Love harnesses neighing winds, corralled by four corrugated corners, inside. Bucking, stomping, rearing; the age-old, amorous invention cannot convince an opening. Suitors smother inquisitive passageways: veins that wandered to create wallowed misfortune. A spur frees small, curious laborers; holding harps and bearing their nakedness. Love cannot retain; it bears its teeth and pins its ears—afraid, terrified, alone. She will notice that it cannot survive in the exterior, outside.
Watching the Oscars last night meant sitting through a series of crudely sexist antics led by a scrubby, self-pleased Seth MacFarlane. That would be tedious enough. But the evening’s misogyny involved a specific hostility to women in the workplace, which raises broader questions than whether…
“Every girl is expected to have caucasian blue eyes, full Spanish lips, a classic button nose, hairless Asian skin with a California tan, a Jamaican dance hall ass, long Swedish legs, small Japanese feet, the abs of a lesbian gym owner, the hips of a nine-year-old boy, the arms of Michelle Obama and doll tits. This is why everyone is struggling.”