my childhood right there
“For every woman who is tired of acting weak when she knows she is strong, there is a man who is tired of appearing strong when he feels vulnerable.
For every woman who is tired of acting dumb, there is a man who is burdened with the constant expectation of “knowing everything.”
For every woman who is tired of being called “an emotional female,” there is a man who is denied the right to weep and to be gentle.
For every woman who is called unfeminine when she competes, there is a man for whom competition is the only way to prove his masculinity.
For every woman who is tired of being a sex object, there is a man who must worry about his potency.
For every woman who feels “tied down” by her children, there is a man who is denied the full pleasures of shared parenthood.
For every woman who is denied meaningful employment or equal pay, there is a man who must bear full financial responsibility for another human being.
For every woman who was not taught the intricacies of an automobile, there is a man who was not taught the satisfactions of cooking.
For every woman who takes a step toward her own liberation, there is a man who finds the way to freedom has been made a little easier.”
Sometimes it’s easier to fall in love with cities than it is with people. Take, for example, New York – a monolithic tangle of skyscrapers and spires, or Paris – full of poetic details and varying shades of grey, or Chicago – windy and sunny summers with shiny windows reflecting the inherent bustle at stop lights. Places that hold special moments in time, suspended within the corner cafes and parking garages, lingering in old bookstores and taxi cabs, mingling with the smoggy air of the streets. My favourite memories are cradled within these sprawling human centres.
But what do you have to offer me? You’re a person. You’re a tangle of long limbs and a mop of messy brown hair. You’re hardly a city. Yet, you gaze at me with those piercing eyes and I feel as vulnerable and exhilarated as I do in the streets of Manhattan – where the people passing by on the street and the windows of monolithic buildings are all silent, are all watching me. Perhaps you’re my own private, portable, New York, Paris, Tokyo, Chicago, whatever.
me: omnoomnom…wait that’s not the sound for eating, not coldness
sean: is there a sound for coldness? I really don’t think there is…
me: There will be okay?! Just give the internet some time, okay?
FCP made the following statement on commercialisation:
If we were to acknowledge that sexuality is personal and unique, it would become unweildly. Making sexiness into something simple and quantifiable makes it easier to explain and to market. If you remove the human factor from sex and make it about stuff – big fake boobs, bleached blonde hair, long nails, poles, thongs – then you can sell it. Suddenly, sex requires shopping; you need plastic surgery, peroxide, a manicure, a mall. What is really out of commericial control is that you still can’t bottle attraction.
“you still can’t bottle attraction.”
Strange as it seems I think I forget this sometimes. There is really no ideal to strive for or look for. People just make you feel a certain way, and it’s rarely, if ever, because of how they look or what they have. It tends to go beyond their talents and skills, even past beliefs and the similarities and differences between you and them, although surely these all contribute. I think this is the main reason people believe in something beyond science: the indescribable complexities of human interaction and emotion.
Christmas is coming… 😀