First of all, blame mandos for this. He's been enabling my rubbernecking habit like whoa by deposting these links in unrelated posts. Sort of like my cat would have brought me dead mice if he were any good at mousing. The cat, that is. I've no idea how good mandos is at mousing. Presumably they're more difficult targets than The Eternal Moonshine Of The Wadfem Dwama. And this first source in particular is like the dead mouse with hantavirus.
Nonetheless. I had to look. And now, apparently, before seven days go by, I have to share, or Sheila Jeffreys comes out of the television and eats my brains. Therefore:
http://aroomofourown.wordpress.com/2009/05/17/am-i-crazy/
Am I Crazy?
2009 MAY 17
by Margaret
I will rank the following three scenarios, options, if you will, in order of my preference:
Male infanticide.
Female infanticide.
Females continue living as males’ slaves.
Of course, these are not the only three options available, though they do seem to me to be the options most likely to occur with any lasting *effect* (with full recognition that numbers 2 and 3 concur).
But, yes, I believe male infanticde to be the best of those three options. That is to say, I believe male infanticide to be a *better* option than the current circumstances. That doesn’t speak to what I might feel the *best* option would be. I only mean to put into perspective my stance on male infanticide, given its invocation in the comments of another post. I think it’s better than what we’ve got.
Note that I also feel that female infanticide is a better option than being born into patriarchy as it stands, as well.
I just happen to think it’d be better if the males were the ones dying, rather than that the females be the ones dying *and* suffering.
You have to admit, at least she screwed her courage to the sticking place and -said- it. If saying shit that most people find repulsive and WTF? isn't radical, what is? Huh? As Lady Macbeth notes:
I would, while it was smiling in my face,
Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,
And dash'd the brains out.
Bite they little heads off,
Nibble on they little feet...
...no, wait, sorry, that's from Hamlet. Anyway, Lady M's probably not all that great a role model on account of she was created by a male author and was in it for her husband's ambition, thus a tool of the Patriarchy and not a true Revolutionary, despite her admirable fighting spirit. (The fact that she's fictional shouldn't be held against her; after all, it's not like the OP being quoted here isn't actually a cartoon).
Right, so. Meanwhile, not very far away, also brought to you courtesy of mandos, there's a new (apparently) dude on the block.
http://thelongestwar.wordpress.com/
Unlike most men, I admit I started this physical life as a female fetus, like all human fetuses do, also born of a woman like all human beings are.* Also, I’m embarrassed to be a man with all the societal privilege manhood entails. Hence, this blog. It soothes my conscience**...
... To end man’s war against womankind may take men not just doing laundry and ending non-sexual violence, but practicing celibacy as a commitment to not exploiting women. Real celibacy, not what Catholic priests pretend to do. Unless men wise up and take better action, Mother Nature might just wipe men out and leave women with procreative parthenogenesis. Life will go on, with or without men.
I’m proposing celibacy for bi and het-sex men (any men born as men interested in sexual relations with women) as the ground of being to expand male consciousness as a pathway toward real peace. Celibacy for this group of people would mean that no woman would be sexually exploited by any xy-chromosome humanoid while a lasting peace is sought through heightened awareness for all...
...(1) See and (2) Break Free. It’s a simple two-part plan to species unity. I said simple, not easy. But if the war ends in my lifetime, maybe I can start having real sex as a whole human being with another whole human being.
...I can no longer wield my spear in the longest war. Plenty of warriors remain ready. To womankind I would say: In this war, it’s the spear and not your spirit that he’s interested in. To paraphrase a recent title of a book-based movie with a sappy ending, “He’s never that into you (in other than a spear-thrusting way).”
*oh snap, Macduff so was NOT! You missed the ironic part! You should be careful with your turn of phrase, there, sport. Even if you totally don't mind losing the kingdom and the battle and the, um, spear, and all that patriarchal jazz.
**You do that with your left hand or your right?
***
But this guy's so, so, maddeningly close, and yet doesn't quite seem to get there. In the interest of protecting Womankind, he heroically falls on his own, um, spear; he denies us all his essence (although fortunately we still have his bloviations). Which probably means he's not planning to burden the Earth with his spawn, either. He even refers to himself as a former (female) fetus, heaping due guilt upon his own head at having developed the Y chrom and then gone on to take up all that privilege and oxygen...
...and yet, he doesn't quite seem to leap to the logical conclusion that Margie there probably already did, or should have.
We will refrain from mentioning l'affaire B---ng B---r here, just because I don't want to link to anyone who still has that shit cached. But, yes, truth is stranger than AbFab etc, at least in the Land Of The Online Wadfem.
In epilogue: as long as we're speculating about possible parallel worlds, I wonder how much more energy and goodwill I might have had, how many great works of art I might have created, new elements discovered, buildings leapt in a single bound, if every time I'd been tempted to rubberneck at this sort of thing, much less engage, I'd instead just hit this button.
