I’m writing my Master now. That’s sort of cool. Dabbling in transmedia and stuff. Another reason why this blog is awefully quiet. Hopefully I’ll figure out a plan soon.

There has been so much this year. Mostly it’s been about rape. For the first time in my life, I have a boyfriend who is brave enough to stick around and listen, and to understand that if I break down crying, it’s not his fault. He is enough of a person to listen to me when I talk about how our culture has ruined my sexuality, because as a woman I learn to “give” sex, not have sex. I learn that sex is something that I either grant, or people take from me. As Sally says in Coupling (one of the best series ever by the way) : “We got what they want, and we gotta sit on it”

And you know what happens after years and years of just accepting that shit has happened to you, and you could never ever talk about it? When you finally open you mouth and start speaking up? You fall apart. You cry, you scream, you fall. Because suddenly all that sorrow, all that anger comes back. Every. Damn. Second. I’ve started to get physical reactions too, my body is acting strange, my stress-shoulder (it goes up when I get too stressed) is in so much pain I whimper if someone pushes it, I go all stiff if anybody so much as nudges me without asking first. I can’t take sexjokes. I can’t stand being touched in certain ways. I get panic attacks. I fall apart.

That is what happened. I’m still holding back from the big fall, when I’ll have to handle that one of the guys called me up and called me a liar. Why? Well, my best friend started dating him even though she knew what he did to me. And I, after quite a long while, broke contact with her. And he got mad at me for making her sad. His comment was: “You know, it wasn’t rape, I didn’t see it that way at least“. I hung up. We haven’t spoken since. I have nightmares about seeing him, and daydreams about clawing his eyes out. I wish I would have told the police. But I pretended to like it to get away. They would never believe me.

It’s fascinating. Everytime I mention that time, I start getting all worked up, I can’t stop talking or writing. It’s still a big soar. I would love to get over it. Probably wont happen.

But the boyfriend listens. He listens and he holds me and he stays with me and he does his best to understand me. And even though this has been one of the scariest years, I’m so grateful.

And then. Something happened.

The swedish campaign #prataomdet started up, more or less spontainiously, and spread like wildfire. It was a reaction to the whole Assange business, the whole denying of rape. The whole treating sexcrimes as if they are uncommon and strange and only done by weird lonely men hiding in the park. The campaign isn’t about Assange and his possible doings, it is a reaction to what has been written about it and what Assange himself, plus Israel Sharim has done. They smeared the victims. Many lies have been bouncing around the internet, CIA-connection has been discussed, the womens feminism has been pointed out – because a feminist can’t be raped. Or something I don’t know.

What makes me want to #talkaboutit, is that many has used the possible victims irrational behavior as a reason for this to be untrue. And it shows just how little people know about rape.

First time somebody took liberties with my body that I didn’t give them, I was 15. I managed to fend him off, just before he tried to penetrate me. I was a firm believer of that I should be able to stop whenever I want, even if I’m naked. I still believe that, but now I know that it doesn’t help what I believe because if a person has more muscle power, he can pin you down.

I went home and showered for an hour. Then I pretended nothing happened.

Next one up was a guy I was in love with. He did a lot of horrible stuff when he was drunk, he used violence, he did things to me when I was asleep. He was strong. I tried to fight him off, one of the time there was people in the room. They thought my sounds was from pleasure. They weren’t. After a while I gave up, and faked just so it would be over.

Next time I was at a festival, two guys, they seemed nice. They offered me drugs. Then they stopped listening. I didn’t call the police afterwards, I was still high. But a friend did. The police arrested them but let them go. There wasn’t enough proof that they had understood I didn’t want to. It wasn’t enough saying no.

Next time again, it was a long term boyfriend. He wanted me and I didn’t want him. I said no. I said stop it. He didn’t. Afterwards he didn’t understand why I cried. When I a year later dumped him and said it out loud. You raped me. He said no, he didn’t do that, he would never. But he did.

These stories are no secrets. I’m not ashamed of this. It’s not my fault. And the last days something important has happened. Suddenly my friends and I had said “Yes, it has happened to me too”, and shared our stories openly, with eachother, not caring who hears.

A small glimmer of hope in me has started to shine. Maybe I’m not alone anymore, wanting to talk about this openly, maybe I’m not the only one ready to stop hushing when these stories are told.

Whatever the meta-discussion about this says, we need to show just how common this is. Just how badly we need to take our bodies back from a society that treats them like shit.

I’m proud. I survived. I came out stronger. And I hope that somehow, this will start something new.

”However it begins, it’s gotta be loud
and then it’s gotta get a little bit louder.
Because this is how you write a political poem
and how you deliver it with power.

Glare until it sinks in.”

How to write a political poem

by Taylor Malik

Recipe for a poem

You need:

A subject you care about

Paper

Pen

Dictionary

Start with writing one line. This is your “hook”. For example I’ll start my poem with ”I never saw that”. This line we will reuse several times in our poem.

Skip one line and then write an explanation that takes about four lines.

My example goes:

”I never saw that…

That thing you claimed

you saw

with all its glory

Maybe it was hidden from me”

Next, we put in that first line again, to make our reader or audience get a feel for the poem. Make them feel the rhythm. Make them listen.

This part can be any length, but preferably more than 8 lines, so go into a bit more detail!

My example continues:

“I never saw that

and I don’t believe in hiding things

I don’t believe that was it

….” and so on..

When we have finished this part, we use a variation of our first line again, in my case:

“I can’t see it”

or something similar. At this point the “that” in my poem has been a bit more explained. The reader or audience has an idea about what I talk about, so now it’s time to wrap it up neatly.

Start with your “I can’t see it” and add on the next line “because.. “, and explain to your listener. Let it take about four lines.

Now, you have almost finished, all you need is a punch line. In my case it will be

“because there is no silver lining”

All in all my example would be something like:

“

I never saw that…

That thing you claimed

you saw

with all its glory

Maybe it was hidden from me

I never saw that

and I don’t believe in hiding things

I don’t believe that was it

I don’t believe in the words

so filled with nothing more

than letters filling space

hanging out in corners

waiting for better things to do

better words to attach themselves to

your words

that there is always a silver lining

I can’t see it

because

that world is dead

that one right there

where haiti falls into pieces and the preachers reach for guns

and guns reach out and touch the hearts of bankers

and there is nothing left but falling

apart

because there is no silver lining.

“

Now, it’s your turn!

This day sucks, so instead I’ll spend it dreaming about this guy.

Now, some of you may here wonder how that happened, but me, I’m not surprised. First of all, we have the group dynamics to count in. Young people, not even out of their teens or just recently out othem, are even more sensitive to peer pressure, group dynamics and mob mentality than more grown individuals. They have a bigger need for belonging somewhere.

When you are a teenager, you’re in an age where you are suppose to find a “pack”. To be able to follow a group is crucial. That instinct, that started out as a helpful tool in growing up, ends up being quite ugly when it comes to situations like these.

Second, we have the extremely low respect for women that seems to be a part of modern culture everywhere. Or rather, the low respect for human beings at all amongst men/boys. If it wasn’t for the fear of being called gay, I have no doubt that they would rape eachother equally much as they do women.

I was on my way to do an abortion last spring, but my body got rid of it without the help of a doctor. For me it was the simplest choice. I just didn’t want a child. I don’t even like children. I wasn’t sad, it wasn’t a hard choice, the minute I realized I might be pregnant (period was 4 days late) I got a test, checked and booked a time to make an abortion. I didn’t even at all think about “keeping it”. Afterwards, any regrets? No, none at all.

I know friends who actually wanted children, who found the abortion thing (if they done one) sort of sad, in terms of it being sad because it reminded them that they can’t have children just yet, or whatever. But not one of them regretting making an abortion.

Their reason? Wrong time in life. My reason? Don’t like babies, wrong time in life, freaks out when thinking about having some tiny alien in my stomach ruling my life and being all icky and covered in horrible fluid stuff just gushing around in there… oh god. UH. Anyhow. And this far no one claimed this being wrong of me. As long as it a potentially healthy potential child I aborted, people agree that it’s my choice and my body.

But if I’d say: No, I’ll abort this one because it’s a boy (I really do have a problem with baby boys. If I dislike babies, I dislike boys even more. I have no idea why.), people would be all over the place throwing rocks and tomatoes and whatnots at me.

If I’d abort a foetus because it’ll most likely have a handicap that will make it’s life harder, shorter.. And my life and my partners will also be harder, etc. People would get the crazies. Obviously, if you decide to have a child by pregrancy (not adopting or other ways, surrogats, you know, stuff like that) you have to take what you are given. As soon as you say “I want children”, you loose your right to your body.You loose your right to decide about your own future, because you said the magic worlds. If you want children, you can’t in anyway say that you’d prefer a healthy child for example, because you don’t think you would be able to give a sick child a good life, or a mentally challenged child, or a handicapped child…

No, no, that’s morally wrong.

I don’t get this, at all. How can something like knowing your own limits and acting according to that knowledge, be wrong? How can it be wrong to not force a child to grow up in an enviroment not suited for them, not able to provide them with what they need to be happy?

Why does the magic words “I want kids” take away all your own rights to a happy fulfilling life?

Not thinking women are horrible creatures doesn’t necessarily make you a better person, because, in many many cases, the quiet by-standers are just as guilty of the crime.

I don’t want to bash my … friend … too much though, he is new to feministic discourse and everything, and he is a bright, intelligent man. When I pointed this out to him he did understand and so on, but I wanted to write about it anyway, it got me thinking.

No, I’m lying. That’s not what I said. Because really, I’m such a door mat, I said to him Sure, those jokes are funny and all, but sometimes I’m a bit sensitive, and then it’s not ok. And praise teh lawd, he did cut down on them after that and a long, looong, LOONG discussion about feminism, a topic he is quite new to. I didn’t take that discussion in obvious connection to the jokes, oh no, wouldn’t dare that, but it worked. And I was happy.

Or rather, it worked a bit. Because what is left now, is that every so often, he just sneakes in a misogynist comment, masked as a joke, and I don’t dare to comment because it’s not as often as before. According to him, women are not to be trusted, are manipulative, evil and horrible. Why? Because poor him, he grew up in a world where the girls where always right. He even claims his teachers gave the girls in the classroom better grades and more space, because they were girls. I’m amazed, since all research shows the opposite, but that the girls and the boys usually thinks the girls take up more space than they actually do. But that’s not the case in his world, no, all women have misshandled him in different ways, have refused to treat him as an equal and so on, he have really grown up in the world of Egalia. I find this rather hard to believe, but I really try. Why? Because he is one of the most intelligent, nice, warm and all together fantastic people I’ve met, and I really don’t want to think of him as just another sexist. The realization here is that most guys are. I know plenty of people dumb enough to go all Hey, I’m not! right now and for the sake of things, let’s say: Ok, not you. But plenty of other, completely normal guys are. Most people, men or women, actually, are quite sexist. Me included. The difference is: I try to do something about it. Just like Fugitivus writes on her blog here, which really is a continuation if this post, and so on… Jokes are about relieving tension, and jokes about how horrible women are, is I think, about relieving tension about having to walk around all day and pretend that you like women. I very seldom make jokes about how horrible spiders are, because I don’t have to pretend to like them. I can just admit it here, in the open: they are horrible. And I seldom make jokes about how horrible puppies are, because I like them. But I do make jokes about how annoying it is to be a woman and always be one step down in the food chain, because it is annoying. And I can’t talk about it in the open, because nobody likes a feminazi*. And I need to relieve the tension I get from everyday fighting, screaming and kicking to get anywhere at all in life. But he seems to need to relieve tension from not really liking women at all. How handle that?

It feels just horribly sad. I really like this guy, and he is such a wonderful person in all other aspects, but being with someone who is under cover misogynist is equally bad as if an immigrant would date an under cover nationalist/racist.

Remember kids! “It’s just a joke” isn’t any fucking excuse to make jokes that makes it look like you brain and your ass has switched places.

*Feminazi: someone who mentions feminism in positive terms when there’s men around.

Why is that? Off course the global web wont disappear in any way, but at least I think we move further and further away from browseroriented use of the internet and towards application-oriented. Also, the usage of global networks in applications will stop being a feature you promote, but being something you assume to be there to begin with. And do we really need to talk about surfing the web, when we are constantly? As society goes more and more digital, and more and more global, what we do need to talk about is what is not global, not digital. Like a word like snail-mail. We assume that mail is e-mail, the “e” has become obsolete, thus the need for words that define the other type of mail, the less common type. Old school postal style letters on paper-mail.

To surf the net is a definite action. To just work with interactive applications that uses internet based systems/apps/databases as a resource is not the same action. And takes a lot longer to say.