Édouard Louis - Monique s'évade
Présentation du récit de Édouard Louis, Monique s'évade, une commande de sa mère pour rendre compte de sa libération et son évasion.
Avec ce leitmotiv “La honte est une mémoire”, Édouard Louis relève tous ses petits souvenirs de rendez-vous manqués, ces moments de gêne, de ses paroles prononcées, vite oubliées, qui décriait le quotidien de sa mère, même séparée de son père. Elle avait cru encore une fois qu’un homme pouvait la protéger ! Mais, un soir, elle appelle son fils…
“Trois maris, trois poivrots”. Et au troisième,…
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analyses that seek to talk about the relationship between “femininity,” “masculinity,” and social punishment and reward shoot themselves in the foot when they refuse to define what “femininity” or “masculinity” are and instead just consider them to be two distinct, intangible, immutable qualities of objects or people themselves, such that people just kind of are “feminine” or “masculine”—rather than thinking of different kinds of femininities and masculinities as shifting and multivalent categories that are imposed on people, scripts that people manipulate, or ways in which things are read. people who want to analyse femininity and masculinity for their social disciplinary functions are often unable to really get there because they don’t make this distinction. perhaps they assume that we all know what “femininity” or “masculinity” are and so how these ideas are actually created and applied doesn’t need to be theorised?
this gets especially dicey when you start trying to talk about racialised discourses surrounding gender, and leads you to claims such as “Black men are socially punished for their masculinity”—for the “masculinity” that they just sort of ‘have’—rather than the more productive analysis that the concept of “Black masculinity” is a white invention and sexual fantasy imposed on Black men that serves a specific social-political function re: the policing of Black men and racial corralling, division, and denial of public space justified by viewing Black men as a sexual threat; police murder as an arm of capitalist biopower/ control of populations justified by claiming Black men are a physical threat; the government’s role in systematically destabilising the engine of social reproduction that is the nuclear family in Black communities; &c. &c.. To describe this spectacle of an invented threat as “[Black men’s] masculinity” as though it describes anything actually ‘possessed by’ Black men is, I think, weak analysis to say the very least
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really really like how criston exhibits the medieval knightly virtues (generosity courtesy chastity fellowship and piety) more than almost any modern hero archetype and is unambiguously a bad person. he genuinely doesn’t believe he’s going to hell for killing a lot of people (that was for the greater good) he thinks it’s for having sex once
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Fragile masculinity and patriarchal submission.
Texas Republicans got what they legislated. On this Mother's Day weekend, never forget that conservative men despise independent women.
More women will die, and Republicans know it.
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kind of sick of superhero media where the writers are so focused on chasing the gritty, serious, “realistic” ideal and power fantasy that they forget to make them kind. sure your super powerful Guy(tm) might be motivated by a sense of justice and wields enough righteous fury to level buildings. but like. is he nice? does he do more than punch bad guys? does he care about people on a smaller scale, in normal life? is he gentle? bc if the answer is no that’s not a superhero that’s just a cop
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"Guys think about the Roman empire," funny, when you check out who they follow on instagram and twitter its never any history pages, its only ever barely legal girls forced to do Onlyfans for financial security reasons or actresses forced to partake in degrading abusive r*pe scenes. Where's all the Nero and Julius Caesar?
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I’ve only now seen a glimpse of the ‘Women surprised by how often dudes think about the Roman Empire’ meme and I already feel annoyed by it. Men are always so annoying.
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🍁Discord server for radfems in Canada!🍁
•Plenty of channels to talk in
•Update channels automatically share videos and tweets made by women like Radical Ramblings and JKR
•Voice and video channels (movie night movies decided by vote)
•Plenty of emojis, stickers, and username colours to choose from (and more on the way!)
•And of course, private channels for each province.
(these can be used for organizing meet-ups!) Only members with a provinces role -along with admins- can see it's respective channel. For example- Members in Quebec can't even see the Ontario chat on the side bar, let alone access it. To get a province role, members must either include their province in their intro, or ask an admin for one.
This server is for chatting about anything, not just radical feminism, but you have to be a radfem (or rad-adjacent) to join it. This creates a comfortable online space where you are free to speak openly about feminism without getting harassed. (and can still talk about your favorite indie game or whatever)
Of course there is also channels specifically for radical feminism, gender criticism, and citing sources.
(non Canadians please boost-thank you!)
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Lolita Sene - Un été chez Jida
Un premier roman à découvrir !
Premier roman de Lolita Sene, Un été chez Jida raconte l’évolution difficile d’une jeune fille pour trouver sa liberté et son autonomie à partir du silence opposé à sa souffrance.
Dès le début, Lolita Sene raconte la raison de la révolte de sa narratrice. La famille, et sa grand-mère en premier, ferme les yeux sur le crime de Ziri. Lui, c’est le fils cadet de la famille de Jiha, la grand-mère…
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I don't believe institutional misandry is real but I do believe there is an aspect of white, cis-hetero-amato-normative patriarchy that requires male suffering.
At the core of misogyny and queerphobia is the revelation these are tools to police masculinity. This entire system is contingent on that men are afraid they are doing it wrong. The Other is used to threaten, this could be you if you step out of line. And the tightrope that it herds its hypothetical perfectly normal men onto burns the feet.
A Real Man should want a wife and want to have sex with that wife to produce biological offspring. But he oughtn't be a father. Change a diaper? Good heavens, you're emasculated. The most acceptable parental emotion a man is allowed to have, encouraged to look up to, is a kind of territorial rage, the superhero avenging his dead tragic girlfriend, the gun-toting furious dad clutching his little helpless baby girl who's all he has left.
A Real Man should be young-looking, sexually potent, and studly, but he mayn't under any circumstances be caught committing artifice or seduction. Cleanliness or fastidiousness becomes suspect. But of course every fictional male model we're given to look up to, most of them are played by men dieted and styled and carefully dressed and painted and polished with extravagant artifice. But we are led to believe, this is just a Real Man. He's So Manly he is cashing an exception with his bank account of testosterone.
A Real Man is a starving, isolated animal. A Real Man becomes desperate on the woman he is told is his only possible outlet for softness, vulnerability, compassion and understanding, which no human being can live without and which women are not inherently more blessed with any of those traits besides men.
Meanwhile, the two-year-old boys that I watch scamper and play at my workplace seem a fascinating form of animal. If they comprehend themselves as boys at all, it is without this anxiety of competition. They do not see themselves as defined by absence to flinch from anything that's too feminine. They seize princess dresses from the dress-up station, excited by bright fabrics and plastic jewels. They quarrel for teacher attention when they see their long-haired classmates being given braids or ponytails, me too me too me too!
At this point, they are motivated not by a fear of being an inadequate man but by a love for being exactly what they are right now. Whatever experience appeals to them, they want it. As I watch these boys age, I watch many of them- as early as age three- begin to squirm with anxiety. They have spoken to girls too much. Only boys are ordinary, uncomplicated friends. In a few years, will they dread the time they now spend playing house?
Misogyny and queerphobia make a wasteland of masculinity for everyone, in the process of recruiting soldiers for the crusades against the "unmanly". Those campaigns would dry up in the face of meaningful, healthy masculinity that isn't built on a terror of inadequacy and a territorial selfishness not reflected by the world we live in. None of these traits are inherent to men. We can do better. We can escape this. We will live fuller, happier lives without it.
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from Cowboys Are My Weakness by Pam Houston
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(...) Silver had terrible hard work getting up the knoll. What with the steepness of the incline, the thick tree stumps, and the soft sand, he and his crutch were as helpless as a ship in stays. But he stuck to it like a man in silence, and at last arrived before the captain, whom he saluted in the handsomest style. He was tricked out in his best; an immense blue coat, thick with brass buttons, hung as low as to his knees, and a fine laced hat was set on the back of his head.
“Here you are, my man,” said the captain, raising his head. “You had better sit down.”
“You ain’t a-going to let me inside, cap’n?” complained Long John. “It’s a main cold morning, to be sure, sir, to sit outside upon the sand.”
“Why, Silver,” said the captain, “if you had pleased to be an honest man, you might have been sitting in your galley. It’s your own doing. You’re either my ship’s cook—and then you were treated handsome—or Cap’n Silver, a common mutineer and pirate, and then you can go hang!”
“Well, well, cap’n,” returned the sea-cook, sitting down as he was bidden on the sand, “you’ll have to give me a hand up again, that’s all.”
(...)
Silver’s face was a picture; his eyes started in his head with wrath. He shook the fire out of his pipe.
“Give me a hand up!” he cried.
“Not I,” returned the captain.
“Who’ll give me a hand up?” he roared.
Not a man among us moved. Growling the foulest imprecations, he crawled along the sand till he got hold of the porch and could hoist himself again upon his crutch. Then he spat into the spring.
“There!” he cried. “That’s what I think of ye. Before an hour’s out, I’ll stove in your old block house like a rum puncheon. Laugh, by thunder, laugh! Before an hour’s out, ye’ll laugh upon the other side. Them that die’ll be the lucky ones.”
And with a dreadful oath he stumbled off, ploughed down the sand, was helped across the stockade, after four or five failures, by the man with the flag of truce, and disappeared in an instant afterwards among the trees.
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If you are ever in doubt wether my posts with demo and soldier interacting are boots n bombs or not i promise you it is intended to be fully and utterly homosexual
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