First, an
F.Y.I. Gender Focus published a feminist response review I wrote about the
docu-film, Vegucated. Read the article, here:
http://www.gender-focus.com/2012/05/30/watching-vegucated-with-a-feminist-eye/
And, if you're so inclined, check out some of the Outtakes (Edit-outs) from the original, much lengthier, version of the article.
My one major "flaw" as a writer: writing too much. It still stands as true as ever. I like that about myself, but it threatens to push me and my work further into obscurity. Luckily, an editor can cut me down to size and make me (i.e., my work) more suitable for the masses.
But for you, my intimate audience (and those of you who ended up here because you were searching for "she stomped on his penis"), I will -pretty much- allow myself to be at liberty. At liberty, to write and write to my heart's content when its content is to write!
The Edittakes, not necessarily in order:
Whew, MotherofGod.
And I mean, a lot.
A plant doesn’t have a brain, and therefore does not possess a form of consciousness similar to animal consciousness.
Their shoes? Oh, well, it does require a little suspension of disbelief to relate to the chicken but not much.
It’s all just growth and decay. While I look upon the human relationship with the earth through a dimly lit lens, I'm not afraid to preach about human rights. I think humans, some of them at least, have the ability to seek a more advanced way of living.
As a feminist, I will be the first to proclaim that the ways of the hunter are not for me. I am a gatherer, and I think the way of the gatherer is the way of the future. Ursula LeGuin, with your carrier-bag-of-fiction and your futuristic feminism, by all means, lead the way.
But to Hell with my thanks, the only reason I get to survive is because I am bigger and smarter. The animal doesn't want my thanks; it only wants its life. How I dream of the day when the deer and ducks rise up against the hunters, and say, "FUCK YOU, STARVE YOU MOTHER FUCKER."
What a shame it is that humanity is the parasitical adult baby that just won't GROW (!) UP.
We inhabit a style of living based in service and community rather than in materialism and individualism. We plant good seeds to replace what we take from the earth (for our consumption).
There is logic and purpose in this: Mother Earth has given birth to us much in the way that the lemon tree gives birth to her lemons. For our growth, let’s just say.
She doesn’t walk up to us and offer us her teat; she has to be imprisoned and coerced into providing milk for millions of humans.
But my hairy mammal sister, The Cow, is an abused mother. As a mother with a dried up teat of my own, I want to help her out.
Privilege and hierarchy are huge contributors to the disease of consumption that is plaguing Mother Earth, but that’s an issue for another article. “Vegucated” might not effectively speak to a wide enough audience and I predict that those who are not the products of privilege and affluence might not find it all that charming.
I identify with all prey –all potential victims, all non-violent beings, all peaceful creatures who have the capacity to coexist in harmony.
And, if you're so inclined, check out some of the Outtakes (Edit-outs) from the original, much lengthier, version of the article.
My one major "flaw" as a writer: writing too much. It still stands as true as ever. I like that about myself, but it threatens to push me and my work further into obscurity. Luckily, an editor can cut me down to size and make me (i.e., my work) more suitable for the masses.
But for you, my intimate audience (and those of you who ended up here because you were searching for "she stomped on his penis"), I will -pretty much- allow myself to be at liberty. At liberty, to write and write to my heart's content when its content is to write!
The Edittakes, not necessarily in order:
Whew, MotherofGod.
And I mean, a lot.
A plant doesn’t have a brain, and therefore does not possess a form of consciousness similar to animal consciousness.
Their shoes? Oh, well, it does require a little suspension of disbelief to relate to the chicken but not much.
It’s all just growth and decay. While I look upon the human relationship with the earth through a dimly lit lens, I'm not afraid to preach about human rights. I think humans, some of them at least, have the ability to seek a more advanced way of living.
As a feminist, I will be the first to proclaim that the ways of the hunter are not for me. I am a gatherer, and I think the way of the gatherer is the way of the future. Ursula LeGuin, with your carrier-bag-of-fiction and your futuristic feminism, by all means, lead the way.
But to Hell with my thanks, the only reason I get to survive is because I am bigger and smarter. The animal doesn't want my thanks; it only wants its life. How I dream of the day when the deer and ducks rise up against the hunters, and say, "FUCK YOU, STARVE YOU MOTHER FUCKER."
What a shame it is that humanity is the parasitical adult baby that just won't GROW (!) UP.
We inhabit a style of living based in service and community rather than in materialism and individualism. We plant good seeds to replace what we take from the earth (for our consumption).
There is logic and purpose in this: Mother Earth has given birth to us much in the way that the lemon tree gives birth to her lemons. For our growth, let’s just say.
She doesn’t walk up to us and offer us her teat; she has to be imprisoned and coerced into providing milk for millions of humans.
But my hairy mammal sister, The Cow, is an abused mother. As a mother with a dried up teat of my own, I want to help her out.
Privilege and hierarchy are huge contributors to the disease of consumption that is plaguing Mother Earth, but that’s an issue for another article. “Vegucated” might not effectively speak to a wide enough audience and I predict that those who are not the products of privilege and affluence might not find it all that charming.
I identify with all prey –all potential victims, all non-violent beings, all peaceful creatures who have the capacity to coexist in harmony.
1 comment:
Thanks for your intelligence too, my friend, we seem to have the world in common, be it virtuel, virtuelle, or virtuous.
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