Finding the ovaries…
I don’t need balls. People expect balls. They react to balls like a scripted sex scene out of a badly directed porn series – thoughtless, automatic, and it never goes beneath the surface to what counts.
I need ovaries. I need the ovaries to continue my search for language and expression that creates; for meaning that challenges and provokes thought; for words that empower. I crave for the words that tear past the ripples of normalacy, burrowing deep – drilling past bone to lodge into the soul where it lives, stirring, fluttering, never allowing its human to ever rest again. Words that drive the sleeper to action – to stand for what one is fighting for, to question and investigate.
They are the words to the other self, created by a language that is created when they are spoken. I need the ovaries to stand up and find this language, in spite of those blinded by the other truths, who will never understand their meaning.