Face Time

For me a big part of rapey culture are those faces, those tight, thin-lipped, angry, grizzled, wrinkled faces that are ugly from self-loathing and alcohol and a sense entitlement that is crumbling, those faces belonging to male humans with the power to govern every part of my life and the lives of other women and men, those faces looking down, the spittle and pointed fingers, the screwed up features or the features flat with inobservance and power fatigue, those faces that are so much stupider than you, have always been more ignorant, cloudy in their thinking, poorly read if read at all, fucking stupid and dumb but with power. I want them destroyed. I want to see those faces melt with disappointment and incomprehension they are not loved, valued, respected, wanted in any way humans want things. I want to see a large fire hose wash away the pestilential puddle they would leave. Maybe our oceans are large-hearted enough to absorb the waste and cancel out their existence.

The feminists in my generation have not shut up about the sexual double standard. We have done this every day. This consciousness has collected along with pet hair and lint into the thing that is causing women who consider themselves feminists to say enough with this shit and are your telling me I have to buckle under the fart ways of old farts, and who do you think you are calling lady and young lady, I’ll cut you and I’ll feel good doing it, you collective wriggling swarm of scum. You’re welcome.