Tag Archives: BOOYAH

REPOST: A Message to the Manarchists by Otter Irene

17 Jul

This is a special contribution from an awesome young feminist by the name of Otter Irene. They posted this on Facebook, and was lovely enough to allow us to repost it here on NBNB. Please enjoy!

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A Message to the Manarchists (Mactivists) I’ve known.

Forward to anyone you wish!

Preface: The war on those with a female body mind spirit or assignment is still raging wherever patriarchy is aloud to occur and in this westernized culture dominated by those with NUCLEAR FAMILY AGENDA RIDING THEIR DICKS and A STATE THAT BENEFITS FROM FEMALE SUBMISSION OR ASSIMILATION INTO WHITE STRAIGHT MALE PATRIARCHY it is apparent by the common themes of sexual violence and submissive over sexed roles that women of all ages play in pop culture that even on the very surface we are coerced into a life of deprecation any which way we turn. On the underbelly of the beast we find more obvious examples of this female holocaust perpetuated by U.S Culture such as the usage of rape as a war tactic, enforced sterilization of womin of color, epidemic birth defects experienced by those in the wake of environmental racism. Thinking of those examples its pretty disturbing how even in radical communities patriarchy and male domination is occurring in epidemic proportions. As you will see in this poem, the crusty straight activist males in chicago have done quiet a number in perpetuating violence within supposedly safe spaces upon female identified folks who are trying as hard as they can to liberate and empower themselves as well as one another.
I really don’t see how this can keep on occurring the way that it does. How do they not see what is going on to us? I feel that perhaps, the answer is simply that their unemotional ties to the activism that they do prevents them from experiencing empathy towards us. Factoring in the problem of their selfish obsession for unnecessary violence, beer, and “toughness” these traits have blinded them from shedding their inculturated “maleness”.

This poem deals with my personal history with sexual violence as to educate the men about how female assigned folks in their community have been affected in a more striking to the point, inheriently feminists way as it is connecting the personal with political.
If i tagged you you might be a manarchist or its because i think you’ll like what i have to say, regardless i hope you enjoy!

here i go….

Sometimes I think about it while im in a vacuum kiss with my lover.
Their eyes pealing into mine, i’ll fasten my lids shut cuz im embarressed and scared, right them and there
That I remember
The memories haunt me in hollars at my body, when you’re hot breath comes to close to my face with a smirk attatched
and when i pas that courtyard, that street
with the mention of blueberries, heroin, air matresses or the name
Lucas, andy-there were 2, and Milo
These are
Rapists
Abusers and
Molestors
Its strange how quick my heart started running away while that viral list was made
and how im scared to put some names down
Because other people in chicago wouldn’t give a fuck or might just ignore me
so im forced to be silent becuse sometimes thats better then being challenged
Its strange that none of me has died yet there i a hardend shell of apathy that surrounds my emotions and keeps them there nd no matter how hard they keep knocking to be set free
it just wont shatter
Its just hilarious! How an hour before i was sliced open unwillingly
imobile. hyperventilating
Andy’ roomate and I were talking about the ELF and Primitivism
In the morning I woke with a wiskey headache
in the morning we all drank beer on the roof
in the morning I had forgotten the night before
and rode my bike home
my cunt was sore
its no surprise
when my brothers best friend took away trust in those with a penis with a bottle of schnapps and my freshly broken hearts willingness to be comforted by glasses of sighs accompndied by men…
I found myself FORCED to kiss someone I DIDN’T WANT
Felt fingers where i BEGGED them not to be.. Loudly
Where buring crusted white toungs should have never gone
then i was called a liar by my entire family
And all my friends still shared smouldering joints and friendly laughs with them
And Lucas came over to my house almost everday where i already wasn’t safe
Can you imagine? They wondered why i shook myself with anxiety for two years and felt used and useless while lying in bed awake- each night never feeling calm enough to sleep untill i ranway
and started to scream at the top of my chimney lungs at this world that forces knives to bare skin
“Oh” I say. ” I just got raped, thats why I’m sleep walking an accusing people of pedophilia.”
I say this with a blank cold stare
Because i can’t feel anything anymore sometimes but its better that way cuz then
I feel no remorse
and that way
My thoughts are just of distant disgust and sharp edges and blunt objects and words and phrases
I feel better now
I feel so much better
I’m not scared anymore, that’s the difference.
It feels good not being hit on anymore because im being called a boy instead, because i look so goddamn angry.
It feels good listening to riot grrrl and taking off my shirt with other feminists and talking about how we’ve been affected
And when my little sister is learning an Ani DeFranco song on accoustic guitar, i know the minds of wimin are a healin
So maybe we’ll all start collations against rape
and maybe we’ll start throwing our cleanched hands and those who threw themselves at us
and maybe we’ll all start to love each other and feel solidarity as a real thing, not some myth.
I know that many of you feel this
I have my identity inked on my fingers so i never forget who i am
So everyone who cares to look at my joints sees a hand made word:
“Feminist”
And i know you have your own way of keeping track of yourself and never letting yourself slip.
But here in this world of squats and screaming and broken glass and long words filled with so much meaning…
The black flag might as well be drapped over the corpse of justice.
There are those who simply wont change
When one lets the mind wander you seem to wonder why the hell guys who beat up Nazis in there free time hand a cold one to rapists at parties with survivors.
Men who write about the prison indutrial complex create real world shakles with their
” Your too quick to call people out for patriarchy. Round our throats
I feel the shackles of lifelessness lock their iron rings of acceptence chaining me to the normalcy of society.
In the name of the circle “A” you so proudly display, how DARE you call yourselves revolutionary.
Your wishy washy starry eyed approach to acountability is a fucking joke
do you understand what its like to feel broke?
Like a toy doll with all her clothes torn off and forgotten
Thrown into the dumpster- somthing rotten.
And you know that is the haven for the most “radical” shit you actually do.
Fuck you.
Where does your head even live?
You see coming to this world was meant to be for healing, for growning, to create a clean river bed over flowing with ideas, action and defense.
Yet i feel like my bandages keeping being ripped off
and my branches are being sliced down
And that river keeps being damned up by you and your artifical ideas. Pollutants
Lets be honest, lots of oyu are just hipsters with cool hobbies
Who don’t account for the fact that
You straight rich white boys from the suburbs could drop this at ANY time.
The majority of the rest of the world wasn’t handed a silver spoon
So when you tell me that I’ll get over myself in a couple of years i’d like you to be there to show me that your oppression has stopped its ever present croon.
And that none of my friend hand recently been raped by YOUR friends.
And that everything we have ever wanted has happend.
You brought a rapist to an anarchist picnic at the graves of emma goldmann, lucy parsons, and Volterine De Claire.
Descrating our passed sisters lives while you traumatizingly sang solidarity forever and rebel girl with those who perpetuate fear in our everyday lives.
And hes why everyone keeps walking away from you with heads shaking in disgust.
I don’t care if i don’t win, i’ll fight till my arms are bloody stumps and my mind has all but broken and im beaten to death with not a breath left.
Cuz your arrogance is my enemy
And your sick smile is my hatred
And next time it happens
you better remember my love for knives
its a threat mother fucker
This is something you have to realize,
not all of us believe your toxic seedy lies.
You certain someones with certain cool clothes and certain pastimes and certain dreads with certain smells and smiles and certain ways of getting people to sleep with you and certain instrument you play and certain diets and backgrounds that give you away.
And certain ways of relating to other people.
Doing certain good things but a whole lot of bad.
You are the certain manarchists of which i speak.
This poems gunna travel all over the place and i’ll name names cuz your anger doesn’t make me weak.
I will speak
I will speak
i will fight
and i will speak!

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Arming Yourself Against the Patriarchy///Using Promiscuity as an Ideological Weapon

22 Jun

I have always been slutty.

I lost my virginity at sixteen and before I had entered college I’d already had sex with eight people and fooled around with countless others. It’s hard for me to pinpoint exactly where this penchant for promiscuity came from, aside from the fact that I just really enjoy sex. I was fully aware that this behavior was considered abnormal, even deviant, and it was likely that if I had told a counselor about my exploits they would’ve attributed it to some sort of personal inadequacy on my part. I’ll concede that it’s possible I was too young to have developed sexual agency, but even at the time I knew that I wasn’t having lots of sex because I was pressured, or because of a negative self-image, or due to some kind of childhood/psychological trauma. I’ll also concede that not all of my early sexual experiences were entirely positive. There were times I felt used and times I didn’t fully consent to everything that was happening. Sadly, I imagine that no matter the age, this is probably the experience most women have early on in their sexual life. None of this irrevocably fucked me up though, and now that I’m in my mid-twenties, I’ve used all of those encounters to make myself a more aware, compassionate, and empowered lover.

It’s been quite a while since high school, but I can say with some amount of certainty that the reason I was slutty back then, is the same reason I continue to sleep around unapologetically today. I’ve always been a feminist, and sexism and double standards bothered me deeply from adolescence on. At a time when my politics were still developing, being slutty offered me the opportunity to disrupt the player/slut dichotomy. But female promiscuity is about so much more than reversing binaries, or saying a big FUCK YOU to double standards. Moreover, it’s not about modeling male sexual behavior, and the goal is definitely NOT gender or sexual equality. As a radical feminist, I have little to no interest in being granted equality under the current patriarchal system. What I do hope my promiscuity can accomplish is creating power, rather than re-appropriating it, and using that power to help women gain control of their bodies, sexuality, and desires.

We Don’t Want to Fuck Like Men

The untrained heterosexual male makes for a lousy lover. They can be careless, self-centered, and obsessed with their own sexual inadequacies. A lifetime in the patriarchy has given them a sense of entitlement that sadly still defines contemporary “hook-up culture”, even in the most radical communities.

Why is it that so many of my feminist girlfriends were/are repulsed by blowjobs? It’s because we got sick to our stomachs when we heard about girls in our high schools and college dorms giving them out no strings attached. Surely these men receiving unbridled fellatio were not our friends or *gasp* our future lovers or political allies! How devastated we were to learn that nearly all sexually active young men around us engaged without thought or question in these behaviors. Did it fuck us up? Yes. Did it fuck men up? Oh hell yes. It made them even more narcissistic and consumed with their performance. Sex ceased being about two people, and became solely about the man and how he perceived himself. His ability to get it up, keep it up, and ejaculate at the appropriate time were the most anxiety causing elements of sex. Secondarily was the woman’s pleasure. Even as I’ve encountered plenty of grown men who were indeed concerned with whether or not I have an orgasm, it was mostly to foster their own sense of accomplishment.

Sexual experiences within this framework have left women unfulfilled, physically and emotionally. So many women in my life speak about a “waiting”- waiting for an orgasm, waiting for a call back, waiting to be made someone’s boyfriend. But really, MEN HAVE NOTHING THAT WE WANT, so what are we waiting for? We don’t want their petty insecurities, baggage, or fucked up concepts of relationships. We have enough of our own shit to deal with, thank you very much. We also don’t want any of their social or political power, which is pointless and completely illegitimate. We’ll ride your cock, but we reject your phallus.

Reclaim the Sheets

I had little to no support in navigating the sexual landscape while trying to keep myself safe and happy. I just knew that I didn’t want to continue letting men call all the shots both in and out of the bedroom. I wanted to dictate when, how, and with whom I had sex with, and how I felt about. Unfortunately, ways to create a space for straight women to be sexually liberated were not fully addressed by the Second Wave or the so called Sexual Revolution. This is why decades later we’re still sexually frustrated and heartbroken over men who all too often aren’t worth our time.

I think there are several key elements that need to be present in order for women to take full control of their bodies, desires, and emotions . The first of these being something that you often here from proponents of polyamory, although a polyamorous lifestyle is not necessarily something I’m advocating for here. This being that we should not rely on a single man for everything we need physically and psychologically. This seems obvious enough, but when you’re in the thick of it, it’s hard to remember that each lover can provide you with something unique from the others, and each encounter will allow you to gain something different from the previous one. It’s awesome to fuck someone just because the sex is great, and you shouldn’t be made to feel like something is wrong with you just because that may be all you want from them. What is messed up about this scenario is failing to show the person respect outside of the bedroom, which is something that often happens when men fuck purely for pleasure. It’s also awesome to fuck someone because you want meaningful physical intimacy or a strong emotional/intellectual connection. Just remember that the men who give you great sex will often not be the men who hold onto you fiercely afterward, or the ones you can have an amazing political conversations with until 5am, or the ones you can count on to be unconditional feminist allies.  AND THAT’S OKAY because not everyone you sleep with is the end all be all at that moment in time.

In the same vein, it’s essential to always do it for the right reasons. Great reasons to sleep around are for sexual fulfillment, money, love, and physically affection. Terrible reasons to sleep around are pressure, external validation, or because you think sex will solidify someone’s feelings for you. These reasons are all terrible because they’re beyond our control and are interpersonal manifestations of patriarchy. Fucking someone because we feel pressured won’t solve the fact that men feel they have a right to our bodies- it will only reinforce it. Fucking someone for validation won’t change the fact that our social structure is designed to NEVER make women feel good enough. And fucking someone so they’ll like you more is just pointless and counterrevolutionary. We must be sexual on our own terms, not just when we think we should be or when men want us to be.

Lastly, sexual subversion through promiscuity can only be accomplished through a strong female/feminist support system. We best empower ourselves and others by creating communities of female allies to offer non-judgmental support and advice around our relationships with men. When surrounded by great women who always have your back, you can fuck men more confidently and freely. Because revolution is a personal process, not just an ideology, it can be vulgar and messy. Thankfully it is possible for us to fuck, love, and resist the patriarchy in the most productive and pleasurable ways possible.

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Post-Apocalyptic Tank Girl

26 May

Tank Girl taught us to fight, but as stright anarcha feminist females, sometimes we get tired of fighting.I grew up on Tank Girl.  Tank Girl was a freedom fighter who led the boys to battle and won.  Her image and comic book life taught me as a young girl that to be a liberated woman, I needed to fight harder, better, and badder than any boy around.  So, I hung with the boys because liberated girls are bad bad girls.  But she did nothing to teach me how to love and be loved.

She walked softly, but she carried a big gun and so did I.  I shot vile grenades from my mouth.  I still do, probably.  She was the kind of girl who could hold her own in any battle.  Just because I wasn’t living a comic book life didn’t mean I couldn’t make her strength relate to the realities of being a girl.  The hardest part to learn was and continues to be the fact that women bear the brunt of love and war.  Oftentimes, love and war are truly indistinguishable from each other.

Of course, all the pop images of women that came up in the 80s were hard nosed bitches who fought hard to gain some equal footing with men.  That’s just how it had to be in the second wave.  Feminists often talk about the first, second and third wave, but truth be told, I’m not even sure what that is supposed to mean or how women are supposed to identify with these theories.  Theories explain what has already happened, but they don’t instruct us how to live today.  All I really wanted to do was to learn how to live unencumbered and unafraid of myself.

I can identify with the underpinnings of this third wave that embraces all aspects of humanness, rejecting the gender binary we are trying to free ourselves from.  I believe that in contrast to the criticism, third wave attempts to unify us as people rather than according to genders.  But while the theories explain a philosophy, I’m still lost in second wave struggles to gain equal footing.  As the third wave came up, it left the second wavers who straddled the two movements without skills to adapt.  Instead of fighting, we were asked simply to love.  That sounds great, unless most of the country is still living on the cusp of the beginning of the second wave.

Most social movements take years.  Civil Rights took nearly 60 years to come to fruition–not that it’s even completed yet.  First wave feminism started at the turn of the 20th century, but the second and third wave swooped in within the past 20 years.  Social movements take time, not just to organize, but to bring everyone along with us. It’s a collective move toward liberation. I am one of the women who learned how to fight in second wave.  Third wave left me behind as I reached the age of maturity to allow me space to use my skills and develop new ones. Third wave very quickly imposed polyamory on my take no prisoners second wave doctrine.

I haven’t hopped on the bandwagon of polyamory of third wave; I can’t divide myself up to different people.  I love the images of the 1960s strippers and housewives because it reminds me of what women did in the sexual revolution.  I’m multi-racial, so it is difficult to self-identity, but I can look at the women who came before me in this country and see my heritage. I still believe, like the housewives of the 1960s, that there is one person to love intimately, closely, and tightly.  I embrace the part of me that really needs the security of a best friend who I can love completely, without hesitation, and with whom I can share the parts of me that don’t love as easily as the third wave wants me to.  But I’ve been taught how to fight first and maybe love one day, if it’s suitable to my liberated schedule.

Second wave taught me how to fight and now I don’t know where the war is.  So, I brought the war home.  To every relationship I have had, I brought the war home to my house and duked out my liberation with my lover.  I’ve been enslaved by a relationship because I wanted it and never really understood how to nurture it and make it the vehicle to my freedom.  Instead, I fought for my relationship.  I always thought fighting is what I was supposed to do because if he doesn’t understand me, a woman, then he’s just a man and never will understand what it means to be a woman.  I have been taught to be self-reliant, to depend on no one, to hold my own, and be independent.  I have been taught how to be alone.  Now, I’m tired of being alone, especially when in a relationship.

Maybe now I’m just angry.  I can’t hang with the boys anymore because I’m a woman now.  It may be a false binary, but it’s a real sense of the world I live in and interact with daily.  I have been fighting like hell to be seen as “just me” absent gender and race, but I’ve only been fighting to ignore myself. I’ve failed many radical feminist politics and simultaneously failed mainstream society, too, because I’m a fighter, but I’m a fighter who cries.  I don’t remember Tank Girl ever crying.  Even she finds love in the end.

I’m angry that I don’t know how to love and be loved.  I’m angry that the third wave blowback is that women like me grapple with how to love while carrying a big gun.  I’m angry that radical communities require endless love, but daily world living requires fighters.  I’m angry that men have so easily hopped on the third wave polyamory because it suits them sexually, but fails women who are still fighting for equal footing.  I’m angry that I have destroyed the one thing I ever wanted, if only I could have known how to love and be loved.

Third wave, I don’t believe in you; what theories call third wave, I call human rights.  I still believe in second wave.  I don’t believe second wave is over.  If anything, third wave was co-opted by men who love polyamory.  I believe in monogamy.  My wave of feminism is still working on being equal and loving at the same time.

I’m scared of loving because I’m fragile.  I fight because I’m fragile.  I’m at war with myself

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Condoms Are Forever, Babies Last a Lifetime

22 May

Last month, I went to Planned Parenthood to have an Interuterine Device implanted.  After having gone through several years of birth control pills, learning through trial and error that condoms won’t always be there for each and every drunken romp (Sorry, Mom!), that EC is more of a punishment than a safety net, and after having endured a near-traumatizing surgical abortion two years ago, I was ready to try an apparently fail-safe form of non-hormonal birth control.

When Planned Parenthood fails, and condoms are your last resort, maybe it's time to default to an anarcha-chastity belt.Unfortunately, I found the procedure too painful to undergo.  After being informed that if I wriggled too much my uterus could be punctured leading to surgery and risk of serious infection–no pressure, right?–I had to ask my doctor to stop when she was only attempting to measure me.

It hurt and I cried.  I told them how I’ve always thought of myself as having a high tolerance for pain and yet I’ve always been surprisingly sensitive to even the most routine gynecological exam.  They looked doubtful.  I told them that my abortion was so excruciating that I had a panic attack and a seizure.  They weren’t listening to me and I felt like I had let them down.  I was feeling weak and  worried how I was going to prevent future pregnancy without this device.  Not to mention, I was completely nude on a raised vinyl bench in a chilly clinic room, my pussy was covered in lube, and my insides felt sore.  I allowed myself to continue crying.  I was in a feminist space.  I felt like this should be OK.

And then I was asked a very stupid question.  “Oh, we get it.  Are you having bad memories?  From your abortion?”

No.  I’m not.  You’re looking at me like I’m insane when I’m just really, really sensibly pissed off.

I mean, I’m pissed that I’m even here in the first place.  Truth be told, I’d love to have a baby and, if I lived in a place that was supportive of women, children, and parents, maybe I’d be a mother already.  As it is, when I get pregnant, I have three options:

1.  Indenture myself to some man,

2.  Suffer the social stigma and absurd stress of being an impoverished, single parent (indenturing myself to the state), or

3.  Magically find myself living financially independent of both, which is never going to happen.

So I’m avoiding even having to make that choice right now by preventing parenthood as best I can but, of course, that’s no cake walk either.

I am so fucking pissed off that ALL of my options blow so hard–wasting time at the doctors office, wasting money on pills that I have to take every day that make me feel crazy, using condoms that half of my partners will avoid like the plague, denying myself pleasure refusing to fuck anyone at all, overdosing on hormones when I slip up and spend half a week in tears, or having to abort when all else fails.

The more they tried to calm me down, the more angry I became.  I knew that none of this was the fault of the doctors working with me there, that I wasn’t really upset with them, so I just sat there feeling powerless and wept some more.

“Don’t beat yourself up.  It’s not an easy procedure.”

Then why not make it an easy procedure?  I asked for drugs, and they made it seem beyond their control.  People get knocked out for teeth cleanings!  For my abortion, they gave me an over-sized Advil.  Fuck , I  thought I was being responsible, doing the right thing.  I couldn’t help but feel that I was being punished.

This pissed me off even more.  It was unfair that I had to do this, and it’s even more unfair that ALL WOMEN have to do this, or have an unintended pregnancy, or take crazy pills forever, or have an abortion and men don’t have to do ANYTHING.  They don’t have to do anything.  Ultimately, they are responsible for nothing.  ALL women have to take on ALL the burden of parenthood for ALL of society which really just wants us to pump out babies anyway–just not on our own terms.

I was mad at the world, and I was quite physically uncomfortable in general, and I was so, so disappointed with myself for not being strong enough, and also with the medical establishment for making me feel that way.  Overwhelmed by the magnitude of the situation, I sat there in front of two very uneasy medical professionals and just shook my head.

It took almost an hour for me to pull myself together.  I didn’t want to walk through the waiting room sobbing, perhaps causing the other women in there any added anxiety.  My doctor offered to write me more prescriptions for every other form of birth control she could name.  I told her that I was done with hormones.  She asked me if I wanted to reschedule, try it again.  I wasn’t about to waste any more of my time that way.  “So, what are you going to do?”  I told them I was going to use condoms til I choked and I walked out with about 100 of them.

Just when you think you’re too third-wave to care anymore about reproductive rights, you find yourself naked on a table crying your face off.

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To our Radical Boyfriends, with love:

5 Jan

Enough with those big heads of yours!  We never even liked y’all that much in the first place.  I mean, you could be boring, inexplicably moody, sexually uninspiring, had shaky politics, and, well, bad taste in music.  Of course there was the initial attraction, but it fails to explain our lingering feelings.

WHY DO WE FEEL REJECTED?  WHY DO WE EVEN CARE?

We had to end things because you weren’t looking for a relationship (‘cause we were, right?), or things just got “too intense” for you, or we distracted you from your true passions, or because we were too demanding/abrasive/clingy/challenging.  Truth is, and this is hard to admit, you validated us.  Your rockstar/monied/ radical-elite/small-time celebrity status made us feel like we were on the right path, meeting the right people, and climbing the social ranks.  Your privilege, your image, and our close proximity to it was what we really lusted after, and what made all of your other traits tolerable.

Now, before you get all high and mighty, you exploited us, too.  OMG.  You LOVED that we are organizers!  You got so HOT when we talked politics.  And, it was so RAD that there was no commitment!  We have long been accustomed to the old sexual/emotional/domestic exploitation thing but, y’all were attracted specifically to our working-class, hairy, aggressively polyamorous, anarcha personas, OUR POLITICS, something far more intimate than sex, something we didn’t even know you could objectify like that.

Anarcha, personal patriarchy, birdcage zine

I’m not saying that our motives were righteous but, I will tell you that they’re honest.  It’s really hard to break down 20+ years of internalized sexism and, even in the radical community, women have to work twice as hard as men in order to get half the respect.  We may have been riding your coattails a little bit, exploiting the tools that society provides for us to achieve our ends, self-admittedly, to varying degrees of success.

To be honest, we don’t really miss you very much.  We’re just bitter that you walked away first.  It really hurts that those same traits that attracted you to us ultimately chased you away—we’re loud, assertive, politicized, talented, intelligent, and bold—words that don’t easily describe your new girls, god bless ‘em.  It reinforces that sneaking suspicion that we’ve always had: that smart, serious ladies who work to live their politics instead of just talk about them are worthless to society, and therefore unworthy of love, that we’ll only be accepted, even by the most radical men, if we first submit to the wills of both the dominant culture and our lovers.  Thanks, boys.

YOU MAKE US WANT TO QUIT MEN.

YOU MAKE US WANT TO QUIT POLITICS.

YOU MAKE US WANT TO MARRY RICH AND RETIRE EARLY.

I guess what I’m trying to say is…
We want you back, babies.  We get turned on talking politics, too, and we can’t help but love men, especially the radical ones.  We don’t want to believe that everything we shared was empty pillow talk.  We don’t want to believe that all men are inherent oppressors.  We certainly don’t want to believe that the radical community is just as sexist as all our other options.  Help us restore our faith in you, in men, and in anarchist politics!

So, why don’t you come over tonight?  We can drink too much and talk shit about vegans.  We’ll go make out at a bar, ride our bikes against traffic, and vandalize some luxury cars, go back to our place and be terrifically underwhelmed in the bedroom.  Maybe in the morning, pressed up against your naked body and contemplating a greasy breakfast, we’ll feel that validation once again.  Or, we’ll explain to you that stuffs kinda complicated right now, and we have this boyfriend, kinda, from high school who’s coming to visit, and he’s not political or anything but we’re sorta in love, and we need more time to work on our writing and having a partner who’s local would be too much of a distraction and, man, we hope that’s ok with you, and you’re really cool and everything but, you know… and, we hope it’s not weird or anything.  I mean, we’ll see you at the meeting, right?  We knew you’d be cool with that.  You’re so rad.

xoxo

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