Showing posts with label feminist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label feminist. Show all posts

Monday, June 18, 2012

Vagina Blog: No Longer a Dirty Word


In response to the recent political debate involving lawmaker Lisa Brown to be silenced, a movement towards women's voices being heard speaking against this unfair treatment not only toward Miss Brown, but to all women everywhere who are being treated unfairly by the political system, has sprung up. It all started with Veillee contributor Rachel Lynn Brody reaching out to Vagina Monologues writer, Eve Ensler, asking her if she would she be willing to support a round-the-clock reading of her play outside the Michigan State Legislature. Ensler responded by organizing the reading TONIGHT on the steps of MI's capitol. Now, Rachel is organizing one in Union Square, NYC, and heeding the call for bloggers and women-lovers everywhere to have their voices heard.

Here is Veillee co-founder Jessica Pherson having her voice heard. If you have something you'd like to say concerning this issue, please send it to veilleesubmissions@gmail.com. At the very least, spread the word and love your vagina!

No Longer a Dirty Word
by Jessica Pherson

Growing up for me, vagina WAS a dirty word.

It was practically a curse. It felt wrong in my mouth when I said it- even uttered it -and it made me feel…uncomfortable. 

I could never really explain why, but I think I know now. I was only a kid then, simply absorbing the thoughts and feelings of those around me, and clearly, they felt that vagina was not a word you were to speak out loud, unless perhaps in a doctor's office. Even then it was a bit…taboo. To say the name of a body part. Yes, taboo. 

Even as a teenager and young adult  I chose to use other words to describe my vagina, such as "my lady parts", or simply, "down there". Yes, down there. The forbidden region below my waistline. 

For whatever reason, saying penis wasn't as bad. I'd still prefer to say "dick" or "schlong" or "rod" or whatever, but saying penis was never as bad as saying vagina. Vagina. Vagina, vagina, vagina.

I'm all grown up now and I can say it out loud without getting that weird twitch in my tummy that tells me I just said something I shouldn't have. It's the name of my genitals. My birth canal. Where all human life comes from. Why on Earth should I be embarrassed to call it by its given name? 

I have even heard a story from my friend's mother who used to be a nurse, where a woman from a Spanish-speaking country didn't know what the word vagina meant, and thought it sounded lovely. So, she named her daughter Vagina. True story. Somebody out there thinks its a pretty name.

A few years back, I took part in a spiritual ceremony where, with a group, I went into a deep meditation and entered the nether regions of my mind, bringing to light many hidden away thoughts and feelings to the surface so they could be dealt with properly. It was a profound and cleansing experience to say the very least, and one of the feelings I dealt with had to do with my body image and the way I saw my vagina. Apparently, not so subconsciously, I felt that my vagina was ugly and weird. My higher self decided this just could not go on, so I was given a fantastic visual display of vaginas pasted onto faces and flying through the air and generally forced into my vision, up close and personal. And, at first, it made me uncomfortable, as much as I hate to admit that. But, then I saw its beauty. I saw it for the rose that it is, and I felt so happy I couldn't stop smiling. This was something so magnificent, and it was a part of me. I have one of those, I recall thinking. This is the mystical organ that brings human life to this world and brings men to their knees. This is the organ that starts conflict and debate and power. Power to ME. Why oh why should I feel anything negative towards it all?

Yet, here we are. So many of us human still look upon this appendage, this "God's stab wound", as something that causes trouble, and therefore must be controlled. By men. Not the women who they belong to, but the men who somehow got the idea that they are higher than God and believe they are the ones to decide what goes in and out of these "love caves." 

But, NO MORE. Tonight, in Michigan and in NYC and wherever else women who are not taking this crap anymore are standing together to bring attention to this situation before it gets any more out of hand than it already has. I invite you to the steps of Michigan's capital to join Eve Ensler of "The Vagina Monologues" fame and stand in unity against this war against the rights of women everywhere. Can't make it to MI? Join Rachel Lynn Brody and many other amazing women (maybe even myself) tonight at Union Square in Manhattan to bring the message there. Can't make it to NYC either? Start your own gathering wherever you are, however you can. Whether it be in a public place with a large crowd, in the privacy of your own home, or simply in a post like this on the internet- get the word out there! Let's stand in unity whatever way possible and have our voices heard! No bra burning this time- it's time to use our words, our hearts, and our inner vagina-love to put a stop to this silent battle that will be silent no more.

Thanks for reading, I hope I made some impact and perhaps awakened something inside of you as well. Please feel free to submit your words to The Veillee for publishing if you have no where else to put it, and we will be happy to share it every way possible. 


More links related to this endeavor:



Friday, March 9, 2012

Our First Tribute.

An honest and touching poem from our very own Jess, who happens to be one of the women I admire.

The Women I Admire
By Jessica Pherson

I admire the women
Who carry their young on their backs
Who bend over in fields all day
Whose skin cracks over sore knuckles

I admire the women
Who work three jobs for their family
And never complain
Who want to buy themselves a new pair of shoes
But save for food instead

I admire the women
Who stand up for their beliefs
And follow their dreams
Who bring light into this world
Often shrouded in darkness
Who get up everyday
With a smile on their face
Even when someone is out there waiting
To wipe it away

I admire the women
Who have touched my life,
Who have touched our lives,
Who have created the human race

I admire the woman
Who brought me into this world
Who is my shoulder to cry on
Who is always there when I need her
Who I see in the mirror each day

photo by Jessica Pherson


Jessica Pherson is one of the Founders of The Veillee and author of her own blog, Healthy Mommy, Healthy Baby. She works from home part time for an eco-friendly jewelry company/retailer and is also a stay-at-home mom to Lily. She wrote this poem in honor of International Women's Day for all the women whose good works go unnoticed. 

Learn more about Jessica by checking out The Matchbox section of this blog!  


Women...and stuff.

Photo by Ego Technique*










Yesterday, International Women's Day, was unseasonably gorgeous here in New York. I walked through the park, without my coat.  I delighted in birdsong, and spotted a female squirrel running here and there, searching for the hoard she must have stashed during the frigid months. All I could think about was how appropriate the day's beauty was for a celebration of women and all that we bring to the world. And then I started thinking about the solar storm raging in the heavens...and how this warm weather reflects a distinct change in our climate...and how women in other parts of the world are still fighting for freedoms that many of us have enjoyed for nearly a century. Only a century. Which really isn't very long, is it? In the grand scheme of things...

SO, even though I'd love to have you guys to submit some wicked cool sci-fi stuff about solar flares and post-apocalyptic ghost cities, in reference to yesterday's anti-climactic solar storm, I think I'd rather ask you to send in tributes to the inspirational women in your life. If you had to choose one person for "Woman of the Year," who would it be? Post your answer in the comments section of this post, or send them to veilleesubmissions@gmail.com.

We look forward to hearing your stories.

Write on,
Em



* Ego Technique has nothing to do with The Veillee, and does not necessarily support anything we stand for. He, or she, or they, simply took a nice photo of a female figure, which can be viewed at the Brooklyn Museum. http://www.fotopedia.com/items/flickr-3277961180


Thursday, February 9, 2012

Only Anarchist (Avengers) Are Pretty

Greetings Veillee people! We're excited to hear your feedback on today's submission. It's a dreamy little tale, which will have all you artist-trapped-in-office types cheering from your cubicles. 

The weekend is nearly here. Until then, let Kacy Muir sweep you away from your desk and that creepy boss of yours. Just make sure he or she is not hovering over your shoulder...

Only Anarchist (Avengers) Are Pretty
by Kacy Muir

Sharon dreamt the night before. An apocalyptic fairytale with people running out of a building in droves, steadfast and opposite the direction she had been.

When she woke, she felt satisfied. It was 6:45 A.M. on Friday – the only day the office was given permission to dress casually.

Sharon traded in her usual dress and suit attire for something she was comfortable in– something the old Sharon would not punch her in the face for wearing — a gray sweater covering an O.A.A.P. handmade shirt, black jeans, and Doc Martin boots.

Sharon sat at her desk, directly in front of a large office. The door to the office was closed but within the room she heard her boss muted by a woman with a cackling laugh–the kind of laugh that could draw blood.

She blotted her lips in boredom, making a popping sound that echoed throughout the office.

As Sharon rotated in her chair, she passively spent the day thinking about getting out of this place. She became someone she never thought she would– a yes girl to everyone but herself.

She spent most of her days saying yes to her slimy boss Vinny Spinoza – doing all the deeds necessary to keep her job as his executive assistant. But there were some things she was not willing to do.

His advances and his all-too-uncomfortable stares had grown to not just upset her, but to create this notion that the only way he could be stopped was to end him for good. As if she had been some feminine avenger and he, Doctor Arthur Light — entrapping her in darkness.

Sharon really wanted to tell her boss to go screw. She wanted to dial his pregnant wife and say that her beloved husband, instead of doing over-time, was in fact, doing every two-leg opening in this goddamn place.

Years before, Sharon was using words with vigor. Busy banding with her brothers and sisters in the darkened Corner House as they recited slam poetry back and forth over a pint or two.

Over the years, she turned into a babbling baby. One concerned with the expectation of others. It was a disappointing blow to her creativity, but she had to pay the bills. Without a family or a home to call her own, she was her only source of solace.

But, once that notion inside of her began to develop, she became something so much more. As if in all her post punk glory she was shining with the truth and knowledge that seemed to surpass others around her.

When Sharon walked into the office this morning, she had done so with a purpose unknown to every frantic passerby on the street. But for her, she had every reason in the world to continue ahead.

Today, she would burn this place to the ground and with it, Vinny Spinoza.

Kacy Muir is a freelance writer from Brooklyn, NY by way of New Brunswick, NJ. Her life and travels fill her works with such topics as guerrilla baking, Bruce Springsteen, and searching for the real-life Lloyd Dobler. She has been published in The Weekender, an arts and entertainment magazine and Blood Lotus, an online literary journal. She is currently working on a poetry chapbook about her daily subway travels. Visit her blog, Songs of Sirens, to read more of Kacy's work.

Read more about Miss Muir at The Matchbox.