Elsa Lancaster; an early Skunk.
Dear Sisters,
Ooh, I keep thinking I have been pissed off enough, that now all that is left is the open expanse of set freeness; but no, it is like the maze of the minotaur, and when I think I am at the last corner of pissed off, I turn and find another corridor of anger, another inner chamber of rage.
I suppose all this further insight into the twisted fucking patriarchy should feel like progress, but it sends me reeling with futility. When, I ask you, will I be accepting of this crap? When will my crystal vision be all that there is? Landing with a thud, yep, there it is. Thunk. Not anything to get your feathers fluffed about, just another example of how Man has screwed us all over, and himself, too; probably on accident, but whatevs.
I think about making cookies, about making them to give to people, to say, to mean: here, invite me in, take some nourishment from me; I made them so that you may feel pleasure, that's all. But cooking, at home, unpaid, is the purview of women's work; mothers, sisters, aunts, wives. And so what does that make me, as a person who made you cookies? Just another woman embodying a stereotype, adding to the problem.
PS Here is a film that I never saw before, and I don't know how I missed it, but, then again, maybe a few days ago was the right time for me to see it. I really hope you will watch it, though; I know, I am asking a lot: listen to this, read these lines, make this, click here, think about that, study this, watch that. It's a lot, isn't it, that I am asking for? A whole lot.
