Where chaos stops and more chaos ensues. Where Filia plays the electric keyboard.
Where anything goes.
-//o_O\\7 *Home of the Awful, Mediocre and Pathetic* -//u_u\\7
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Where chaos stops and more chaos ensues. Where Filia plays the electric keyboard. Where anything goes. -//o_O\\7 *Home of the Awful, Mediocre and Pathetic* -//u_u\\7 |
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Thursday, June 12, 2003 Today, I was violated. No, it's not because I'm a rule, because firstly I'm lesbian (i.e., not straight, get it?), and secondly I'm perpetually changing in an erratic fashion. What I mean, of course, is the violation of one's personal space. I ... *gory detail omitted* ... am traumatised. It is something whacking yourself against the wall till blood trickles down over and through your eyebrows won't cure. Trust me, I've been there ... it's very difficult to whack yourself to the degree which your eyebrows fail to provide their basic function of diverting downward flowing liquids away from your eyes. Unless you're David Beckham who shaves them just for the heck of it. It just ... the pain! It is everywhere! Physical pain means nothing ... if emotional pain is everywhere. I want to die. No, actually, I don't. Not yet. I want to live, too. What I'm feeling is something which certainly isn't shared by many of the people out there. Therefore, I shall put it into common terms which everyone can understand. Rape. Firstly, I shall clarify. I was not raped. I don't know what it feels like to be raped. And whatever that feeling is, it must be the worst feeling in the world. And the greatest triumph of the assertion of masculine dominance in this world would be to make me, me, damn it! To have me feel that pain. And today, I can't say that I have felt it, but something which could be said to be a distant substitute for it, so that's one up for all you Y-chromosome charged oppressors out there. Rape is the ultimate dominance. It transcends the rigidity and inflexibility of rules set by a government which doesn't know, or care, what the hell it is doing, in other words it is greater than the "greatest oppression" in the world as often referred to by libertarian Americans. Rape is both physical and emotional dominance. There is no mechanism to resist rape. And the worst thing is that it is the filthy male who is in control ... who makes the choices, who enforces the decisions. Imagine, if you will, if you dare, the opposite. The only possible way it could be achieved would be if the hypothetical feminine figure held a lethal weapon to a seriously important body part (as in, the brain, or the heart ... what were you thinking?) of the masculine figure and forced him to do it on the pain of death. And I'm sure most of us are more sensible than to desire such a thing ... heck, men would pay to force themselves upon us. As I've said, although I sympathise and empathise greatly with people who have come within even the closest brush of rape, I can't say that I know the feeling. I wrote about a rape ... or at least a near-rape once, in my novel. I tried to imagine being utterly dominated ... losing all control over oneself, and with another, hostile person in charge instead. When you don't own your physical self any more. When your mind can never live with your body again. And I wrote it. But in retrospect ... heck, even then, I knew it would be unconvincing, because I can't say I know what it is like to be raped ... how it would feel. And even so, I wouldn't be able to put it into merely words, on a piece of paper. Of course, the fact remains that I'd rather not know it. But today ... today ... it was the closest I've come to that. I was violated. I want to die. On the lighter side, I'm still typing this and haven't really gone to kill myself yet, although there are bloody marks on my wall, a tear across my forehead and I'm having a terrible migraine, not without cause. People ask me why I am so violent, so antagonistic, so apprehensive ... in my troubles, I see that as the better alternative. The other alternative would be escapism ... death ... suicide. And I still want to live, because I believe that I can be happier in the future. And it would be foolish to deny future bliss merely on the basis of present suffering, for isn't suffering a requirement to progress on the road to greater rewards? To be aggresive, then, to fight. To take arms against a sea of troubles, and in so opposing, end them. Or at least attempt to. With the aid of coffee, of course. Coffee count : 2 1 "cafe mocha" canned coffee, 1 double shot espresso from the Cafe Cartel, and 1 "dark coffee" canned coffee. Or perhaps coffee is my escape. It deludes me into thinking I am still awake ... that I am still in control of myself. My brain is still thinking even while under the influence of caffeine, cognito ergo sum, so I must be in control in some way. But it also fools me into thinking I am ... that I may be in control of my troubles. I ... I don't know. I like it, and I don't know what would happen if I went off it ... that sustaining force would be gone ... those last vestiges of self-control. My mother would be picking up her dearly departed child from the morgue. Damn it! In being violated, I don't feel in control of my physical self ... and thus, my mind ... the greatest jewel ... It ... is feeling the bastions of support cracking from underneath it, from the awesome weight it is bearing. I ... *trails off* ... But I do have some control of myself. I tell myself to go sleep it off, even though I could still keep going for a few more hours or so. To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub. Then again, dear Charlotte (not Hamlet ... hehe), for in sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off the mortal coil? It gives us pause. To be or not to be, that is the question. posted by Charlotte | 4:48 pm
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Disclaimer : The Slayers and Filia Ul Copt and all images thereof are the property of Hajime Kanzaka and Rui Araizumi. I don't own any of them, although if I had a choice I would want Filia ... ~//n_n\\7 |
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