A Dyke A Broad #6
Fun with censorship, anti-lesbian intersectionals, not quite a recipe, and more!
So, it’s Tuesday again. Whatever.
I had already written another two newsletters by Thursday, but decided to spare you the rants about my ultra crap week in which I witnessed progressive people once again show their own desperate love for authoritarians and their tools. Declaring versions of:
“Censorship is not censorship if we do it, with our extremely pure hearts and good intentions.”
I also discovered lesbophobia is not lesbophobia when practiced by progressives, especially lesbians. We even celebrate lesbian organizations (not to mention LGBT ones) that never do anything for dykes, but only pretend to, by calling their work intersectional. They talk about Black Lives Matter but never black lesbians, Economic Justice, but not poor and working class dykes, about Trans Rights, but never all the multitude of ways lesbians have expressed their genders for centuries and what impact that has. They retweet(ed) #MeToo, but avoid all inconvenient talk about how misogyny and the desire to control our hated female bodies fuels the endless erasure of dykes.
Nope, there will be no rant this week.
What you really need is a recipe from my not-soon-to-be-forthcoming cookbook, A Disgruntled Dyke: Bites.
Not Quite Swedish Rye Bread
What you do is wake up disgruntled, decide to make bread. Measure 3 cups of half whole wheat flour into a bowl to make a loaf of nearly whole wheat, but then change your mind, grab the jar of rye flour and dump in what could be a cup, or 1½ cups, or just ¾. Don’t worry about it. Add some salt and some fennel seeds, and stir in 2 cups of warm water which doesn’t seem like enough because it’s still super stiff, so add more. And then a little more. And then a little more until the thing is homogenous, too wet even. Then go away to work at your desk while the flour hydrates.
Come back into the room for a glass of water after a couple of hours, and stare at it resentfully because you’d forgotten it entirely, then toss in whatever amount of yeast is left in the package in the fridge along with a bunch of walnuts and chopped up figs. Regret not mixing in the yeast first. But it’s too late so you mix away with the dough hooks on your hand-held mixer navigating enormous chunks of fruit. Then you drizzle in some molasses. And beat that in, too, but incompletely because the sound of the tiny shitty motor gets on your nerves.
Put the lumpy dough in a greased bowl. And go away again. When it starts to finally rise, stare at it and calculate how long it will take to double. And if that will mess up dinner. And if you should put it in the fridge, or just wait. If you wait, will you ever get to bed? Does it matter? The world is fucked. You shove it in the fridge.
When you wake up nothing is solved. You put the water on for coffee and open the fridge for milk. It’s still there. Pressed against the cover. You leave it there until you finish an essay and go shopping, and come back home. It doesn’t care. It just sits there, immobile in the cold fridge. The figs have sucked up half the moisture. The dough is stiff.
In the afternoon, you drag it out and chop it in half but don’t bother to shape. It should be as rustic as you feel. Desperate even, all packed with such delicious ingredients but relying on your inept hands to be transformed.
Slash the top of the loaf instead of your own wrists, then bake for 25 minutes at 230 C, then reduce to 200 and bake another 25. Turn the heat off, crack the door. Wait. The crust crackles under your knife. Despite your very bad temper it is good.
And…
Here are a few links so you get your money’s worth…
"Censorship stops us from learning and growing." (Not to mention normalizes things for Trump 2.0).
There’s also this article I posted on FB last week, about how women didn’t just sit in their caves popping babies. Woman the hunter: Ancient Andean remains challenge old ideas of who speared big game. Which should come as no surprise to anyone, since versions of this appear every week. Remember how all the vikings in their viking mounds turn out to be women? At least some of them.
At any rate, this news is having a little conversation with the entry below it.
Here’s an Interview IN FRENCH with paleoanthropologist Pascal Picq who in his last work, proposed an evolutionary analysis of women’s subjugation, concluding that it is social, cultural, and anthropological.
"Notwithstanding Rousseau and Marx, oppressions are not the result of the production of wealth and its distribution. These are aggravating factors, undeniable yet not systematic. The origin of inequalities is the control of women. Other forms of slavery and exploitation of social groups are derived from this.”
You don’t have to buy every idea here to find this interesting. Including a tidbit about how people are actually working on identifying an exact starting point for male supremacy which started so long ago.
This raises the question, how do you get rid of something that was introduced so early in human history that we have essentially evolved along with it?— Like agriculture. Or the usage of tools. Can it even be done? Or should we just hope for some cataclysmic event that leaves only cockroaches behind?
In better news, there are even more vaccines in the pipeline!
So if we can just be careful a few more months...
Slightly less disgruntledly yours,
Belly Mogswell