Women and Men

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Abstract

m with a contempt that grows to feel like their own.I hate this quality about women, but I have a particular knack for attracting women who specialize in invasion and intrusion.My mother was the first invader of my body, my psyche, and my soul; and she was most thorough in her efforts. There were many successors to her. These women, by violating me and inserting themselves into me, gave me the undeniable message that I was not worthy of existing.I don’t know why we believe that women are soft and tender and nurturing, because the women in my life have been far more violent than the men.Men, on the other hand, hold the power to validate or invalidate women. Invariably, they invalidate them; how else would they ensure the co

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ntinuation of their own power?But women terrify me, with their spike heels and claw fingernails and blood red lips. Their seductions and manipulations and their trickeries; their hidden agendas. Men’s agendas are usually fairly obvious; they want to shag and devalue you. But women are out for blood and guts; they want your whole life. They want to stand and watch as the last drops of blood seep from your body. And only after you take your last breath and lie lifeless on the ground do they feel satisfied.Having had the misfortune to be born into the hands of an Invader Woman, I have spent my life both running from other Invader Women and trying to receive permission to exist from a man. Perhaps I am running to and from the wrong things.</article></body>

Their Different Agendas

Women and men are, by scientific declaration, members of the same species; but I maintain they belong to two separate species.

Women have the most amazing and contemptible knack for invasion. Being the more powerless of the two species, they find ways to insert themselves into people, to wind and twist their way into a person’s psyche and fill them with a contempt that grows to feel like their own.

I hate this quality about women, but I have a particular knack for attracting women who specialize in invasion and intrusion.

My mother was the first invader of my body, my psyche, and my soul; and she was most thorough in her efforts. There were many successors to her. These women, by violating me and inserting themselves into me, gave me the undeniable message that I was not worthy of existing.

I don’t know why we believe that women are soft and tender and nurturing, because the women in my life have been far more violent than the men.

Men, on the other hand, hold the power to validate or invalidate women. Invariably, they invalidate them; how else would they ensure the continuation of their own power?

But women terrify me, with their spike heels and claw fingernails and blood red lips. Their seductions and manipulations and their trickeries; their hidden agendas. Men’s agendas are usually fairly obvious; they want to shag and devalue you. But women are out for blood and guts; they want your whole life. They want to stand and watch as the last drops of blood seep from your body. And only after you take your last breath and lie lifeless on the ground do they feel satisfied.

Having had the misfortune to be born into the hands of an Invader Woman, I have spent my life both running from other Invader Women and trying to receive permission to exist from a man. Perhaps I am running to and from the wrong things.