sometimes i get really drunk and cry really hard about something over which i have no control. some region of my unconscious mind comes up with one of the 'problems' and i let out some of the angst and tension that comes from my experiences, personal observation and/or media intake. today's show is brought to you by rape! sigh.
we didn't invite it to be a sponsor, it just showed up and started blundering about.
so after we left the show (the openers reminded me of reverend horton heat; rockabillyish. but with more metal.), i cried. i cried on the trip home, i cried in my house, in bed quietly, long after even the spiders were sleeping. this morning at work my eyes were swollen (other parts of my body were equally forthcoming with their feedback, yes).
yeah, i'm not a rape fan. but then, i find it a necessary part of a satisfying equation that the fruits i enjoy were given to me - even if i pay for them, they need to be given or i'd rather go without. in the same vein, i'm not a patron of slavery. okay, in truth, i am sure i have purchased slave labour items in my lifetime. this is where locally made goods come in; i actually do spend a fair chunk of my modest wage buying local food, clothes, cat food, chocolate and coffee are fairly traded. how the hell am i supposed to feel about myself if i purchase slave-made goods? like i'm a smart shopper? like i have an eye for a deal? what kind of twisted bullshit is that?
fascinating digression into a different fury. back to the subjugation and violation of another person's body by force. i get angry, but last night it was more the sorrow. i recall the queen being a reassuring voice. eventually, late into the night, i decided that at least one thing i could "do about it" was to celebrate and appreciate the people i know who respect consent. no, it's not tattooing rapists, but sadly, that's not my style. what is my style is positive feedback and making it cool to be on team we.
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