I wholeheartedly apologize for my recent abrupt and
unannounced hiatus. For those of you who may be wondering, where the fuck was
she? I have been meandering about amidst the future Sylvia Plaths of the world practicing the value of serenity, learning that vulnerability is not only a sign of
humanness, but strength, etcetera, etcetera; somewhere where people who frown
too often become convinced that happiness is not a sign of weakness. A place that forces people who haven't been themselves for quite some time to awaken from their dreamy facade and swallow the nightmare, whole. Anyways,
enough of that sappy personal shit no one gives a damn about.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Do you even realize what you're saying? Do you even care?
Can your parents look at you without feeling they have completely failed you? Do your enlightened friends tip-toe around the subject, as if you’re now a piece of glass that may shatter at the slightest touch? Is there a thick brick wall between you and the world so that no matter what you say, it’s always a foreign language?
Did it steal your childhood innocence away in a matter of minutes? Did a car drive by and not even stop? When girls cackle about their “first time” and “OMG, my V-Card” do they fail to see the irony when you spit, “I still can’t ride a bicycle.”
Do you hate yourself for thinking somehow it was your fault? Do you sometimes feel guilty as if you made the wrong decision only to feel guiltier for ever blaming yourself? Do the scars remain as permanent physical evidence of the tragic endeavor? Did he laugh as you squirmed under the wide pan of his stomach?
Was it literally stolen from you? Is your body nothing but a source of pain? Are their particular movements, hues, sounds, anything that can send the whole act replaying in your mind? Do certain scenes spin around and around in your mind like a carousel? Does the spinning never stop? Are you always always always dizzy with memories? Do you play music so fucking loud when you’re in the shower so no one can hear you screaming? Do you abrade your own flesh until you bleed in the thought that maybe; just maybe, you can somehow bleed it all away? Is their a constant film of disgust daubed about your being? Are you in a perpetual fight with your body because you feel like you have failed it? Are you obligated to tell anyone who touches you, both now and in the future?
Oh, what’s that? Yeah, I didn’t think so. I guess your finals didn’t “rape” you. I suppose your team’s big lost was not equivalent to being “raped.” When your teacher accidently bumps into you in the hallway he is not “practically raping” you. Rape is not an expression or hyperbole, it actually exists and happens, to real people, all the time.
Did it steal your childhood innocence away in a matter of minutes? Did a car drive by and not even stop? When girls cackle about their “first time” and “OMG, my V-Card” do they fail to see the irony when you spit, “I still can’t ride a bicycle.”
Do you hate yourself for thinking somehow it was your fault? Do you sometimes feel guilty as if you made the wrong decision only to feel guiltier for ever blaming yourself? Do the scars remain as permanent physical evidence of the tragic endeavor? Did he laugh as you squirmed under the wide pan of his stomach?
Was it literally stolen from you? Is your body nothing but a source of pain? Are their particular movements, hues, sounds, anything that can send the whole act replaying in your mind? Do certain scenes spin around and around in your mind like a carousel? Does the spinning never stop? Are you always always always dizzy with memories? Do you play music so fucking loud when you’re in the shower so no one can hear you screaming? Do you abrade your own flesh until you bleed in the thought that maybe; just maybe, you can somehow bleed it all away? Is their a constant film of disgust daubed about your being? Are you in a perpetual fight with your body because you feel like you have failed it? Are you obligated to tell anyone who touches you, both now and in the future?
Oh, what’s that? Yeah, I didn’t think so. I guess your finals didn’t “rape” you. I suppose your team’s big lost was not equivalent to being “raped.” When your teacher accidently bumps into you in the hallway he is not “practically raping” you. Rape is not an expression or hyperbole, it actually exists and happens, to real people, all the time.
Bella, the worst thing for the advancement of women this decade.
Alright, alright perhaps America's Twilight craze has come to an end, but that does not excuse the fact that the series has sold more than 85 million copies worldwide or occupied the top of USA Today's bestseller list for the entire year of 2008.
Unlike other phenomenon book series, Meyer's series does not appeal to a large demographic. If you don't believe me, how many teenage boys or college grads do you know who'd wear merchandise stamped with sayings such as "I (heart) Jacob" or "Team Edward"? Within Meyer's stories, the female characters are portrayed as mere girls. They're naive and codependent. They attend strictly all girl slumber parties. However, the male characters, with their alluring muscles, courage, and testosterone-driven male aggression are clearly much more than boys; they're men. Not surprisingly, Jacob and Edward's characters drive the story from beginning to end. With whom will Bella live happily ever after? Oh, the agony of anticipation!
So, what's the appeal of such a series? In a culture where oral sex is as casual as a high five and one night stands are preferred over commitment Bella's chastity and dependence on the men in her life reads as romantic in comparison. Young female readers drool over those handsome men and are not threatened by Bella, who instead of being class president or the next Mila Kunis, is an simple yet relatable girl who occasionally nibbles on Pop-Tarts.
Everyone loves a sappy romance story.
Everyone loves a sappy romance story.
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