Goddess of Beltane, sacred Mother Queen of May, wild lady of the woods, guardian of love and life, welcome to our circle. We women, powerful and sacred, declare upon this Hallowed Night: Our heavenly bodies belong solely to us. We shall choose whom to love and with whom to share trust. We shall walk uponthi earth with grace and respect. We’ll always take pride in our great intellect. We’ll honour our emotions so our spirits may soar. And should any man belittle us… we’ll show him the door!
Mother, I think, wherever you may be, can you hear me? You wanted a women’s culture. Well, now there is one. It isn’t what you meant, but it exists. And here’s what we do. We watch them. The men. We study them. We feed them. We please them. We can make them feel strong or weak. We know them that well. We know their worst nightmares. And, with a bit of practice, that’s what we’ll become. Nightmares. One day, when we’re ready, we’re coming for you. Just wait.
The Handmaid’s Tale | Useful dir. Amma Asante, DoP Zoe White
books i’ve read in 2019 » The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow
I hope you will find the cracks in the world and wedge them wider, so the light of other suns shines through; I hope you will keep the world unruly, messy, full of strange magics; I hope you will run through every open Door and tell stories when you return.
“Those of you who are more than casually familiar with books–those of you who spend your free afternoons in fusty bookshops, who offer furtive, kindly strokes along the spines of familiar titles–understand that page riffling is an essential element in the process of introducing oneself to a new book. It isn’t about reading the words; it’s about reading the smell, which wafts from the pages in a cloud of dust and wood pulp. It might smell expensive and well bound, or it might smell of tissue-thin paper and blurred two-colour prints, or of fifty years unread in the home of a tobacco-smoking old man. Books can smell of cheap thrills or painstaking scholarship, or literary weight or unsolved mysteries.”
“Am I a machine without feelings? Do you think that because I am poor, plain, obscure, and little that I am soulless and heartless? I have as much soul and you and full as much heart.”
