Hairy Musings

Purple streaks or maybe blue,

Time to choose alternate hue,

Raven black, mahogany,

Different colour, other me,

Could go blonde or platinum,

Rinse with pink or palish plum,

Auburn locks or pillar red,

Umpteen browns for mousy heads,

Silver, gold, such vast array,

Colour schemes to cover grey,

Numbered shades to join the dots,

Funny smells they mix in pots,

Could give in and let them grow,

Stubborn threads that want to show,

Older face with aging hair,

Either that or spread on Nair.

Ladies’ choice, much more than jig,

Could shave it off and buy a wig.

Sod that lark, for dress pale blue,

Think I’ll opt for four slash two.

Or maybe green.

I like green.

Looks good on plants.

Balls Of Steel

I feel the need to justify this piece.

I don’t hate men. Far from it. There are quite a few I’d like to show my appreciation of. In my dreams!

But. I have a sister – two actually- and one of them has just had a kick in the balls by someone who calls himself a man. I KNOW not all men are like this.

 

OUR balls are made of steel.

WE keep them hidden inside,

Unaffected by temperature and treason.

Governed by reason.

And humungous quantities of love.

OUR balls allow hands-free penalties

And rarely swing with abandonment

Even while YOU think irrationally of

OUR reasoning

That broods on permutations

And shelters our most vulnerable parts

With drops of tears.

 

OUR tender parts need hiding from

The world of hurt we feel.

They need to rise and feed

The children, pack their lunch

And send them off with cheer and change

In pockets

That are not meddled with by hands

Fumbling for satisfaction in the moment.

 

OUR balls are mostly resistant to immediate gratification,

Tell YOU to ‘get them right roon ye’

When threat of compromise

Compromises

Those we love beyond OUR own balls.

We are WOMAN! WE have balls!

They hurt.

And then they heal.

Recognised Today

Frasers-89The Blackhouse, courtesy of Pete

Another life then,

Challenged by the gods

And foe.

Enemy

Within and

Without;

Nature’s cruelty,

Natural instinct.

Fighting to survive

With arms

And hands that

Kept the home fires

Kindled.

Tarred within,

Blackened without,

Hearts of innocent

Darkness.

Allegiance to survival,

Kin

And secondary causes.

Another life then,

Recognised today.

Cereals And Solitary Pleasures

Ok so, Pete made a comment on one of my posts  about the ‘fact’ that Mr. Kellogg had apparently invented corn flakes while trying to discover a cure for masturbation for the inmates in a sanatorium.

I just had to check the facts on that. Wikipedia might not always be up to scratch but it seemed to be true. What I read in the rest of the info has prompted this post. I wanted to entitle it ‘Wankers’ but felt sure that some people might be put off reading thinking it was another political rant!

So here goes nothing.

I did a post a wee while ago referring to the fact that I don’t find discussing sexuality easy. Especially in public. Blame my mum.

It doesn’t take away from the fact that I admire those who can. It doesn’t take away from the fact that I am a sexual being. A sensual woman, I like to think. Despite the fact that my own mum had issues discussing, overtly, anything of a sexual nature. Blame her mum.

In later years, my mum would discuss pretty much anything with the adult me. Sometimes embarrassingly so. But I always remember one of her ‘talks’ as she tried to explain a few facts to me.

It kind of went like this.

‘You know how some men like steak and some prefer chicken for dinner?’

‘Umm, yes.’ (Mama, have you lost your mind?)

‘Well some men like to lick the plate.’

Now this analogy took a few seconds to hit home with me. And then, wham!

WTF! My mum was attempting to discuss oral sex with me. I was in my late teens as I recollect. You can imagine the thoughts conjured up about my parents then. Yeuch! I guess she figured I was mature enough to realise that what two consenting adults did in their own time was not my business. I was. I still am.

In my early teens I had gone to confession and told the priest that I had investigated ‘down there’. Yup, I did. I was under the impression that if I died before I confessed God would ask me about my ‘sins’ in front of everyone in heaven. And what a red neck that would be. Better just get rid of it now. So to speak.

And the priest’s answer? ‘Were you on your own?’ Seriously. I was shocked. I thought I had discovered something that only I knew about and it turns out people did these things together and it had a name. He did commend me on such a frank confession which I was quite chuffed about!

There is a point to my embarrassing disclosure. You might not be embarrassed but I am. But I figure the truth is out there. And maybe it’s time we acknowledged a few home truths.

Like, for example, that girls do have that little hooded area of orgasmic pleasure that they are aware of and, if lucky, some man will one day be aware of too and act on a couple of instructions. It may be a penile stub in comparison to the ‘magnificence’ of the erect penis – all 12 inches worth, according to some men.

Both appendages are there. Belonging to the individual. To them. No other.

Reminds me of when my husband looked in the rear view mirror of our car a long many a year ago and commented to one of the kids for the umpteenth time, ‘Stop picking your nose.’

Her babyish answer of, ‘My nose’, soon shut him up. Touche.

Mr Kellogg (1852-1943) had some rather strange and worrying practices. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Harvey_Kellogg

Here’s an excerpt (from Mr Kellogg’s own book) in case you don’t follow links.

A remedy which is almost always successful in small boys is circumcision, especially when there is any degree of phimosis. The operation should be performed by a surgeon without administering an anesthetic, as the brief pain attending the operation will have a salutary effect upon the mind, especially if it be connected with the idea of punishment, as it may well be in some cases. The soreness which continues for several weeks interrupts the practice, and if it had not previously become too firmly fixed, it may be forgotten and not resumed.

further

a method of treatment [to prevent masturbation] … and we have employed it with entire satisfaction. It consists in the application of one or more silver sutures in such a way as to prevent erection. The prepuce, or foreskin, is drawn forward over the glans, and the needle to which the wire is attached is passed through from one side to the other. After drawing the wire through, the ends are twisted together, and cut off close. It is now impossible for an erection to occur, and the slight irritation thus produced acts as a most powerful means of overcoming the disposition to resort to the practice

and

In females, the author has found the application of pure carbolic acid (phenol) to the clitoris an excellent means of allaying the abnormal excitement.

He also recommended, to prevent children from this “solitary vice”, bandaging or tying their hands, covering their genitals with patented cages and electrical shock.[7]

In his Ladies’ Guide in Health and Disease, for nymphomania, he recommended

Cool sitz baths; the cool enema; a spare diet; the application of blisters and other irritants to the sensitive parts of the sexual organs, the removal of the clitoris and nymphae…

 

 

 

Some cultures still carry out female circumcision. And sew up the vaginal opening, allowing only for menstrual flow.

http://www.theguardian.com/society/2010/jul/25/female-circumcision-children-british-law

At what point in history did it become the case that our preoccupation with sex reduced it to something so abhorrent that remedial measures should be taken to ensure minimum pleasure? And control?

Excerpts from the article, in case you don’t link.

Cleanliness, neatness of appearance and the increased sexual pleasure for the man are all motivations for the practice. But the desire to conform to tradition is the most powerful motive. The rite of passage, condemned by many Islamic scholars, predates both the Koran and the Bible and possibly even Judaism, appearing in the 2nd century BC

“FGM is not confined to African countries. It has no basis in Christianity, it has no basis in Islam; none of Muhammad’s daughters had it done. For some parents it is enough to let them know that and they will drop it completely. Everyone needs to understand that every child, no matter what the background or creed, is protected by this law in this land.”

“FGM has a social function and until this is understood by social services and other bodies they will never stop it. It is a power negotiation mechanism, that women use to ensure respect from men. It prevents rape of daughters and is a social tool to allow women to regain some power in patriarchal societies….”

This has led me on to some research that I’m not going to include here because it does not answer the question of why we as a world deem it appropriate to interfere with another person’s body.

I could go on about rape; about sexual harassment of many kinds and of both sexes; about why we think it’s ok to judge others based on their sexuality; or ok to judge on so many counts from  colour, nationality  to creed; about why we, as a species, allow victimisation in all its myriad forms.

Where did we inherit the right to discriminate against another person? Period.

How far back must we go to ascertain the truth in when it became a god-given right of anyone?

In fact, aren’t we told, ‘‘judge not lest you be judged’?

At some point in history deities of both genders were worshipped for their attributes. At some point in history nature was embraced and recognised for its wonders and the processes of life.

At some point it changed.

We became preoccupied with what everyone else was doing in privacy with their own bodies. We became preoccupied with everyone else’s perceived flaws of nature or appearance or sexuality.

Is it because we live in a male-dominated, patriarchal world?

It would seem to be men predominantly who have proscribed the acceptable terms of a woman’s sexuality. Or indeed anyone who does not conform to a defined macho sense of maleness so you’re buggered if you’re gay. Pun actually unintended. But I thought, what the hell.

Let’s face it men, generally, are the biggest wankers of all time and I mean that it in its correct usage. Might it be that rather than women suffering from penis envy men suffer from clitoral and vaginal envy? Two surely is better than one. And think of how quickly we recover after climax. What’s not to envy? Ready to go again, darling? How emasculating.

Now before you go off on one yes, it does sound like I’m having a go at men. Even my own husband has just said so. ‘But I’ve not finished!’ I said to him. *rolls eyes*

Earlier my sixteen year old daughter read out to me something she received via email/text.

This is an excerpt from a poet at http://inkskinned.tumblr.com/

I’ve just followed. I can’t find a link to this piece of writing. It’s excellent. It’s strong. But I’m selecting this part to underline what so many women feel.

An open letter to the ‘nice guy’ who tried to hit me because I stopped him from taking home a drunk girl who was begging him to leave her alone (or: why you should never ask a poet if she’s really an ugly cocksucker or if that’s just her day job):

you wanna know why we don’t let nice men into our beds? Because we rarely find them.

They’re out there, I know it, but they’re not the ones wetting themselves when a woman asks ‘why do you think that?’ instead of sitting back and letting him laugh with his buddies about femi-nazis. They’re out there and they’re probably as pissed as we are that at least one third of their population has openly admitted there are times when they think it’s okay to force their significant other to have sex: they’re out there, and the sad thing is, if you’re a male, you’re statistically not one of them. As far as we know, you don’t exist. You are a white knight only you believe in.

The thing about oppression is that it can only last for so long. You are not making yourself dominant, you’re making yourself weak. I’ve seen men crumble because they feel uncomfortable when they get hit on by other men as if the stench of their own mistakes is strangling them. I’ve seen them get impassioned because a teacher preferred females and I’ve laughed because I had eight other classes where it was reversed and in all of those eight, it went uncontested.…I’ve seen boys growl about women’s history month and had to wonder if they’ve ever held a textbook where the only names of girls are tiny footnotes. I’ve seen fathers ask why the  curriculum I use for my six-year-olds is carefully gender neutral, why I let his son play at cooking or his daughter be a doctor.

I have never heard a mother complain except to beg me to get her little girl to talk more, to do more, to succeed – do you see? Do you see?

Now the last few weeks I’ve been involved in something of a private education programme thingy that might come back to bite me on the arse. But I’m doing it because education is the way forward. And it’s not the first time I’ve been bitten on the arse. Whole other story.

Speaking

Discussing.

Honesty.

And most of all love.

It’s hate that is at the root of everything I’ve read recently that has scandalised me.

And why?

We care so much about a woman’s tickly bits that we’ll mutilate.

We care so much about other people’s sexuality that we vilify.

We care so much about the colour of a person’s skin that we decry.

We care so much about the name of the religions that divide that we cannot unite.

We are a scared humanity, a humanity filled with petty differences. So petty that we cannot use the power of our own voices and select our own futures.

We inherit politicians who sometimes act wrongly under threat of disclosure about their sexual exploits. Name them, I dare you. Numerous.

Let’s lay off the sex, colour, religion and get down to the truth of this world. It is temporal. It is troubled. It is temporary.

I, for one, am taking the log out of my own eye before commenting on another’s splinter.

Except where truth and lies perpetuate cruelty.

Hatred and lies hurt. Truth will set us free.

In the words of Rabbie Burns – not rabbi Burns! –

O wad some Power the giftie gie us

To see oursels as ithers see us!

Perfect Disparity

Where he goes she follows still.

Quo vadis? This her way,

Though guidance lacks illumination,

Direction gone astray.

Dimly lit the forest path,

Crescent slits dark blue,

Myriad beacons lost in night,

Light years unfiltered through.

Stars above cannot conceive

Of empty hollow space.

Should she now lead where he may go?

Alternate human race.

Or side by side,

In step, in tune,

Guided by

Night’s brightest moon

And daylight’s orb;

Disparate norm.

Day and night,

In perfect form.

Battle Of The Sexes? Let’s Get Serious.

I wrote a poem yesterday. A Feeling. What’s new? Well, one of the comments on my poem for starters.

‘Your post is all about him. What about her? Sorry, I am very angry at the ‘so called’ brotherhood of hu-man-ity. Bye.’

I’ll attempt to address this without seeming patronising but I sincerely struggle with anyone’s objection to the use of certain words. There are 152 words in this poem. Five of them may be perceived as referring to gender if wished.

‘His’ references a phoenix. Used as a metaphor.  Three times ‘his’ was used.

‘Humanity’ or’ brotherhood’ to describe the fellowship or unity of homo sapiens as a species.

I have long since passed the need to be politically correct in my use of sex defining pronouns and refuse to write poems that must refer to he/she, him/her etc. And I use other words as I see fit.

My first loyalty is to Spirit that I believe we all are. Next to part of a species – human beings. That is what we are called. Lastly, but no less importantly, to my sex. I am a woman and proud of it but I do not need to prefix every point I make with politically correct lexicon that seeks to subvert common understanding.

‘Hu-person-ity’ would just be ridiculous. ‘People’ did not say what I wanted it to say. ‘Personhood’ would be almost equally ridiculous. I embrace my humanity. And can find no better word to elicit the understanding that is universal in its name.

The etymology and definition of words are there to be researched and understood in their fullest context. Should separatism be seen in words, there is more likelihood that the perception is born of subjective analysis by the reader than overt or subversive intention by the author.

If I saw a man on the street in need of help- and I do mean a man here, one with a penis – would I be less likely to come to that person’s aid than if I saw a woman lying in the same need? Woman as in, ‘I have a vagina’. Of course not. Or is that just me? Are there those whose humanity – compassion, fellowship, charity, mercy – is governed by the sex of a person? Please tell me this is not true. That the perception of humanity is gender defined.

When I say ‘Man’ or ‘man’ in general terms it ought to be obvious to anyone that the reference is to humanity, people, homo sapiens. Give me a better word.

I am aware that in some parts of the world there is an ongoing battle with equality between the sexes in many ways. The struggle continues and I support equality and justice. I fight for equality and justice. For people. All people. Regardless of sex. Colour. Creed. Nationality.

I’ve lived for 53 years now. It does not take even a fraction of that time to come to the conclusion I came to as a very young woman – maybe in my late teens- that those who are enlightened to justice and equality have no need to embark on arguments that belittle common sense.

I accept ‘chairperson’ because it works as a replacement for ‘chairman’. One or two others do too. I can’t even be arsed trying to think of which ones. Seriously, it is beneath me.

When men seek to define women in derogatory ways by using words like slut, whore, bitch, etc. yes I object for there is no real equivalent in speaking of the actions of men unless we start to use, man-slut, man-whore.

There are men and women of goodness just as there are men and women of evil intent. There are men who recognise equality and justice for all just as there are women. To argue otherwise negates half of society and relegates that half to something less than human.

To denegrate the sense of women by entering into nonsensical word changes for the sake of political correctness makes me hang my head in shame. We, as women, are better than that surely. Have more sense than that. Surely?

The same is true for many other forms of politically correct address and simply makes a nonsense of well-reasoned arguments. If the intention is to slur by words then certainly argue your case. But, how often is that the case?

I think I am correct in saying that the USA has become more prone to this type of p.c. nonsense. Correct me if I’m wrong. If you’re bald then you’re bald. ‘Follicly challenged.’ Don’t make me laugh. ‘Vertically challenged?’ You’re short. So what?

There is one human species. There are battles raging among nations. There are people fighting the world over for justice and equality in the name of right and truth.

Let’s stick to the important stuff and stop sweating the trivia. Please. In the name of common sense. And if you want to be taken seriously.

My answer to the commenter was:-

‘I am sorry you feel that any reference to people in words that are universally recognised in meaning should somehow slur womankind. I do not.’

‘What Do Women Want?’

Now Suz, you have nailed it, as a female with a mind,

Experience in womanhood. Men must seek and so they’ll find

That much of what a woman wants is tethered to the stars.

I know they say that we hail from Venus while men exist on Mars.

 

A cosmic soul comparison to highlight different spheres,

A lifetime spent in wondering, overcoming fears.

But planets should collide in space in some ethereal way

And, on earth, we bump together too but all men have to say, is

 

‘Darling, what’s your heart’s desire? Tell me, I will try.

I’ll promise love eternally and search until I die,

To overcome your subtleties, learn to read your clues,

Endeavour to be true all days, pay what is your due.

 

I’ll harness stars and catch the moon, remove obstacles in our path,

I’ll humour you when you are blue, I’ll try to make you laugh.

I’ll even buy you personals when Christmas comes along,

I’ll sing to you with lover’s voice and soothe you with my song.

 

Is that enough to win your heart? What more, please, pray me tell,

Guessing at your nuances, men don’t do that very well.’

Now that’s a start, if men are willing to read the woman’s book,

They’ll tell you if you really ask. And listen, that’s the hook.

 

‘You’ve said it all, that’s all I ask. Willingness to show,

Hidden voice within my head, you’re trying to understand and know.

Woo me with a sense of worth, seasons full of longing,

Ensure your heart is open wide, a place I may belong in.

 

Answer me in sentences, not cryptic yes or no’s.

We use our words expressively, while your dearth quite often shows

That what we’re trying to say to you goes right over your head.

Then we lose the plot at you and you wonder what you said.

 

The point you see is you don’t say much to express all that is real

You seem to think we should absorb, osmosis-like, what you feel.

To you, a word or two should do, a nod or gesture feint

To speak your love, exact desires. It doesn’t work! Not quaint!

 

Exactitude in what you feel, expressed in tender giving,

From heart and soul and mind as well; Woman’s way for living.

Just a thought or two for you. Hope it’s not too much.

That it doesn’t blow your mind wide open at all that mush and such

 

Anti-male, Jessie-like, entrapments for the ‘soft’.

Not soft at all but strength it shows; we’ll hold you so aloft

If all that you convey to us is done with purest love

And sensual thrown in, for good measure. That might just be enough!’

 

No more I’ll say. I’m telling you, women speak in heaps,

But not all we say is heeded, a pity, it would keep

Unnecessary confusion from cluttering up our way.

Openness and honesty might help to win the day.

 

Remember though that truthfulness, although a wondrous gift,

Should not be used when she asks, ‘Does my bum look big in this?’

A gentle smile, no smirks, not wise, if you want to keep your teeth.

See, it’s all quite easy. Next question, if you please!