feminist rant

yeah, a man can be a feminist.
im thinkin thatI reckon having and cultivating strong motivation and inspiration tobetter understand womens issues
a child's instinct to wondercombined with a genuine and deep criticism of the patriarchalheterosexist aspects of human civilisation and a desire to see themabolished
most feminists seem to want freedom in equality too.
should pay my membership dues i reckon.I
figure that should compensate for not havin a cunt.or is it a more exclusive club?
the insidious and pervasive ways in which i and other males in my lifeassert our masculine identities over womyn irritates me sometimes
andthe way that most women submit to degradation to boredom and inequalopportunity and marriage and stupid religions daily irritates me too.
but pretty much everything about the status quo, the hypocrisy ofabsurd realities and control systems that surround and squashhumanity,
leaves me with a sensation ofmoral nausea and anxiety.boredomdespair.
i learnt early that the mechanisms, the devices of male domination,and racial oppression, and religion and government operate through the
language we speak
the culture we consume
the way we look
the way we fuck
the way we get married
we way we practice monogamy
and heterosexism
and homosexism
and biphobia
and oppression of the erotic
and
workworkwork
as far as the shit that REALLY fucking bugs memakes me wanna tear out all my hair.and shit on the carpetthis is just the tip of the icebergthings that i know
womyn is my mother and my sister.
womyn are friends and enemies, colleagues and comrades andcompetition, lovers and sex partners, idols and teachers and fools.
and they're more.i am a turd.i am a lowly abject turd.
Justin
.p.s. i'm on holidays now...sweeeeeeeeet. its time for unworking

this is poetry worth reading...

NO SHELTER
By Zack De La Rocha (1999)

The main attraction - distraction
got ya number than nnumber than numb
Empty ya pockets son; they got you thinkin that
What ya need is what they sellin
Make you think that buyin is rebellin
From the theaters to malls on every shore
Tha thin line between entertainment and war
The frontline is everywhere, there be no shelter here
Speilberg the nightmare works so push it far
Amistad was a whip, the truth was feathered and tarred
Memory erased, burned and scarred
Trade in ya history for a VCR

Cinema, simulated life, ill drama
Fourth Reich culture - Americana
Chained to the dream they got ya searchin for
Tha thin line between entertainment and war

There be no shelter here
Tha frontline is everywhere

Hospitals not profit full
Yet market bulls got pockets full
To advertise some hip disguise
View tha world from American eyes
Tha poor adore keep fiendin for more
Tha thin line between entertainment and war
They fix the need, develop the taste
Buy their products or get laid to waste
Coca-Cola is back in the veins of Saigon
And Rambo too, he got a dope pair of Nikes on
And Godzilla pure muthafuckin filler
To keep ya eyes off the real killer

Cinema, simulated life, ill drama
Fourth Reich culture - Americana
Chained to the dream they got ya searchin for
Tha thin line between entertainment and war

American eyes, American eyes....
View the world from American eyes
Bury the past, rob us blind
And leave nothin behind

Just stare
Relive the nightmare.

Why arent i suprised that this wasnt reported in the pop news media?

More Abu Ghraib horror--involving women.

I wonder what Ann Coulter would make of this. I'm sure she'd find some way to blame feminism.

Female POW's in Abu Ghraib were raped and sexually assaulted.

During a visit to Abu Ghraib in March, Swadi said, one of the prisoners told her US soldiers had forced her to undress in front of them, an act that would be seen as particularly demeaning in conservative Muslim culture. At another detention facility in Baghdad, Swadi encountered a woman who said soldiers raped her. "She was the only woman who would talk about her case," Swadi told The Guardian. "She was crying. She told us she had been raped," Swadi said. "Several American soldiers had raped her. She had tried to fight them off and they had hurt her arm. She showed us the stitches."

And unlike the male POW's, the female POW's lives aren't worth jack right now. And the US Administration, which has gone on and on about the horrible oppression of women in the Middle East (and knew full well about honor killings) doesn't seem to mind.

According to Khamas, Swadi and others who are investigating assault cases, few women in Muslim cultures will come forward since they know rape survivors are often treated with shame and are sometimes killed as a means of preserving family honor.

Khamas and two other human rights workers have all said separately that three young rural women from the Sunni Muslim region of Al-Anbar, west of Baghdad, had been killed by their families after coming out of Abu Ghraib pregnant, Middle East Online reported.

I'm sure you have heard the huge outcry over this. Well, it's going to happen, I'm sure. Any minute now. . .really. . .

Geez, I'd better pack a lunch for the wait.

Blogged by Pinko Feminist Hellcat, reblogged by Audrey

WHY JOHNNY C'N'T ACHIEVE "THE AMERIKAN DREAM" by apocohipsterhashshashin

WHY JOHNNY C'N'T ACHIEVE "THE AMERIKAN DREAM" 'N'
WHAT HE'S
DOIN' 'BOUT IT-DECONSTRUCTED...

...he's out o' his mind...
such a subversive hero, "self"-consciously seekin' out
dangerous Edge o' things...
who lived everywhere 'n' Nowhere...a man few people ever
knew...
an obsessive behavior...
migrate from MARGINS t' Mainstream yr precious strange
individuality
may be compromised or lost...
I don' know if bein' PUNK makes me better...
idea which been floatin' 'roun since Baudelaire
that there be somethin' rather distinguished in bein' DAMNED...
Baron Samedhi, in his top hat 'n' tails
who haunts boneorchards smokin' a cigar
'n' wearin' dark glasses...
ya gotta have Art...
I looked failure in face...
Dream includes a few Nightmares
makes y'never wanna wake up...
listens t' Kate Bush...
penchant for best-friend-only revelations
'bout masturbatin' in church(Icicle)
"self"-loathin'(Crucify)
'n' rape("Me 'n' a gun)...
Rants against "the Middle Mind"...
T' overcome that I started workin' wi' m'Dreams...
I'm workin' at tryin' t' find a Kind o' language-what might be called
body language...
one thing I do t' point o' orgasm
'n' losin' CONTROL o' language...
premise opens DOOR t' all Kinds o'
Apocalyptic scenarios...
recurrin' Dream...
drugged
I was always double-headed
double-faced
liquid ear-
zoomin' outwards from an earthbound tissuepatch
then always splittin' apart...
'n' difference that split wide
eagle wi' its no-blink stare
'n' its shriek-shriek huntin'
twirlin' double-headed
flesh spiral...
Never Trust A Hippie...
I often think I've traveled into
a deeply foreign country
somewhere more mysterious in its was
than India or Morocco...
a place that n'human ever been
'n' yet
now a place where...
asked somethin' 'bout communism...
live shows 'n' lyrics 'bout
constant opposition...
'n' many times turned harsh lights onto
PUNK itself
mockin' 'n' alienatin' "scene"
by claimin' it was all a pose...
y'c'n imagine live-
attackin' audience as should...
continue t' attack mind
'n' reform it accordin' t'
stronger principles...
wi' unnervin' ability t' bring outsiders
inside m'brain
(whether they wanna be there or not)...
open lastin' fissures
in Amerikan societus...
sometime in late '70s...
I thought
use appropriation
multiple points o' "ego"
multiple obsessions
deconstructionist discourse(disgust)
'n' revolutionary...
no Amerikan prose writers I could realte t' 'cept
Burroughs 'n' Kathy Acker...
it be,Like, Marquis de Sade bein' on radioactive sludge...
only limitation t' "identity" be
creativity o' thief
'n' that be scary
'cause there's really n'limit on creativity,
be there?
tour guides on this crazy ride
are thieves:us
'n' as long as that continues
its gonna be a problem...
relieve yr mental constipation...
in a few hours o' madness...
DESTROY! BURN THIS RACIST SYSTEM DOWN!
a total barrage o' fast paced riffs
'n' speedy tongue lashin's
'n' uncivilized acts
happenin' across
Planet Terror...
PUNK TILL THE END...
PSYCHOPATHIA SEXUALIS...
what be wi' all this shit
'bout what be PUNK
'n' what be not?
I be Hip whole idea o' PUNK
t' be INDIVIDUAL
y'Dig,Like,
Fuck "the System"
'n' all that shit!
not t' conform
t' societus's standards...
own life...
thing that be mos' important t' "me"
be freedom t' be "m'self"...
I don' wanna be silenced!
I think I got every "right"
t' do what I wanna do!
...a world police state...
a Corporate World Government
accountable t' n'one...
I fear Corporate Gestapo
rap tap tappin' on m'chamber Door
'n' arrestin' me for m'Art...
wi' Desire?...
"what y'offer stirs up lust wi'in 'em
which leads 'em into performin' various sinful acts
such as rape/child
molestation/adultery/incest

/bestiality/masturbation/etc.
which are all forms o' abuse...
consequently, you jeopardize your and their eternal happiness
in heaven
thus leadin' you t' your
eternal misery in hell!!!"...
'cause a SLUT who glories in oneself
be a powerful force...
s'let's gold our bosoms
(an ol' Babylonian custom)
'n' hail SLUT in all o' us!...
older I get
less I care what people think o' "me"...
who don' got flaws?...
tired o' post-September 11th police state
Puritanism 'n' Gay-bashin' patriotism...
fed-up wi' "war on drugs"
'n' media-driven child sex hysteria...
sick t' m'stomach over terrorism
'n' genocidal religious wars in Middle East 'n' Amerika...
frustrated by corporate oligarchy's
strangle hold on Arts/Culture/Politics...
how much longer we gonna allow ourselves
t' be led aroun' by nose
by a bunch o' atrophied,Viagra-takin'.
self-righteous,holy-rollin' hypocrites
'n' assholes?!
good question-y'DIG?
enough be enough!
Man,Like, weep n'more-
we been "saved"
(at least in our own minds)...
Sid Vicious died for our "sins"...

Recollections of a deranged mind...

Upper primary school, I am about 10 years old and critically unhappy. I go to school everyday without Nike or Reebok, Stussy or 26 Red. I have short and straight blonde hair which I see as a sign of weakness. My short shorts are not cool. I complain to my mother, desperate and alone. I want to have friends. I want boys and girls who like me; who want me; to taste and learn and play with. I want them to be mine. It’s so easy to impress the other kids with clothes and accessories and technology. We both know this, and so my mums pity is routine, she’s tired and sad, she’s getting dressed for night shift at the home for spastic kids. Nike don’t matter so much to the mentally handicapped. I know this, I go there with mum and watch Batman with Jack Nicholson. Batman don’t matter to the mentally handicapped. I’m trying to drag my mum into my world. She’s resisting. She tells me “Dare to be different.” A week later my teacher, Mrs Degomois, is speaking to me in the classroom. All the other students are silent. She berates me for my restlessness and accusing, demands reassurance that I’ve taken my medication today. I want to tear out her fucking throat and scream injustice. I hate the fucking bitch for it and vow never to forgive her. Everybody is looking at me.

When my dad is out of the house I sit at his desk in the garage. For as long as I can avoid the attention of everyone else in the house I rummage through my fathers possessions. I examine his cigarettes, one by one. The tips of my fingers are covered in ash. I pick up papers and books, correspondence, a cassette recorder, a packet of matches, an auto-mechanics tools, a pornographic magazine. I sniff at the empty beer bottles and cigarette packets; fascinated. I promise myself that I’ll never drink beer because my mother has long had her fill and my father and his friends stink of it. My mum says that he’s an alcoholic and his mum says my mum is a bitch. I promise to start smoking cigarettes as soon as I can. All the cool people smoke.

I’m 15 years old and my best friend is sucking my cock in a dark room at a party. I only last for about 30 sec wishing it would last forever. We laugh at each other and walk back into the kitchen to get a drink. Alcohol and sex is everywhere. A guy I know but don’t like is sitting in the kitchen, an ex-girlfriend of mine on his lap. His fingers are buried in her cunt, she wriggles and squirms. I address them but neither hears me, they both stare into space, empty glasses of red wine in one hand. In the back yard a girl sits on a childhood swing. She looks up at me, a tear sliding down her cheek. Her lips are small and soft light pink and through them passes a shaky breath, heavy with a scent of melancholic desire. My heart aches. I stumble inside, make for the lounge. I am kissing a young man that I go to school with, his hair is soft and blonde and he has a small tongue. I am thinking that he is too skinny and he is thinking that I am too queer, too drunk, too geek, too punk, too cheap, not near cool enough. He runs away from me puts his hands down my best friends pants. I walk out the front door. Skinny girl with freckles sits in the gutter. A young man with blue hair a Korn t-shirt sleeps on the front lawn. A tanned boy with pierced nipples punches a corrugated iron fence. An empty bottle of ouzo rests atop the letterbox. I light a cigarette, the last in my packet, and start walking home. Mum and dad are gonna kill me.

punk rock for the suburbs

UNTITLED

whats the point?
whats the point?
stay away all you sane
i'm sick of it all
you're all the same
if i wake you up now
will you remember my name
will you also buy me jewels for the priviledge
to wear at my next show
go on then and buy me buy me
you can take me home
where you can get back to growin old
gettin bored and fuckin fat
drunk and stoned watch tv
now gently close your eyes
reward me for my human nature
from the safety of your cave
not your own courage
but hypocrit ontology
a whiff of servitude
and illigitimate dichotomies
the point is that you are asleep
you're fucking week
to let fear squash your own autonomy

Audrey Autonomy 2nd November 2004