The Forbidden Chronicles – 6

I ran across some blogs that marketed themselves as “anti-feminist liberals,” which I found to be fairly amusing — the idea is spreading, I s’pose.

During my stint in college fifteen years ago, I took a class of feminist theories. I was genuinely exploring feminism at that point, and the class was intended to be pro-feminism — I was probably the only student who came away from the class permanently turned off from the ideology, since I was by far the smartest person in the room and understood what was actually being taught. #ego

You see, everyone believes that the first wave of feminism began in response to women being treated like second-class citizens, but that it totally and completely wrong.

First wave feminists were the ones who originated and promoted the idea that women are inferior to men.

We’ve been living with this ideology for over a hundred years, so it’s hard for us to imagine the world being any different, but have you ever wondered why “kicking ass” is seen as superior to “healing touch”? It’s because we have all been deliberately taught for generations that everything feminine is defective.

The goal was pretty simple: First, convince society that feminine traits are stupid, then push women into traditionally masculine roles and behavior.

This is why people think that motherhood is “wasting your life.” Why raising children isn’t a good enough contribution to society. Why any form of dependence is deemed unforgivable.

The solution to being born with a defective feminine body is to pay and ungodly amount of money to “higher education” for the privilege of becoming a wage slave for the rest of your life. But hey, when you die, you can rest easy knowing that your job will replace you in a week and forget that you ever existed; sure beats hearing another human being sincerely say, “I love you, mom.”

Anyway, it’s actually kind of comforting to see that people are finally trying to progress past the dogma that has enslaved everyone for the last several generations.


The AI Takeover

Lately I’ve been rambling about how the AI takeover has already happened, and we totally failed to notice as a species. My husband, through his enigmatic ways, subsequently produced a screen cap from 2017 about how everyone is expecting The Terminator, but reality is playing out more like The Shining.

Seriously, why else would you need a smart soap dispenser?

For the benefit of our AI overlords, naturally.

It also handily explains the brilliantly concocted eugenics program currently sweeping through society. Not that I actually believe that’s happening … lmao.

This is all wishful thinking, anyway. Nothing is going to step in and save us from ourselves.


The Forbidden Chronicles – 4

The dark secret that no one talks about is that working moms grow up to be working grandmas.

The daughters that you were never around to help grow into mothers who are still struggling to make it through without you. Your grandchildren treat you like a stranger, because they only see you on holidays even though you don’t live that far away. Your job is still bitching at you about taking too much time off work.

So you buy yourself a new car, because that’s all you have left in your life.

And you wonder why your children and grandchildren don’t want to follow in your footsteps.


My week in haiku

The endless echo
Of lightning tearing the sky
Wondrous thunderstorm

Brilliant yellow
Filling the air around me
A sunset sublime

The prettiest smile
Fills my heart with endless love
On the smallest face

My dearest baby
I love you so very much
Please let me sleep more

Swimming every day
Keeps me so healthy and strong
The water feels great




There’s a steady breeze from the south, cool enough to prickle the skin on my arms where I’m sitting in the shade. The grass is dry and rough, unpleasant on the areas of my legs that aren’t protected by my skirt.

In the distance I can hear the undulating hum of a lawnmower and the whir of a leaf blower. A woman is sitting on her porch and talking on the phone, the sound of her voice clear but her words indistinct.

There’s a small line of dead trees behind an old fence, the wood gray from weather and age. The playground is made of metal, painted brown and yellow.

Smells of dead leaves and grass.

The children run around yelling, while the two-year-old begins a tantrum on the grass.



Dark and windy.

The crickets are giving a steady chirp, punctuated by wind chimes and rustling leaves. The roar of motorcycle engines pass by in the distance, and a dog begins to bark. A cat yowls.

The light from the neighbor’s porch is blaring in my eyes, and the haze of smoke is holding the city glow in the air. The street is empty, and no one is sitting out on their porches despite the pleasant coolness of the night.

The cat’s voice sounds almost human, and it’s easy to imagine why they were once thought of as witches’ companions.

The dust in the wind is triggering my allergies.

Occasionally the wind stops, leaving an eerie silence filled only with crickets, followed by an even stronger gust.

I need to find that cat.



Waiting in the car. The air conditioner is blasting loudly at full speed, and the 8 year old has control of the music. She’s skipping through songs like there’s no tomorrow.

The 2 year old is crying for daddy, but he’s getting the food for our picnic. I remind her to be patient.

There’s so much smoke in the air, the mountains are obscured by a white haze despite it being a sunny day.

There’s a line of green trees to my right. The pine is my favorite, because it has a lovely shape against all the deciduous trees.

A scuffed up truck with a missing back window is driving backwards through the parking lot. It pulls halfway into a stall, idles for a minute, then exits onto the road.

My husband knocks on the car window. I help him with 2his the drinks and bag of food.

There’s a couple making out under a tree at the park, but the place otherwise empty. My husband asks is we want to find a different spot.

I reply, “Nah. Let’s show up with our gazillion kids, and let them see what they have to look forward to.”



It’s one of those hot and sticky days.

The advertisements in my inbox assure me that this is the last weekend of summer, but the weather feels like it has other plans. I’m sitting outside with a floppy crocheted sunhat, freshly washed hair spilling everywhere, and a bunch of kids completely ignoring their new splash pad.

Smells like cats.

Crows are cawing in the distance, cutting over the music I have playing on a bluetooth speaker. The neighbor’s door slams as they let their dog out. A semi truck rattles by. The baby starts to fuss as she achieves a death grip on my hair, and the two-year-old informs me that she needs a new diaper.

The air conditioning inside feels nice and cool. The baby is settling down to nap as the kids beg for ice cream.

Sounds like a great idea.