men are mean things

What is it about me that makes men want to be mean towards me? In Amsterdam, Kevin lifted me off the terrace floor and tried to throw me down the building. I shut my eyes and screamed. I was petite then. Everyone stared in shock. My classmates. No one interfered. No one tried to protect me. I didn't care so much about the Mexicans but I was mad at Beaver and the Bangladeshis for not stepping in. Why do men think it is okay to hurt a woman for random reasons?

Bitch

Mamu says she died yesterday. The hen. She'd just laid eggs. All the three roosters fucked her right after. She just sat there in the pen- her eyes shut and her crest battered to just hints- for three days. Then she died.

Why is 'bitch' a gali, when the female in chicken, dogs, humans and the rest suffer because of what the cock can't hold back?

There are several female dogs around where I live and I know 'bitch' should never be a word of abuse. Bitch is the one who is born to suffer. Like the hen, who died because she couldn't anymore stand being fucked all the time. Yes, I saw her crackle and take off in that inadequate flight several times in a day. She must have willed herself to death in that meditation of hers.

I wouldn't even eat those roosters if i were non-vegetarian. Monsters. No, I need a better term- shit holes, dead rivers... this is only making me madder.

Shall we?

i cannot imagine how you put up with a man who drags you by your nape and tells you to go to your room and puts you out in the night. it's hard to believe we let ourselves get stretched so far for the sake of a social bond- just so there is still something to flaunt. the world confuses us no end about roles in a family. when he touches you, i wonder if you know it's alright to flinch or if you hold the lump in your throat back, and get on with the jagged rhythm. i wonder if you too feel sometimes like you're being pushed to the brink of insanity. if i've been desperately moved by the need to set my mind free, i'm sure you've felt it too.
let's change our mothers' lives a little?

Neurosis?

Can it be true that women only write out of their neurosis. Why is the woman who writes, a woman with and "itch"? And why does she draw her inspiration for writing from the more mundane things? Mundane things, such as a heartbreak. Such as longings and everything else that should be present in a life but isn't.

Can it be true, that I write because I find no joy in living? Because life has nothing to offer but a bunch of people who pretend not to understand me? Or do I write because people have started to believe more than ever that I'm insane and I need to keep writing to prove to myself, more then to the people, that I'm still sane? I'm not sure.

It scares the life out of me to think I write out of madness. Maybe I write to get the madness out of me. But why should writing scare me? Maybe something about concretizing your fear- giving it shape in words, letters, pharases and sentences. Maybe I confirm my fears when I write. But what does that matter? Erica Jong says, writing is a way of conquering your fears.

Wasn't it last night that I was reading about this woman who wrote at the speed of her adrenalin just because she wanted to prove her lover wrong? Well... all he did was said she couldn't write. And she wrote in such speedy fear, she finished a novel in a month. And when the book was published, she went to Venice to celebrate it and kissed so many men under the bridges in the night, who dispersed into the sunlight like vampires. And she returned home to act like nothing ever happened. The story of that woman made me wonder what her conscience might tell her.

But this morning, I heard Maa talk about this woman who wept because she didn't want to go back to her huband and children. She had run away with a boy 8 years her junior and she claimed she was in love. She didn't want to go home but they dragged her home. Maa said the woman had gone mad to leave her children like that. And I wondered what kind of madness that must be. So I pushed aside the story of that woman from the kitchen sink and started cooking for Aki. Only Aki brings me sanity. Only her soul-searching eyes mean sanity.