A drover lives in isolation Dreams of a lady’s hand Until he reaches the city And finds that his boots Are a little too dusty
good men brave and true do not fear the leap into danger it is for women and children to sit home and quiver until the good men do not return
In the afterlife mystics nebulous, supernatural spiritual female souls search sacraments, internalising blame. Penitent pawns gesture, curious priests castigating celestial glory, communicating with angels tempted by women’s receptivity, exciting his lust.
Fear is the weapon against laughter, freedom, liberty is too freely used for being, just to be; hope runs scarlet in the streets, grief sirens down below power is existence but there is no surrender.
Facts of life annihilate the self, rules are there to be broken in the struggle for survival that promises happy ever after; the romance of the virgin is just a fragment of truth.
Over the last couple of days I have finished my Christmas shopping and spent way too much money buying presents for everybody. I love the feel of Christmas shopping—the carols playing, excited children, tinsel and happiness in the air. But among all the festivities I couldn’t help but noticing how gendered everything is. Most shops…
Jane Austen among Women – by Deborah Kaplan I found this book in an academic remainders bookshop the other day and, of course, as soon as I saw it was about Jane Austen I just had to buy it. I fell in love with Jane Austen when I was fifteen after a friend introduced me…