Ruth Bader Ginsburg is Wonder Woman
Ruth Bader Ginsburg is Wonder Woman
I’m a big guy. Over six feet, broad shoulders, etc.
I can be intimidating. I know, walking down the street, I’m big enough to never really be afraid.
I also know, that walking down the street someone could be afraid if me.
It took time to understand. Why would a woman be afraid when it’s just us walking on the street? I’m not following her. I’m not yelling or whistling or cat calling at her.
It’s because I’m a man.
Women are afraid of men. It’s as simple as that.
And you know what, they have every reason to be.
None of this “not all men” please. I’m not saying all men are scary. I’m saying women have a right to be afraid of men.
Just look at the news. The UCSB shooting happened because some guy felt he was being wrongly rejected by women.
A woman tells him no. So he kills them.
Does that make sense?
Women should never have to feel afraid to say no to a man. It’s just sensible.
Men are scary. I’m sure if you did some research you’d find that most female deaths are caused by male violence.
This is a mess of a post, I know, but bear with me.
I know I’m a big guy. I know I can come across as intimidating. What all men need to know, to understand, is (despite their size) women will be afraid of them.
Or…they just might not like them. Do men need a movie called “She’s Just Not That In To You”??
It’s simple common sense. A woman says no, she means no. Move on. No matter how bad you feel about it.
And another thing-rape.
Women are scared of men hurting and/or raping them.
They walk with pepper spray or keys like knives. Because of men.
They have to be careful of how they dress, what they drink , where they go.
Women live in a state of constant fear.
That’s so incredibly not right.
Why is it the women’s responsibility to not get raped? Why are the victims blamed for the way they dress or how much they had to drink ?
It’s not their fault.
It’s us. It’s men.
The only way to stop it is to teach young boys how to behave correctly.
Women are taught rape prevention , given whistles.
Teach boys not to rape. Teach boys that, yes, you will get rejected! Not every woman you fancy is going to fancy you! That’s how the world works so move on!
Follow the trend #YesAllWomen. See the world men have forced on women.
Read the comments section of ANY article or post written by a woman.
Men are disgusting and women have a right to not feel safe around us.
Men threaten women who write articles about comic book covers. They threaten with violence and with rape. And people support that!
Can we not see where the problem is?
It’s men. ALL men.
What can you do? Act like a decent human. Respect women. Respect everyone! Respect each other. Respect personal space and people’s decisions.
It’s that simple. Easy to do.
So why aren’t men doing it?
She strums my nerves, over my spine. Her finger tips like sex and my head sways into darkness. I feel her leaving, growing distant, but she kisses me anyways and drowns me out.
Her love is a burden, strutting around wounded, shamed. I’m a degraded Aphroditie, Adonis- stripping my clothes in the rain, tatters in the street.
My skin itches and burns and she soothes the pain with her tongue.
The sheet strangles, stained with love and a forgotten cigarette. Ashes and holes fill our passion, increases the rush as she breaks skin.
and I bleed.
Windows break and I hear music playing backwards. Rhapsodies on bones of infant lullabys. There are no children in this world. Innocence is just a myth
and I bleed.
I rip her hair out. Strands slicing into my fingers, warring with tissue and muscle.
I commit a million suicides.
and I bleed to be reborn again.
How profound is that?
I’ll explain: things happen and it’s fucked up. Things happen to fuck up situations, emotions, all that baggage.
Things happen and people deal with it better than others.
Like, say, your father left his wife - your step mom- of 25 years.
What do you do?
Most people would be upset, pissed off, crushed.
Most people would. My sister is. She went through it when our parents divorced.
I was too young, barely cognizant of my own existence, at that point in our lives.
Just like my father I’m an emotional wasteland. We’re barren, some have said soulless.
We don’t show much emotion, if at all. No one knows how we are feeling, what we’re thinking.
Talking to my father last night it became painfully clear how similar we actually we are. As he broke down the events of the night he left, how they paralleled the night he left my mother.
While he was doing so I could see my own life unfolding. Little home videos of past relationships flashing and fading away and all ending in the phrase he used multiple times on the phone last night:
I love her. I always will. I’m just not in love with her anymore.
It’s a saying I’ve heard a lot, from multiple people. It happens. It’s happened to me. Relationships burn bright and either explode, fizzle out, or if you’re lucky, slowly glow until the end.
Now on to Selma*. Selma is that woman (or man) that you always want but can’t/shouldn’t have. Selma changes every time, maybe daily. Selma is that grass beyond the fence.
Everyone has a Selma, whether they choose to act on it or not. Everyone has that one (or more) person that, even though they are in a relationship, they can fall completely in love with - even if just superficially.
Few people act on their love for Selma. She’s dangerous, she’s a change, she’s a catalyst for a new life, she’s exactly what you need.
She’s also a siren on the rocks, a tiger lying in wait. You decide to go after your Selma and the shock-waves will be felt in every little part of your life.
It’s a big decision. Selma is not to be taken lightly.
Once you pick Selma, there is no going back. The change has set in faster than you could close the door behind you with a weeks worth of clothes tucked under your arm.
What happens if you don’t act on your personal Selma dilemma? Do you stay in your relationship, all the while dreaming about your Selma?
It happens to everyone- you can deny it all you want, but you know it’s true.
Listening to my father, it was almost like a curse had revealed itself. The Curse of the Riley’s Hearts. Never meant to be stable, always searching, always wandering and wondering.
My sister has already had a taste of the curse.
So have I.
Is it a cycle, like my with my father? Married, decide on Selma. Marry again, decide on Selma.
Is my life going to change when the next Selma smiles at me? When I bump into Selma on the bus or the train, maybe reaching for the same over priced Red Bull?
Am I cursed, destined to follow the cycle of my father’s heart?
* Selma is taken from Charles Bukowski’s “Women” in which, upon meeting a friends wife (Selma) he reflects “Where is My Selma?”, just so you know.