Gillette ad- + one on toxic femininity as well

edit Gillette ad- + one on toxic femininity as well

here are both the ads:

Gillette on toxic masculinity

It’s interesting for me that the ad on men’s attitudes was about how they relate to women. And the one on women was about how we relate to other women.

There are so many issues that define gender politics. I’m still of the position that anything that gets us talking is a good thing. So how about we discuss these things:

  • social/financial -ownership
  • who has the power?
  • Who harms the other?
  • Who is most frequently violent toward the other?
  • who controls society?
  • who excludes the other?
  • are there exceptions that prove the rule?
  • Do any of the rules change when the relationship is same gender?

So let’s get talking!

Advertisements

Gilles Duceppe’s mom -93 yr old politician’s mom dies of hypothermia

Gilles Duceppe’s mom -93 yr old politician’s mom dies of hypothermia

This particular death may cause waves. Year after year, the govt has been cutting funds for health and disabilities in Canada. And this time they got caught with their pants down. Because this time, it wasn’t a nameless, faceless person no one cared about who died. Frozen and alone.
7 hours outside alone, in -20 Celsius (0 is freezing) which is -4 Fahrenheit (32 is freezing) weather before they found she was missing and her body was located. After a fire alarm had gone off.

The Minister for Seniors is calling for a coroner’s inquest.
Because all it would have taken to save this life… was a head count.

… who died? A politician’s mother

Gilles Duceppe
Gilles Duceppe’s mom
Bloc Québécois

….. what the regulations are,

if you want to know how they failed her.
approx 3 hrs/24
degrees of care facilities
memory care for dementia
security measures in care homes
wandering, elopement
funding changes, staff to resident ratio
police involvement
hypothermia -@1 hour to die

Q – if there was one symbol for “light”, what would it be for you?

Q – if there was one symbol for “light”,

what would it be for you?

Does it mean spirit, goodness, wisdom, some goal? Or something else? Is it a divine thing or a more prosaic thing like the sun? Do you have ancient beliefs from sources that are magical or alchemic, or from more modern beliefs like science or technology?

Light means something to you, based on your experience and your culture. Your beliefs. Your frame of reference.

That one word permeates many situations, and sometimes in a conversation, it’s confusing what you mean by it.

So how do we clarify this one word?

Many words mean different things, depending on how you see it. Sometimes nobody really cares if they have it right or not. And other times it’s a matter of life or death to understand.

So have you decided what light means yet?

Q – a common struggle? – POC and women

Q – a common struggle? – POC and women

When I hear songs like:
Ball of Confusion-1970
The Temptations
What’s Going On-1971
Marvin Gaye
Strange Fruit-1939
Billie Holliday

and think back to the timing and what was happening then and why they were probably written, or said to be written.

When I compare them to the movements going on then:
Civil rights’ movement
Hippies
Black Panthers
Martin Luther King Jr
Malcolm X

and consider how many of the same things are going on today that were going on then. I wonder if there has been progress?

And when you consider that the rights of women (chattel to personhood) and people of colour (slave to personhood) are on a similar path and time table, against the same institutions and power structures, and seem to have stalled in the same ways, I have to ask why we haven’t been working together more?

Different Thinking Leads to Different Opinions

Different Thinking Leads to Different Opinions

I get into a lot of debates on the web. In fact, I have moderated a debate board. Most of the time, the debates are friendly and informative. And a lot of fun, honestly. We act like adults and either come to an agreement, or we agree to disagree.

We don’t call each other names or attack the other person. And we all have a positive experience.

Without assigning blame, there are people I find it easier to debate with than others. Not because they’re wrong and I’m right… (ahem) But because we think in different ways.
You could blame it on our opinions, but it’s more than that. Just like some people are good at math and science and some are good at art and music. It’s the way we think that makes us good at what we have talents in. And it also frames our opinions. And maybe even the ferosity behind them.

I see people absolutely lose their cool and get nasty. Because they presume their opponent is not listening, or not willing to listen to their opinion. And it’s more likely they can’t than that they’re being stupid or mean. Being unable to leads to mutual frustration. And there is where the tempers flare up.

If you don’t know where someone is coming from in their style of thought, then you probably should take a breath and not presume they’re out to get you. Or maybe you could try changing your lingo, because not everyone has the exact same experience, education or language/ cultural references, since we come from different areas and are different ages as well.

Maybe if we do that, we can chill a little on the nastiness that gets into some of the arguments.

….. resources

types of thought
systems
linear
conceptual
cognitive biases
racism

…..

the reality and responsibility of being a keyholder – cage hygiene

the reality and responsibility of being a keyholder – cage hygiene

Chastity arrangements are fun fantasies and seem innocuous enough, right? Put a cage on your guy and leave him to suffer withdrawal. Or tease his joy stick and drive him nuts, not able to do anything about it. While you go have fun with your bull. What is wrong with that? Nothing…IF your caged guy is clean and careful. And yeah you COULD say that is his responsibility, right? But is it? He is your property, therefore your responsibility.
Soooo… before you lock him up and throw away the key, or hide it for six months, there are some things you should know.
The area is covered daily with sweat, urine, and fecal matter to some degree. You need to know that he is used to being clean and careful about his junk before you cage him.

clean, – your hands first, the equipment and the penis and legs.
decontaminate, sterilize the equipment.
shave the area
Leave him a cleaning schedule and key for emergencies and be sure he is adhering to it. Check his work.
Be sure he has a plan of action for any injuries, abbrasions or sores. beyond “keeping an eye on it”. And someone to turn to he trusts, who is a medical professional. Who can take necessary care, prescribe antibiotics and take blood tests.

Then have fun.

…..

why did I write this? I have had some experience with catheters and as a result know how readily sores and infections occur when someone isn’t taking proper care.
So when I saw a post or two about cock cages that didn’t mention hygiene and cautionary advice, I talked to a couple fet-friends and went from there. It should be fun, as long as you’re careful, or the next fantasy you’ll be dealing with in reality is castration. Minimum.

… references

the chain gang
male chastity devices
Promed – silicone, plastic
LSO

infections

mayo clinic-staph
mayo clinic – sepsis
bupa-fungal
healthline-necrofasciitis
medlineplus- strep B

ulcers

woundsource.com

Mama Bear (a story)

Mama Bear

Helen Reddy

A smallish, not that strong, soft voiced woman can lift a car off their kid. They can move mountains, swim oceans, and can fight whatever obstacle, whatever enemy is threatening their child. Whatever is between them and their child.

People underestimate that degree of ferocious love. Until they see a bear trying to protect her cub. Then a slow moving, friendly creature rears up and growls. Saliva dripping from her teeth. And you can feel the sincerity in the amount of ripe breath you feel on your face, even though she is several feet away from you.

You can just feel the pee dripping down your leg. You can feel your spine go cold and frozen. You know she is deadly serious.

Do not underestimate a mama bear!

She will hate you till the day you die if you hurt her kid.

She will claw you, bite you, slap you and she’ll punch you with the full force of her love for her child.

She will go toe to toe against anyone who refuses her child something they need. She’ll scare any bully who goes after her child. She will fight disease, hunger, poverty, gangs, death. All to keep her child safe.

Not every woman is a mother warrior, but those that are are ferocious. Determined. Powerful. Decisive. Ready for any attack or neglect that impacts their child.

And you won’t know till you test her if this woman standing before you is that mama bear or not.

I guess you have to ask yourself, “do you feel lucky, punk?”

….

That is Ellie. The person everyone discounted, She was a door mat according to her exes. Her family thought she was their slave, their whipping post. Her friends took her for granted.

But the day came when they tested her and found a spine of steel. Someone threatened her child and she turned on them with the full force of a bear and showed them her full rage. Her full hate. And all they could do was stare at her. They thought they had a slave who they could control, with no questions asked. With no doubt for their authority.

And they realized now, they were so mistaken.They had thought they had a leash on a whirlwind.

Payment was due.

They called her selfish. They called her a narcissist. They tried to say she was crazy. Till they made her choose between them and her child, she had obeyed the family.

That day, she turned on them.

She left them stunned and confused. Dismayed and horrified. They pushed her too far. And they realized it the second they saw her eyes. The second she grabbed her kid up and left them in her dust.

They had no hope of controlling her again. They never saw her again.

And to this day, they blame Ellie.

Never again did they have their whipping post, their slave. She was a ghost. And so was her child.

for the memories (a story)

For the Memories

Everyone has that place.

That village or neighborhood that everywhere you look, you can recount a story.

Of friends and family gatherings. Of games and chats with your arms around each other.

Of lovers’ trysts and meaningful moments.

A tree, a brook or pond that was the perfect place to give you a bit of privacy when you wanted it. A lane or a copse of trees that hardly anyone went to.

Then there were the buildings. The places where some of the dads worked. Even a few of the teenage boys.

The factory’s parking lot. Where you chased each other thru the stacks piled outside and when the floor was clear, even thru the building itself.

Or the village store that had those little things you were always running out of. Bread, milk, scotch tape, light bulbs… But also had the post boxes and the name and number of the guy who delivered mail and shoveled out driveways with his truck when a blizzard went thru. And it was more than a teenage boy could handle with his hand-held one. No matter how much dad wanted to save money or teach his son responsibility. He came thru every winter Sunday morning too, so the villagers could go to church.

The school where you played baseball or soccer in the field and some of the village kids went to school. The others came from surrounding farms. Some of the kids went to other schools in surrounding towns. By bus, car or even taxis.

And the feed mill where you could play hide and seek or tag, after hours.

Then there were the churches. It could be so divisive if they were strangers, but practically everyone in town had grown up together and many were related. So the factor of one being evangelical and the other being old-school, conservatives who wouldn’t yell in church if it were on fire, didn’t really impact on how the people in town got along. The teens even visited back and forth as they wished, without much bother from the parents.

And after all that, there were your friends’ and family’s houses. Where you visited for Sunday dinners and had sleep-overs when the parents needed a break. Or one of the kids had a birthday celebration.

Chock full of memories. Full of emotions and bonds.

A place worth defending, if the next town over decided to feud for some reason. Or God forbid an army came thru. When the men were mostly away hunting, fishing, or even threshing in the back forty. And the women had to defend their home and children from attack.

That aspect didn’t change much in any village. In any era. Whether it was a bunch of tents, igloos, or a log-built long house. Or any neighborhood either.

Everywhere you looked was a memory, a depth of feeling. A place worth dying for. Whether you were a man or a woman.

The women marked their faces, gathered their skirts into their husbands’ trousers and grabbed a shovel or rake, or even a scythe and defended their home.

And the army had no idea who that shrieking banshee was coming at them, till they were on the business end of whatever they were carrying.

And the children found a new reason for hide and seek and tag. A new emotion for their psycho-drama. For a village that’d never be the same again. Because the blood in the earth was now about more than a skinned knee.

But God asked me to (a story)

But God asked me to

Night after night, Charity was woken by the dream. She saw a large throne room, with what looked to be angels and grey shadows floating around in it. She heard some kind of harp music, but couldn’t see where the harps were. And she heard a loud voice calling her name.

Over and over.

Charity was startled awake whenever she responded, “yes?” She tried variant responses you would if someone was calling your name. And all it did was wake her. Nothing else happened in the dream.

She felt compelled to do certain things. These things were taking over her life. She was almost dragged into clothing stores and bought military style men’s clothing. She couldn’t seem to snack anymore, but felt compelled to eat very healthy food. She went to a gym and started working out and taking martial arts. And started running as well.

And then there was church.

Charity went so often it was intruding on her job and other obligations. But she couldn’t stay away. She now knew all the regular attendants by name, and could ask about their lives in specific ways, rather than general questions you’d ask a stranger. She also knew the order of songs and prayers. By heart. She’d been to the pastor’s house for supper a few times.

Funny thing was, her family weren’t that religious.

She was sleep deprived and feeling like her mind was not her own anymore. Her boss had had a few chats with her about her focus and had even written her up for it. She used to be the most reliable staff member and her boss was frustrated with her.

Charity had been taking courses, but since her concentration was so poor now, she had decided to take a term off. See if she couldn’t get this sleep thing under control.

And she had seen her family doctor. He took blood and listened to her concerns, then her chest and palpitated her stomach. There was nothing unusual in the labs, so he suggested she meditate before bed.

That didn’t work.

Every night, several times a night now, she had the dream. She had it so often she saw where the drapery was a bit worn. She saw which angels seemed to be the leaders. Which grey shadows seemed to be revered more. She could hum along to the hymns the harpists were playing. During the day, she would spend time looking in music stores for the songs. She even had found an internet site that allowed her to hum the song in to see if it was archived. She found a few of the songs that way. Which she was kind of glad about. They existed!

Charity started to hear a chatter in the background of the dream. But no matter how many languages she listened to, she couldn”t find it. Nor could she translate the words she occasionally heard. The internet search engines just weren’t up to the task. Neither was her friend the pastor.

In the midst of this, Charity started bleeding… I know! She’s a woman, but I don’t mean that she got her period. In fact that had stopped. The bleeding came from her wrists, her ankles and her side. She couldn’t stop it. Her doctor and pastor thought she was doing it to herself and were seriously worried about her. They were considering sectioning her for self-harming behaviour. Her doctor put her on a contract for such patients and booked her in with a psychiatrist. For an urgent, fast-tracked appointment.

It seemed the only place Charity got any comfort was at church. She lost her job and ended up volunteering at the church so she’d have a reason to be there every day for hours.

And she finally found out the name of the language on some obscure back site of the web. It was called Enochian. So she started learning the language so she could understand the angels. Maybe then she’d understand what they wanted from her.

They were saying the same phrase over and over. And finally she could understand what it was saying…

Charity, God has called you to go to war in His name.

Charity started to shake when she heard the translation the first time. She had made friends with the site owner and he confirmed what she tought the words she was hearing meant. He was thrilled for her!

Charity? Not so much!

But somehow she found herself at the recruitment office; then the boot camp; then the barracks of the nearest military town. At least the bleeding had slowed down!

Then the call came in. Charity’s group was sent overseas. And she found herself on the battlefield. Not even sure how any of this had happened. One year ago, she’d have told you you were crazy if you said she’d be fighting in a foreign country. “For God” was the stuff of legends and myths.

Not her life.

But here she was… A soldier for God. Named Cathal. And no one knew she was a girl.

tagged in warriors (a story)

Tagged in Warriors

They couldn’t bear to leave each other or to let one go to battle without the other. So Meg and Charlie went to battle together. Charlie helped Meg dress so she would be undetectable to the leaders and men around the battle zone.

And Meg was careful to be quiet and follow Charlie’s lead whenever around the other men. They told the leaders they were brothers, so they were put in the same company and barracks. They were careful about affection when others were around. As brothers, they were able to wander off and be alone sometimes, so they could have marital relations.

There were times when Meg or Charlie came close to watching their adored one die though. And that forged their bonds in blood and fear.

They didn’t have to try to explain to someone who had never been in such a situation what they were going thru. And that made it easier to talk about their experiences. Though they still saw things differently, they at least had a similar experience and view of things. So they really had no quarrel about it.

Meg and Charlie both were a bit jumpy when they were separated on the battlefield though. Not knowing from hellish second to hellish moment if their loved one was safe. But at least most days were ended with their eyes meeting in reassurance.

Their leaders got used to them wanting to work together. And they were a good team. So they were often allowed to do so. So that gave them more peace of mind. Which was noticed by the leaders. But they never thought it was more than a brother would feel, so nothing was thought of it.

Till the day Meg was seriously injured. And it was no longer about Charlie or her being able to bandage or support her injury.

That was the day that Meg was discovered…

Much talk was had about whether or not she would be allowed to continue to work with the band of warriors. If any arrangements could be made to include this one woman. If women should be allowed in.

If they should even try to fit her in, because they had been duped…

But the men all realized that Meg had been there for them whenever they needed her. Well as a colleague, or friend. She had never balked at her chores or her fights. Nothing had made her back down.

So they let her stay.

They weren’t ready to open their minds to include other women yet. But Meg had earned her place in their ranks.

But Meg and Charlie talked. That was the day they both decided to leave the company though.

It meant something different for Meg than for Charlie. Because Meg was a woman and now the company knew that, she was free to leave anytime she wished.

Charlie could not. In theory or practice. Not without leave.
So he had to go to the leaders and ask for dispensation. Not because he was afraid for himself. But because he wouldn’t stay without Meg. And she wouldn’t leave without him.

The leaders were kind enough to release Charlie, so Meg left with him.

They were sorely missed by their band of brothers.