the tragedy of the uninspired goddess.

somewhere along the line, feminism separated itself from the true mystical power of our femininity, in trying to extricate itself from the cartoon spectacle of all that now represents "masculinity."

we have allowed ourselves to become fucking cartoon screens. 2 dimensional and flat. and for that we are paying and paying again.

we've lost our way.

laura pasik and i, my trainer and mentor at the gym, she said she wants to inspire the 49 year old women who don't know how to grow up as more of themselves and their possibilities without always having to be some fertile, fecund cartoon woman ready to fuck at the drop of a hat.

and as i write about the uninspired superhero sex goddess from a far, far away land, i think of all the people who've inspired my will to love and live with more and more adventure, even as i'm a natural chicken shit.

and i think of ruth alpern madoff. with that love she had, the intensity, you can't help but wonder what could've happened with that kind of powerful energy going in a different, more confident direction.

because a woman who can stand by her man in the face of everyone and say fuck you to her kids and 60 minutes and bail him out and back him up, that is "FUCK YOU!" love. she's not weak. that is "lift the bus off your husband or kid" love.

and what if she knew how to be more like a sharon fucking osbourne with that feral mother/love goddess thing?

you all, it is so time to change. we're killing everything sacred and holy in hating our own fucking cellulite when we're fucking luscious love gods with the right tilt.

but we can write off ruth alpern madoff. she's jewish. they've only been white for about 30 years. sometime after the war america had to sort of "grandfather" the jews in as white* (with an asterisk, as yet not fully defined just in case) before blacks got the jim crow segregation laws were overturned.

there's so much self hatred for women, america is finally freely spitting on its own white girls, like natalie kenly and bree olson. but that's a class thing, not-so-thinly-veiled. the upper class whores are wives with stapled faces on loose-leaf ideals, and researching charities like seasonal shoes.

perhaps carried away by the superficial elation kanye west felt growing up with oj simpson getting exoneration and obama, kanye had jumped the gun on america hating its own white girls, when he grabbed the grammy award from taylor swift.

but when i saw the sneering comments in the media about these women being called "goddesses" by charlie sheen, i knew that america's fake "15-min reign of the young white girl's youth" was over and misogyny was fluttering in full red, white, and blue regalia.

it was a free for all that the even prettier (and infinitely more willing) street boy hustlers had prophesied in those circle-snaps of the late '80s, early '90s.

and now nothing was sacred.

every woman, man, dog, and child, for himself. or herself. or itself.

i was trying to save other wild girls from suicide. then i was looking at the ones younger than me.
laura pasik was worried about the ones who're hitting fifty and wondering "what the fuck am i supposed to do now?"

we know too much, have come too far to end it all with silly self hatred about our tits. i can't keep up with their changes much less my emotional ones, while trying to navigate this raging, chaotic, changing world.

we superheroes really do have to fuck being embarrassed and we have to love each other and ourselves enough to be raging assholes because we want our kids to be proud of their father who earns his name. i think charlie sheen raged for his kids and for his family.

i see it as a version of his sgt. elias run for the helicopter and i don't care what anyone else says. sometimes our realities don't align with what's in our heads or hearts---as a person or a people--- but that's what the mystery of life and discovery is about.

anyhow, this is the least sexy time to step up and be embarrassed because it's a slaughterhouse of a mess out there right now. panic and mayhem under stapled smiles of terror for all the changes that're happening.

chickens are roosting, etcetera etcetera.

it's time for those of you who made it through being strung out in the gutter to take these old ladies by the hand and show 'em how to be swell and elegant... swellegant.

it's time to make crowns and jewels out of things that don't hurt anybody. it's time for our beauty and our love to be transluscent and honorable. it's time for us to drop to each others' knees and adore the archaic fuck out of each other.

if anyone's watching? good. capture it. disseminate what adoration and love looks like.

there. pass it on.

we're fierce! gorgeous! hot!

and if you are old, you are fucking necessary.

we forgot what emotions look like, and how to put them aside and put out the fucking fires first.
we forgot how to fucking sit still during the holidays and have a conversation without pressing buttons and flickering eyes. don't expect too much too fast.

so laura's right. wake up! you're stunning!
we're out of balance.
your femininity is fierce.
so's your masculinity.
fuck each other good and scary again.
be human.
sweaty.
adorable.
imperfect.

ALIVE.

this shit's for real you all.

and you women who storm off, stop keeping us kids from our fathers.
it was my supernatural feral father's love that saved me from gang rapes and death.
my mom taught me how to fight.
my father taught me how to love hard and supernatural.
and the men in my life taught me how to even see my father's love.
it's supernatural, telepathic, crosses time, and is between the atoms.

do not keep your children from their fathers because you can't "deal" and you're feeling bitchy.
we need the balance of our fathers, even if you can't understand why.
we're not dolls for you to finally feel love from.

fathers are so important. the moment i saw my father's love, i could take any hit.
from anyone.
that shit transcends linear time and space.
that's love.

x