Monthly Archives: October 2012

Rape, abortion, politics and me.

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Rape, abortion, politics and me.

I read something earlier today that made me think a lot about the ramifications of a Romney led country; given the statements that have been made and the stances historically taken by the GOP. Many jokes have been made, gallows humor I suppose, about the white republican males knowledge of my genitalia and sensitive workings of which I couldn’t possibly be allowed to control, you know, as a woman.

But at the heart of it, I am fearful. And THAT frightens me.

I am frightened of what a Romney led Supreme Court could do to Roe v. Wade. To strides made in wage equality. To strides made in marriage equality. Veteran’s benefits equality. Military service equality. Equality in general.

And I also believe that I am rather experientially qualified to speak to a lot of it.

What in particular frightens me most is the seeming need to take away a woman’s right to choose if and when she can have an abortion. If and when she can have birth control and how much it will cost. Et cetera.

You see, my own mother was the product of a rape. And according to (R) Todd Akin, a “legitimate” one at that.  But her mother was poor. She was from backwoods Missouri and lived in a time when if you got a girl pregnant, you married her. So marry her rapist she did. She gave birth to my mother either right before or right after she turned 14. My mother was treated with hate and resentment by her own mother, a mother that was a scared and traumatized girl who was subjected to repeated abuse by an evil adult man. When my grandmother finally got away from him, she sent my mother and her little brother with him. My mother represented everything evil about her adolescent and teenaged years so instead of protecting my mother, she projected upon her. She rejected her repeatedly. She allowed her to be abused by him as well, however in her defense; I don’t know if she even realized what he was doing. This is the world my mother grew up in. This is why my mother is  irreparably broken. Why my mother will always be a child mother, as described by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes. She cannot deal with life in any healthy way. My mother allowed those cycles to continue. In her own misguided way, perhaps even facilitated them. Our family has a systemic history of sexual and physical violence.

I am a survivor of sexual abuse. I am a survivor of rape. I chose to have an abortion when I was 21, to terminate a pregnancy that was not the result of rape or incest and my life was not in danger. I simply could not afford another child and decided not to have it. As I sit here today, ripe with all my book learning and fancy education in social work and criminology, despite my lifelong passion and commitment to end the cycle of my own abuse, my own daughter was abused. But we are survivors, she and I. She is actually the one who inspired me to write this, as I am sure certain family members who could read this may be less than thrilled that I wrote it and am publishing it publicly. But I will not continue shame and secrets. Those things give power. I refuse to participate and facilitate. I now understand transgenerational trauma. My mother has never been anything but a victim in her eyes. She wouldn’t know how to be a survivor. She has never allowed herself to be validated as one. And after years of trying, I gave up on fixing her to follow my own path.

A path that had my grandmother been financially or theologically able to control; never would have been. She told me more than once when I was younger that she had prayed for a miscarriage, a stillborn, anything while she was pregnant. Had she been granted that, my mother never would have been born. I would have never been born. My daughter would never have been born. At least not in these specific situations. I have the benefit of my beliefs, which in the most simplistic of explanations are as follows: I believe in energy and the human need to name it and I also believe that energy never disappears, it merely changes. I also believe that we have some control before we are born in choosing our circumstances. This shapes my conscience the same as your beliefs shape yours.

So, in believing this way I can say that in some other way, I would have been born. Or maybe not. The baby I aborted? Was born later. I remember reading a Dean Koontz book once that had a boy who I believe was labeled as autistic, but in reality he was some amazing dimensional savant who, in one scene of torrential downpour, was walking with numerous other characters and yet he was the only one that didn’t get wet…When they asked him how he avoided the water, he replied “I just walked where it wasn’t raining.” I’ve digressed, but my point is that similarly to TV shows like “Fringe,””Lost” and any other amazing multiversal show created by JJ Abrams, every choice we make can be made different somewhere else. Theoretically, in some other dimension where my grandma was able to have an abortion, where she was allowed some semblance of a normal childhood and my mother was never born to her to be resented and broken, I was never born. My daughter in turn, never was either. And I am OK with that. That is a choice that I believe my grandmother should have been able to make.

But for a man, any man, who can never experience what it means to be carrying the product of a rape and be expected to love it and cherish it as a gift of some God to determine legally who can make that choice is absolutely wrong.

For a man, any man, who can never experience what it means to be carrying a child that you don’t want, can’t care for, are not ready for, know you will not be able to be a proper parent to and yet be expected to love it and cherish it the way it deserves because of how HE feels the LAW should be, is absolutely wrong.

I can see this issue from every female side. I do not understand how these men can dictate from a position of ignorance. Some of them are well educated. But they cannot know what it is like.

I am for equality, in all choices. To be able to choose whether you see a pregnancy which results from a rape as a blessing or a curse, to keep it, terminate it or put it up for adoption is the most intimate and difficult of choices. And it should be a personal one. And the same should be said about a pregnancy that is the product of a one night stand. A relationship. A birth control mistake. A statistical anomaly from perfectly taken birth control. A broken condom. It should not be one that is made in the legislature. It is not one that should be made by men who have no idea what is going on in a woman’s life.

Becoming a parent is a huge decision.

You know that bumper sticker that says “A world of wanted children would make a world of difference.” Ponder it for a moment.

Why would you force someone who wants an abortion to have and raise a child when you already believe they are wrong, misled or evil because they WANT an abortion? You already know they don’t want or have decided they can’t have the child. Otherwise, they wouldn’t want the abortion. Just slow down and think.

Human Rights courts have determined it is a violation of human rights to not allow someone who is raped to have an abortion.

So many things are going on in the government, in society, in the world that seems to be attempting to exert power over others. Has the pendulum really swung back so far that we are going to start going the other way? Are the men so worried women are going toward equal that they need to start oppressing us again? Sexually? Legally? From the vaginal ultrasounds before an abortion to Paul Ryan’s not even wanting IVF to be legal, we could be moving backwards. I just wish more people were understanding what could potentially happen. What the damage could be. Back alley abortions. Unreported rapes. More babies in dumpsters. Infanticides. Suicides. Should we bring back the foundling wheel?

Oy. I could go on and on. But I suppose I will close with a quote from Hillary Clinton: “I have met thousands and thousands of prochoice men and women. I have never met anyone who is proabortion.”

In case you didn’t know, my daughter is AH-MAZ-ING

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In case you didn’t know, my daughter is AH-MAZ-ING

She made this video on her own and would like me to share it with you. I am so proud of her every day. Her strength, her maturity, her responsibility, her social consciousness, her everything. When I grow up, I want to be like her.

You are amazing, Audri.

As if anyone wants to think about politics anymore.

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As if anyone wants to think about politics anymore.

But in case you do, I have a few little things to say.

I am still waiting for the Just for Men PR disaster  that I predicted last December. BUT as frightened as I am that Romney just might effing win, I must say that the Presidential election ISNT the only election that matters. WHEN Obama wins, he will be so much more able to do what he set out to do and wants to continue, if he has a Democratic majority house that will help him do it instead of a Republican led house that cock blocks him at every turn. YOU MUST VOTE for your Senators and Representatives, people!

A president is only as capable as the people around them allow them to be. If they are surrounded by people who will block bills and measures simply because there is an R or a D next to the writer’s name, we have a problem.

I don’t know how to fix that. Revolution perhaps?

Oy. That wont happen. We are a bunch of pansies, myself included. No one is storming the castle.

BUT we can make someone’s job easier by surrounding them with like minded policy creators. 

Women. Men. Children. People going to college. People going to public school. People in labor unions. LGBTQ HUMANS. HUMANS who want to be married. HUMANS who want to have kids and need IVF. HUMANS who DON’T want to have kids and need affordable birth control. HUMANS who are in labor unions. HUMANS who are going to college. HUMANS who want equality. HUMANS who want to make choices about their own HUMAN BODIES! HUMANS who have student loans. HUMANS IN GENERAL! PAY ATTENTION!

Just a thought.

Read something. Think about it. Fill in some bubbles. Vote. For all the seats. If you don’t know who to vote for and are unwilling to do the research, message me. I will tell you who to vote for. Think of me as your own personal magic 8-ball political ad. 🙂 

Walt Whitman speaks to me.

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Walt Whitman speaks to me.

I have been really uber busy lately and have failed to be able to write as often as I would like. However, I would like to share with you my new favorite poem, by Walt Whitman.

I Sing the Body Electric

1

I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.
Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?
And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?
2
The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account,
That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.
The expression of the face balks account,
But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him,
The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.
The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards,
The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water,
The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle,
Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,
The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting,
The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard,
The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd,
The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work,
The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,
The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;
The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the counting;
Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.
3
I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,
And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.
This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person,
The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness and breadth of his manners,
These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,
He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome,
They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him,
They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love,
He drank water only, the blood show’d like scarlet through the clear-brown skin of his face,
He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail’d his boat himself, he had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him,
When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish, you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.
4
I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then?
I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.
There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well,
All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.
5
This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.
This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman,
This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again.
Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.
The female contains all qualities and tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veil’d, she is both passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.
As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.
6
The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,
He too is all qualities, he is action and power,
The flush of the known universe is in him,
Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,
The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him,
The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,
Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself,
Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here,
(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)
The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred,
No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the laborers’ gang?
Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?
Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you,
Each has his or her place in the procession.
(All is a procession,
The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)
Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight?
Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,
For you only, and not for him and her?
7
A man’s body at auction,
(For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,)
I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.
Gentlemen look on this wonder,
Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it,
For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant,
For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll’d.
In this head the all-baffling brain,
In it and below it the makings of heroes.
Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve,
They shall be stript that you may see them.
Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,
Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized arms and legs,
And wonders within there yet.
Within there runs blood,
The same old blood! the same red-running blood!
There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings, aspirations,
(Do you think they are not there because they are not express’d in parlors and lecture-rooms?)
This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers in their turns,
In him the start of populous states and rich republics,
Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.
How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring through the centuries?
(Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace back through the centuries?)
8
A woman’s body at auction,
She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers,
She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.
Have you ever loved the body of a woman?
Have you ever loved the body of a man?
Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and times all over the earth?
If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred,
And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted,
And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more beautiful than the most beautiful face.
Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool that corrupted her own live body?
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.
9
O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women, nor the likes of the parts of you,
I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the soul, (and that they are the soul,)
I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and that they are my poems,
Man’s, woman’s, child’s, youth’s, wife’s, husband’s, mother’s, father’s, young man’s, young woman’s poems,
Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears,
Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or sleeping of the lids,
Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges,
Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,
Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue,
Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the ample side-round of the chest,
Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones,
Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger, finger-joints, finger-nails,
Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side,
Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone,
Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-balls, man-root,
Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,
Leg fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg,
Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel;
All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body or of any one’s body, male or female,
The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean,
The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,
Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity,
Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman,
The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings,
The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud,
Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming,
Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening,
The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes,
The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,
The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body,
The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out,
The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees,
The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the marrow in the bones,
The exquisite realization of health;
O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul,
O I say now these are the soul!

Magic Hour

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Magic Hour

That hour before we have to get up,

that is the magic hour.

Before thoughts take over

emotions confuse

when its just you

and me

and us

and we

and energy is in the physical

and intimacies are not uncomfortable

I can hold your hand

we can spoon

nuzzles and murmurs

I cherish that

even as I know

the alarm will go off

setting off internal alarms

destroying the fantasy

the domino effect

reminding us to stop

cause its only 50 percent real

in the magic hour.

In case video games made you, um, fluffy?

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In case video games made you, um, fluffy?

I may have found a cure. It’s like a video game.

And it helps you track goals and reward yourself….

“Leveling up” if I might…..

All the concepts are there…minus the monsters.

Actually….Call your fat ass the monster…

It’s frightening, really.

I’ve seen it. 😉

Check it out.

http://www.slimkicker.com/

Obscuria

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Obscuria

I dreamed that you were you

and I was me

and that we,

we were given another chance.

We were back in that time

that place

that moment

with the knowledge of now

and the choice

to cross a different street

I wondered then

if you were you

or a nostalgia softened version

created now by my romantic misgivings

or created then by the same.

Either way I wanted you

still want you

even though I know it’s done

everyone has decided to move on

just waiting for the final pus filled bubble to pop

festering sores bring healing

If I knew then what I know now,

would I recognize the choices

would I recognize the hints of suppuration

Have I gained a thing in this “maturation?”

Halle-fuckin-lujah

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Halle-fuckin-lujah

So I have accomplished a lot in my few years on this planet and lots of things to be proud of, actually. But I am about to share a minor victory with you that is HUGE for me on the scale of personal triumphs and rather small on the scale of first world problems:

As a “bigger than she would like to be albeit still within the realm of healthy-ish” gal, I bought a pair of jeans online going from my knowledge of the brand and sizes that I usually buy there (ahem, old navy). To my sad, sad realization over about 6 months ago when my joy turned to disgust and self-loathing, I realized I was no longer an old navy 14. I went to the store to try on pants and see if it was something different about the online clothes. Maybe it was stretchy vas nonstretchy…maybe it was trousers vs jeans…..maybe it was anything except I got fucking FAT. Now I am all for curvy girls and fat power and fat acceptance and this is not any sort of judgment on anyone but myself. As someone who has prided herself probably too much on her looks and not nearly as much on her insane intelligence as she should have over the years, to say it was a blow to my ego is an understatement.

I digress.

The point being, rather than exchanging these pants, they became another pair of “throw them in the closet because SOMEDAY they will fit” nonsense. Don’t lie, you know you have a pair too.

Only today, out of sheer curiosity, I tried them on and they fit. Infact, they are kinda baggy on my ass.

Needless to say, I had a Flo moment.

JUSTICE!