Womens, they ain't like men. A woman ain't gone beat you with a stick. Miss Hilly wouldn't pull no pistol on me. Miss Leefolt wouldn't come burn my house down. No, white womens like to keep they hands clean. They got a shiny little set of tools they use, sharp as witches' fingernails, tidy and laid out neat, like the picks on a dentist tray. They gone take they time with em.
Whenever I go into Bloomingdales, I head to the womens shoe section and think, Hmm, maybe Ill get my next girlfriend a pair of those. I always buy my mom Louboutins or Jimmy Choos for her birthday. I have a pretty good sense of style, all in all. Once I figure out a woman, I know what she should wear - which comes in handy when you have a mom and girlfriends. You can always make them happy with a nice bag or a pair of pumps.
AND DESIRE TO IMPRESS THEM YOU ARE MY SPINETRAK, MY SPINETRAK, MY SPINETRAK YOU ARE MY SPINETRAK, MY SPINETRAK, MY SPINETRAK YOU ARE MY SPINETRAK, MY SPINETRAK, MY SPINETRAK ON NEWS PROGRAMS AND APPLICATION PAGES FOR WOMENS' JOBS AND OTHER SIDE TOO LOOKED RATHER BIG SIDESHOW BEGIN YOU ARE MY SPINETRAK, MY SPINETRAK, MY SPINETRAK YOU ARE MY SPINETRAK, MY SPINETRAK, MY SPINETRAK YOU ARE MY SPINETRAK, MY SPINETRAK, MY SPINETRAK
If you look at most womens writing, women writers will describe women differently from the way male writers describe women. The details that go into a woman writers description of a female character are, perhaps, a little more judgmental. Theyre looking for certain things, because they know what women do to look a certain way.
The Civil Rights Act of 1964 was the most sweeping civil rights legislation of its day, and included women's rights as part of its reforms. Ironically, the section on women's rights was added by a senator from Virginia who opposed the whole thing and was said to be sure that if he stuck something about womens' rights into it, it would never pass. The bill passed anyway, though, much to the chagrin of a certain wiener from Virginia.
War is not a computer-generated missile striking a digital map. War is the color of earth as it explodes in our faces, the sound of child pleading, the smell of smoke and fear. Women survivors of war are not the single image portrayed on the television screen, but the glue that holds families and countries together. Perhaps by understanding women, and the other side of war ... we will have more humility in our discussions of wars... perhaps it is time to listen to womens side of history.
When Pat Buchanan came out against the Beijing Women's Conference and there were women standing next to him, smiling and laughing when he was making fun of it, I was so embarrassed. I don't mind when the more liberal or moderate Republican women talk about smaller government or money issues and things of that nature. But when I see a conservative Republican woman in line with the Christian right or coming out against abortion and day-care issues and for taking away womens' aid, I see a self-hating, unenlightened woman, like a self-hating Jew. That blows my mind. I don't get it at all.
Now, it's undeniably true that male writers (including yours truly) are generally and commercially allowed to write about 'girl stuff' without being penalized for doing so. In part this is the same old shit it's always been... I've said before that men who write mostly about men win prizes for revealing the human condition, while women who write about both men and women are filed away as writing 'womens' issues.' Likewise, in fantasy, the imprimatur of a dude somehow makes stuff like romance, relationship drama, introspection, and adorable animal companions magically not girly after all. In a sense, we male fantasists are allowed to be like money launderers for girl cooties." [Game of Thrones and Invisible Cootie Vectors (blog post, March 30, 2014)]
WITHIN DARK HEAVENS, HANDS OPEN UP BOOKS BILLION EYES STARE BEFORE 'EM AS THE AUDIENCE LOOK COSMIC LIGHTS, IT'S GOTHIC IN THE MIDST OF THE NIGHT A STATE OF NOTHINGNESS, A SHEAR BLISS DESCENDED FROM HEIGHTS FROM GASES, I'M DRIFTING TO A LIQUID TO ICE BECOMING FROZEN, THE ONE WHO WAS CHOSEN FOR LIFE IT WAS I, JUST A SPIRIT TRANSENDED FROM JA THE 7 HEAVENS, THE SIXTH PLAIN, THEY SWITCHING MY BRAIN I'M LIKE "DAMN, I'M BEING TRANSFORMED TO MAN FROM ANGEL" I THOUGHT IT'D BE PAINFUL, THEN HE REACHED DOWN HIS HANDS FORMING THE SANDS, "LET US MAKE MAN AND STAND UNTIL THE LAND LET'S MAKE HIM DYNAMIC AFTER OUR LIKENESS MAKING HIM PSYCHIC, SEEING IT WAS RIGHT WITH OUR CONSCIENCE IN OUR OWN IMAGE, BUT LET'S GIVE HIM LIMITS THUS HIS NEEDS FOR SEEDS AND HIS WOMENS AND I WILL PLANT HIS EMBLEM TO BRING HIM BACK IN REMEMBERANCE IN TIME TO COME, FOR HE WAS TOLD 'I AM THE ONE, I AM THE ONE'"
This womens skin is shimmering and pale, her long black hair is tied with dozens of silver ribbons that fall over her shoulders. Her gown is white, covered in what to Bailey looks like looping black embroidery, but as he walks closer he sees that the black marks are actually words written across the fabric. When he is near enough to read parts of the gown, he realizes that they are love letters, inscribed in handwritten text. Words of desire and longing wrapping around her waist, flowing down the train of her gown as it spills over the platform. The statue herself is still, but her hand is held out and only then does Bailey notice the young woman with a red scarf standing in front of her, offering the love letter-clad statue a sungle crimson rose. The movement is so subtle that it is almost undetectable, but slowly, very, very slowly, the statue reaches to accept the rose. Her fingers open, and the young woman with the rose waits patiently as the statue gradually closes her hand around the stem, releasing it only when it is secure...The statue is lifting the rose, gradually, to her face. Her eye lids slowly close.