Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is, think about it
Woman is the nigger of the world
Think about it, do something about it
We make her paint her face and dance
If she won't be a slave, we say that she don't love us
If she's real, we say she's trying to be a man
While putting her down, we pretend that she's above us
Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you don't believe me, take a look at the one you're with
Woman is the slave of the slaves
Ah, yeah, better scream about it
We make her bear and raise our children
And then we leave her flat for being a fat old mother hen
We tell her home is the only place she should be
Then we complain that she's too unworldly to be our friend
Woman is the nigger of the world, yes she is
If you don't believe me, take a look at the one you're with
Woman is the slave to the slaves
Yeah, alright, hit it!
We insult her every day on TV
And wonder why she has no guts or confidence
When she's young we kill her will to be free
While telling her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb
Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is, if you don't believe me, take a look at the one you're with
Woman is the slave to the slaves
Yes she is, if you believe me, you better scream about it
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
Quote: John Lennon
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Cold Cuts
I've exiled myself again. I'm staying in my mother's apartment while she's in China. Last night it was 3 degrees F outside here. I'm in the far North of Denmark, only half an hour's flight away from Copenhagen, but much more snowy and freezing up here. People have different hair up here, and more dogs. I'm driving my mother's car in the snow, it's like fun park with a risk. Trying to control the out of control, slightly sliding freely, like being in a Cohen movie, hoping it's only a transportation scene.
I'm going to work for one week here alone. Focus, not get disturbed by anyone or anything. It's always good to be isolated in order to concentrate. I want to get some serious editing done on my novel script. I'm going to knife it down. A lot. It'll get better and stronger. Compact. Concise. Cut to the bone of the story. Cold weather is good for creativity. Cools the brain, helps see clearly, crystallizes thoughts.
The roof tops outside are white. The cars drive slowly, even emergency vehicles move by loud and flashing in a ridiculous paradoxical slow motion. There's snow in the air. The sky is heavy with gray and silver golden light inside the clouds. Words. Thoughts. Solitude. Catching knives in mid air. Work.
I'm going to work for one week here alone. Focus, not get disturbed by anyone or anything. It's always good to be isolated in order to concentrate. I want to get some serious editing done on my novel script. I'm going to knife it down. A lot. It'll get better and stronger. Compact. Concise. Cut to the bone of the story. Cold weather is good for creativity. Cools the brain, helps see clearly, crystallizes thoughts.
The roof tops outside are white. The cars drive slowly, even emergency vehicles move by loud and flashing in a ridiculous paradoxical slow motion. There's snow in the air. The sky is heavy with gray and silver golden light inside the clouds. Words. Thoughts. Solitude. Catching knives in mid air. Work.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Angry At God & New Valentines
-Angry, I whisper through my gritted teeth. -Angry, angry at you, angry at you, God. Unwillingly am I clenching my fists against the sky. I'm alone with heathland to all sides. I feel it drawing in, it's a storm and it's coming this direction. Twenty minutes the most, it'll be here. I can't outrun it in any direction. I know the heathen well, my legs know every distance, my feet every bump and small bush. The sound now, thunder bursts are roaming towards me from over the southeastern horizon. I know I called for it. I wanted it. I was on my knees and elbows for hours, begging God, asking for answers, pleading him to tell me about this anger. Why there has to be so much in my world, in the people, all the sorrow that he leaves all over which turns into anger because we can't handle the sorrow, its' so much easier to be angry at someone, look at what they've DONE and stay angry at that, because the sorrow that might be right behind the anger, it may have been there first, it might be hiding inside the anger, but no, it's much harder to explicate to even one self that it may be breaking around in there in the inner, the anger is manageable and has a comfortable aim. Should it be overcome then comes the next hurdle, to explicate the sorrow to the all world, or at least maybe just to those who caused the sorrow, not to hurl angrily at the person what he or she has done to cause you sorrow, no, no. No, that's not it. In that moment, if you actually managed to get to the sorrow instead of just throwing more anger out into the already poluted atmosphere, if you have managed, stay with that sorrow. And then, stand by it.
The sorrow is the hardest part. Have you ever seen a person in deep sorrow yell angrily? It's a shield. Also frequently used as a weapon in a first attack because the best defense is an attack, especially in emotional warfare, so even an anger attack can be called self defense. Pure and justified anger is great. It's pure force full of power and will. Anger moves stuff around. Which is per definition good. Sorrow doesn't move stuff around. Sorrow is more a state to rest in as a part of a slow process. It's the staying in the sorrow, not the sorrow, which will move things, and it will so absolutely. But sorrow and anger mixed up don't work right. Too often the sorrow is massed up in some solid figures while the anger flows all over. And it confuses people, they can't bear to feel the sorrow so they walk around angry or they can't feel sorrow and think they're actually angry, or they're spoiled by Disney and the consumer culture and are actually angry that they have to experience sorrow in life.
The storm draws over me. The lightning is crashing around me. I lie flat out on my stomach. I cry down in the mud with grass under my palms and my knee bent around a blackberrybush. I ask, God, why don't you control the sorrow, why all this anger? I spit and raise myself on my elbows, Why, I cry and the rain pours over my face, the mud travels in small streams. I lift my hands and sit on my underlegs in the mud. I raise my arms toward the sky. I hear the thunder. God aims and sets a light right in my chest. I'm a burning bush. I call for Moses, but he hides his face in his hands.
That was actually an old text so far. Other people's wild running anger has always freaked me out. Been able to make me very small and very quiet. Particularly when they just throw it out in random directions. I believe I wrote this for an ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend who seriously thought she was angry at me. Come on, please. But it makes me sort of second time around angry to read this, see, I never got to be angry the first time. Now I actually feel like feeling and releasing a bit of that old anger, since anger is such a strange guest in my world of peace and love - so actually, now that we're here, and you're probably freaky (and angry) enough to still read this blog, let me tell you what I think: 1) You were angry with yourself! (For a good reason, you failed on crucial points.) 2) You were angry with your ex-boyfriend! (For a good reason, he really let you down.) 3) You have had no reason to be angry at me. (Though it would've been neat in your world. But eat your own bull shit and stop taking it out on strangers. Grow up.) 4) Conclusion: You were too much of a coward to blame yourself, your ex-boyfriend, and your bad relationship for your sorrow, so you blamed a stranger - me - for your personal sorrow! How pathetic. 5) If you have a problem with any of this - STOP the fuck reading my fucking blog!
My own thunder storms inside I'm much more used to. And have become quite good at very rarely taking out on others, since I've found that it's actually never really necessary for a civilized person living in the modern age to do so - and if it has to happen, I'm goddamn sure to take it out on only the one I'm angry at. I don't really get angry at God, since I don't believe that I believe in God (I do, but I deny it.). That makes it sort of an awkward fight, I guess. No, if I'm angry in the undefinable, I make myself a sandwich. Or bat my eyelashes strongly a few times. Or write a book about something very, very bad. Or something.
Those who followed this blog over some painful Valentine's Days will be happy to hear, that I yesterday had not only one - but the two - most lovely Valentines imaginable. Two handsome and gentle Prince Charmings, who completely treated me like their Princess ValenTine. I and one of them decorated the living room with red and soft pink heart shaped balloons and candles, while the other prepared us all a lovely dinner. He's just the better chef of the two, while the other is more the balloon type. After we all enjoyed the dinner together, we shared romantic presents and slow danced all together before one of them had to go to bed early. That was the one who gave me a red heart shaped bead plate and a drawing of two beautiful ferries with a heart between them. He'd made it all in kindergarten and was so happy to bring these love gifts. He and his father and I are so lucky and happy here in our little home. It's actually a love miracle.
The sorrow is the hardest part. Have you ever seen a person in deep sorrow yell angrily? It's a shield. Also frequently used as a weapon in a first attack because the best defense is an attack, especially in emotional warfare, so even an anger attack can be called self defense. Pure and justified anger is great. It's pure force full of power and will. Anger moves stuff around. Which is per definition good. Sorrow doesn't move stuff around. Sorrow is more a state to rest in as a part of a slow process. It's the staying in the sorrow, not the sorrow, which will move things, and it will so absolutely. But sorrow and anger mixed up don't work right. Too often the sorrow is massed up in some solid figures while the anger flows all over. And it confuses people, they can't bear to feel the sorrow so they walk around angry or they can't feel sorrow and think they're actually angry, or they're spoiled by Disney and the consumer culture and are actually angry that they have to experience sorrow in life.
The storm draws over me. The lightning is crashing around me. I lie flat out on my stomach. I cry down in the mud with grass under my palms and my knee bent around a blackberrybush. I ask, God, why don't you control the sorrow, why all this anger? I spit and raise myself on my elbows, Why, I cry and the rain pours over my face, the mud travels in small streams. I lift my hands and sit on my underlegs in the mud. I raise my arms toward the sky. I hear the thunder. God aims and sets a light right in my chest. I'm a burning bush. I call for Moses, but he hides his face in his hands.
That was actually an old text so far. Other people's wild running anger has always freaked me out. Been able to make me very small and very quiet. Particularly when they just throw it out in random directions. I believe I wrote this for an ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend who seriously thought she was angry at me. Come on, please. But it makes me sort of second time around angry to read this, see, I never got to be angry the first time. Now I actually feel like feeling and releasing a bit of that old anger, since anger is such a strange guest in my world of peace and love - so actually, now that we're here, and you're probably freaky (and angry) enough to still read this blog, let me tell you what I think: 1) You were angry with yourself! (For a good reason, you failed on crucial points.) 2) You were angry with your ex-boyfriend! (For a good reason, he really let you down.) 3) You have had no reason to be angry at me. (Though it would've been neat in your world. But eat your own bull shit and stop taking it out on strangers. Grow up.) 4) Conclusion: You were too much of a coward to blame yourself, your ex-boyfriend, and your bad relationship for your sorrow, so you blamed a stranger - me - for your personal sorrow! How pathetic. 5) If you have a problem with any of this - STOP the fuck reading my fucking blog!
My own thunder storms inside I'm much more used to. And have become quite good at very rarely taking out on others, since I've found that it's actually never really necessary for a civilized person living in the modern age to do so - and if it has to happen, I'm goddamn sure to take it out on only the one I'm angry at. I don't really get angry at God, since I don't believe that I believe in God (I do, but I deny it.). That makes it sort of an awkward fight, I guess. No, if I'm angry in the undefinable, I make myself a sandwich. Or bat my eyelashes strongly a few times. Or write a book about something very, very bad. Or something.
Those who followed this blog over some painful Valentine's Days will be happy to hear, that I yesterday had not only one - but the two - most lovely Valentines imaginable. Two handsome and gentle Prince Charmings, who completely treated me like their Princess ValenTine. I and one of them decorated the living room with red and soft pink heart shaped balloons and candles, while the other prepared us all a lovely dinner. He's just the better chef of the two, while the other is more the balloon type. After we all enjoyed the dinner together, we shared romantic presents and slow danced all together before one of them had to go to bed early. That was the one who gave me a red heart shaped bead plate and a drawing of two beautiful ferries with a heart between them. He'd made it all in kindergarten and was so happy to bring these love gifts. He and his father and I are so lucky and happy here in our little home. It's actually a love miracle.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Jaws Of Steel
Certain things are extremely scary. Lacks of certain things are even scarier. People without a face for instance. People without a shadow. People without a conscience. People without self-reflection. People without the ability to love.
The last, I've wondered a lot about. What does it take for you to be able to love? What is it in you, that makes you not just like, but actually able to love something or even someone? Is it genetic to lack the ability to love? Is it socially inherited?
Is it even possible to be human without the ability to love? Would that not be the exact prime feature of a beast? Who knows, if someone is able to love or not? Does anyone but the person him or herself? Say, wouldn't Adolf have said, he loved Eva? Didn't he? Was he a beast, capable of loving? Would anyone else really say they know better than the man himself and come up with some explanation, that he didn't love her, he only got something out of it, and wouldn't that be from a certain interpretation of love; the whole altruistic idea, that if you love, you're not allowed to be in the love for yourself, you're actually not really allowed to get anything out of it at all. I believe Adolf loved Eva. As well as Winifred Wagner at a certain point. With his heart. I believe he was perfectly capable of loving. He had also just developed his darker sides quite competently. But I won't deny him also having had the ability to love.
So, Adolf might have been a great lover in the regard of women like Eva Braun and Winifred. What if a kind man claims not to be able to love? Who else than himself would know if this is true? Wouldn't he know better than anyone if his heart is actually made of stone? If nature treated him so unfortunately, that the ability to feel love for others just didn't fall into his body?
I don't think anyone could convince Adolf, that he wasn't capable of loving. And no one could convince a kind man, that he is actually capable of loving. I don't think any humans can't love, and here I won't say that autists are not human, they're just out of category here. But I think love is difficult.
Is love not difficult, and why do we assume that we're all able to love from nature's hand? Couldn't there be schools for loving? Courses? Maybe it would mean fewer divorces. I'm in Advanced Love Level 4 now, yes, took me three years to get there. Man, every Monday and Wednesday, and that's without the tests and practical rehearsal classes.
Maybe love is difficult until you find the ones, that make you feel, that they're easy to love. Some people will be to you. Those, who for some reason become your friends in life. The ones you want to be with. The one who just feels right. You may discover some day, that your own children are easy for you to love, but hard to like. What makes the heart capable of loving? Even able to love in spite of not like.
They always say stuff like, Everybody's able to kill if they have to. But are all able to love? Are all hearts really capable of loving? What would be more scary than someone not able to love? What would make you run faster than someone saying, I'm not able to love, as if they informed you, I have diabetes. What greater disability, what greater sadness, what inhumanity. What a beast. Would make Adolf look good, that is, of course, if he actually did love, not only the women, but just felt the love in his heart. Maybe it's more about practice. Maybe it's about clenching those jaws in determination. Or about losening them up. Or a miracle encounter. Or about learning to notice the tiny little smile inside the heart and understanding what it's about. Note to self: Love is a skill.
The last, I've wondered a lot about. What does it take for you to be able to love? What is it in you, that makes you not just like, but actually able to love something or even someone? Is it genetic to lack the ability to love? Is it socially inherited?
Is it even possible to be human without the ability to love? Would that not be the exact prime feature of a beast? Who knows, if someone is able to love or not? Does anyone but the person him or herself? Say, wouldn't Adolf have said, he loved Eva? Didn't he? Was he a beast, capable of loving? Would anyone else really say they know better than the man himself and come up with some explanation, that he didn't love her, he only got something out of it, and wouldn't that be from a certain interpretation of love; the whole altruistic idea, that if you love, you're not allowed to be in the love for yourself, you're actually not really allowed to get anything out of it at all. I believe Adolf loved Eva. As well as Winifred Wagner at a certain point. With his heart. I believe he was perfectly capable of loving. He had also just developed his darker sides quite competently. But I won't deny him also having had the ability to love.
So, Adolf might have been a great lover in the regard of women like Eva Braun and Winifred. What if a kind man claims not to be able to love? Who else than himself would know if this is true? Wouldn't he know better than anyone if his heart is actually made of stone? If nature treated him so unfortunately, that the ability to feel love for others just didn't fall into his body?
I don't think anyone could convince Adolf, that he wasn't capable of loving. And no one could convince a kind man, that he is actually capable of loving. I don't think any humans can't love, and here I won't say that autists are not human, they're just out of category here. But I think love is difficult.
Is love not difficult, and why do we assume that we're all able to love from nature's hand? Couldn't there be schools for loving? Courses? Maybe it would mean fewer divorces. I'm in Advanced Love Level 4 now, yes, took me three years to get there. Man, every Monday and Wednesday, and that's without the tests and practical rehearsal classes.
Maybe love is difficult until you find the ones, that make you feel, that they're easy to love. Some people will be to you. Those, who for some reason become your friends in life. The ones you want to be with. The one who just feels right. You may discover some day, that your own children are easy for you to love, but hard to like. What makes the heart capable of loving? Even able to love in spite of not like.
They always say stuff like, Everybody's able to kill if they have to. But are all able to love? Are all hearts really capable of loving? What would be more scary than someone not able to love? What would make you run faster than someone saying, I'm not able to love, as if they informed you, I have diabetes. What greater disability, what greater sadness, what inhumanity. What a beast. Would make Adolf look good, that is, of course, if he actually did love, not only the women, but just felt the love in his heart. Maybe it's more about practice. Maybe it's about clenching those jaws in determination. Or about losening them up. Or a miracle encounter. Or about learning to notice the tiny little smile inside the heart and understanding what it's about. Note to self: Love is a skill.
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