ankles and thighs with sharp scissors, going over the same mark again and again and again. I would out peroxide and tea tree oil on my cuts just to feel the sting. I would snap rubber bandcs on my hands repetitively, hard enough to lessee welts. I would snap rubber bands on the burns I'd given myself, on the cuts I'd given myself.
I call myself a "former" self harmer, but I don't feel I can fully claim that title. The last time I hurt myself was last year, and I've thought about doing it a Hell of a lot since then.
When I was 15 I moved out of home. My parents tried to make me move back, and threatened to cut off all support, financial, emotional, unless I did what they asked. I won that battle, but at a terrible cost.
When I was sixteen, I was living with a friend of mine who emotionally abused me. She didn't mean to, and she did and does love me, but the scars she left still hurt. Still have me doubting myself and my feelings.
I've always had to tiptoe around my father. For as long as I can remember. I never knew when he would start to rant and rave, when he would throw things. One minute he was my father, the next he was a ball of barely contained fury. I would hide in my room until he stopped shouting. I would bring him a cup of coffee after he finished, hoping against hope that he didn't turn his rage on me. It was a nightmare. One minute I would be talking to him, the next it was as if something snapped, and all I can remember is the rage.
When I was 17, I had someone follow me home because they couldn't take no for an answer. He refused to leave until a friend of mine pulled a knife on him.
At 18 I had someone I didn't know follow me home. He asked for directions, I didn't know the way, he followed me home. This was ten at night, everything was closed, I was terrified and alone. When I got home, I thought I was safe, until he rapped on the window.
I was terrified growing up. Scared of my father and what he would do if I was bad. Scared of being raped. Scared of my mother blaming me for the sexual abuse. Scared of hell... Fuck, I'm a Pagan and I'm still terrified of Hell.
I'm still trying to stop myself from blaming myself for everything.
So tell me, at what age am I allowed to have experienced this shit. At what age am I allowed to be upset by it? When you tell me I'm only young, I've had a short life, yes. I am young. My lief has been short. But I was abused at ten. Young means diddly squat. Young doesn't protect you from harm. Young doesn't stop older men abusing you. Young doesn't stop you abusing yourself. Young doesn't mean that you haven't experienced some horrific fucking shit in your life.
And writing off my experiences because you think I'm too young to understand? Is a fucking shitty thing to do.
And this is just the stuff i can remember.
"You're too young to be depressed."
"Why are you so sad, you've got your whole life ahead if you?"
"What could have possibly happened to make you this way? You're only..."
"You're too young to know what real suffering is like."
"You're too young..."
I've heard it all before. Since I was a child, people were telling me that I had no right to feel bad, no right to be depressed. After all, what could have possibly happened to me? I was only 6, 10, 13, 15, 17, 18, 22...
The earliest I remember feeling depressed is when I was six. I tried to explain it not my mum. I didn't have the words. I told her I felt sad, listless, like I couldn't care about anything. She said "You mean you don't care about God or Jesus or your family? That's a horrible thing to say!". Not horrible that a six year old would feel like that... That I was a horrible person, as if my inability to care about things meant I didn't love my family. Because that's how she interpreted it.
How was she to know I was depressed? I was only six. How was I to know? I don't even know why I felt that way, my memories are far too fuzzy. I only remember guilt, and shame, a fear of my bath, a fear of rape.
When I was ten, I was sexually abused by someone I trusted, an adult who was so much a part of the family that we called him "Uncle". A good, upstanding Christian man. He groomed me first. He bought me treats, and sweets, was kind to me, did anything I wanted. When he touched me, he made me believe that it was an accident, that it was my imagination. When he rubbed my back, he said it was just friendly, he was just helping. My mother scolded me, telling me I was never to let a man touch me like that again.
When he pulled my pants down, he made it seem like an accident. He was just playing. When he put his hand down my nickers and grabbed me, he grinned and apologized for being so rude.
He left me feeling, to this day, that the assault was my fault. That I had caused it. Didn't my mother warn me? Why did I let him do that? Did I make him do that?
When I was in school, I was subject to a never ending tirade of abuse. From shunning to insults to people who pretended to be my friend just to see me cry when they insulted me. It got to the point where I would rather die than have to face school again.
When I had "friends" who beat me up at fourteen, I thought, at least they're paying attention to me.
When I had "friends" who made clear how much they hated me at fifteen, I though, at least they arrant beating me up.
I was thirteen when i started hurting myself. I would tear out chunks of skin with my fingernails. I would heat up a spoon with boiling water then hold it to my skin until it burned, leaving huge blisters on my hand. I would punch walls with bare fists as hard as I could, leaving my hands covered in scrapes and bruises. I would scratch at my ankles and thighs with sharp scissors, going over the same mark again and again and again. I would out peroxide and tea tree oil on my cuts just to feel the sting. I would snap rubber bandcs on my hands repetitively, hard enough to lessee welts. I would snap rubber bands on the burns I'd given myself, on the cuts I'd given myself.
I call myself a "former" self harmer, but I don't feel I can fully claim that title. The last time I hurt myself was last year, and I've thought about doing it a Hell of a lot since then.
When I was 15 I moved out of home. My parents tried to make me move back, and threatened to cut off all support, financial, emotional, unless I did what they asked. I won that battle, but at a terrible cost.
When I was sixteen, I was living with a friend of mine who emotionally abused me. She didn't mean to, and she did and does love me, but the scars she left still hurt. Still have me doubting myself and my feelings.
I've always had to tiptoe around my father. For as long as I can remember. I never knew when he would start to rant and rave, when he would throw things. One minute he was my father, the next he was a ball of barely contained fury. I would hide in my room until he stopped shouting. I would bring him a cup of coffee after he finished, hoping against hope that he didn't turn his rage on me. It was a nightmare. One minute I would be talking to him, the next it was as if something snapped, and all I can remember is the rage.
When I was 17, I had someone follow me home because they couldn't take no for an answer. He refused to leave until a friend of mine pulled a knife on him.
At 18 I had someone I didn't know follow me home. He asked for directions, I didn't know the way, he followed me home. This was ten at night, everything was closed, I was terrified and alone. When I got home, I thought I was safe, until he rapped on the window.
I was terrified growing up. Scared of my father and what he would do if I was bad. Scared of being raped. Scared of my mother blaming me for the sexual abuse. Scared of hell... Fuck, I'm a Pagan and I'm still terrified of Hell.
I'm still trying to stop myself from blaming myself for everything.
So tell me, at what age am I allowed to have experienced this shit. At what age am I allowed to be upset by it? When you tell me I'm only young, I've had a short life, yes. I am young. My lief has been short. But I was abused at ten. Young means diddly squat. Young doesn't protect you from harm. Young doesn't stop older men abusing you. Young doesn't stop you abusing yourself. Young doesn't mean that you haven't experienced some horrific fucking shit in your life.
And writing off my experiences because you think I'm too young to understand? Is a fucking shitty thing to do.
03 June, 2010
I don't owe you anything
Warning! this post is a rant about victim blaming and street harassment. It will be upsetting. I know because it's upsetting me right now.
Last night I was having dinneer with some friends of mine. This is not unusual, we do this nearly every Wednesday night. We play laser tag together and then go to the same restaurant for food, because it's good and we've gotten to know the people there.
Last night I was engaged in what I though was a very productive discussion about the differences between objectification and physical attraction. We talked about where they overlapped, and that the main diffence is how you view the person you are physically attracted to, and where you take it from there.
The discussion shifted and changed, as discussions are want to do. We talked about douchebags and people who Just Dont Get It. I mentioned thoses people who refuse to take no for an answer when you're trying to read.
And that's when it all went to shit. Someone decided to chime in at that point: "Don't you get on your high horse when you don't even have the decentcy to politely say 'i don't want to talk to you'".
Um... What? Weren't we just talking about douchebags who won't take no for an answer? Douchebags who pester you regardless of what you're doing, whether you have earphones or are reading or are otherwise quite obviously ignoring them?
I said as much. Actually, truth be told, I shouted. I shouted that if I was reading then you had no right to talk to me. I shouted that even saying no isn't enough for some people. I shouted that I don't know whether the person talking to me is going to take a polite rebuff or uses that as a way to keep talking to me or uses that as an excuse to start shouting at me and threatening me. Because you know what? All of thesse things have happened to me while I've been on the train.
Normally at night, when there aren't any witnesses. Because I am a very slight, small woman, and I look like I'd be easy to intimidate. It's true, I am easy to intimidate.
One of the people, the person who I normally consider to be a sexist douchebag but who was actually engaging fully in the prior discussion, actually supported me, and said that since I'd explain my experience, my reaction was warranted.
But that did stop other people jumping in to attack me.
I told them I was scared whenever I was out on my own at night. I told them about my keys and my deodorant and my empty headphones used as a way to deter people and protect myself. I told them about the people who had shouted, threatened, followed me home.
And I got the questions. Why didn't you ask someone for help? Why didn't you go to someones house or to a shop? Why didn't you scream or run? Why why why why why didn't you stop these men when they decided you weren't worth squat to them?
And that's when one woman said that, well, I was just whining. After all, she managed to kick two rapists out of her home, and she's the same size as me! But she's helpful, really, she'll show me how to defend myself, but the difference between us is that she took action and I just whined about it.
You know what? Fuck you! Fuck you all!!!
I was asked directions by a man while walking home one night. I politely said "Sorry, I don't know". And he proceeded to follow me home, right up to my houser, and started rapping on the window.
I was asked for change. After refusing, he started getting in my face and shouting at me, abusing me. Mybfriend pulled me away, tried to protect me, so he started in on her. With multiple people looking on. I asked the people standing around for help but they refused even to let me borrow a phone to call the police.
Someone yelled "Hey sexy!" to me on the street. When I ignored him, he followed me down the street shouting that I was a bitch and a cunt and stuck up and I thought I was so great but really I was an ugly bitchy cunt!
I was on the train, reading a book. Someone asked me about it. I said, "it good", then turned away and ignored them. He pressed. I didn't answer. He pressedd more. I said "excuse me, I'm trying to read". He said "well fine, bitch, I was just trying to make polite conversation. God, you women are so full of shit, and you won't even give me the time of day".
THESE ARE TRUE STORIES!!!
These are men who's opinion of women is so low that they think they have the right to treat me like shit.
Guess what? You don't have the right to talk to me. You don't have the right to me. You don't have the right to conversation, to see me smile, to holler at me. Your rights end where mine begin, and I have the right to be left the fuck alone.
You know what? Leave me the fuck alone!!!!!
Last night I was having dinneer with some friends of mine. This is not unusual, we do this nearly every Wednesday night. We play laser tag together and then go to the same restaurant for food, because it's good and we've gotten to know the people there.
Last night I was engaged in what I though was a very productive discussion about the differences between objectification and physical attraction. We talked about where they overlapped, and that the main diffence is how you view the person you are physically attracted to, and where you take it from there.
The discussion shifted and changed, as discussions are want to do. We talked about douchebags and people who Just Dont Get It. I mentioned thoses people who refuse to take no for an answer when you're trying to read.
And that's when it all went to shit. Someone decided to chime in at that point: "Don't you get on your high horse when you don't even have the decentcy to politely say 'i don't want to talk to you'".
Um... What? Weren't we just talking about douchebags who won't take no for an answer? Douchebags who pester you regardless of what you're doing, whether you have earphones or are reading or are otherwise quite obviously ignoring them?
I said as much. Actually, truth be told, I shouted. I shouted that if I was reading then you had no right to talk to me. I shouted that even saying no isn't enough for some people. I shouted that I don't know whether the person talking to me is going to take a polite rebuff or uses that as a way to keep talking to me or uses that as an excuse to start shouting at me and threatening me. Because you know what? All of thesse things have happened to me while I've been on the train.
Normally at night, when there aren't any witnesses. Because I am a very slight, small woman, and I look like I'd be easy to intimidate. It's true, I am easy to intimidate.
One of the people, the person who I normally consider to be a sexist douchebag but who was actually engaging fully in the prior discussion, actually supported me, and said that since I'd explain my experience, my reaction was warranted.
But that did stop other people jumping in to attack me.
I told them I was scared whenever I was out on my own at night. I told them about my keys and my deodorant and my empty headphones used as a way to deter people and protect myself. I told them about the people who had shouted, threatened, followed me home.
And I got the questions. Why didn't you ask someone for help? Why didn't you go to someones house or to a shop? Why didn't you scream or run? Why why why why why didn't you stop these men when they decided you weren't worth squat to them?
And that's when one woman said that, well, I was just whining. After all, she managed to kick two rapists out of her home, and she's the same size as me! But she's helpful, really, she'll show me how to defend myself, but the difference between us is that she took action and I just whined about it.
You know what? Fuck you! Fuck you all!!!
I was asked directions by a man while walking home one night. I politely said "Sorry, I don't know". And he proceeded to follow me home, right up to my houser, and started rapping on the window.
I was asked for change. After refusing, he started getting in my face and shouting at me, abusing me. Mybfriend pulled me away, tried to protect me, so he started in on her. With multiple people looking on. I asked the people standing around for help but they refused even to let me borrow a phone to call the police.
Someone yelled "Hey sexy!" to me on the street. When I ignored him, he followed me down the street shouting that I was a bitch and a cunt and stuck up and I thought I was so great but really I was an ugly bitchy cunt!
I was on the train, reading a book. Someone asked me about it. I said, "it good", then turned away and ignored them. He pressed. I didn't answer. He pressedd more. I said "excuse me, I'm trying to read". He said "well fine, bitch, I was just trying to make polite conversation. God, you women are so full of shit, and you won't even give me the time of day".
THESE ARE TRUE STORIES!!!
These are men who's opinion of women is so low that they think they have the right to treat me like shit.
Guess what? You don't have the right to talk to me. You don't have the right to me. You don't have the right to conversation, to see me smile, to holler at me. Your rights end where mine begin, and I have the right to be left the fuck alone.
You know what? Leave me the fuck alone!!!!!
31 May, 2010
The Nature of Consent, Part Two: The Importance of Safe Signals
WARNING!! This post talks about sex, kink and consent, and is NSFW. It may also be upsetting to some readers.
Fist a note: I use the phrase Safe Signals instead of Safe Words very deliberately. Not everyone can speak, and not all Safe Signals are verbal.
Safe Signals are another of those things that I believe every sexually active person should have, not just those in the kinky community. A Safe Signal is a signal, decided on before hand by all partners, that lets the other parties know to stop. Often people will have two (or more) different signals, declaring the urgency of the halt. One could mean slow down, or stop that activity, another could mean Stop Everything Now!
A Safe Signal could be just about anything;
But why are Safe Signals so important?
In kinky communities, the answer is obvious. A partner hit a little too hard, cut a little too deep, you need to be able to let them know so they can stop and apply first aid if necessary.
But what about people who aren't kinky?
Safe Signals, I believe, should be supported and pushed for by feminists all over. They are the epitome of enthusiastic consent. They help partners know that, although someone may have consented initially, that consent can be revoked at any time. And it gives people a means to revoke that consent! If I'm in the middle of sex and suddenly have a flashback, I have a way of quickly letting my partner know that we Must Stop.
But Safe Signals are not without their limitations. It is possible thar, should you freeze up or need to stop, you might be unable to make your Signal. This is why it is vitally important that we tune in to our partners, so that if something changes, if something goes wrong, we can respond immediately.
Fist a note: I use the phrase Safe Signals instead of Safe Words very deliberately. Not everyone can speak, and not all Safe Signals are verbal.
Safe Signals are another of those things that I believe every sexually active person should have, not just those in the kinky community. A Safe Signal is a signal, decided on before hand by all partners, that lets the other parties know to stop. Often people will have two (or more) different signals, declaring the urgency of the halt. One could mean slow down, or stop that activity, another could mean Stop Everything Now!
A Safe Signal could be just about anything;
- A word not likely to be used in normal play, such as Pineapple
- A hand gesture or movement not likely to be used in normal play, like opening and shutting the hands quickly
- A sound made, such as snapping fingers or ringing a bell
But why are Safe Signals so important?
In kinky communities, the answer is obvious. A partner hit a little too hard, cut a little too deep, you need to be able to let them know so they can stop and apply first aid if necessary.
But what about people who aren't kinky?
Safe Signals, I believe, should be supported and pushed for by feminists all over. They are the epitome of enthusiastic consent. They help partners know that, although someone may have consented initially, that consent can be revoked at any time. And it gives people a means to revoke that consent! If I'm in the middle of sex and suddenly have a flashback, I have a way of quickly letting my partner know that we Must Stop.
But Safe Signals are not without their limitations. It is possible thar, should you freeze up or need to stop, you might be unable to make your Signal. This is why it is vitally important that we tune in to our partners, so that if something changes, if something goes wrong, we can respond immediately.
The Nature of Consent, Part One: SSC vs. RACK
WARNING!!! This post talks about sex, kink and consent, and is NSFW. It also might be upsetting for some readers.
The issue of consent is one which is very important in feminist circles. It is a topic that needs to be talked about over and over and over again. But when it comes to kinky circles, kinky feminists, the word holds even more meanings.
These are currently two schools of thought regarding consent in kinky sexuality. They are defined by the acronyms SSC and RACK.
SSC: Safe, Sane and Consentual, is one I actually vehemently reject.
For starters, who exactly defines safe? What is safe? There are things I might do to make me safe, but which would be unsafe to other people because of different tolerances and triggers. And not every kinky activity is safe. Slap and tickle? Sure. Handcuffs and bondage? Whatever. Knife play? No way in hell is that safe. The only thing we can do, what we need to trust ourselves and our partners to do, is be aware of the risks.
Want to play with knives? Have fun. Want to do a suspension scene? Go right ahead. Interested in wax play? Enjoy. But be aware that these are not safe activities. They are dangerous. And we need to accept that danger, to understand that danger, in order to take the precautions necessary to engage in these activities.
The other thing that really shits me about SSC is the word "Sane". Guess what! I'm not sane. I don't identify as sane. There are some days when I am more sane than others, but what about when I'm in the midst of a manic episode and really, really want sex? Should I just say no? Por what if I don't know if this is the beginnings of mania or I'm just really happy? Where is the line drawn?
To demand that all kinky participants be sane is, quite frankly, ableist. And I won't have any part in that.
RACK is actually something I hold very dear to me, and something which I think all sexually active people should strive for, not just kinky ones. Risk Aware Consentual Kink (or sex, if you're not kinky). This is about knowing what you're doing, researching something new before trying it, taking into account every possible eventuatioion of an activity. Even more importantly, it's about making sure your partner(s) is awarer of all possible risks too. And with this awareness, making sure you all are truly willing to proceed.
This is, I believe, the true nature of consent: knowing the risks and consciously deciding, yes, I'm going to try this.
The issue of consent is one which is very important in feminist circles. It is a topic that needs to be talked about over and over and over again. But when it comes to kinky circles, kinky feminists, the word holds even more meanings.
These are currently two schools of thought regarding consent in kinky sexuality. They are defined by the acronyms SSC and RACK.
SSC: Safe, Sane and Consentual, is one I actually vehemently reject.
For starters, who exactly defines safe? What is safe? There are things I might do to make me safe, but which would be unsafe to other people because of different tolerances and triggers. And not every kinky activity is safe. Slap and tickle? Sure. Handcuffs and bondage? Whatever. Knife play? No way in hell is that safe. The only thing we can do, what we need to trust ourselves and our partners to do, is be aware of the risks.
Want to play with knives? Have fun. Want to do a suspension scene? Go right ahead. Interested in wax play? Enjoy. But be aware that these are not safe activities. They are dangerous. And we need to accept that danger, to understand that danger, in order to take the precautions necessary to engage in these activities.
The other thing that really shits me about SSC is the word "Sane". Guess what! I'm not sane. I don't identify as sane. There are some days when I am more sane than others, but what about when I'm in the midst of a manic episode and really, really want sex? Should I just say no? Por what if I don't know if this is the beginnings of mania or I'm just really happy? Where is the line drawn?
To demand that all kinky participants be sane is, quite frankly, ableist. And I won't have any part in that.
RACK is actually something I hold very dear to me, and something which I think all sexually active people should strive for, not just kinky ones. Risk Aware Consentual Kink (or sex, if you're not kinky). This is about knowing what you're doing, researching something new before trying it, taking into account every possible eventuatioion of an activity. Even more importantly, it's about making sure your partner(s) is awarer of all possible risks too. And with this awareness, making sure you all are truly willing to proceed.
This is, I believe, the true nature of consent: knowing the risks and consciously deciding, yes, I'm going to try this.
09 May, 2010
What's the same about all these covers?
If you guessed "The Pose", Congratulations! Have an impossible costume! (Warning, NSFW. Warning: trans-hate in the comments).
And it's not just comics where you see this pose. Check out these posters for the recent G I Joe movie:
Wow! This is a pose which manages to show off Arse, Breasts and Face (except in that G I Joe poster where her head is cut off...) all at the same time! It's magic!
This is a pose I see all the damn time and, frankly, I'm bored. I'd really wish creators would be just a little more creative when it comes to posing their comic book heroines.
I've never seen a hero in the pose, only heroines. Anyone know of an exception?
So tell me, my lovely readers, what things in comic books are you sick of, be it poses or themes or impossible outfits? What have you seen so many times that you just want to scream "Enough already!!"? And is the presents of these things enough to stop you from buying a comic if you see it on the cover?
07 May, 2010
I Dreamed That I Was Normal
I dreamed that I was normal.
I dreamed that I was fine.
I dreamed that people asked me pointless questions like the time.
I dreamed the world made sense,
That people never tried
To delve into my psyche and redefine my mind.
I dreamed that I was normal.
I dreamed I didn't care.
I dreamed I could walk down the street without a single stare.
I dreamed that I was thirsty,
All I needed was a drink.
I dreamed that no one questioned me or how I know to think.
I dreamed that I was normal.
I dreamed that it was clear.
I dreamed that who I was was not a cause for peoples fear.
I dreamed that I was timid.
I dreamed that I was proud.
I dreamed that I was quiet and I dreamed that I was loud.
I dreamed that I was normal.
I dreamed that I knew best.
I dreamed that my emotions weren't the cause of my distress.
I dreamed that I was normal,
That nothing was amiss.
I dreamed that I was normal, and then woke up to this.
I dreamed that I was fine.
I dreamed that people asked me pointless questions like the time.
I dreamed the world made sense,
That people never tried
To delve into my psyche and redefine my mind.
I dreamed that I was normal.
I dreamed I didn't care.
I dreamed I could walk down the street without a single stare.
I dreamed that I was thirsty,
All I needed was a drink.
I dreamed that no one questioned me or how I know to think.
I dreamed that I was normal.
I dreamed that it was clear.
I dreamed that who I was was not a cause for peoples fear.
I dreamed that I was timid.
I dreamed that I was proud.
I dreamed that I was quiet and I dreamed that I was loud.
I dreamed that I was normal.
I dreamed that I knew best.
I dreamed that my emotions weren't the cause of my distress.
I dreamed that I was normal,
That nothing was amiss.
I dreamed that I was normal, and then woke up to this.
12 April, 2010
The Thousand Voices
I am the pushy girl.
I am the bossy girl.
I am the girl with the loud voice.
I am the angry girl.
I am the quiet girl.
I am the girl who won't take no.
I am the butch girl.
I am the femme girl.
I am the girl who was called a boy.
I am the good girl.
I am the bad girl.
I am the girl who decides on her own.
I am the thin girl.
I am the fat girl.
I am the girl who doesn't care.
I am the pretty girl.
I am the ugly girl.
I am the girl with the hairy legs.
I am the straight girl.
I am the queer girl.
I am the girl who is asexual.
I am the shy girl.
I am the scared girl.
I am the girl who's been there before.
I am the dark girl.
I am the light girl.
I am the girl you can't define.
I am the sane girl.
I am the mad girl.
I am the girl who knows her mind.
I am the girl with long hair.
I am the girl with short hair.
I am the girl with no hair at all.
I am the girl who fights.
I am the girl who cries.
I am the girl who doesn't think twice.
I am the girl in the little black dress.
I am the girl with scars upon her wrist.
I am the girl in the dirty jeans.
I am the girl in nothing at all.
I am unhurt although you hurt me.
I am unashamed although you shame me.
I am complete although you break me.
I am unstoppable although you try to stop me.
I am hysterical.
I am emotional.
I am rational.
I am logical.
I am not here to make you comfortable.
I am not here for your desire.
I am not here for your attention.
I am not here for your demands.
I am me.
I am here for me.
Yes, I am that girl.
I am the bossy girl.
I am the girl with the loud voice.
I am the angry girl.
I am the quiet girl.
I am the girl who won't take no.
I am the butch girl.
I am the femme girl.
I am the girl who was called a boy.
I am the good girl.
I am the bad girl.
I am the girl who decides on her own.
I am the thin girl.
I am the fat girl.
I am the girl who doesn't care.
I am the pretty girl.
I am the ugly girl.
I am the girl with the hairy legs.
I am the straight girl.
I am the queer girl.
I am the girl who is asexual.
I am the shy girl.
I am the scared girl.
I am the girl who's been there before.
I am the dark girl.
I am the light girl.
I am the girl you can't define.
I am the sane girl.
I am the mad girl.
I am the girl who knows her mind.
I am the girl with long hair.
I am the girl with short hair.
I am the girl with no hair at all.
I am the girl who fights.
I am the girl who cries.
I am the girl who doesn't think twice.
I am the girl in the little black dress.
I am the girl with scars upon her wrist.
I am the girl in the dirty jeans.
I am the girl in nothing at all.
I am unhurt although you hurt me.
I am unashamed although you shame me.
I am complete although you break me.
I am unstoppable although you try to stop me.
I am hysterical.
I am emotional.
I am rational.
I am logical.
I am not here to make you comfortable.
I am not here for your desire.
I am not here for your attention.
I am not here for your demands.
I am me.
I am here for me.
Yes, I am that girl.
09 April, 2010
The Treatment of Women in the X-Men Films
I have tried to be inclusive of trans* men and women in this post. If anyone thinks I have failed in this endevour, or there is a way I could improve it, please let me know, either in comments or in an email.
Let me preface this by saying: I love Marvel. I am a comic-book geek, and Marvel is my playground. It is one of the only superhero worlds with kick-arse female characters and kick-arse teens. As far as non-white characters, trans* characters, disabled characters - sorry. There is a *lot* of fail.
But I cling to Marvel in the hope that it will get better, because I love superhero comics. I live in the hope that, as the slightly more progressive of the comic-giants, Marvel will one day stop fridging its women; will have a non-white character who doesn't turn out to be the villain; will have a disabled character that doesn't have their disability magicked away; will have a mentally ill character that isn't "cursed by maddness" and thus evil; include a fucking trans* character, period!
I know, I know, it's asking a lot. I might as well hope for Joss Whedon to knock on my door and say "I've treated the subject of rape horribly in the past; how can I do better?" But I refuse to believe that the world which brought us Kitty Pryde, Sue Storm, Jubilee, Emma Frost, Storm, Tamora Pierce's White Tiger and Jean Grey/Phoenix can't get better.
Which brings me to my anger. I was involved in a mock-Twitter argument which started as Marvel vs. DC, and ended up as Kitty Pryde vs. Batman. Not who would beat whom, but who is the coolest. Leaving asside the fact that Batman is a (very) rich, white, able-bodied, straight, cis-man and thus has every priviledge possible available to him, it was a fun argument. Until.
Until it was suggested that Batman was cooler because he had block-buster action flicks made about him and Kitty didn't. And suddenly I wasn't having fun anymore, I was angry. More than angry, I was furious. I still am furious. Because who does Hollywood make kick-arse action flicks about? Oh that's right, able-bodied cis-men. Kick-arse women? (cis or trans*, especially trans*) Not so much.
But there was an X-Men movie franchise, with actual cis-women in it! Rouge and Storm and Jean Grey and Phoenix! Oh, really? So I'm just supposed to jump for joy because there are women in these films? I don't think so! The treatment of the female X-Men (hah!) in these films.
Rouge:
In the comics she is down and dirty. She is powerful. She is poor. She isn't afraid to use foul tactics to win a fight. She wasn't afraid of using her powers, especially if it won her the battle.
In the film? Actually, in the film she's a mix of three characters: Jubilee, Rouge and, gasp, Kitty Pryde. In fact, the only thing film-Rouge had in common with comic-Rouge was her powers.
Film Rouge spends all three movies pining over various boys and men. In the first film, the only film she is prominent in, she is a fucking plot device to spur on Wolverine! She was used. The first film, the only one she's prominent in, she wasn't a character, she was something for the other characters to react to.
Storm:
Talk about a kick-arse super heroine! She can control the fucking weather! You'd think a weather-witch would come in mighty handy in a massive, drawn out battle of the mutants! And she does come in handy, those three times she actually used her powers.
That's right; three films, countless battles, and she only uses her powers three time. Um... yay? Not to mention the fact that you barely fucking see her! You see her eyes glow, and then she vanishes! You don't see half the fuckng cool stuff she does! You know, the stuff that saves the day? She ain't credited for that, either.
Jean Grey:
Oh Jean. She was horribly mistreated in these films. Her role? Be caught in a love triangle between Wolverine and Scott. Woo. She is a telepath, though! But, oh, she's punished for using her powers. That's right, she saves the fucking day, isn't seen doing it, and has a fucking off-screen death. Talk about being fridged!
But of course, she comes back as;
Phoenix:
Apparently Jean was more a more powerful telepath than even Professor X! For reasons not properly explained, this is considered a Bad Thing. We couldn't have a young cis-girl be stronger than an old man now, could we? So Prifessor X takes it upon himself to mess with her mind and supress her powers.
Stop. Let me talk about that for a second. Because sweet merciful darkness what a fucking horrible thing to do!! People being scared of powerful cis-women and thus supressing them? Mutilating them against their will? Gee, it's not like that happens every fucking day!
But back to Phoenix. And now we have some ableist-fail as well! You see, the act of supressing Jeans powers "drove her insane". It created a split personality, Dark Phoenix. A powerful cis-woman with a mental disorder? Let's make her evil! That's never been done before, right? Right...
And you know what? I'm sick of this! I'm sick of being tossed a bone, I'm sick of being expected to leap for joy every time a cis-woman is on the fucking screen! And heaven for fend I ask for actual fleshed-out characters; fleshed out characters who aren't thin, white, cis, currently abled men!
On the plus side, I have discovered an awesome new blog, Heroine Content. They published some commentary on the fourth X-Men film, which I decided not to mention at this point:
Let me preface this by saying: I love Marvel. I am a comic-book geek, and Marvel is my playground. It is one of the only superhero worlds with kick-arse female characters and kick-arse teens. As far as non-white characters, trans* characters, disabled characters - sorry. There is a *lot* of fail.
But I cling to Marvel in the hope that it will get better, because I love superhero comics. I live in the hope that, as the slightly more progressive of the comic-giants, Marvel will one day stop fridging its women; will have a non-white character who doesn't turn out to be the villain; will have a disabled character that doesn't have their disability magicked away; will have a mentally ill character that isn't "cursed by maddness" and thus evil; include a fucking trans* character, period!
I know, I know, it's asking a lot. I might as well hope for Joss Whedon to knock on my door and say "I've treated the subject of rape horribly in the past; how can I do better?" But I refuse to believe that the world which brought us Kitty Pryde, Sue Storm, Jubilee, Emma Frost, Storm, Tamora Pierce's White Tiger and Jean Grey/Phoenix can't get better.
Which brings me to my anger. I was involved in a mock-Twitter argument which started as Marvel vs. DC, and ended up as Kitty Pryde vs. Batman. Not who would beat whom, but who is the coolest. Leaving asside the fact that Batman is a (very) rich, white, able-bodied, straight, cis-man and thus has every priviledge possible available to him, it was a fun argument. Until.
Until it was suggested that Batman was cooler because he had block-buster action flicks made about him and Kitty didn't. And suddenly I wasn't having fun anymore, I was angry. More than angry, I was furious. I still am furious. Because who does Hollywood make kick-arse action flicks about? Oh that's right, able-bodied cis-men. Kick-arse women? (cis or trans*, especially trans*) Not so much.
But there was an X-Men movie franchise, with actual cis-women in it! Rouge and Storm and Jean Grey and Phoenix! Oh, really? So I'm just supposed to jump for joy because there are women in these films? I don't think so! The treatment of the female X-Men (hah!) in these films.
Rouge:
In the comics she is down and dirty. She is powerful. She is poor. She isn't afraid to use foul tactics to win a fight. She wasn't afraid of using her powers, especially if it won her the battle.
In the film? Actually, in the film she's a mix of three characters: Jubilee, Rouge and, gasp, Kitty Pryde. In fact, the only thing film-Rouge had in common with comic-Rouge was her powers.
Film Rouge spends all three movies pining over various boys and men. In the first film, the only film she is prominent in, she is a fucking plot device to spur on Wolverine! She was used. The first film, the only one she's prominent in, she wasn't a character, she was something for the other characters to react to.
Storm:
Talk about a kick-arse super heroine! She can control the fucking weather! You'd think a weather-witch would come in mighty handy in a massive, drawn out battle of the mutants! And she does come in handy, those three times she actually used her powers.
That's right; three films, countless battles, and she only uses her powers three time. Um... yay? Not to mention the fact that you barely fucking see her! You see her eyes glow, and then she vanishes! You don't see half the fuckng cool stuff she does! You know, the stuff that saves the day? She ain't credited for that, either.
Jean Grey:
Oh Jean. She was horribly mistreated in these films. Her role? Be caught in a love triangle between Wolverine and Scott. Woo. She is a telepath, though! But, oh, she's punished for using her powers. That's right, she saves the fucking day, isn't seen doing it, and has a fucking off-screen death. Talk about being fridged!
But of course, she comes back as;
Phoenix:
Apparently Jean was more a more powerful telepath than even Professor X! For reasons not properly explained, this is considered a Bad Thing. We couldn't have a young cis-girl be stronger than an old man now, could we? So Prifessor X takes it upon himself to mess with her mind and supress her powers.
Stop. Let me talk about that for a second. Because sweet merciful darkness what a fucking horrible thing to do!! People being scared of powerful cis-women and thus supressing them? Mutilating them against their will? Gee, it's not like that happens every fucking day!
But back to Phoenix. And now we have some ableist-fail as well! You see, the act of supressing Jeans powers "drove her insane". It created a split personality, Dark Phoenix. A powerful cis-woman with a mental disorder? Let's make her evil! That's never been done before, right? Right...
And you know what? I'm sick of this! I'm sick of being tossed a bone, I'm sick of being expected to leap for joy every time a cis-woman is on the fucking screen! And heaven for fend I ask for actual fleshed-out characters; fleshed out characters who aren't thin, white, cis, currently abled men!
On the plus side, I have discovered an awesome new blog, Heroine Content. They published some commentary on the fourth X-Men film, which I decided not to mention at this point:
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