The Wayward Rhapsodist

[wayward-rhapsodist]

I sleep so much because it’s the closest I can come to death without the permanence and commitment.

the wayward-rhapsodist

[wayward-rhapsodist]

Giving up is sucking on purpose.

the most inspirational thing I have ever said.

[wayward-rhapsodist]

Though I'm done life goes on.

a six word stoy

[wayward-rhapsodist]

unfinished poem of an unfinished conversation.

We were at a party. The concrete steps were cold against the back of my thighs, And my thighs were a stark contrast to the inky blue night.

We were having a conversation. About uni. About life. About how we never get to see each other any more. And how I miss you. And you miss me too.

But I’m pretty sure I miss you more.

[wayward-rhapsodist]

Writing is complicated, just like you.

- a six word story from the wayward rhapsodist

[wayward-rhapsodist]

Oh Captain! My Captain!

Thank You.

You are loved.

You are missed.

You will always be remembered.

[wayward-rhapsodist]

A letter to my comic idol, gone but not forgotten.

Rik Mayall,

I was very young when I was introduced to you.

My father was a great fan of your work and one evening he sat me down and put on Drop Dead Fred. By the time the film had finished I knew two things. Firstly, Drop Dead Fred was (and still is) my favourite movie and secondly you were the funniest man on the entire planet.

As I grew older my father introduced me to more and more of your work. Bottom, Blackadder and The Young Ones (a favourite I appreciate even more now that I am in university). The more I saw of your work the more I loved it and the more you became a constant in my life.

I was raised on your comedy.

I bonded with my father over your comedy.

I attribute my slightly warped sense of humour to your comedy.

A great deal of who I am is my sense of humour and so I attribute a great deal of who I am to you.

Thank you Rik Mayall, the peoples poet, for being the comedic genius that you are.

My thoughts are with your family. May they not lament in your death but revel in your life. And oh what a life it was.

[wayward-rhapsodist]

If hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the word and never stops at all. Then fear is the thing of skin and bones perched not far behind with shrill wails like a banshee that seep into the mind.

Wayward Rhapsodist

[wayward-rhapsodist]

subtext

A professional pickup artist stated, "Men understand subtext."

If men understand subtext then when a woman ignored them she would be left alone.

If men understand subtext then 'I'm here with my friends' would be their cue to leave.

If men understand subtext then a simple shake of a women's head would send them packing.

If men understand subtext then countless women wouldn't be getting raped.

Men do not understand subtext, they imagine it.

Men imagine that 'I'm not interested' means that a women is playing hard to get.

Men imagine that 'Leave me alone' means try again later.

Men imagine that 'You need to stop' means you need to try harder.

Men imagine that 'No' means convince me.

So Jonathan Sankey, don't you dare say that men understand subtext when we are having to teach men all over the world that NO MEANS NO because if men do not understand that, then they definitely do not understand subtext.

[wayward-rhapsodist]

A Letter to the Boys

A letter to the boys driving in the white ute with red p plates on a Thursday night, Congratulations.  You’ve proved that teenage boys can be absolute cockroaches. You saw my friends and I as were walking to the train station and the first thing you did was wolf whistle out the passenger side window. One of my friends, sick of boys like you, shouted, “Suck my dick assholes!” as you sped off in a hurry to get god knows where.  After you had left we talked about how beyond over we were of boys like you thinking they have the right to yell things at girls from cars. How not only is it disgusting and demeaning but threatening as well. How girls like my friends and I don’t always feel safe in our own bodies as we walk home any time after the sun begins setting, because someone like you might come along and do more than yell at us. We had gotten a little further when you turned up again, this time matching our walking pace in the ute. You asked us where we were headed and if we wanted some company or a lift and we ignored you. You then proceeded to try and impress us by asking us whether we were C’s of DD’s, you were pulling out all the stops at this point, but once again we ignored you. You tried again, we ignored you again, and then you got pissed off. When you realised that we wouldn’t be giving you the attention you desired you got petty and mean. In 0.01 of a second you flipped from hitting on us to abusing us, all because you couldn’t deal with being rejected and ignored. Instead of taking the rejection and driving away you stayed and called us names like, ‘sluts’ and fat whores’. One of you, obviously and absolute wordsmith said, “You’ve got more rolls than a bakery,”  a supposed hard hitting comment. After a couple hundred more meters of you driving beside us and us ignoring you, you finally took a hint and left; yelling a few more insults as you sped off for good measure. At the time I honestly didn’t know how to feel. To be minding my own business walking down the street with my friends then suddenly be harassed left me a little shaken and numb. I now look back at the experience and am torn between two different reactions. My first is undeniable rage. Infuriation at the fact that you and so many boys like you believe that it is your god given right to harass women on the streets. That it is your right to have these girls turn around and pay you the attention you think you deserve. And that it is your right to turn around and abuse the women who ignore you or show no interest in your demeaning and sexist comments. Do you not understand that you have no right to make women feel unsafe in their own bodies. That you have no right to treat girls as objects rather than people. You are not entitled to us and you are not entitled to threaten us when you don’t get you way. My second reaction is disbelief. I cannot comprehend how anyone could be so pathetic as to spend their time yelling at women from cars and following them around trying to get their attention. You and boys like you need to grow up, you are spoilt little boys and you won’t get anywhere in life. Sincerely, The girl who didn’t and still doesn’t have time for you sexist patriarchal bullshit.

[wayward-rhapsodist]

Politely Go Fuck Yourself

Sexism exists.

There are no ands, buts or howevers to this statement. It is fact; and if you don't believe that it is true, politely go fuck yourself.

Im am over being told that the creepy guy at the bar who wont take no as an answer really likes me because he is being persistent.

I am over being told that I should be flattered by unwanted attention that makes me feel uncomfortable.

I am over being told to take demeaning cat calls as compliments.

I am over being told that the creepy comments I receive from old men are harmless because "they grew up in a different social context".

I am over people implying that the high grades that I have received from male professors are not due to hard work but to the fact that these professors want to sleep with me.

I am over situations where this is the truth.

I am over being viewed as an object for the gratification of male sexual desire.

I am over men trying to police my body.

I am over people contributing my emotional states to PMS.

I am over not being taken seriously simply because I am a woman.

I am over hearing that 'attractive' women who are raped should be flattered and 'unattractive' women should be thankful.

I am over hearing countless rape jokes.

I am over victim blaming.

I am over viewing the contents of my purse as my own personal arsenal ready to use in the event that I am attacked.

I am over feeling unsafe in my own body.

I am over being treated as a means to an end, I am an end in myself.

And if you think that this is untrue, you can politely go fuck yourself.

[wayward-rhapsodist]

'Virgin' You spat the word out like day old coffee. Like its presence was an offence in your mouth. You are ashamed because you are one. A virgin that is. Your embarrassment is not unreasonable. No. Never believe what you feel is unreasonable. But do not let this construct of society dictate your self worth. It is worth nothing and you are worth everything. So hold you head high my dear because you are not your virginity. No woman is. You are not a victim of a social construct. You are a living breathing enigma.

The Wayward Rhapsodist (wayward-rhapsodist)