Ah, the double standard

Humanity sore

The list of double standards women face on their path to public office is plenty long: They should be pretty, but not distractingly so. Assertive, but never aggressive. Maternal, yet devoted exclusively to their careers. And every word that passes their lips should be spoken in a tone, volume and cadence that is pleasing to the ever-alert ears of their audience.

The path to any career not just public office but this was a story about women who run for president.

Now, you may ask yourself, where does it mention her looks? Have you ever noticed how most people when they reference a woman, often list the “way she looks” first in their descriptors, yet for a man, it’s his accomplishments, obvious potential and charming personality traits.

“A real smart cookie” isn’t something you say about the plucky upstart who defied the odds if that cookie is male.

Aggressive v Assertive

In modeling and etiquette school (yes, I was raised in the South with its cotillion and debutantes), we were taught to be assertive. Not aggressive. We were neither at the time, so this was confounding. Some might say liberating. Others, more trouble than it’s worth.

Assertive meant you stopped short of truly making any demands, always maintained a polite comportment with corresponding ladylike demeanor and could be perennially felicitous no matter the occasion. Suffering in silence slowly faded in popularity, and burning your bra was ultimately impractical.

Mother’s Little Helper, the blue pill. Salve for pent up discontent which evolves into aggression, if you don’t quash it early.

Be assertive is code for go ahead, but not too much.

“You’re too emotional.” I wonder how that sliding scale works – for women, it’s voicing any upset over being mistreated. Hysterical is just a few steps away.

But a man? Oh he’s just passionate! He really believes in what he’s saying! This guy’s serious! Give him what he wants! He’s a take charge kind of a guy!

Who does she think she is? She’s crazy! A real hydra! Harpy!

When I was in fifth grade, I wanted to be a CEO. I didn’t really know what they did but they seemed commanding, powerful. Perhaps that merely countered the powerlessness I had endured being molested starting at four years old. Perhaps it was the suits and heels.

At some point around the same time, I wanted, clearly and cognizantly, of sound mind and body, to be President of the United States.

The thoughts all girls have.

Harshly judged

Birth parents

Today is my 54th birthday. On this day, a Friday in 1965, my mother gave birth to me, the records say, at the Cleveland Clinic in the holy hour (3-4 a.m.).

She was 16, my birth father, 17.

From what I could tell from the “non-identifying” information I was charged $50 for when I was 23,

Seemingly, I had more in common with my father. Height, basketball, class president, a penchant for trains. My mother, who sacrificed a semester to deal with me, was fond of camping and played a musical instrument.

The Children Services letterhead, since the Red Feather agency (I think that was the name) had long since disbanded adding yet another level of erasure to my already amorphous existential origin- the letterhead and contents of this letter are all I have of my heritage, my genealogy, my DNA. Who you would say I am.

Always watched but never seen

Records of our days, cataloged with no sentiment allowed to obscure the meta data (subjective conjecture need not apply) dot the landscape, forming an infinite grid of mortality.

Mortal implies limits, so an infinite grid of solely self-aware beings, our qualia, in particular, not involving anyone or anything else, carries each individual’s uniqueness, believing we are the onliest as our way of coping with the fact that as far as we know, this existence is finite.

I tell you bout the onliest man I knowed come from Virginia.

Self-awareness consciously knows and understands character, feelings, motives, and desires.

feelings, motives, and desires.

There are two broad categories of self-awareness: internal self-awareness and external self-awareness.[3]

External self v Internal self

These mean very different things to you and me.

You see, by our society’s standards, I have no reference for the internal kind. Everything I got I learned without the leg up of familiar tradition, unspoken understanding and qualifying acceptance. In a way, I’ve always had to prove I am not a mistake even though clearly that is all I amounted to in the end, a foolish mistake for my mother to regret.

For some adoptees, particularly those who’ve experienced early childhood trauma such as neglect or abuse, it may be difficult to form emotional bonds. Some studies suggest that adoptees may also be at higher risk for depression, anxiety, learning disabilities, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), or substance abuse.

Me at 22 in NZ

This started as a very different piece but between the narcissist showing me his drawing without caring about my writing kind of interrupted the flow.

The fact that I can’t really ever relax or do something mildly extravagant because I can never seem to get ahead, I’m terrible at getting reimbursed and in general, there are a million things I want to do, see, hear, and learn and chasing down the ability to just survive (it’s been that way for 20 years in the film and television industry) isn’t really my thing-the fact that I can’t really celebrate isn’t where I had hoped to be by now.

I’m tired. Tired of this particular existence that, the longer I live, seems more and more futile. Everything we were told was either a lie or a myth and now I’m in no position to take on the world as I once was, having been severely beaten, tortured and most recrntly mugged and stabbed in the past three years.

That’s not even the half of it. That’s not even what makes me sad. It’s the lack of friends I find myself enduring these days. The sadness just never goes away.

My sixth birthday

Scorpio Moon

Here it comes

Here it comes

It’s just your

nineteenth

nervous

breakdown

“Writing is … what I do to justify the air I breathe,” Nikki Giovanni once wrote in Contemporary Authors. “I have been considered a writer who writes from rage and it confuses me. What else do writers write from? A poem has to say something. It has to make some sort of sense; be lyrical; to the point; and still able to be read by whatever reader is kind enough to pick up the book.”

without any assistance or guidance from you
i have loved you assiduously for 8 months 2 wks & a day
i have been stood up four times
i’ve left 7 packages on yr doorstep
forty poems 2 plants & 3 handmade notecards i left
town so i cd send to you have been no help to me
on my job
you call at 3:00 in the mornin on weekdays
so i cd drive 27 1/2 miles cross the bay before i go to work
charmin charmin
but you are of no assistance
i want you to know
this waz an experiment
to see how selifsh i cd be
if i wd really carry on to snare a possible lover
if i waz capable of debasin my self for the love of another
if i cd stand not being wanted
when i wanted to be wanted
& i cannot
so
with no further assistance & no guidance from you
i am endin this affair

this note is attached to a plant
i’ve been waterin since the day i met you
you may water it
yr damn self

–Ntozake Shange

Artificial Verse

MIT has developed a machine that writes poetry based on keywords you provide.


I watch her frown. I cry hello.

The otak is tiny, soft and deep,
But she has promises to keep,

She rises from her bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in her head,
She idolises being dead.
Facing the day with never ending dread.


Woah, dude.

As a disclaimer the site alludes to its plagiarized unity. Wait a minute that sounds too familiar, I thought. Sure enough, the toads divulged in the mellow wood and I, A.I. took the road less traveled by and that motherfuc*&ers has made all the difference

This never happens because Catholicism

A Hombre Alone

With thanks to the poet, Robert Frost, for the underlying structure.


The Road Not Taken 

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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

12 most…who you looking at, foo…?

Please be creative with your titles: smart, short and eye-catching.

Disciple.

The St. of Discipline.

Henry Miller.

He had settled on the most magnificent piece of property on the far flung coast, years after starving had given way to dilettante displays of attention propped up by fangirls in their sunned entrances wearing summer dresses.

Fortunes change
Your summer has come

Using a creative, impactful adjective after “12 Most” can go a long way. Check out the posts on this website for reference and whatever you do, avoid using adjectives that have been overused (ie: common, important, useful…).

Don’t ever change

He gasped holding his chest breathing pained and desperate now

Until he got out the words —-


The shoe

Had made quite an impression

on the ex-former-felon

What’re you in for

Hybrid crimes

of dispassionate times


Moral Prejudices

Marlin Rand woke up, asleep, a dream within a living nightmare.

You like to daydream, huhn?

Head lost in the clouds.

Are you listening?

Listening not hearing. The world retracts into a distance illuminated by your reflection, the sun shaft reaching that taillight, sending shards of red through the blinds. Why do we call then blinds? Why are screen doors not calls deafs?

The noise is deafening.

The hard drive is named Friedrich Nietzsche, the router Liza Minnelli and the broadband a traveling troupe of Keynesian mechanics with carpetbaggers galore.

Absurd, says Cumquat Jones, the nommedeplume of Tennessee Williams’ unknown soldier.

… his “hypotheses” on the origins of morality to reading his friend Paul Rée’s book The Origin of the Moral Sensations (1877) and finding the “genealogical hypotheses” offered there unsatisfactory.

Nietzsche decided that “a critique of moral values” was needed, that “the value of these values themselves must be called into question”. To this end Nietzsche provides a history of morality, rather than a hypothetical account in the style of Rée, whom Nietzsche classifies as an “English psychologist”[2] (using “English” to designate an intellectual temperament, as distinct from a nationality).

Find the sinkhole

I have decided to write the gray American novella, where nothing is great just chalky grey like the Greys pasty anatomy of conspiracy theories where secret service reptilian half-breeds are always British.

Meanwhile, the natives are restless and a stretch of doom creeps, breathless.

Jagged ex-whys and all the imagination in dream land won’t fix a fork in the road, bone spurs on a road less traveled, for a reason.

Predictive Discourse

No, no, let me guess?!

What? (*mouth full)

ah

Let me guess what you’re going to say next!

Why?

I would let you

predict, manipulate, disclose the expression of  anywhere from 12,000 to 60,000 thoughts per day…

Literary tomes

Yeah coz you only have

37,000 “thoughts”

which IS NOTHING!

An irrevocable negative bias

We have anywhere 12,000 to 60,000 thoughts per day, yes and on a daily basis these are 80% – 90% of negative thoughts that’s insane and most often they are the same thoughts that we have thought every day before yesterday. For as long as we can remember.

This is it

A Hollywood diatribe

A Washington fable

A Broadway revue

A three-ring circus sideshow.

Did anyone feel that earthquake yesterday?


Recused 10:14 a.m. on a cool, overcast June gloom morning, the fifteenth if June two thousand and nineteen.

Godspeed, Mandate Namaste, forever and ever booyah zombie.

Our brain and mind both are hard wired to overestimate the threats and underestimate the resources and opportunities.

From ancient sciences to today’s modern scientists have come across a term known as negative bias.

Egotists never seek to help anyone, regardless of their circumstances.

I to the negative power

Zeno’s dichotomy

Sun

The sun causes the fabric of space

to warp

String cheese theorists