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Apr. 4th, 2012

It's all in the title.

Mar. 12th, 2011

Well, just look at what she was wearing!

Originally posted by lavenderfrost at ...WTF.
Well, there goes my good mood for the day.

NYTimes, the bastion of quality reporting, reported on the gang-rape of an 11 year-old girl in Texas  that's led to charges against 18 high-school boys so far - all well and good so far, right?  Shit like this NEEDS publicity to raise awareness. 

Only problem is, they repeated - without refutation or critical commentary - the claims that the girl brought the rape on herself because of the way she was dressed.

Choice Quotes (No cut b/c everyone needs to see this - DEAL.):

“It’s just destroyed our community,” said Sheila Harrison, 48, a hospital worker who says she knows several of the defendants. “These boys have to live with this the rest of their lives.  As opposed to the victim, who's gonna bounce back lickety-fucking-split, right?

Residents in the neighborhood where the abandoned trailer stands — known as the Quarters — said the victim had been visiting various friends there for months. They said she dressed older than her age, wearing makeup and fashions more appropriate to a woman in her 20s. She would hang out with teenage boys at a playground, some said.  TOTALLY BEGGING FOR IT.

THIS IS RAPE CULTURE, PEOPLE.

Now, what's being said and done in this community is bad enough, but the NY Times should be fucking ashamed of themselves right now.

Here's how to contact NYT: )

Here is what I said:

On reading your article By JAMES C. McKINLEY Jr. Published: March 8, 2011 titled "Vicious Assault Shakes Texas Town," I am appalled and horrified at the misogynistic tones used to describe the gang rape of an 11 year old girl based on her style of dress and upbringing.

Through the contexts of the article, I understand the question of how the young men and boys of the town would be led into such an atrocious act; however, no further assertions are made regarding an upbringing that allows them to interact with 20-something year olds sporting criminal records and questionable motives.

I might in fact be so bold as to point out that leading underaged boys into sex acts with underage girls, particularly using or encouraging threats of violence, and even somewhat moreso including the use of video and photographic media, is a form of child pornography and statutory rape in and of itself. The boys were also raped.

Where were their fathers? What was the upbringing that allowed them to interact with adult men sporting criminal records and questionable motives? Who is truly to blame for this atrocity?

The little girl? The little girl's mother? I think not. While locals' accounts may be limited, they are only as relevant to the story as the article author's own slanted view, which could easily have been balanced without such a victim-blaming complex.

I call for JAMES C. McKINLEY Jr. to be fired and a public apology made. Supporting the hegemony of a misogynistic rape culture is irredeemably incompetent, immoral, and is shoddy workmanship in the craft of reporting.

Feb. 15th, 2011

TL;DR. Copy and paste it, baby, it'll ease your mind.

http://krowface.livejournal.com/257404.html

And you just figured out these things about me after a year of being with me? Let's track down just when that happened ...

1. It obviously wasn't when I flew across the country to help you out when you were horribly upset and not eating, and ended up sobbing into my lap that you hadn't done anything wrong, why was it happening to you and I petted your hair and told you that you were still a good person and that things were going to be ok.

2. It wasn't even when I left after my allotted time visiting, and your co-workers were helping you try to figure out a way to keep me around.

3. It wasn't when I told you that I was poly-fi, that I was going to share a ceremony with my boyfriend of two years, when I told you that I took everyone just as seriously as everyone else, and when you ultimately admitted full intent of going into denial about these things because they hurt to think about. I have chat logs if you want to go through them.

4. It wasn't when I flew back over to see you, it wasn't when the boyfriend found out that I was in fact physically involved with you not-just-in-theory during that time.

5. It wasn't when you fucked the girlfriend on cam and I fucked the boyfriend on cam because all I could see was your feet.

6. It wasn't the next day when her relationship status changed to reflect official girlfriend status even though you'd previously been telling me that you were both oh so diligently trying to not have that happen. It wasn't when I told you it wasn't cool that you hadn't told me that you had, in fact, changed your mind. I made up the excuse for you that you probably said something to her during the cam session that I couldn't hear, and had assumed I knew because it was on cam -- however, you never fully confirmed this. Was I supposed to magically know when your demeanor shifted, or had you just switched things up without telling me and assumed I'd be cool with the change? Obviously that one was worked out after a minute, but only under the assumption that you had, in fact, assumed that I was well enough informed.

7. It wasn't when I moved out here largely to be closer to you.

8. It wasn't when I told you not to bang the married chick, when I told you to cut things off with Anna, or when I flipped because you maliciously made out with the girl from pt. 1 who'd made you cry and I'd blacklisted as being drama on heels.

9. It wasn't when I had you move to Philadelphia to avoid the insanity that had enveloped your life there, to help you live in a place with more job prospects that wasn't in the middle of nowhere.

10. It wasn't the numerous times that I told you living in a polyamorous household is not my bag, that I was not comfortable with you sharing a room with the girlfriend, that it was a temporary necessity and that I expected it to end. However, this was not your ideal and again, somewhat due to necessity and due to your insistence that we try to work out the poly household thing, it stayed like this for over half a year.

11. It wasn't when the girlfriend got obscenely clingy because it was the first time she was really living away from home with someone she adored.

12. It wasn't when I left the state to attend to my father's memorial service, to visit California for comic con, to see friends and to clear my head. It wasn't even when you thought I might not come back.

13. It wasn't when I did come back. That was the best couple of weeks we shared together.

14. It wasn't when the girlfriend told you that she might be pregnant, but not me, and it only came out in a bout of frustration because I found everybody being pissy and demanded to know what the fuck was up, and her response was a pre-defensive strike back that read between the lines "I feel guilty but don't dare to call me on it because it is in fact a huge deal."

15. It wasn't when I told her not to let anyone pressure her into a choice in the matter, it wasn't when I paid for half of her abortion cost, it wasn't when I sat outside during all of her clinic appointments.

16. It wasn't when I paid your rent because someone else let you down.

17. It might have started when Caitlin got mad that I was taking old medications that I'd studied up on and found that they might have lost potency, but wouldn't be dangerous. It might have been because she decided to call out everyone around me as having been negligent. I didn't agree with her totally, but I did want to improve myself and my life in baby steps, and told you so, because these were (and are) intended to be long-term changes that must be maintained.

18. You did start to seem unimpressed when I stopped drinking coffee in favor of ginseng in order to lessen panic responses, set up regular clinic appointments, pulled together paperwork for both low cost health care, and started the process of ending my legal marriage. It didn't improve much when I started taking extra nutritional supplements that allowed me more energy for doing things like getting up and helping around the house, which I did until I got on new psych medications that made me drowsy. It didn't help much that I was doing art projects while you spent all of your free time drinking and fucking the girlfriend loud enough for me to hear.

19. I'm sure it didn't help that I started getting antsy enough to YELL all of my frustrations. It didn't seem to help at all when I followed the girlfriend's advice of entrapping you into serious discussion just by starting, and all of your responses were short Socratic things like "You really feel that way?" and "Oh. OK."

20. I'm pretty sure it was tied into the point at which she decided you were her "the one" and I told her that there would either be a concession on one or both parts, or there would be a war, since you couldn't have two "the ones." Allowing practicalities to stay in the way of me getting more than five or ten minutes a day with you constituted war tactics. Still, I attempted scheduling, discussion in person whenever humanly possible, was usually shot down on the timing as such since you were working doubles with her and came back tired. Of course, there is something terrible in the fact that I organize my thoughts better on paper, that I don't want to create a scene by consistently dragging people away for Urgent Private Discussions (that would be shot down in relation to timing,) and that I would prefer to type out private conversation when the practicalities of the household and the weight of the words was overwhelming, even if it was balanced with a certain amount of attempt at in-person discussion.

21. You still interacted with me after I returned your heart pendant because you weren't fighting for me at all, knew my intentions to switch up living arrangements and had no gumption to support me as such, my plans with the girlfriend were completely abandoned and you both immediately went upstairs to fuck loud enough for me to hear it while I was already upset at having been brushed off, with a certain amount of aggression on her part, and with absolute dismissiveness on your part.

Me: The situation cannot change if I am the only thing expected to change.

You: Oh? Ok.

22. In fact, possibly the worst moment in your decision making process about my character and personal worth, was the point at which you decided to give me a pity-severance-fuck on the living room couch and my boyfriend walked in on it. I would have been happy and gracious to watch you play games on your computer all night, had you not pulled me closer, and that would have been fine with him. I had a moment of weakness and didn't want him to realize I was the girl under you. I'm sure you remember this and associate this very closely with your newly-found assessment of me as an ABSOLUTE FUCKING LIAR. In the end, I confessed, followed him after he left and texted me asking to talk in person, and I talked through it with him, not making any excuses but that you'd been near me and that I was dying for attention from you. That's not even really an excuse, it's just a fact. On your part, you apparently got yelled at when the girlfriend was told by someone else, and you told her it was just-a-one-time-pity-severance-fuck. But she believes everything you say, has absolute faith in you, and all of your excuses fly: how does it feel having a groupie? I bet you love it. You never did like having to say "The whole world is fucking with me right now, I don't also need it from the people I love!" when told that you end up in bad places due to your own bad choices.

23. Of course, the real nails in the coffin: Trick, in finality of wanting to be taken as seriously as everyone but you has been stating he is for a year, calls me his WIFE in reference to why he's pissed that you fucked me on the couch. And then he takes back HIS coffee maker that HE bought, and I tell him it was a petty thing to do. But when I return to take it from where Thomas has hid it in Trick's room, there is a brand spanking new ultra-classy fucking coffee maker in the living room, and I talk to Kate about the fact that I wouldn't have wanted anyone to resort to pettiness. But let's outline a few things here:

A> It was not my coffee maker.
B> It was not your coffee maker.
C> My only part in creating the situation was that of guilt in having set off one of Trick's triggers.
D> I did tell him it was a petty action.
E> I did overstep the fact that neither the coffee maker nor the finalizing action of moving it were mine, and I told him I was going to return it to the living room.
F> I didn't, because you had a new coffee maker.

But of course you were looking for me to walk into the house carrying it. I didn't have it with me. I did overstep in saying that I would return it, and it was ultimately a moot point because there was no need nor space for two coffee makers in the goddamned kitchen.

But you judge people, their value, and their characters on incredibly petty examples that you refuse to bring up specifics about until the end, just like you accuse all of your ex-friends-and-brothers of doing.

In fact, aren't you the one who gets drunk and calls out his friends for not staunchly defending him against rumors they have not even heard?

Furthermore, are you or are you not the person who told me to stop managing other people's damage? That coffee maker was Trick's possession and your damage. But of course, me not stepping in was some huge affront to the fact that one of my core values is PROACTIVITY.

But here you go. There is still something I always call the ORDER OF OPERATIONS in my value set: 1. Awareness. 2. Compassion. 3. Proactivity.

Proactivity comes last, and with you, the refusal to tell me what you expected, what was bothering you, what your intentions were, and your final decisions to move in with the girlfriend, stop talking to me, and in fact tell me that "there is nothing to discuss" were clearly not going to allow me to be AWARE in the first place, so I was semi catatonic trying to pull together both AWARENESS and COMPASSION around people who were continuously stabbing me in the back.

When I returned your heart, and suddenly you wanted to discuss things without chasing me down like you had always told me to do with you? I made a stab at that phrase: "THERE IS NOTHING TO DISCUSS." Why start now? Honey, why? Why does discussion only matter when YOU want it and how YOU want it and about what YOU want?

I tried mixing up the how and when and what of our discussions, but you stopped talking. My compassionate assumption is that you were too traumatized to step back into that level of rapport. Your insistence, and Kate's, is that I somehow shoved you away by being traumatized by this autumn's bullshit, myself, stating as fact that I was NOT an authority in your situation of completely negligent unprotected sex pregnancy, that this was an issue you two shared and I knew that by default, it was not my issue. You insisted I was an authority because you thought I was referring to my worth as a human being, not to the weight and nature of the situation, and then you made it true, because you didn't want to put in the effort to make it not.

You. Are. Wrong.

On every level.

Right here, right now.

You want to know the really funny thing? The majority of your friends that I have talked to from the beginning about how to stay with you, how to make things work, told me the same thing as Dave:

This is his MO. This is what he does. He doesn't necessarily understand women. It's a game. He's fickle. It isn't you; I would have burned down the house and been long gone far earlier than you. You're a saint for taking it, Amee, a fucking saint.

Keep in mind, these are YOUR friends, not MY fans.

I defriended Dave originally because of what he said about you in detail. I refriended him because I wanted insight as to what the fuck is going on. If you respond to me, perhaps I can hear it from the horse's mouth. But no, you're going to tl;dr this because it's easier to be dismissive than to weigh a person's words for truth and falsehood, and it's even harder to approach real, clear fucking critique from someone who does love you and want every aspect of your persona. I told you before: Bring it. Bring it. Bring it the fuck on, Beastie, I really do want it all. Do it harder, faster, better. Come the fuck on, show me your teeth. Cos as much as you told me you wanted all of me, you lied, and lying is a sin, liar. You haven't even seen it all yet but you want the conclusion of saying you just found me to be a liar and a cheat and a cheap piece of shit. I can still call you beast and say you're a pre-emptively aggressive but harmless beautiful creature, and I can still say I love you the way you are. Idiot. <3 Happy Valentine's Day.

Jun. 23rd, 2009

(no subject)

Early morning, a message rends his peace to shreds. His livelihood has been confiscated for the sake of favoritism; he's lost craft and family to the beast of social drama. I impose myself on his workplace again, to watch him hold together the fractures while I rage across the room.

I'm hurt and frustrated that people could possibly, remotely justify the savage destruction of such a magical creature. I sit, I seethe, and I vent; I break a pact of silence, and I find him outside during a smoke break, near tears. As so often over these days, I sit with him in silence until he wants to speak, and he reiterates the magnitude of the things that have been taken from him.

I want nothing like I want righteous indignant fury right now; I want to swing a knight's backhand for my charge, send someone amazed and toppling at the disproportional size of my rage to my frame. I want to look into the eyes of someone who didn't previously understand that they had sinned, and cast the fire and brimstone of my words directly into their black hearts.

I want my anger to cleanse them, redeem them to higher than subhuman status. I want to toss them down as wretches and lift them back up as unicorns.
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Jun. 16th, 2009

(no subject)

It takes a moment for him to compose himself for the lovely maiden who comes to cook and molest him after he's breathed all his lust onto my neck, and I watch him, near silence, tidy his hair and prepare himself for a barrage of attention.

I feel like a willing sacrificial lamb, shivering in the face of slaughter. And there's nowhere else I want to be.
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Jun. 15th, 2009

(no subject)

Los Angeles airport is empty during my departure. A dear friend drives me here at last-minute warning, in exchange for gas money and hugs, and I leave my Pet with a full work-week's worth of time off. The scheduling at Wal-Mart is fucked; I didn't mean to leave him all alone for that time, but it can't be helped.

I'm rescuing a treasure. Everyone understands this and fully supports my endeavor. So I sit for hours on the flight, transfer in between -- straight back onto the same flight. A couple with a baby lament that it makes no sense to let previous passengers board before them. I laugh to myself; it only makes no sense to you because it isn't in your best interest.

This treasure that I mean to rescue, he texts me to ask when I'll arrive. He says he's very excited. I won't argue, but I wonder with me bringing the bare minimum -- quiet advocacy, carry-on luggage -- what could be so exciting about it.

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