Conquistadora and her clientstates or love tales this side of the war on women economically political and this

side of wikileaks post-nationstate for the convention on elimination of all forms of discrimination against women fighting sexism one country at a time arab spring generation x a problem in the analysis of julian assange's sexual proclivities that women might have needs or guilt or be the subject of the voyeuristic elbow. That we might be victors, takers, users, the eaters of men! It is not merely julian who eats women like a job perk. The life force loves women, and releases cables. The women, themselves are many more than two. are the interesting millenial biases which affect international abilities to speak of or conceive of the female sexuality . . . While our great forebears anais nin or simone de beauvoir made headway into the realms of incest and the second sex, it is still certain, that various cultural prejudice affect our ability to conceive of female desire. More important than the autonomy or desire of female bodies, are the economic factors which create the climate in which women might transact sex and corrollaries. As typical in all judeo christian moralities, the bodies of women are often conceived of as free of desire, as prey, as the consumed. Indeed women are encouraged to commodify their flesh, as other economies exclude them. As the woman owns 1% of the worlds property and indeed property is theft, so too we must remember the ways women are property. As property of the state, we are now expected to vote, pay tax, and indeed transact our gender across graphs sociological and economic.

As women receive underpay and underrepresentation in america, there is no scale on which they might think themselves fully human. Or experience uncommodified desire. The economies of male religion, bind together economies of power, in which pedophilia hid under the veneer of homophobia and genteel misogyny. And this forms an economy under which we transact our flesh. We are not presumed to experience desire. Indeed our men are mutilated and covered in plastic. They consume great masses of estrogenic beer and marijuana, and female cow endocrine bodies, lest we perceive them as male homo sapiens. Rarely, then, there might occur within the gender spectrum, the male body less toxified by the ambient petroleum in the air and birth control in the water. And say, presume he is desired. Perhaps she, the desiring, desires many things. But her bisexuality has been repressed as the commodification of her flesh as ingrained from early age has taught her that many economies will torture her until she buys wealth with beauty, buys power with beauty, buys survival with sex. And so her love for women might sleep under the economy of necessity, which promotes the heteronormative economies of sexual transaction. This is not considered sex work, but rather marriage, an economy of church/state which sought to bear the fruits of sex into citizen/client. But presume, there is a woman. Presume she has desire. Presume she takes. Wildly, liberally. Presume she needs nothing from man but that which he might give her for pleasure. Presume he can't suffice.

Presume she is of high IQ and seeks to increase it. Presume she cares not for sex 80% of which is un-worth-having. Presume her mind is voracious, for norwegian, for french, for architecture and law. She desires technology and survival. She has nothing. The state has collapsed. There is no more education. But in the metropole, there are men, richer than she, more well traveled. She remember, is denied employment, advancement, equal pay. She is disqualified by her gender from top pay, government, management. Her father is penniless and she sits outside the ivory tower longing for the prep-school dreams that are at once denied her. The jobs. She enters her dreams as the eater of man. She experiences the world-traveled rock star. She tries the tech entrepreneur. The economist. In them she lives, the many male worlds denied her. She kisses a lawyer, not for his slimy tongue, but for his knowledge and money. She dreams inside the forbidding world of computer programming, at once which has excluded her to the literacy of books and from the male privilege of computer monopoly. She travels to tech lands where men program the new apocalypse. She feels elegant dating fashion she cannot afford. She wears men like clothes. Once a man is lovely enough for her eyes. She has him and sucks the contents of his mind, all too bright for his lack of education. She revels in his age, two thirds hers. He can perform. She tries the architect and he guiltily offers her a job. She is told she is not thin enough for the permanent hire. Then she toils after dust, but it is never clean enough as the world burns. Her rapists were more direct, but not so different to the conquered. They could not hear no, nor could she. Men told her no. no money, no job, no priest, no president. No diamonds, no thank you, no smile.

No had a way with hope. No hope. Have no hope in me, he said. She said of course not. And then what was this thing called love, some perfect mix of fear and greed? Once there were academic men. One wrote since you have no direction in life as if his condescending diagnostic exculpated him from the greedy way he took of her body without sharing his parents never ending wealth. But she lived through these things, books and perfumes and the things he donated in his flight. She ripped the contents of his mind, including his insults, which flew from his mouth like spikes. One said, stop obsessing on me, i'm not obsessing on you. She said, but I thought you like me around. He said, but you buy me carpets and clean my house, that was clearly not love. She thought of his hands ever after and every corner of her body he explored and the way she bled and pained for him, that his kindness might be mistook for love a bit longer. She weighed the cost. Perhaps it was she who preyed. On surface these things money and power and jobs, the things she was denied, seemed simple ways men kept themselves amused, whilst they worried about their impotence and hasty ejaculations. There was not one who ever truly fulfilled her. The one who did, screamed at her the entire time. And she would coax him to her, knowing well she would not ever be so well done again, and how intolerable was his anger and derangement. Or one who might almost have, held his head in clouds of smoky confusion and sucked the milk of cows so thick, he became to her bovine in his magnitude, and they spoke of his repressed love of boys and she knew she was not man enough for him, under the blood red sky. The transaction of yes as no, and no again held sway. As woman was a thing unpresumed to need want or crave pleasure, it was then a while into pleasure that she poured her heart into having every pretty boy that caught her eye. Then shortly they ceased to amaze her. All they seemed were tubes of intestines surrounded in fourlimbed shells.

All they were were the same, under cro-magnon skulls. She began to crave emptiness more than any way they might have at one tiny bit of pleasure. She might lie in a bed as empty as a vase, with hair sewn on like a voodoo doll. She had nothing. And then she sought esteem. Her friends might know her by her man. His power she wrapped round her like a golden dress. He had not time to love her, just as well, the solitude of his indifference, gave way to his dismissal when her illusions crashed through the ceiling. That he would not bore her too!!!!! What next? So through. There was looking, and as for looking a dublin lad's red hair might hide his trying times. Or the red norse beard for his hamburger teeth. But then, never one so elegant for her walked the earth. There was once one that wouldnt give in. she wanted not the carnality of him, so tired she was of being dissatisfied again and again. She wanted his eternal adoration, which at times she felt. She made him muse and end of all time. But things grew worse. She grew poor and her father died. Her love of men grew less and less. At times to impress him, she had at a way at collecting the others like pebbles to show him and brag. He told her you look well. He said he liked her ring. She gave it away to impress a two hour date and a five minute friend. He said i'm over it meaning her. And so then all the arab springs deep into her hijab, she could not wear. Staring fondly at the elegant dubai black, she imagined the form she would take, walking into the room of male world leaders and male money takers, a wraith in black.

It was not the empires of men to delight. The internet splayed itself like a cannibal to itself. Imposters shouted profanities as if all the waning testosterone might be composed into one magnificent word, the terrifying shit. one said hang-on. that was a lot. Another died. He took his life on 9/11 and the heroin needle spiked his bloody arm. It tasted like onions. One had fish hands and a pretty heart.

His hands toiled with fish until his allergies made them weep. His hair streamed down into his beautiful song. He cared not for sex. Now if she were beautiful, her perceptions of power might be grave. As moderately attractive were just enough to get most into bed, they would truly sleep with anything, just once she knew. And so indeed, eventually, the ego boost of it collapsed. She transcended continents. She disproved her racism. Korea, haiti, montreal. She had them all. Not japan. Heart japan. But more of women. She could conquer men. But of women, she was in pain confused. Her heart sank into the murder of the homosexual. The condemnation of her nation. Everywhere the deutsche folk commandment to heterosexualize the birth marketplace, the sex work ambiance of civilization. The last one pressured her completely. It were not for wanting him that she let . . . his stink had her ill, but she was homeless in the wrong land. His mind was cash. He'd give her poetry or interview, but sleeping with him was not the need, but forgetting the one she loved.

She could not look at stockholm anymore. Her men breathed and slept there, like a litter of puppies. It was almost like rape. Then the one she was trying to forget explained: when you cuddle with a man in sweden it is expected that you will sleep with him. Rubbish! She wrote her love about sex for rent. Veni vidi vici. She had not any men since then. They had a way with their songs, when her grand canyon had laughed off most would-be . . . And so the discrimination, in the world of money and jobs and government, seemed a funny game from the deformed endocrine specimens of america, who could neither please her with their curse words or their failed love making, their man breasts and violent attitudes, their rapes and racism and homophobia. She was so certainly turned off. But swedish bombs, could only work so long.

And then it all went grey, and she never wanted another man. But there was a time she was conquistadora, counting up all the impressive men she ever slept with, in a tent like tracey emin. The tourists, united nations. But the way they preyed on her poverty and nationlessness, under the all male church and all male presidents, or the state munificence of cigarettes and health care and petroleum, had a way off. And the only one she might of loved, was miles away, employed in love with a rich girl, so he might survive, to be buried beside her, or so she hoped, in the endless grief of his no like a shriek. His no said yes, and later, and called her petal. His no said because. She felt the ways his love toil had cashed all meaning from him. He was something because, of the way he ran circles round the others, and a kindness in his eyes, and the employment in love which so currently, canceled her hunger for him, because he was a brother and spiritual soul mate from the start, and she first said upon looking, i'll have none of it.

None of him is what she wanted from the first, except to love him to her grave. Which is what she did on into the empty empires of her becoming, conquered by the hours, by pain. Haiti israel norway sweden germany france basque mexico korea morocco egypt south africa united states of america braingarbage for the human liberation of women's sexuality and for the men who raped me mark reynolds a white aryan american male philosophy major who attended vanderbilt university and for a man called worm who after raping me and verbally abusing me and choking me decided for some reason, not to kill me for job discrimination and glass ceilings everywhere for the male catholic church leaders for teaching me my first 18 years that women cannot be spiritual leaders for my mother who told me I cannot be a president because I am female for all women to experience hope, confidence, and to fix the planet fast with strong leadership a world free of rape and pedophilia and harassment for all men falsely accused of rape for the future of communication

for the PR of wikileaks that it might improve and that assange might not repeat his tired joke about saudi arabian sex site ten days before rape extradition hearing appeal for a future involving consensual use of language mary eng braingarbage for those who cherish their free speech to denigrate women in the university, the workplace, the male non-profit, the public marketplace, yet seek to smother and gag my free speech to call them sexist for the convention on the elimination of all forms of discrimination against women and for the high power propaganda punch goal: fix world b4 age 37 make world happy for boys and girls no more collateral murder no more dont ask dont tell no more torture no more guantanamo no more fur no more dominator culture so wikileaks julian assange might go vegan

And renounce all forms of discrimination against women, including verbal abuse at his 25 pound meet and greet