Some Posts Are Just Weird. Sorry.

In a post a few days ago I said that my friend Jack, upon seeing my house and all the images of the Virgin in it, accused me of being a closeted Catholic which even he knows is so far from the truth that you couldn't shoot it with the longest-range missile ever invented.

But I do have quite a number of Virgins scattered around the joint. This is just the truth. I couldn't even count them all if I had to.

My friend K wrote, in a comment to that post, that I should check out the link here.

For those of you who don't have the time to read it in its entirety, it's an opinion column from the NYT published April 17 of this year by Nicholas D. Kristof.

It opens this way:

I heard a joke the other day about a pious soul who dies, goes to heaven, and gains an audience with the Virgin Mary. The visitor asks Mary why, for all her blessings, she always appears in paintings as a bit sad, a bit wistful: Is everything O.K.?

Mary reassures her visitor: “Oh, everything’s great. No problems. It’s just ... it’s just that we had always wanted a daughter.”

You know what? I've been sitting here for an hour trying to bring this "joke" together in my mind with the Catholic church and its shame and Tiger Woods and his shame and my chickens too and it just ain't happening.

I don't understand why the males of the species have this huge need to fuck and do fucked up things and I don't understand why the females of the species go along with the males' needs with so little thought to their own. I read the article in Vanity Fair about Tiger from the POV of a few of his extra-marital women and they got nothing out of fucking that man except for the ones who were paid because it was their profession. One of those women who was at his beck and call for a long time said the only thing he ever bought her was a chicken wrap from the Subway.
Classy dude. Real classy dude.
Brilliant woman. Real brilliant woman.

And I read the article cited and linked above and I don't understand why the "good nuns" bother to put themselves under the auspices of a church which has so little respect for them and which has done everything they can to relegate their roles as nothing more than helpers, and poor and disrespected helpers at that. Why do they need the goddam pope to "allow" them to do what they feel called to do?

I don't understand why women stand by and let men abuse their children, whether those men are the fathers of the children or Fathers of the church. Whether that abuse is sexual, physical, emotional, or psychological.

I don't even understand why my hens, WHO HAVE WINGS, DAMMIT, AND WHO CAN FLY, allow themselves to be fucked bloody-backed by the rooster.

I don't understand. It just seems to me that at some point in time, women would realize the power they do have and use it to stop some of the insanity that goes on in this world. It's like we're paralyzed or something. Are we that needy? Are we that afraid of men?

I have so many thoughts here that I can't begin to corral them and put them in neat lines of neat words. I just can't. And it's a topic that burns deep with me. I've been the victim of all sorts of men's fuckedupedness. And on my best days, I can feel sorry for some of them, I can excuse some of their behavior, even forgive them. Not all. No, not all.
And yet, I wouldn't have been the victim to begin with if women, whose jobs you would have thought it was, had stood up and said, "No. That will not happen."
Sometimes, in fact, that woman was ME.

Okay. I'm done. I can't figure it out. Duh. I'm not God. I'm not Jesus. I'm not Jesussina, who if there had been one born to Mary, would probably have been placed in an arranged marriage, denied access to the Temple, and been told to use her miracles on something befitting a woman such as keeping the floors clean or maybe helping a woman through a difficult childbirth.
And she probably would have allowed that, keeping her power and her divinity under her skirt and gone about her life, died quietly and would have chosen to stay dead instead of being resurrected because she was TIRED.

And the message there would have been?

I have no idea.

Not all men are crazed sex addicts or pedophiles or cruel or abusive, of course. And not all women are meek little help-meets afraid to raise their voices. I would never say that. I would never insinuate that. Because neither is true.

But. But. But.

You know.

And now I'm looking at all my meek, wistful virgins, my shy madonnas and I'm feeling a bit testy about them. I want to shout at them, "Get up off your knees. They are killing your SON! Your baby! Do something!"

My Frida's, too. Damn Frida. She was a better painter than Diego, probably far more intelligent, and supposedly had enough sexual attraction to burn through the universe like a comet and yet, and YET, she let that man fuck around on her even with her own sister, (and why would a sister DO that?) divorced him and then remarried him.

Ladies. What are we thinking?

I think we don't think. That's what I think.

I'm outta here. I'll be back when I calm down and have something pretty to say.

And no, I am not mad at Mr. Moon. He has nothing to do with this although I don't always understand him either but thankfully, the things I don't understand have nothing to do with cruelty or general fuckedupedness and a lot to do with sports.