Let there be no question where I–and all patriotic USians–stand today.
Or what we demand.
And ultimately (skipping over a few intermediate steps):
these fckers
Author: Alice
I cook; I write; I feminist.
Zeus Tries His Luck at Online Dating
Or: Even Ancient Deities Get the Blues
- Will you save me the choicest bits of meat when you sacrifice a calf
- Will you sacrifice your first born
- Will you swear to remain a virgin
- Or to become one
- Do you speak in tongues when you speak in prophecies
- Have you been a tree a bird a woman fleeing on foot
- Have you turned into stone
- If you had to choose a ravishing which would you choose
- A swan a bull a cascade of coins
- Hymen is the god of marriage
- Will you obey us
- Will you call us Father
- Will you call us Daddy
- Will you praise us
- Will you praise us
- Will you praise us
- Will you call it love
~e. alice isak
[Quick note for station identification after the jump. Hope you’ll join me!]
Continue reading “Zeus Tries His Luck at Online Dating”The Gift
“Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?”
— Ovid, Metamorphoses
Disregard what poets tell you.
They hear the thump of their own hearts
and think they have discovered a universe.
Or presume that my beloved, musician to the gods
who never flubbed an entrance in his life,
might in eagerness miscount the beats remaining
to lift his wife back out of death.
Turn for me too soon, an accident.
You living march toward darkness
like a parade, joyous and cacophonous
and blind. Whereas I have already worn my shroud.
And I have already tasted ashes.
The sunlight you steep in cannot thaw bones
already chill with such fore-knowledge.
See the truth. In his final triumphant crescendo,
Orpheus heard a single word fall
from my mouth like a stone:
“Turn.”
And true love did.
~e alice isak
A man registering voters at the rally told me he liked my hair.
I told him it was my “impeachment hair.”
At a rally yourself tonight? Please, share your own stories and pictures in the comments — they give me life!
Where will you be at 5:30 tonight?
Rallies are being held across the country, on this eave of the House’s impeachment vote, to call on Congress to uphold their oaths and to impeach and remove the narcissistic thug who has turned our political system into a multi-national criminal enterprise.
Organized by MoveOn.org and local activists, these “Nobody Is Above the Law” events provide us all with an opportunity to take a public stand and make our position on this critical issue unmistakably visible. (To find a rally near you.)
Unsure what difference public protest can make? SHOW UP. Convinced that the fix is already in, in the Senate? SHOW UP. Feeling defeated after enduring the last three years of this sh*t? GODSDAMN SHOW UP.
Turning public opinion includes turning our own opinions.
Convincing others that their voices matter starts with convincing ourselves that our own voices do still matter.
Constant resistance is a hard, often demoralizing posture to hold, day after day. Calls to elected officials can feel like a lonely, all-by-myself process. But. We. Are. The Majority. We have laws, and the Constitution, and diversity, and need, and fricking RIGHTEOUSNESS on our side.
Come stand with me today.
I promise I’ll be standing with you, too.
Medea Before the Argonauts
Somewhere in a story, not yet knowing Jason’s name, Medea dreams of floating away across the wine-dark sea into adventure. Her brother’s dismemberment yet awaits her, and the scattering of his parts upon the ocean like torn bread tossed to ducks. Dragon-teeth remain unplanted, a father’s treasures unravished. Many years and many tales not-yet-told lay between her in this moment and the slaughtering of rivals with sartorial poison, the kebab’ing of sons on barbeque skewers to serve at their father’s remarriage feast.
Do you believe for one moment she dreams unbloodied?
Even before the evils, back when her smiles were still Glenda-the-good-witch charming, Medea caught the mind’s eye. More than Jason ever could, that milquetoast memorable for theft and desertion, and capturing the love of a woman so far beyond him that only rankest misogyny stifling to stillborn our daughters’ horizons explains it.
I would be Medea, if I could. Even in the before, yes. And in the after, a thousand thousand yeses. I would stand bathed in blood and vengeance; I would know the dangers of disobeying and fling myself regardless from an Olympic peak.
Wait. No.
Not regardless.
Regard-full.
Continue reading “Medea Before the Argonauts”