rivermerchant

Wed, 20 Feb 2008 21:30:33 GMT

> >>
> >> Hillary vs. the Patriarchy
> >>
> >> By Erica Jong
> >> Monday, February 4, 2008; 12:00 AM
> >>
> >> "Look, the only people for Hillary Clinton are the Democratic
> >> establishment and white women," said Bill Kristol yesterday on Fox
> >> News Sunday, one of the many "news" outlets to expose Kristol's
> >> reliable sexism. "The Democratic establishment would be crazy to
> >> follow an establishment that led it to defeat year after year,"
> >> Kristol continued in his woolly, repetitive style. "White women are
> >> a problem, you know. We all live with that."
> >>
> >> Bill Kristol has been much criticized for his war mongering,
> >> arrogance, poor writing and lack of fact checking. But at least the
> >> guy is honest. He considers women a problem -- especially white
> >> women. And he feels confident enough as an alpha male to be open
> >> about it. "I shouldn't have said that," he demurred. But he can say
> >> anything he likes and still fall eternally upward. He's a white
> >> man, lord of all he surveys -- including Hillary Rodham Clinton.
> >>
> >> I, too, have been watching Hillary Clinton with admiration, love,
> >> hate, annoyance and empathy since she appeared on the national
> >> scene 16 years ago. (Can it be only16 years?) I've had a hard time
> >> making up my mind about her. Perhaps that's because I identify with
> >> her so strongly.
> >>
> >> I'm hardly the only woman who sees my life mirrored in hers. She's
> >> always worked twice as hard to get half as far as the men around
> >> her. She endured a demanding Republican father she could seldom
> >> please and a brilliant, straying husband who played around with
> >> bimbos. She was clearly his intellectual soul mate, but the women
> >> he chased were dumb and dumber.
> >>
> >> Nothing she did was ever enough to stop her detractors. Supporting
> >> a politician husband by being a successful lawyer, raising a
> >> terrific daughter, saving her marriage when the love of her life
> >> publicly humiliated her -- these are things that would be
> >> considered enormously admirable in most politicians and public
> >> figures. But because she's a white woman, she's been pilloried for
> >> them.
> >>
> >> She's had to endure nutcrackers made in her image, insults about
> >> the shape of her ankles and nasty cracks from mediocrities in the
> >> media like Rush Limbaugh, Chris Matthews and Kristol.
> >>
> >> When she decided to run for the Senate she was called a
> >> carpetbagger. When she won the hearts of her most conservative
> >> constituents by supporting their actual needs, the same poisonous
> >> pundits who said it couldn't be done attacked her.
> >>
> >> Nor are poisonous women pundits any more kind. Maureen Dowd
> >> regularly gives her a drubbing. And "progressives" from Susan
> >> Brownmiller to Oprah Winfrey sport Obama buttons.
> >>
> >> I, too, was a bluestocking from a woman's college, straight-A
> >> student, Phi Beta Kappa, who found my voice as a writer while
> >> exiled to the boonies with a husband who cheated. With every book I
> >> published, I saw more clearly how uneven was the playing field for
> >> women. We were let into the literary world on sufferance. Unless we
> >> wrote unreadable academic tracts that nobody bought, or mysteries
> >> or romances or something called "chick lit" (whatever that is), or
> >> biographies of Great Men, we were booed off the stage.
> >>
> >> I chanced to get famous for my work. Hillary got famous in the
> >> unspeakable role of "First Lady," which Jackie Kennedy Onassis
> >> thought sounded like the name of racehorse. If she seemed
> >> uncomfortable in her skin, if she kept changing her hair, her
> >> image, her style, her way of speaking, how could we blame her? She
> >> was trying to be self-protective. Who wouldn't be if constantly
> >> attacked by a beastly press?
> >>
> >> Little by little, she loosened up. She learned how to dress and
> >> speak and smile and relax on the podium. I've watched this whole
> >> process with immense admiration.
> >>
> >> Fame in America is unforgiving. And she had to grow comfortable in
> >> the spotlight -- something very few people can do without having a
> >> nervous breakdown or drinking or popping pills.
> >>
> >> Hillary made it without self-destructing. She was a tower of
> >> strength to her husband, who seems to have little impulse control,
> >> and her daughter whom she obviously loves and whom she never
> >> exploited even in the worst of times.
> >>
> >> She cannot have enjoyed her husband's playing around. She certainly
> >> never condoned it. But he was clever enough for her, he supported
> >> her dreams, and they both loved their smart and beautiful daughter.
> >>
> >> Besides, what does anyone know about anyone else's marriage? As a
> >> novelist I understand that I can't even invent the complexities
> >> most people live with, the compromises made, the deals negotiated
> >> and renegotiated. If it works, let's say hallelujah, rather than
> >> pick and quibble. It took me three marriages to find my soul mate.
> >> Maybe Hillary was luckier.
> >>
> >> In the 1990s, when they became "Billary" as president, she gave her
> >> all. When the White House beckoned, she was true blue. When he took
> >> the hardest job in the world, she helped. And when he rewarded her
> >> by letting some tootsie do whatever it was they did in the Oval
> >> Office, she got really mad.
> >>
> >> But she was wise enough to know what it did and did not mean. She
> >> did what smart European and Asian women have done through the ages:
> >> She kept her marriage but changed her focus to her own ambitions.
> >>
> >> As a senator she has learned compromise and negotiation. She has
> >> gotten to know red America as well as blue. If she could win over
> >> the rednecks in upstate New York, she can win over any American.
> >> She knows this country is full of "security" moms as well as soccer
> >> moms. Since she is a woman, she has to show she's ready to be
> >> commander in chief. Hence her "triangulation" on Iraq and her
> >> signing the absurd Lieberman-Kyl resolution, which calls on our
> >> government to use "military instruments" to "combat, contain and
> >> [stop]" Iran's meddling in Iraq.
> >>
> >> By the time it came up she must have known the Cheney-Bush war
> >> profiteers would never embrace even partial peace. She had to win
> >> over her America and theirs.
> >>
> >> Who ever got elected in the United States without moving to the
> >> center? Not Ralph Nader the narcissist, nor Ross Perot the spoiler,
> >> nor certainly Adlai Stevenson the "egghead," nor Ronnie Reagan the
> >> red-baiter from Hollywoodland. Dubya presented himself as a
> >> "compassionate conservative" and our dopey press bought it. They
> >> inflicted him on us because they thought Al Gore was a nerd. The
> >> right-wing media barons happily smeared the better man for no good
> >> reason. Noam Chomsky predicted all this 25 years ago, when he said
> >> that the concentration of the media would rob us of real news.
> >>
> >> It certainly has. We can read all we want about Britney, Paris,
> >> Heath, Tom Cruise, the Spice Girls and all their buds -- dead or
> >> alive -- but we can't read about how many children have been maimed
> >> in Iraq, or their dead and legless or armless mothers and fathers
> >> who were shocked and awed. But we know it's happening. And we feel
> >> the great weight of our complicity.
> >>
> >> You will point to Hillary's complicity. You will quote crazy-like-a-
> >> fox Ann Coulter, who claims to be voting for her.
> >>
> >> You will also quote left-wing bloggers who love Barack Obama, and
> >> MoveOn.org peaceniks (I am one) who see no evil in him (nor do I).
> >> But I see little experience either. Obama is smart and attractive.
> >> Maybe he'll be president someday.
> >>
> >> He was lucky enough not to be in the Senate when the Iraq war
> >> resolution was floated after then-Secretary of State Colin Powell
> >> lied about WMDs. That was the true tragedy of race: a black man
> >> lying for a corrupt white administration that was using him as a
> >> token, much as they use Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice now.
> >>
> >> Obama is also a token -- of our incomplete progress toward an
> >> interracial society. I have nothing against him except his
> >> inexperience. Many black voters agree. They understand tokenism and
> >> condescension.
> >>
> >> I understand my hopeful friends who think an Obama button will
> >> change America. But I'm sticking with Hillary. I trust her because
> >> all her life, her pro bono work has been for mothers and children.
> >> And mothers and children -- of all colors -- are the most oppressed
> >> group in our country. I trust her to speak for our children and
> >> grandchildren -- and for us. She always has.

I got this e-mail as a forward from my mom. I said too much and now she thinks I'm sheltered because I haven't seen real gender discrimination. I feel this is a fairly good overview of what's happened to Hilary over the years. With a bias, of course. There's always a bias. But I didn't know there were still dipshits who can say something like "White women are a problem, you know. We all live with that." and get away with it. Absolutely disgusting.

him.

Mon, 21 Jan 2008 04:11:15 GMT

I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. How can I express this more clearly. He is the bane of my existence most days. The source of my complete confusion. Usually I wish he would just disappear and leave me alone. But I couldn't have that. Then I couldn't see him and that would be terrible. I only want to to see him though. I don't want to talk to him or hang out with him or anything. Why do I talk to him most days? I could end our friendship so easily. It's nothing at all. A pile of sticks as apposed to the dams I've built with other people. I want to cut it off, but then I wouldn't be able to hear him. I want to hear him too, just not talk to him. I don't want us to be connected at all, really. But I've got to if I want to survive. I don't think I could handle complete separation. For god's sake the kid's a kid. Just a fucking kid. He doesn't deserve that kind of control over me. No one does. I swore I'd never let anyone that far in but my parents, and a few others I suppose. He's holding my fucking beating heart and he doesn't realize it. Being controlled is a despicable thing. I want him to let go. Either let go or just leave. Then everything would be held in stasis. I might miss him, but at least then he wouldn't have the chance to hurt me. To squeeze my heart and watch a bit of blood drip out.
Maybe if I had a class or two with him, things would work better,... I could still see him without us talking.

Uh oh, spaghetios. Misa's moving towards the creepy side again...

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 06:14:51 GMT

“Who’s there?” Koiyomi Takada called. “Light, Light is that you?” The woman peered through the darkness of the small room she had just entered. It was pitch black and the room’s patterned walls were the only support she could find.

Misa sat on a chair, knowing, in charge of the situation. The pen in her pocket and floating shinigami by her side heightening her already strong self confidence. This “Takada” would play no more part in her life after tonight.

“Boyfriend stealing, lowdown, skanky…” she whispered under her breath. Oh, this woman had it coming. She was going down. Rem switched on the light and quickly disappeared into a wall.

Takada blinked to adjust her eyes to the flooding light. The entire place was simply loosely patterned walls and a white carpet floor. She focused in on the only piece of furniture in the room. On the straight-backed wooden chair a girl with short blond hair stared at her with conviction. Staring almost too closely. Her clothes were strange as well. No one dressed in public like that. A Lolita dress and high tied shoes. The make up on her face was overbearing and if looks could kill..

Misa nodded politely. She already had the name: Haranda Mitsuki. Light had spilled that without too much trouble. She wouldn’t give up ownership of the note that easily. Especially when she knew such a, a love-starved woman would get it next. And anyway, there was still some fun to be had. Maybe she could make her cry, or at least unhappy in her final moments. This woman didn’t know what she was getting into when she decided to steal her Light.

“So tall it’s disgusting” Misa said without trying to cover her contempt.

“Jigoku Shoujo, is that you? What have you done with him?! Is he ok? Light, Light!” She searched the completely empty room.

“There’s no rush, darling. Take a seat.” The blond haired girl gestured to a chair which Takada could have sworn wasn’t there a moment ago. But she was in no state to sit and talk with the strange girl. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” Misa cooed in a coy voice. Oh this was fun. In control was where she really shined. Here and in the spotlight, she was the most content woman alive.

“About the death note. About Light. Where is Light?” The temporary confusion once again hardening into worry lines on her pale face. She ran her fingers through her hair with her free hand. The other, clutching her most precious item.

--But anything is worth Light. If only this girl didn’t already hurt him, then maybe... maybe I can bring Light home safe.--

“I see you got my message” Misa laughed lightly. --I wonder if this woman knows how easily I can kill her. Her life is just a toy. A ball of string for me to bat at, until it finally unravels. --

A shaky hand pulled a slip of paper out of her jacket pocket.

“You’ll want to save your precious Light

Jigoku Shoujo will soon to take his life

But if you’ll part with your precious note so I can play

I’ll part with him and you’ll leave unscathed”

Takada reread the lyrics to this deranged poem. How could such a young girl write this? And more importantly, what would she do next?

“What.. what are you planning?” She asked as she finished reciting.

“I don’t understand, darling. You know why you’re here. Now hand it over.”

Now Misa knew that Takada wouldn’t cave quite so easily to her requests. She might be worried. She might be troubled that the woman had already once defied her by not sitting when offered. She might feel this way, if the odds weren’t completely in her favor. If she hadn’t already predetermined everything with a certain pocketed pen.

“N-no. I want to see Light first. Is he hurt?” Takada asked again.

“Enough with this question. I’m getting bored Ms. Ha ran da Mi tsu ki.” Misa waved her finger in the air to the beat of the words. She shook the top leg already draped over the other and smiled devilishly.

Frozen. --That girl didn’t just say my name. No one knows that. No one but Light and I. We decided it was best to keep my name under wraps. And now this creepy gothic girl with an odd ring in her voice just said it. My name, my grandmother’s name, it’s sacred. She can’t just say my name. Not just like that. No. No!--

Takada rushed foreword, led by her raging emotions. She tripped and fell on the carpeted floor. The landing was soft, but it affected her more due to her confused and bewildered state. Misa laughed once more. “If I had known you would hurt yourself, I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of dragging it out, my toy.”

“What. do. you. mean?” she choked out. Takada had skidded very close to the girl’s gaudy black boots, so she was forced to look up to see the malice-filled eyes above her. Tears were forming in Takada’s wide brown eyes. Why was this blond haired girl so sure of herself? How had she completely manipulated her emotions? Why? Why was this happening? Light, save me. Light, “Light!” She cried

“Why darling,” Misa said as she uncrossed her legs and placed her palms on her knees “I want to watch you squirm before you die.”

She could still regain control of the situation. There was a chance, if only she could regain her composure. --She’s messing with you’re mind! Stop her!-- “Just wait, you…”

click The large wall clock hit 11:50:00 pm exactly.

She wasn’t in control. This wasn’t Takada’s hand reaching for the knife beside her. It was someone else’s arm holding the sharpened blade straight from her body. It certainly wasn’t her doing as she handed her death note to Misa and stood up. No someone was doing this to her. Who was it? She looked around the empty room again. The knife came into her chest. Maybe she couldn’t control her arms, or her legs, or anything, but she could feel the pain. She couldn’t stay standing, the pain forcing her to the ground. Takada fell on her back to see someone, no just a child, standing over her with the note in one hand, and a shinigami to her left. The death god looked complacent, while the girl was quite mirthful about something.

“He was never yours, Haranda-san. You were nothing but a burden to him. Light is mine, only only mine.” The last thing Koiyomi Takada saw was a twirling pen as she closed her eyes.

Religion- kinda random

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 02:52:03 GMT

Sometimes I think of religion as a necessary evil. Something which gives the human race the will to go on, despite the stupidity of the whole affair. But then it strikes me, after this thought,that I feel like I have the superiority to judge this inferior race who simply cannot live without a deity to worship. This is ridiculous, as I am the same as them all, just without need of a God.

Something that happened a long time ago, but now I have the skills to throw some words at it. :)

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 02:32:33 GMT

I can be a mother when he's sad, but I have no idea about anger or being pushed away. He still laughs, but he's not happy. At least he talks. It's very possible that he associates me with his pain, and not talking to me is like ignoring it all. Feeling better. A truly positive thing. I can't be normal around him because I know too much. I'm to intertwined and aware. I should support him in this and maintain my metaphorical associations for his benefit. If I'm really his friend, I should do what's best for him and know when to back off. This isn't overreaction, it's analysis. I just made on little mistake, I let him get too close. Ah, the soul crushing power of friendship. I need to just BACK OFF.

His life is untouchable, impenetrable like a ball of energy.
Complete, searing, blocking everything out.
I can't step in, we can only coexist. I have a life too...
but the recently ripped holes allow others to step in and out at leisure, hence, him.
People can reach in through the weakness, so easy to influence
but this kid with his complete life, his untouchable existence.
He's understandably resistant to change, he should hang on.
Hang onto the good bits of life before they change,
They always change. Please don't let go

Yarg! pulls hair out

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 01:55:33 GMT

I think my mom just realized that I'm 15, then compared what I might do to what she did at that age. If she thinks I'm going to go off to some random boy's room at con, well then, what if I'm gay? You're letting me stay in a room with another girl and I'm gay. Go you mother. I suppose my 1 in 10 chance of homosexuality isn't enough to deture her suspicions. The whole affair makes me want to drink beer in her face just to spite her. Bottled frustrations its all..

I am a reincarnated hippie!

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 01:37:15 GMT

My nails...
The remnants of the darkness still remain
I know I can't be completely free,
but let me live one day in the light
escape the darkness and cling to the sun

The allure, the seduction will bring me back, no, I'll claw my way back
Spiraling down into the emptiness
That is my home, the blackness of my nails, my clothes, my soul
but just for today, allow me purity
Allow me to live in the translucent happiness
Spinning, burning, crazy, clean
The intense feeling of exhilaration

Stuff I wrote a long time ago n edited

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 01:29:26 GMT

I hate this feeling! I hate it! I hate it! I HATE IT! The fucking onset of depression. Like a sudden lack of purpose. If I was at home I don't know what I'd do. Probably scream and then go about some random menial task to forget. I need music. I need angry music. Loud, loud angry music. I need the release that comes with it. I need to rip something apart. *Boom* you're dead. Animal I have become. Yes. Let my eyes narrow, my gaze harden. I want the numbness to consume me, so I can cease to feel. The lack of emotional pain. This is exactly why people cause themselves physical pain. Why they did that to themselves. I don't want to happen to me. I don't want to feel like that again. Make it go away, please. I hate it.

jfjf

Sat, 03 Mar 2007 17:49:04 GMT

I've finally made my appearance! *the crowd cheers*
To business. I've just explained every detail to my father about uploading pictures onto facebook. Not that he'll ever need to use facebook, or that he'll ever remember what I told him.. but he asked and I complied. He just wanted to gawk for a bit over my crazy ass computer skills. I'm mapquesting something for him right now. Ooo! Ahh! I can mapquest AND invent verbs. Serious stuff. I was uploading the pictures onto facebook that I took last night. I swore to everyone that I'd have them up an hour after the performance. But being the butt that my computer is, it decided that it would take a lot longer than that. So long in fact that I was still doing it after my grandparents went to sleep -in the same room- and my mother came in and got her hair in a tizzy over me "disturbing" them. Then of course she ran to my father, who didn't seem to give a crap, and told him I was in there. His not caring offset her anger for the time being and I just went to bed. She forgot the next day though. Hooray for old people forgetting things! Well, that was some of my drama from last night, happy Mille?