We Asked One Woman (Me) Why Birth Control Is Great And Here Was Her Answer

I am not in any spectrum in pro-life or pro-choice but what I understand by some of these messages is sexism. Pure, unadulterated sexism; so impregnated into society that women must refrain and men must indulge this Manicheanistic weirdness is going off scale. I do not completely disagree with these women. I respect their choices but pregnancy is a joint venture and I think that it is cardinal to understand that chastity and birth control politics are hardly focused on men. If a woman gets pregnant she gets it on with a dude in many cases and the dude needs to be responsible. The man needs birth control too for his sperm is part of the birthing fusion but it is so obvious that men are told not to think of pregnancy as a male thing. It is akin to menstruation that is what they are taught mostly. But it is not. Menstruation happens independently out of fertilization thus independent of the sperm birth requires both sperm and ovum. Thus why are chastity politics so focused on women and not men? I am utterly disgusted by the sexism politics regarding pregnancy and the need to censor both female and male sexuality in disparate ways to weave a conditioning in a consumer oriented world. Responsible parenting for both sexes is noble not consumer oriented but propagandist sex is usually related to consumer politics. Promiscuity can be consumer oriented and deeply shattering to both sexes but it feeds a demand to the corporate machine and ugly product machine.

The Belle Jar

So today Buzzfeed published a post with the title “We Asked 24 Women Why They Don’t Use Birth Control And These Are Their Answers.” And like, first off, where do they find these women? Are they living under a rock in Arizona where they don’t actually know what Buzzfeed is and don’t understand that their images will be fodder for a million internet feminists/misogynists/what-have-you looking for easy prey? Or are they so secure in their beliefs that they actually just don’t give a fuck? Are they hoping they’ll convince other women to join their YAY BABIES BOO BIRTH CONTROL tribe? I mean, I sincerely hope it’s the latter, but I don’t know. Some days I just don’t know.

Also why are so many of them standing in front of the same white brick wall? Did Buzzfeed recruit them off the street and then take them to the same weird…

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for the shores of life, against principles of death

Israel proposes contradictions not reality. Here Efadul Huq shows the ruthlessness of Israel apologists who blame Hamas for everything as though Hamas was this deity or Cerberus and that they have to kill it not noticing that by protecting their crimes they are deifying themselves. By not listening to citizens around the world and by condemning Palestinians as non-people they are subject to every definition of god complex a DSM and beyond can contain. Also, to say that morality should not be used or even make ethical questions about what you are doing and who are killing is a carte banche nihilism and is the very fractured center of the war machine republic that the world has become today. Israel is a war machine.

Etches of Ink and Light

Quote Excerpt from Schwartz’ article

Yishai Schwartz, in a recent New Republic article, gives us a case study of “moral accounting” conducted in the voice of the father. Scwartz justifies Israel’s assault by proposing that “ceasefires have been offered” and the massacre comes after “days of restraint, warnings, and pleas”. He argues, “Israel only targets combatants” but civilians get in the way, though Israel warns through “personalised phone calls” before striking their houses. At the summit of this “moral accounting” Schwartz fashions for himself, like an Abraham!, a paradox of morality: “morality demands that Israel fight this war, but allows no way to fight it morally.”

As “a way out of this paradox”, Schwartz proposes a principle: “civilians cannot be used to make just wars impossible and morality will not be used as a tool to disarm.” In other words, the death of innocents is no reason to stop killing…

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‘I Do Not Wish For You To See Gaza As Anything But a Rose’

Save Palestine. Save Humanity.
For we may speak different. Yet we cry the same. We may sit different. Yet need the same muscles to sit. We may see different cuisines. But we eat the same. And though our romances may seem variable. We love the same.

ArabLit & ArabLit Quarterly

Gaza-based writer Hedaya Shamun writes — although her writing rituals have disappeared — about the world she sees around her in the first and second nights of “Operation Protective Edge.” Translation by Ghada Mourad and Tyson Patros:

By Hedaya Shamun

Gaza's embargoed roses. From the Palstreet blog: http://palstreet.blogspot.com/2009/12/blog-post_19.html Gaza’s embargoed roses. From the Palstreet blog: http://palstreet.blogspot.com/2009/12/blog-post_19.html

All the writing rituals escaped. I possess nothing except a lead pencil and a piece of white paper, even though I am wary of the word lead. I want a pencil of life because life is now so dear in Gaza, and there were so many who insisted on plucking it like a flower whose infanticide they hastened. Especially those small flowers because they are beautiful; the hands snatch them and do not let them live. Our children became flowers stripped of their leaves, colors, and nectar. I feel anguish.

All the rituals of writing escaped after the soul slipped out of the body…

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what tears suffice?


my bones are a broken chalice
and you feed me your suggestions
unwiring myself; ribs tattered amnd torn
and you put my discs on the jukebox
of your paltry and dry hash
that you shelled with the meaty remains
of yourself and made me think I am starved
but your spirit is an eager bone
I am prayer glorified with what you
deem as the mutiny of staying alive



The gender and racial makeovers of Thor and Captain America rustle jimmies at The Spearhead and Chateau Heartiste

The persistence of male superheroes and the persistence of chauvinistic attitudes in superhero lore actually demands the question: is it very critical, analytical and emotive to exclude the other sex as a hero figure? What is so taken as wrong as a woman hero? Woman and men are their own individuals and it is a shame to just typify them as romances

we hunted the mammoth

Captain America and the guy who'll be taking over his job Captain America and the guy who’ll be taking over his job

So it turns out that Red Pill Redditors aren’t the only ones in a tizzy about Marvel comics’ plan to replace Thor (the superhero, not the actual Norse god, all praise him) with a woman. All over the manosphere, jimmies are rustling at the news.

The proudly racist, woman-hating pickup artist guru known as Heartiste is not only outraged by the “gelding” of Thor but also, and even more vehemently, by Marvel’s decision to make Captain America black, which he bizarrely describes as a kind of racial cuckolding:

Liberals are gloating over the recent editorial choices to geld Thor and race cuck Captain America. The former will become Whor, the female Thor, and the latter will become Captain Gibsmedat, the numinous negro who saves the right kinds of white people from the wrong kinds of white people.


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Under the Skin

“Being able to put Scarlet Johansson naked on screen and have me barely even notice because I’m so unnerved and intensely interested in what is going on in the story is a feat that not many movies could achieve.”

Jonas David

I watched this slow-burning, surreal sci-fi movie a few days ago, and it’s still rattling around in my head. Especially the soundtrack.

Scarlet Johansson plays some kind of alien in human form who seduces men, leading them to their death. This sounds horribly cliche’d and uninteresting, and the plot as it is could have gone wrong in so many irritating or overdone ways ( see Species). What it did instead was blow my expectations to pieces.

If you enjoy having to think about what is happening in a movie, and piece together the story from subtle clues; if you enjoy being unsure of what happens next( imagine that!), unsure of what exactly it is you just saw, and unsure of what you are feeling and why; if you enjoy sci fi that doesn’t treat you like a child, then you might just love this movie as much as I did.


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Standing adamantly by a decision is not really always callous. He turns. I rotate. He returns. I learn a revolution.  I don’t have much to expect yet I think he prefers me to expect things and that somewhat sags. After a dispute we make love. Just a crooked bandaid. I had vowed chastity. Even after the first couple of times I had stayed celibate for many years. However, this love brings out these in me. I do not like breaking my vows. Chastity or etcetera.  I don’t see him so sad. Whatever decisions he takes he seems pretty unrepentent or even non-confused about them. I almost feel a tip on my tongue. Is it Eurocentric? A White man’s non-burden.

Our mouths kiss. Our hearts do not. They run on parallel mathematics.

I am not coded like him. Nowadays, the gypsies are the rich, unconcerned. You cannot leave behind boredom if it is in a classroom. I cannot talk to him much. After he caressed my breast and my slightly toned thighs and I scartched slightly his skinny, rigid ones.

“Meghna, let’s elope.”


“Why not?”

“I want to finish my studies; have a career.”

“It’s so cliche.”

“It helps with the food department.”

“And I thought you liked marriage.”

I looked upset, all of a sudden, “What made you think that?”

“I just felt…it.”

We are quiet. It’s more quiet than mortal death.

“I know, Meghna, we come from different cultures.”

“I am not a different culture. I am a different person. Than you.” I stressed it heavily. I stress it as if it was now and never.

“Meghna, is it because I am White?”

I thought about it. Yes. It was. But it wasn’t so because it wasn’t. It was a Yes and it was a No. His Whiteness was not what mattered. It only mattered here. Because he could get away with running away. I am not White. I am of the migrant body. If I run away. I will always be a runaway. Unable to perform and unable to settle and unable to — Ooff! I was not so confident that me running away would be so fruitful to me.  Things are already here for him. For me it was starting. I don’t want to ruin it.

“Not really.” I carefully addressed, “It’s because you are rich and White and male. And I am just another so-called Brown immigrant. I have already been dispossessed and you are already possessed. Do you understand?”

Then he grunted, “You are talking fucking crap.” Then he got up, “You are muddling too much in those weak sciences.”

‘I am being honest Calvin.”

“Yeah right.”

I rose a bit too.

But then he got out of bed. I saw an ultimatum.

“I am leaving; probably tonight.”

“I understand.”

“You coming?”


“Fuck you.”


“You are just some lay anyway.”

“I know we wouldnt end up together. You don’t understand and you are stuck in your own way of thinking.”

“I am leaving. Not Listening to this crappy shit.”

trickling tinkling tinkering


and my heart was an atlas whose continents are not written fully
yet I love them no less for they are not discovered but freer
to maneuver their own terrain if need be; post-atom and post-
atomization they have survived the wrecks of the pendulum
and the harvest of swings and the pandemonium related to
diplomacy and violence. No. They are not innocent merely
versatile and variant; they conduct alternate research and meta-research
feeling the lukewarm language of the subalterns they see the will o’ wisps
and the frenzy nearby and they know that the tech is not always trusted.


vines and mazes are not only confused gadgets they anchor in them
a ship’s need for water; a human’s need for challenge; an instinct’s craving
for reassurance for the proofs of love that math may be basically writing to decode
in (a+b) cubes and squares. For a square is a 2dimensional cut and a cube is that added
circumference of measure that adds diversity in a anatomy of requirements. Can you say to the
hexagon that the octagonal closeness is more well known? For some shapes are better learned
that the ambling itch at the husk of your skull making you think day in and out.

and hope persists further than melancholy; it showers more and its storms are fiercer
if you see the chaos in a needle than you know its graphing needs surpass the bickering
howls of hopelessnes.▬

dreaming of


there was once the feeling of a dream
into the cracks and smoothness of the moon
no pirate adjective could murder it with its
wolf cries of lunacy; there were the days that
I knew that Allah was with me close more
changeling than my shadow and obviously
more superior than the throne and the crowns

Golden Grass ~ Namibia

no I did not dream or see a thorn ring rather
I saw the flower and star of the halo erupting
from head, finger and chest with wide expanses
of wings that made me run and not float in the
concoction of aether void that mangles the place
I belong in. I saw the snakes pass away and the
chalice wrecked find the other path to make
waterways that rival cenotes and the vein-glands
that pump and thump somewhere.

I am dreamer of realities not some sinking swam of no return.▬