I have a problem with words. They affect me. Sometimes it is the specific information that is conveyed. Like, I am leaving you. Good by. Everyone knows that gut sinker.
But I Blame The Patriarchy does the other kind of words. The ones that probe at the fissures of consciousness and have the power to make you take notice and even alter your behavior. I offer you the link to the current front page. Since recent posts all appear on the front page, you can easily find the following, which contain the message that I am thinking about as I reduce my breakfast to a half roll with honey and a quarter grapefruit and my customary better-than-Starbux Home Brew.
Go To I Blame The Patriarchy (Note that for now or forever the site is renamed Savage Death Island — home of heartwarming nature crap. I am not going to try to parse all that though you can do so on the same page.)
Here are the posts that I am referring to:
This is the paragraph in the latter post that turned my breakfast into a time of vegan rectitude:
It is with an icy shiver that I recall the cold sweats I incurred once upon a time at the White Castle on Manchester and Big Bend in Maplewood, Missouri. A stifling hell-hole of boozy despair, that place. There wasn’t any air in there, just a miasma of grease, steam, and PCP. We’d go there at 3 in the morning after some vulgar binge, when we were so blotto we thought nothing of eating rotting garbage. The hamburgers were like lukewarm reconstituted scabs.
Some people are swayed by reason. I am swayed by lingo. Ouch.
But reason kicks in. There is the Hitler argument against being vegan. If he was, what good does it do? There is the Frank Bruni argument. What happens to all the glowing food reviews?
But on the other side, I sense a preponderance of damning reasons, such as the way we get our toasted animals. The way a lamb becomes a scab, if you will. If I chose prostate surgery over radiating the sucker, wasn’t it because I did not want to wander through the rest of my dotty existence with a radiated organ in my nether regions? Why eat radiated meat then?
I am telling you. If you are susceptible to language and do not wish even to flirt with the prospect of veganism, do not, repeat do not, click anything on this post. But if, like me, you follow dots and otherwise subject yourself to the gambles that make each day decisive, you will take a chance on a simple twist of fate, to do the Maureen Down Thing and coin someone else’s phrase.
Now to the grapefruit.
Oh, and for good measure, the source of some of I Blame’s prose is this salient site http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/