Intersectionality poses somewhat of a conundrum to me. On one hand, I am allied with the individuals whose experience of oppression is highlighted by intersectionality, though it remains to be the wider oppression, that which is perpetuated through the prevailing socioeconomic reduction of humanity to mere capital for exploitation and manipulation, that I find more urgently in need of slaying. I see no one who is excluded from this wider oppression, which intersections are inherent within. This is why inclusion within feminism appeals so much to me. You may ask, where’s the conundrum? The conundrum is that intersections attract more prominence; with medias seemingly concentrating on and fetishising these nuances, rather than actively trying to promote the all encompassing tyranny posed by the intersections’ wider global transposition.
I admit this blog post is, as ever, subjective for me and may be severely lacking; call me out if you wish. I appear for most intent and purpose a comparatively privileged white (cis?) male, and as much as I empathise, sympathise, and ally myself with those whose oppression is far more overt and impacting than my own, I know I can never truly appreciate the gravity of the situation experienced by more oppressed individuals. This is maybe why I am seemingly more concentrated on the apparent kyriarchal source of all subjugation, and rather less on the relative refinements of intersectionality. It is a fight personally relevant to me. The fight most affecting.
Nevertheless, feminism is the antidote for all oppression. It is the unifying fight. The big precedent. Conquer the systemic oppression of half of our specie’s population and all other oppression will be comparative gravy in its wake. Apart from the inherent cruelty and injustice of the prejudice, from a humanistic point of view it is essential that we all be free and equal to flourish our specie’s social, technological and psychological evolution. I know this “wider oppression” sounds conceited, and maybe sterile, though it is why I will always stand side-by-side with, and be lead by, those whose intersectional fights against oppression and injustice are most urgent and able to utilise me.
I generally think I have become a rather depressed and broken shadow since the woman I love decided she no longer wanted me. My esteem for myself is mostly on the floor with the chewing gum, cigarette butts and dust.
When I think about the times I spend outside the humanistic altruisms and ideals of my mind, I’m not so bad. I am often compelled to tell the people out there how beautiful they are. The strangers. I only do this to those whose eyes meet mine and reciprocate a smile. This isn’t so much a caveat for being regarded as beautiful by my humble and subjective self, but maybe a clumsily conceived signal that’s it’s okay to approach someone to disclose those poetries. I wish I could tell more. There are those who I really really feel could do with hearing the words from another’s lips, however I don’t want to insult through presumption or freak someone out by breaking their inattention.
I could be regarded as somewhat of a chickenshit though, I never hang about beyond the thank you and the light. I am desperately lonely, yet I don’t want my exclamation to be perceived as a come on. I only want to be seen as someone who thinks you are beautiful. The stranger who surprisingly broke the convention of social anonymity to tell you how beautiful you are. A wisp. An urge towards a positive narrative. Maybe one day I’ll be chased down the aisles or streets to be easily convinced towards a drink, though I really have no expectation of that ever happening. I just want to tell you that you are beautiful.
It’s hard sometimes, but I think I am beautiful. I would love to hear that unaccustomed voice tell me so. To fall in love with a wisp. To love a wisp forever.
I am having a moment of down. I must know it will be ephemeral. I am tempted to use the word burnt out, but I fear my melancholy is causing me to be hyperbolic. As I strive to remain in the here and now to shore myself up and invigorate my resilience, I am plagued by the thought that my here and now is as empty as my future, and also my past. Everything seems to be gauged by relationship. I have no relationships. I am surrounded by predictable strangers who only provoke coma and revolt against tiresome parody. My biological fitness is screaming “FAILURE!”
The thought that things may change for the better is illusory; in fact, all thought is illusory. The fact that the Sun comes out from behind a cloud and shines on a face may remove the homogeny, but its contemplation also causes the contrast. With intense light comes intense shadow. With contrast comes comparison. If there’s one thing to be said for the clouds it’s that they so well blend a horizon of remoteness and thirst with an ocean of remoteness and thirst.
The absurdity that has been such a comfort for over a week now is still holding true. However, the cloud of euphoria from empowerment has dissipated for the time being, and I am left with a chiaroscuro of laughter and tears. Right now, I am feeling lonely and unwanted. Absurd reaction to my isolation has produced a non-ness. The laugh has forced down the tears. I am left with an even flow where nothing changes except the level of desperation. I want to be with someone; anyone. I want intimacy. I want to see a smile. I want to hear a laugh. I want to feel the warmth. I want some of the comfort that comes from the lie. I want to remove the paradox. I want my face in the Sun again.
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