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Childlike, I danced in a dream.

GRRRLZ! GRRRLZ! GRRRLZ!

Excuse me but if feminism is not about equality then do tell what is it about? because it's Not to be above men. it's not to crush them and strip them of power as they have done to woman. It's for women to be treated, respected,valued and made to matter as men do to each other on general principle,but not to woman. if that's not seeking equality i don't know what it is. (because a world where either gender treats the other as an object and as inferior is NOT a better world)

wocinsolidarity:

maarnayeri:

I just took the longest sigh because there is so much going on here. Alright. Please forgive me in advance if my thoughts seem jumbled and incoherent, as I’m on a mobile and trying to string together many open ended ideas into a cohesive stream of thoughts.

So your definition of feminism is a global society where men’s social and economic positioning is not threatened or challenged in any way? Though much of it is built upon the subordination and labor extortion of women? So much of your concern lies with reassuring men that their privilege won’t be compromised and it really begs me to wonder if you’ve ever seriously engaged with or have a holistic understanding of serious feminist literature that tackles the economic exploitation of women globally speaking. What is feminism to you, anon? What’s its end goal? Who does it prioritize? Is it empowerment or liberation? Is it individualistic or collective? What sort of a world do you envision in your ultimate feminist utopia?

Look, I’m sorry to break it to you, but women produce 60% of this world’s labor, while owning 10% of the fluid capital and 1% of all purchasable land. Are there racial, geographical and historical nuances that go into this? Absolutely. But the gendered lines of exploitation are very clearly delineated. Let me explain this to you. This positioning you speak of that men occupy, which you seek to be “equal” to does not exist without endorsing capitalistic violence and cannibalizing other human beings, robbing them of their autonomy and security. Men did this to women and that’s how men have been able to bolster a culture that thrives from the degradation of women.

The term equality is shallow. It means nothing essentially. Equal in terms of what? Talent? Capital? Creativity? Skills? Social positioning? In all ways? How can we be equal in talent or skills or creativity when our brains and wiring of our bodies aren’t the same? How can we be equal in capital when many people around the world haven’t even been completely indoctrinated into western globalization and their revenue exists in agriculture, herding, clothes weaving and pastoral farming? The world is an immensely complex place that hosts a countless amount of people and ways of living. What informs us and our lifestyles are a vast array of factors, such as climate, religion, race, class and history. I’m trying to understand how equality can give birth to anything but uniformity, which is wholly counterintuitive to the end goal of all liberation politics.

Equality is a euphemism for assimilation. Instead, shouldn’t we strive for a world that destroys all innately oppressive structures and titles? Do you wanna know what kind of women are regularly heralded as being equals to their male counterparts? Hillary Clinton. Condoleezza Rice. Female US and IDF soldiers. How many infographs have you seen that portray essentially oppressive characters as “breaking boundaries” and shaking up the core (of what, I don’t know)? When in reality they aren’t dismantling structures, they’re just providing a facelift to it. Neoliberal feminism has created a society in which women such as Hillary Clinton, who are unabashedly anti immigration, pro Israel and have a familial legacy of violence are given more airtime and praise than revolutionary women who remain exiled, such an Assata Shakur. The former desires to be one in the same as her male cohorts, while the other continuously critiques the structure of male supremacy. Definitely not a coincidence.

Feminism, at its very core, is a liberation ideology that intimately engages with the harmfulness of masculinity/femininity as traits coerced upon children, teens and adults, how gendered injustices come into fruition through social, academic, economical and labor institutions and how we can create a world which upheaves patriarchy as a global phenomenon. The fact that equality (more clearly understood as assimilation) and a society in which women exploit men are the two only foreseeable options to you is troubling, to say the least and sounds like an iteration of patriarchy itself (either you join or you’re against us).

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I still can’t write to your parents and tell them what I want to say about your odd buttoned shirt and your carrot cakes. There is a long autumn ahead. I think I killed you by proxy and I can’t stop thinking it. 

When you knew how unhappy I was and you figured out it was my “half birthday” and showed up at my house with a carrot cake you’d baked for me and we went and ate it in the cemetery.

When you crashed my school prom by virtue of wearing an undone bow tie (see above) and I kept on spilling your drinks and finding it hilarious and drunkenly demanded that you go and wee on the building where I used to have maths and you willingly did so.

When you came up to visit me in my first term and wore absolutely horrendous long johns and drank a bottle of gin and threw up in the toilets of 5th av until you heard Lady Gaga come on and we did one of our ridiculous and over dramatic dances and when the song finished you ran straight off directly back to the boys bathroom to throw up some more and afterwards asked us if we were going to the pub.

When you used to send me random letters with plasters in them for a reason I never knew.

When I came to visit you and we created a game where we had to act out charades to Patrick Wolf and then drunkenly went to your college canteen with a tin of anchovies.

When we pissed every single grumpy dull stuck up hip late twenty something year olds that New Year we went to the Old Blue by dancing so enthusiastically we knocked over three tables and about a hundred pounds worth of booze.

When we both went to a Noah’s Arc party in April among the birds and the lions and the cats as bats and you found blood capsules that we both bit into and followed this with a swig of vodka that made you run into the kitchen to spit it out and to everyone who didn’t know it looked like you were throwing up some horrible bloody stomach bile.

When my only form of contact with you, but a good form indeed, was an exchange of terrible terrible puns that we texted each other every few days. (Me: “I made a soup yesterday from scratch, it was chowder this world!” You: “Miso proud.”)

When we used to split a bottle of Jaegermeister between us every Saturday until ‘Jaeger Night 2009’ which resulted in me passing out on a tube at 10.30 p.m. and you losing your vision in one eye the next day.

When you had spent about four months trying to guess the password to my phone and when you finally said with indifference, “It’s probably something ridiculous like your dog” to which my face revealed my mortification and your face revealed your cheeky childlike glee and delight and simultaneous shock.

When I thought that it wasn’t humanly possible to feel worse than I did five weeks ago yesterday until I found out that I had lost my best friend and my brother and one of if not the most important friendship I’ve ever had.

I remember this time last year when I was in one of my seemingly endless periods of blue. I had spent all of my energy trying to hide it, but you could somehow see right through me. It is weird to think how one of the most touching and poignant moments I have ever experienced of human kindness was outside the grotty loo in which I had just rubbed away the sticky mascara dust left from my toilet tears, but you met me with a cup of tea and a cigarette, and the promise that it would be okay, and that you would be there for me, and that it would end. It was an unexpected act, but it wasn’t anything unexpected from you.

I somehow always naively and hopefully believed that if I could wake you up at four in the afternoon with enough cups of tea, and if I could make you laugh enough, and if you could only ride it out, that your whole life’s endless period of blue would melt away and that one day it would end for you too. It was an unexpected act, but it wasn’t anything unexpected from you.

To my lovely pal, Tim, I feel like it will always feel like two weeks ago since it didn’t end for you.