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Screaming this at my computer screen. Screaming it at nobody and everybody. You, person I might have never heard from who might have not even commented on this blog or any of the other publications where I can be regularly found scribbling my discombobulated ideas.
And I am screaming Essay i heard a fly buzz because I want to convince you, I want to get it through you that this is not a choice or an abstract concept or an intellectual exercise.
The shit puff pastry is every layer of fuck that goes on above me, below me, by my sides, all around me. And in this metaphorical puff pastry with multiple layers of excrement, I am the dulce de leche that is supposed to make it palatable so that someone else, more specifically the kyriarchy, can eat me.
And I am asking that you become as angry as I have been this past week. It will be bullshit. Which is to say, sometimes, the pictures I draw when I connect dots might not make sense or might be inaccurate or might have missed a few dots to be totally accurate.
But I am willing to pay the price of not making sense sometimes if I do eventually get it right. I would rather sometimes come across as far fetched than miss the landscape that the shit puff pastry provides.
Hence my disappointment with feminism. To the point that I even considered ditching the label altogether. And if that happened, I would use a new label that pretty much sums up my politics: Kitty litter levels of outrage.
Just a yellow sign, written with what pretty much looks like a sharpie. I am sure by now you know the story. And I became a bit angry. Angry that someone would not realize what a hurtful, shitty thing that was. Angry that someone would not even know the history behind that word.
That a woman, a fellow self identified young feminist would not have done some pretty basic homework. I was sad and angry.
And then sad again and angry. No, I did not expect a nuanced knowledge of all this. Just basic human compassion skills. A minimum understanding of the meaning behind a word. Wikipedia levels of knowledge, which is, like the ABC of feminist activism.
I screamed at all of you, at everybody and nobody. Incidentally, at this point, my youngest cat got a little bit scared with my screams but let out a meow of pleasure at the prospect of feminism making its way to her kitty litter box.
Why do you care?! This one sign was in Slut Walk New York! In another continent altogether!
What is that to you?! It is that my politics are all about anti racism. Moreover, racism is probably the one thing I struggle with the most.
My feminism HAS to be about racism by virtue of being a significant layer in my very own shit puff pastry. This commentary, which Latoya Peterson has documented extensively bless her, the degree of patience and nuance she attempted to provide, along with several other WoC who tried to have their voices heard in that discussion made my heart sink.
And I sat there reading this discussion. I refreshed it for hours. These people were supposed to be my fellow feminists. These are my people!
And of course, I screamed again, so many times that, at this point, my throat started to hurt. I was unsure if it was hurting because of my screaming or because of the tears I was holding up.
I screamed it every time I hit refresh and a new, unknown up to that point level of fail showed up on my screen.Here Are The Women Who Harvey Weinstein Has Allegedly Sexually Harassed Or Assaulted. Uma Thurman, Lupita Nyong'o, Lena Headey, Cara Delevingne, Gwyneth Paltrow, Angelina Jolie, Ashley Judd, and more have come forward.
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