Reaction to whether men can write about feminism or not

I haven't read any Hugo Schwyzer (although now I certainly intend to), but Noah Burlatsky's article in response to Schwyzer's recent New York magazine interview did touch on some issues that I fret over way too much with my own work.

Schwyzer says, "If you look at the men who are writing about feminism, they toe the line very carefully. It’s almost like they take their cues from the women around them. Men are afraid of women’s anger. It’s very hard for men to stand up to women’s anger."

Although, I don't think I'm toeing the line at all with what I make, I am afraid of how it will be received by a feminist audience. That's precisely because I'm not toeing the line, and I'm worried that by portraying certain images or actions in my comics, writing, and art I'll unintentionally contribute to the very issues I'm trying to critique. An example of this would be my performative comics reading of Peeled & Deveined at Brain Frame 3 (follow link for video, photos, and an explanation of the piece).

Also, though, I just don't feel comfortable yet being a male feminist. I don't feel like I've "earned" my place or the right to exercise a strong, opinionated, even possibly unpopular voice...although I still do it, despite my self-doubt.

For a long time I resisted referring to myself as a feminist, and still cringe, because it sounds self-congradulatory and pretentious in my mouth. It seems to undermine everything I believe in and want to say. It makes me feel like a phony.

I don't want to wear it as a badge. And so I tend not to use the word at all when referring to myself. If that's what I am, fine, but I don't need the label. At least not for now.

I intend to keep moving forward and keep making the kind of work that feels right to me. I don't know if I'll ever feel fully comfortable or confident about being the person who's making it, but at least I'll know that I'm not toeing the line.

Like Eno-Fripp said: No Pussyfooting.

Reaction to "How to Be an Atheist Without Being a Dick About It"

True, I only skimmed Jezebel's recent (and lengthy) article How to Be an Atheist Without Being a Dick About It, but still, fuck that noise.

I recognize that religion is probably the greatest invention of all time, because it instills social order and creates the illusion of some greater purpose to our lives, thereby giving people a reason to keep trying, to keep living, even in the face of adversity or the absence of positive change. And I have a very clear understanding that our world can often be one of unrelenting, unspeakable cruelty, and that we as people are often very terrible to one another.

As a result, there are many victims in our world, and perhaps for many they need faith in a higher power to provide them with hope and strength. That's fine -- whatever it takes -- because I don't know what that's like.

But it still doesn't change the fact that religion is an invention. And I'm not going to give it any more credence than its function, because I also recognize that as a tool it's used to oppress and manipulate the very people it promises to save. It hurts just as much, if not more, than it helps.

I'm not going to live in a lie, and I'm certainly not going to play a part in the charade. I view religion, in general, as aggressive, invasive, and dangerous. It's just as bad as the advertising media which inundates us. Both are parasitic and forever in need of more people in order to survive and grow.

But I also have another reason why I won't play the polite little atheist. Because religion distracts us from the real world, where we need to make some real changes.

There's a reason why they say "God helps those who help themselves." It's because praying doesn't change anything. It's just throwing pennies in a well. But when people take it upon themselves to make a change, that's when things gets done. God has nothing to do with it.

People are the ones that have the power to make our world a better place. There is no perfect afterlife or redemption.

If it sounds like I'm being defensive or that I'm angry, that's because I am. If this sounds like I have a chip on my shoulder, it's because I do.

This is all we have. It's time we took some responsibility for it. No one else is going to save us.

PS: I know that I'm making generalizations about all religions here, and that there may be some exceptions (those which are less "aggressive, invasive, and dangerous," as well as less "oppressive and manipulative."). However, given the actions of the world's religious majority I think I this generalization is justified.

2AM

Near the end of my bike ride home from the bar tonight I came across a guy passed out cold on someone's lawn a few doors down from where I live. His bike was laid on the grass beside him. I parked my own bike and knelt down beside him, trying to wake him up. It took awhile, and I tried several different tactics, even shaking him and slapping his arms and legs.

Finally I just resorted to shouting into his ear, "Hey! What's your name?!" and he bolted upright. "Nick!" he said, rolling around in front of me, unable to sustain purchase. His eyes were unfocused and bewildered as he tried hard to see through the drunken dream state.

"You need to go home," I said. "I'm afraid someone will take advantage of you while you're passed out here."

He nodded his head furiously, sending his balance off kilter.

"You gonna be okay?" I asked, in no state to babysit some drunk dude, but still concerned (what if he'd had alcohol poisoning?). "Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

He shook his head no, still tottering.

"Okay," I said. "I'm gonna go." Then I added, "Get home safe."

I got on my bike and rode it down a block and got my keys out. In the distance I could still see him still sitting there, legs wide open, head down.

Godspeed, Nick. Tomorrow's prolly gonna hurt.

m o t h

            Unsure at first of what had caught his attention, or whether it was only an involuntary sweep of the room, simply taking inventory of his domain, that had spawned a predatory reflex, the man’s brow furrowed and he leaned in closer to inspect the grey smudge on the wall. His feet were bare and in his hands he held a magazine that he had been flipping through the moment before. Instinctively they rolled the glossy pages tightly into a batting instrument, and he raised the weapon, targeting his prey. 

The Hair Here

My hair got long
from negligence

Now

When I wake up
in the morning
the light from
the window
is black
with the day
raked through

Now

I'm wearing my
mask of hair

Who am I now
with my mask?

Where will I
wear it?

The hair here
is different

Heresy
to those
who inherit

The hairy
stone gathers
no moss

It's stone 
business
of mine

Now, mine

Heir to the
throng

Hairy bush
thong

The hair here
is long

And in kind

The Specter Ayn Rand Shivers

The specter Ayn Rand shivers

Over her pendulous pulpit

With haunted, shuddering eyes

In a mouth agape with her Word

Rows of teeth, like pews or headstones,

Swim forward, scrabbling over

Each other as they surface

Through her gum and maw

Each a greyed and decaying seeker

Independent and detached of her jawbone

These are her seeds that she sprays

In a hypnotic pollination that preys

Upon the wet-minded and dissolute

She is her own foretold apocalypse:

Ayn the coiled, ticking dial

Ayn the lunacy with its twin macabre genius

Which we wish only to jail and deny

Ayn the useless rogue demon

Fraught with the failure of her own

Glacial alienation

Oh, some will inevitably circle her trap

Like fruit flies ‘round a sweet compost heap

Attracted because they smell themselves

But her philosophy erodes itself in its own fantasy

Like an ant, which can hold up to fifty times

Its own weight, then made big and crushed

Under its own frame

For its seeming strength

Is in actuality

Its own most

Debilitating vulnerability

Ayn the isolated tower

Ayn the disfigured wraith

Babbling fishhooks for the worms

Ayn the Ouroboros

Eater of her own feces

The specter Ayn Rand shivers

Behind the mirror

The specter Ayn Rand shivers

Long and on and on

(note: this poem was a reaction to an old 60 minutes interview with mike wallace and our subject. i wasn't planning on writing an indictment of her or her philosophy, it just sort of happened. in all fairness, i haven't even read her work, nor am i all that familiar with the details therein. i'm only aware of what's generally known about her books, and what she told us in this interview. this was a reaction to her presence in that particular interview.)

I Heard It Through the Grapevine - Bill Frisell

Back in 2009, during possibly my most serious longterm bout with depression, I used to listen to this song on repeat for, like, an hour or two at a time. I had it on my iPod, and I would go for these long aimless walks.

I had a secret place that I would go to, where I would just sit and listen to this song. It was this empty lot with gravel and trash and overgrown weeds. There were these two big metal pipes lying on their side next to each other, and I would sit on one and put my feet up on the other one.

It was in the middle of summer and the sun beat down on my back. I would wear these ridiculous mirrored sunglasses that I had found on the sidewalk and just listen to this song over and over and over again.

It was one of the ways I'd developed of removing myself from myself.

One of the lyrics (even though they'd been omitted from this instrumental version of the song) spun around and around in my head. It made so much sense to me.

I'm just about to lose my mind, honey, honey, yeah...

That line became the title of a comic I was working on. I put everything I had inside me into that comic. And when I look at it now I can see how absolutely lost I felt then. I fell into that comic and got lost in it, too. It was another way for me to remove myself from myself.

Tonight I put that song on again. I hadn't heard it in a very long time. And then I remembered that vacant lot with its pipes. The last time I'd walked past there someone had erected some condos over it. My secret place was gone. But it was okay because I didn't need it anymore.