shredding

Incoherent with tears

Grotesque, bloated

Shades of pink and pink

Sitting with a pile of paper

A shredder

Unable to destroy

The last traces of a life

The dog licks away my tears,

Because he likes the salt.

He brings me toys,

Because he wants to play.

A guttural, throaty groan,

I do not recognise the noise

Of my own laugh

I try to let it all out

It’s healthy, they say

But the pain in my temples

Grows more intense

I feel blinded, migrained

I try to locate my synapses

To send a message: stop

A reply comes back: leave

Walk away from the pictures and words

Reprieve for another day

I abandon the scene of destruction

Wait for my body to catch up

Listen to the sobs clutching me

Watch the drops fall from my cheeks to my knees

Later, my eyes are throbbing

I can taste the salt on my lips.

Women, Power and Politics

a review I wrote: http://www.thefword.org.uk/reviews/2010/07/women_power_pol

reasons to be feminist cont'd

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/10220920.stm

sex and the vitriol

Ah, the Sex And The City premiere, brilliant. Hacks of both sexes must be ejaculating uncontrollably into their M&S pants. For what else can provide an opportunity quite as good as this to talk about how rubbish women are?


First, the film. I have no doubt that it is execrable, utterly without wit or wisdom, blah blah. It probably has no more plotholes or flimsy characters than The Matrix Reloaded, or Pirates of the Caribbean FFS, or Saw 43; but those were films with special effects and guns and stuff. What does this have? Shoes?


Some women might really enjoy it, which proves they are stupid. Some might concede that it is shit but claim that the TV series was much sharper, which proves they are stupid. Some women might argue that they never watched it anyway, which proves that they are probably ugly.


Then – oh joy – the actresses and their characters. According to your article, you can cry that these squealing brunchers are cariacatures of stereotypes of cartoonish puppets, or completely representative of all women. Whichever angle you take, don’t forget some outrage at them having either no wrinkles or too many; being too beautiful or too imperfect. That Sarah Jessica Parker, daring to take her place on our screens with a longer-than-average nose and face. Her character, Carrie, a writer? As if anyone with an interest in shoes can string a sentence together. And Kim/Samantha: I mean who the fuck does she think she is, enjoying sex at her age? Don’t forget to talk about how large her vagina probably is. Cynthia? Ginger and lesbian, ‘nuff said. If you’re taking an indignant quasi-feminist angle, you can point out what a bad role model her character Miranda is for giving up her job; if sexist, you can use it as proof positive that women should stay out of the boardroom. Ditto Charlotte, with her perfect wife-and-mother act. The keyword for all four, chaps, is desperate.


We come to the premiere itself. The four women on the red carpet. Look at them smiling. We know they hate each other because they are women. Look at their frocks. Look at their hats! Look at their made-up, shiny faces. It’s almost as though they feel the pressure of a thousand keystrokes on the back of their necks, reminding them that any flaw will be highlighted, every pore pored over.


Other famous women go to see the film. They also wear frocks and frightened smiles. They too will be pawed at and pored over, tweeted and blogged. Someone will hate Peaches Geldof. Someone will wish that Amanda Holden would shoot herself rather than wear a possibly-misjudged homage frock. Everyone will despise them. Anyone who doesn’t; well, they’re probably stupid enough to go and see the film.

put a smile on your facebook

Since being on Twitter I have found a fair amount of vitriol for Facebook, variously described as a dinosaur (@simonpegg), twatty (@indiaknight) and a tree for cats to piss on (@SanyaV, shamelessly paraphrased). As previously discussed I’m not very good at Angry; often I feel this is a failing but in this case I do think it’s not that difficult to enjoy the various forms of social networking on offer to us today without having an apoplexy.

Facebook is a place for friends. Twitter is a place to say random stuff. MySpace is a place to look up bands you have heard on the radio. Let’s all co-exist man, yeah?

Privacy
This is very dull. Facebook has admittedly cocked it up a bit, and will doubtless change its policy soon. In the meantime, if you are bothered about privacy, this is what to do:
1. Go to settings, select all and change to ‘friends only’. It will take less than a minute.
2. If there are things you don’t want anyone to know, don’t fill those fields in.

Applications
Many of us hate our news feed being clogged up with Farmville, City Life, Mafia Wars and the like. But many of our friends enjoy playing these games. The important thing to remember is, they don’t hate us. They just want other players to help them raise their barn, or sting a cartel, or whatever. For a happy life:
1. Click ‘hide’ by their post on your news feed. Hide the application, or the person if they are a repeat offender.
2. If their use of these games has moved you to genuine hatred, delete them.

Friends
As previously said, that’s what Facebook is for. I used to accept friend requests from people I didn’t like that much, just to be polite. But I have since deleted them and I am confident that I could tell you why I am friends with every single person on my friends list. I may not chat to them all every day but I have a genuine interest in seeing their updates. We used to lose touch with people unless they were directly in their lives. Old friends aren’t always old friends for a reason (@carrozo). In this case:
1. Don’t be friends with people you don’t like.

2. Take an interest - you never know who you might catch up with.

NB Don't be friends with companies - they will just send you endless crappy marketing messages.

Photos
Ok. So you don’t like endless baby/wedding photos. But here’s the thing. People who have got married/had a baby/holiday/new dog want to share their pictures. You know what I’m going to say.
1. If you know someone has got married/had a baby lately, hide them from your news feed. You can always reinstate them once they get over it and start bitching about their new spouse/brat.
2. Same goes for emotional status updates.

Event invites/Quizzes/Things To Like
I can’t do anything about these. Let’s get over it. You can always get Tweetdeck so you can just have a status feed and never check the actual site – but we’re trying to stay happily connected, right?

With love to friends, foes and followers all xx

winning words

The lights come up. The three men look a bit pink, is it the lighting or has someone ordered too many red rads to keep them warm in the cavernous setting? DD has a jaunty tie, like AS and the other one before. The acoustics are great; or awful, depending on your point of view. They are not assisting Nick in his attempt to personalise each answer. He gazes at me, meaningfully. They all say ‘children’ a lot. Stop saying children. Have Dave’s teeth always looked like that? Twitter is concerned over his shiny chin. Gordon has the nicest voice, but to be fair he doesn’t have to share one like Nick and Dave. Dave says ‘damn’. The room heats up. Gordon speaks of pent-up needs and offers help in squalid rooms. Nick Clegg’s words have stopped.. words.. people… person. Breathe, Nick. Someone should wind up that key in his back. Gordon says he will scratch my back, just there, below the surface. Nick offers friends with benefits and promises to respect me in the morning. Dave says that if I have a perfectly serviceable boyfriend, I cannot fuck Nick Clegg. I start worrying about the Swingometer: how will it work in a three horse race? Tax is dull. Whoever gets in, everyone will end up feeling hard done by. Why do the 76 rules not include one for not telling questioners about how much they respect their career choices? Gordon claims that Dave will cut children’s hair to unacceptable levels. Dave says he has some children. Did you hear that? Actual children. Nick splits an infinitive. Gord says ‘millyons’. I love it when he says that. Dave says he loves me, really he does. If I get pregnant he will rub my back. He will keep things fresh between us. Nick says he loves me. Really though. If I get pregnant, he will deliver the baby himself. He will find new approaches. Gordon says he loves me. Millyons. He will pay for an emergency caesarean. He says we match, belong together. Grr. I am exhausted, spent. So many words, so much said. I feel light-headed. Thanks, boys.
p.s. the words in this review may not have appeared exactly as quoted.

you came on your own

I went to see Editors tonight at Brixton.

I feel a lot of the questions they raise could be answered by Professor Brian Cox.