Voiceless – A Narrative of Multiple forms of Misogyny

I wanted to yell, but I couldn’t

I froze – Why did I freeze?

When he called me simplistic

This is what happens when little girls are bad

When he said, “I think what she is trying to say”

This is what happens when little girls are bad

When he called me hysterical

This is what happens when little girls are bad

When he said that one has to smell

Wine to see if it is good

Just like pussy

And then made a loud sniffing noise

When he walked by me

This is what happens when little girls are bad

When he drove me out

Beyond the city lights and headlights

Into the desolation and silence of night

Pushed me down, laying heavy on top of me

When he pushed himself into me

This is what happens when little girls are bad

When he pulled me out of a chair

Pushed me toward my bedroom

And threw me against a wall

My body bouncing back into his hands

To be thrown again, again, again

This is what happens when little girls are bad

When he called me a manipulative little bitch

A stuck-up, spoiled cunt

Because I made cinnamon toast

without asking his permission

This is what happens when little girls are bad

When he was choking the voice out of my mother

This is what happens…

I wanted to yell at him –

At the guy sitting across the classroom

At the other guy sitting across another classroom

At the guy working next to me

At the guy who married my sister

At the guy who doesn’t believe

That I am his daughter

Because he believes

That my mother was a “whore”

I wanted to yell,

“Hey, understand this you asshole,

I get it that this world was made by people like you

For people like you,

But you were never justified

In claiming my mind and body as yours to dominate

And this world is changing, right now.”

But I froze – cold, distant, solid, voiceless

Only to thaw out later in moments of self-destruction

Scars on my body scream

Of inaccessible, inexpressible, pain and anger

With nowhere else to go,

My suffering turns back on myself

Why did I freeze?

I hear his voice calling us

Our little bodies push through the haze of nighttime

Into their unlit room

Her naked body lays over his lap

“Look girls, this is what happens when little girls are bad”

He raises his hand, bringing it down

On her bare butt, thighs, and lower back

Raising his hand and bringing it down

Again – hearing it meet her skin –

And again – smack, smack, smack…

He pushes her off of him

We follow her out of the room

And help her put band-aids

On the bruises that had turned to blood blisters

And burst open

This is what happens…

Vegetarianism, Veganism, and Fruitarianism in Henry David Thoreau’s Walden – Excerpts from “Baker Farm” and “Higher Laws”

From “Baker Farm” –

“Meanwhile my host told me his story, how hard he worked “bogging” for a neighboring farmer, turning up a meadow with a spade or bog hoe at the rate of ten dollars an acre and the use of the land with manure for one year, and his little broad-faced son worked cheerfully at his father’s side the while, not knowing how poor a bargain the latter had made. I tried to help him with my experience, telling him that he was one of my nearest neighbors, and that I too, who came a-fishing here, and looked like a loafer, was getting my living like himself; that I lived in a tight, light, and clean house, which hardly cost more than the annual rent of such a ruin as his commonly amounts to; and how, if he chose, he might in a month or two build himself a palace of his own; that I did not use tea, nor coffee, nor butter, nor milk, nor fresh meat, and so did not have to work to get them; again, as I did not work hard, I did not have to eat hard, and it cost me but a trifle for my food; but as he began with tea, and coffee, and butter, and milk, and beef, he had to work hard to pay for them, and when he had worked hard he had to eat hard again to repair the waste of his system—and so it was as broad as it was long, indeed it was broader than it was long, for he was discontented and wasted his life into the bargain; and yet he had rated it as a gain in coming to America, that here you could get tea, and coffee, and meat every day. But the only true America is that country where you are at liberty to pursue such a mode of life as may enable you to do without these, and where the state does not endeavor to compel you to sustain the slavery and war and other superfluous expenses which directly or indirectly result from the use of such things. For I purposely talked to him as if he were a philosopher, or desired to be one. I should be glad if all the meadows on the earth were left in a wild state, if that were the consequence of men’s beginning to redeem themselves.”

From “Higher Laws” –

“I have found repeatedly, of late years, that I cannot fish without falling a little in self-respect. I have tried it again and again. I have skill at it, and, like many of my fellows, a certain instinct for it, which revives from time to time, but always when I have done I feel that it would have been better if I had not fished. I think that I do not mistake. It is a faint intimation, yet so are the first streaks of morning. There is unquestionably this instinct in me which belongs to the lower orders of creation; yet with every year I am less a fisherman, though without more humanity or even wisdom; at present I am no fisherman at all. But I see that if I were to live in a wilderness I should again be tempted to become a fisher and hunter in earnest. Beside, there is something essentially unclean about this diet and all flesh, and I began to see where housework commences, and whence the endeavor, which costs so much, to wear a tidy and respectable appearance each day, to keep the house sweet and free from all ill odors and sights. Having been my own butcher and scullion and cook, as well as the gentleman for whom the dishes were served up, I can speak from an unusually complete experience. The practical objection to animal food in my case was its uncleanness; and besides, when I had caught and cleaned and cooked and eaten my fish, they seemed not to have fed me essentially. It was insignificant and unnecessary, and cost more than it came to. A little bread or a few potatoes would have done as well, with less trouble and filth. Like many of my contemporaries, I had rarely for many years used animal food, or tea, or coffee, etc.; not so much because of any ill effects which I had traced to them, as because they were not agreeable to my imagination. The repugnance to animal food is not the effect of experience, but is an instinct. It appeared more beautiful to live low and fare hard in many respects; and though I never did so, I went far enough to please my imagination. I believe that every man who has ever been earnest to preserve his higher or poetic faculties in the best condition has been particularly inclined to abstain from animal food, and from much food of any kind. It is a significant fact, stated by entomologists—I find it in Kirby and Spence—that “some insects in their perfect state, though furnished with organs of feeding, make no use of them”; and they lay it down as “a general rule, that almost all insects in this state eat much less than in that of larvæ. The voracious caterpillar when transformed into a butterfly… and the gluttonous maggot when become a fly” content themselves with a drop or two of honey or some other sweet liquid. The abdomen under the wings of the butterfly still represents the larva. This is the tidbit which tempts his insectivorous fate. The gross feeder is a man in the larva state; and there are whole nations in that condition, nations without fancy or imagination, whose vast abdomens betray them.

It is hard to provide and cook so simple and clean a diet as will not offend the imagination; but this, I think, is to be fed when we feed the body; they should both sit down at the same table. Yet perhaps this may be done. The fruits eaten temperately need not make us ashamed of our appetites, nor interrupt the worthiest pursuits. But put an extra condiment into your dish, and it will poison you. It is not worth the while to live by rich cookery. Most men would feel shame if caught preparing with their own hands precisely such a dinner, whether of animal or vegetable food, as is every day prepared for them by others. Yet till this is otherwise we are not civilized, and, if gentlemen and ladies, are not true men and women. This certainly suggests what change is to be made. It may be vain to ask why the imagination will not be reconciled to flesh and fat. I am satisfied that it is not. Is it not a reproach that man is a carnivorous animal? True, he can and does live, in a great measure, by preying on other animals; but this is a miserable way—as any one who will go to snaring rabbits, or slaughtering lambs, may learn—and he will be regarded as a benefactor of his [human] race who shall teach man to confine himself to a more innocent and wholesome diet.”

Walden on Project Gutenberg