Lyrics by Polly Wood
How come when they say “Man”, they mean man, woman, child?
How come when they say “Man”, they mean “all people”?
How come they show the blood of Christ,
The blood of war, the blood from the sliced incision
(surgery on t.v. every night)?
How come they show the blood of sport?
It’s all the same as blood from violent video games
(movies, they love to see Hollywood stars in a bloody fight).
How come they drink the blood of life
As red wine, buy the bloody meat from the butcher’s vine?
It’s all accepted, all okay
Except the blood they cannot say
Except the blood you cannot say
Except the blood you cannot speak
Except that blood may sometimes leak.
The only blood they cannot show
Is the blood that freely, freely flows
From ladies, sisters, women, girls, and me.
No cut, no scrape, no knife, no gun, no wound.
Well it flowed before hunting, it flowed before time.
Our blood revealed the gift that is the human mind.
Now its bloodshed for profit, is our blood like gold?
They’ve created a blood debt and our families are sold.
They advertise, they televise the violence and the lies.
The violence, the lies.
And it’s all accepted, all okay,
Except the blood they cannot say
Except the blood you cannot say
Except the blood you cannot speak
Except that blood may sometimes leak.
The only blood they cannot show
Is the blood that freely, freely flows
From ladies, sisters, women, girls, and me.
Its how we came to be, oh, menstrual-lunar synchrony.
Its how we came to be, oh, Metaformic Theory.
No cut, no scrape, no knife, no gun, no wound.
Its how we came to be, oh, it’s how we came to be.
Its how we came to be, oh, it’s how we came to be.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
The Holy Whore
Excerpt from The Holy Whore: A Woman’s Gateway to Power
by Cosi Fabian
The sexual aspects of the great goddesses - Inanna, Ishtar, Astarte, Isis, Ostera - in their original, ‘pre-patriarchal’ concepts have been difficult to unveil. There are centuries of Greco-Christian values muddying our view of “The Radiant Star, Lady of the Evening”, Inanna (we know her as “Venus”). Her priestesses, who included sex in their religious duties, have been even more sullied by our core, Christian values which essentially place the burden of The fall of man and the death of the Christ upon the sexual, and seductive, power of woman. Religious or not, Christian or not, all women are distorted by this veil of shame, hidden from ourselves and each other.
Read the entire article here
Menstual Blood
All blood is menstrual blood
by Judy Grahn
An excerpt from the poem, women are tired of the ways men bleed
Images of blood are all around us, everywhere
in our modern urbanized society blood is
depicted, spoken of, displayed:
The blood of wound, of death and to a tiny extent
birth, is part of daily viewing in television
and films; we are completely familiar
with the bloodlines of kinship, and with the blood
of violence, of murder and vengeance, of sacrifice,
suffering, and of IV drug users; the blood
of warning, of wounding, of threat; the danger
attached to the blood of AIDS; the blood of life, of
transfusions, of redemption; the blood of Christ;
the blood of martyrdom, of St. Sebastian, of the prize
fighter depicted in the movies. Blood is
genealogy in bloodlines, family blood,
the blood that is thicker
than water.
Blood is in name and in common
expression, in the blood of the lamb, in the blood
of blood, sweat and tears, in the blood of the Sangre
de Christo Mountains, in the blood of blood brothers,
the blood of the stigmata, the blood on the moon,
the blood that cannot be squeezed from turnips,
the blood dripping from the mouth of the vampire,
the bloodstain on Lady Macbeth’s hands, the blood
gurgling down the shower drain in horror films.
Real blood is everywhere in our society, Saturday-
night blood, drive-by-shooting blood, the blood he was
covered in after he was shot, or stabbed
or blown up; the pencil- thin line like a necklace
across her throat, the great spread of it when she was
chopped up, the bloody nose, the bleeding ulcer,
the sting of hemorrhoids, the blood on the surgeon’s
gown and the butcher’s apron, the many rivers of
battle and massacre that have run with blood,
the battlefield soaked, the sand reddened,
the blood on the child’s ear and the wife’s
mouth and the young man’s cheek.
In the cities the gutters are streaming
and sidewalks pooled and car seats puddled and
emergency rooms smeared and police clubs stained.
When gangster John Dillinger’s body fell on the street
shot by the FBI and spouting
from numerous holes
passersby instantly leaped as though
to a holy stream, to dip
a handkerchief, newspaper, even
a sleeve into the blood of his wounds, to take
a bit home with them.
Blood is magic
Blood is holy
And wholly riveting of our attention.
Menstrual blood is the only source of blood
that is not traumatically induced.
Yet in modern society, this is the most
hidden blood, the one rarely spoken of
and almost never seen
except privately by women, who shut themselves
in little rooms to quickly and perhaps disgustedly
change their pads and tampons,
wrapping the bloodied cotton so it won’t be seen
by others, wrinkling their faces at the odor,
flushing or hiding the evidence away.
Blood is everywhere
and yet the one
the only
the single name
it has not had publicly
for many centuries
is menstrual blood.
Menstrual blood, like water
just flows.
Its fountain existed
long before knives or flint.
Menstruation
is the original source of blood.
Menstrual is blood’s secret name.
Judy Grahn
© 1993, 2007
by Judy Grahn
An excerpt from the poem, women are tired of the ways men bleed
Images of blood are all around us, everywhere
in our modern urbanized society blood is
depicted, spoken of, displayed:
The blood of wound, of death and to a tiny extent
birth, is part of daily viewing in television
and films; we are completely familiar
with the bloodlines of kinship, and with the blood
of violence, of murder and vengeance, of sacrifice,
suffering, and of IV drug users; the blood
of warning, of wounding, of threat; the danger
attached to the blood of AIDS; the blood of life, of
transfusions, of redemption; the blood of Christ;
the blood of martyrdom, of St. Sebastian, of the prize
fighter depicted in the movies. Blood is
genealogy in bloodlines, family blood,
the blood that is thicker
than water.
Blood is in name and in common
expression, in the blood of the lamb, in the blood
of blood, sweat and tears, in the blood of the Sangre
de Christo Mountains, in the blood of blood brothers,
the blood of the stigmata, the blood on the moon,
the blood that cannot be squeezed from turnips,
the blood dripping from the mouth of the vampire,
the bloodstain on Lady Macbeth’s hands, the blood
gurgling down the shower drain in horror films.
Real blood is everywhere in our society, Saturday-
night blood, drive-by-shooting blood, the blood he was
covered in after he was shot, or stabbed
or blown up; the pencil- thin line like a necklace
across her throat, the great spread of it when she was
chopped up, the bloody nose, the bleeding ulcer,
the sting of hemorrhoids, the blood on the surgeon’s
gown and the butcher’s apron, the many rivers of
battle and massacre that have run with blood,
the battlefield soaked, the sand reddened,
the blood on the child’s ear and the wife’s
mouth and the young man’s cheek.
In the cities the gutters are streaming
and sidewalks pooled and car seats puddled and
emergency rooms smeared and police clubs stained.
When gangster John Dillinger’s body fell on the street
shot by the FBI and spouting
from numerous holes
passersby instantly leaped as though
to a holy stream, to dip
a handkerchief, newspaper, even
a sleeve into the blood of his wounds, to take
a bit home with them.
Blood is magic
Blood is holy
And wholly riveting of our attention.
Menstrual blood is the only source of blood
that is not traumatically induced.
Yet in modern society, this is the most
hidden blood, the one rarely spoken of
and almost never seen
except privately by women, who shut themselves
in little rooms to quickly and perhaps disgustedly
change their pads and tampons,
wrapping the bloodied cotton so it won’t be seen
by others, wrinkling their faces at the odor,
flushing or hiding the evidence away.
Blood is everywhere
and yet the one
the only
the single name
it has not had publicly
for many centuries
is menstrual blood.
Menstrual blood, like water
just flows.
Its fountain existed
long before knives or flint.
Menstruation
is the original source of blood.
Menstrual is blood’s secret name.
Judy Grahn
© 1993, 2007
Friday, May 8, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Little Lion Face
by May Swenson
Little lion face
I stopped to pick
among the mass of thick
succulent blooms, the twice
streaked flanges of your silk
sunwheel relaxed in wide
dilation, I brought inside,
placed in a vase. Milk
of your shaggy stem
sticky on my fingers, and
your barbs hooked to my hand,
sudden stings from them
were sweet. Now I'm bold
to touch your swollen neck,
put careful lips to slick
petals, snuff up gold
pollen in your navel cup.
Still fresh before night
I leave you, dawn's appetite
to renew our glide and suck.
An hour ahead of sun
I come to find you. You're
twisted shut as a burr,
neck drooped unconscious,
an inert, limp bundle,
a furled cocoon, your
sun-streaked aureole
eclipsed and dun.
Strange feral flower asleep
with flame-ruff wilted,
all magic halted,
a drink I pour, steep
in the glass for your
undulant stem to suck.
Oh, lift your young neck,
open and expand to your
lover, hot light.
Gold corona, widen to sky.
I hold you lion in my eye
sunup until night.
Monday, May 4, 2009
_-_Young_Priestess_(1902).jpg)
Nip Tuck
WHO SAYS, we don't need feminism?
Stop this massacre!
The Midnight Movies
—a poem by Mary Mackey
the woman never gets to shoot it out
only the hero who rescues her
two dogs fighting over a bone
while she lies with the wet towel
stuffed in her mouth
the taxi driver hero
redeems her with his blood
the menstruation from the neck
makes the man
she is on the cliff or under the saw
tied to the tracks or the stake
chained to a chair with human arms
held over an iron washtub
the young heifer
with the blood-matted hair
waiting for the mallet to fall again
the man with the blue silk tie
strangles her while she prays
deliver us from evil
father forgive them
he hangs her on the meat hook
he hangs up the pin-up
of the naked woman over the bar
flank steak and loin
tattooed on her body
the false eyelashes,
the rubber breasts
cunts for sale in the porno store
a hank of hair and a piece of bone
getting a piece of ass
a juicy little piece
he loved girls it said
in the preview of coming attractions
he loved girls
but not in one piece.
Read Mary Mackey's essay on Women and Violence in Film
http://www.ejumpcut.org/archive/onlinessays/JC14folder/MassacreWomen.html
Read about animal cruelty here
http://www.mercyforanimals.org/
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
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