il duce

I’d rather have a man, or men, think I’m shedding my uterus at any time, whether true or not, than to make a man, or men, feel comfortable. I would like to truly apologize to a decent man, or decent men, in this world, but even decent men are susceptible to forgetting the plot, as anyone one of us will, but I digress. I speak like I’ve been told to, by men, and yet, I’ve never seen that as demeaning, it is still my voice after all, so, it is a woman’s voice though with much influence from predominantly male projections, at this time, or so they assume, and assume upon me…  Though I have never felt inferior to a man, any men.

I have been known to pop off, every now and then. I remember punching a guy I thought had touched my butt, he didn’t touch my butt, it was a mistake, and he said sorry. Even though I realized he didn’t do it, I still had this fierce warriors expression on my face and gave him a look like, sorry I’ve hit you but some primal adrenalin is flowing through me and telling me to attack the enemy now, you are no longer the target but I will not calm down just yet – or just imagine looking at my eyes consumed by flames and a raised fist. The guy was surprisingly calm, which was the correct way to be around me, he knew how to survive that situation, I was impressed. Satisfied, I walked away.

All of a woman’s life is bombarded with crude and disgusting projections of men passed as state required knowledge bullshit shovelled into our cubby hole graves, i.e. early education. This is just the start, we have the home life, the correct home life, the correct home life for your certain part of the world, this state and region, predominantly should be Christian and we have developed it as such, and the women need to be this and we’ve developed it as such, and the men need to be like this, and oh wait, this part is the perfect grounds for our military bases, design the neighbourhoods to support veteran moral but don’t actually help the veterans too much, caring doesn’t help the design. Oh, and our precious children… I mean precious numbers… and only if they have a healthy number of them that will satisfy the necessary population requirements for state necessities. And of course, design the system in the likes of Mussolini’s, our babies will be so easy to recruit, some as early as young teens, if they don’t already feel the pressure from the cradle, to join the military complex thus ensuring optimal human equity to spend and negotiate when needed. Oh, we are the best at that!

It is so easy to go into in great length and depth into this topic, however several other men, women, and them, have gone into great studies about past, current and future military complex’s psychological, geopolitical, economic veins and functions, so much so, that I have no right to even begin to dive into that complexity. I frankly don’t have the time or authority. What I do have time and authority for is my experience and voice…

I waited in the taxicab. I was on the job and with a client, one who could not speak for themselves let alone move themselves. I was their voice and the cab driver their movement. The cab driver was not doing his vital job for this person who literally cannot move themselves without us. So, I started to tap on the window and stared at him while he stood outside the door of the taxi cab talking to someone he had no business of talking to. I at first just gave the window a few taps, then a pause, he didn’t acknowledge them, so I started to tap again, still nothing. I started to tap constantly, I tapped for at least 15 seconds, a steady, taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap… He opened my door and starred at me, well not so much starred as gave me a glare and snarl, I was so delighted to see a face like that, what are you going to say to me sir because I am going to destroy anything you say to me right now, any excuse is out the window, the only thing I need to hear is an apology to both my client and I and be on our way, But I didn’t say that out loud, I didn’t need to, he can be as mad as he wants, he can’t say anything because he knows I’m right and he is frustrated that I am a woman and that I threaten his idea that he has any control over this situation. He got into the cab and was finally doing his job. That small microaggression towards me was not the correct action, if by the correct action would mean anything that did not make me completely internally hostile to this man’s existence. It opened up much clarity for me, it allowed me to see my rage clearer, it opened a beautiful stream of molten dialogue to myself, such a beautiful release of energy.

so much clarity, clarity I could never find when I was younger, because I was moving too fast and there were too many moments to care for at every second of the day, barely any time for reflection or deep thought just memories, and now I leave a taxi cab with a mind flowing with fire. like lightning has just hit a tree.