Scent Of Sulphur

Since this whole Weinstein thing surfacing I’ve been watching an army of self-proclaimed feminists waiving their clenched fists around & screaming at the top of their lungs of the injustice. But I’m wondering… …where are their outrage & clenched fists when pictures of decapitated schoolgirls appears on the ether? …where are their accusing indexfingers, which are usually pointed in the patriarchal direction, when women around the world are denied the right to wear whatever the hell they want (PATRIARCHY!), like we in the west are…or when girls are shipped back to their parents’ country of origin to be taught “proper values”. Where the f**k are their collective screams when women & men (equality, ey?) are being brutally raped!?!  So excuse me for turning a deaf ear to the whole feminist pussyhat movement. Cause it’s left a rather foul taste in my mouth hearing crickets from that same patriarchy bashing crowd. Especially when true omnipresent patriarchal oppress

One of my earliest childhood memories is sitting in our backyard playing & hearing fighter jets approach in the distance. When they reached our house my dad used to tip the wing to let me know it was him...  …know I’ve said it before, but the sound they make do equals safety to me. Hearing them fly overhead makes me calm…& no, it does not elude me that the same sounds made in other parts of the world are the source of great anguish . But what i mentioned was my life, my memories, my little anecdote about the flip side of just that coin. Those war machines, the jets, the helicopters, the green cladded men, they meant safety to me… The seats in the jets were soft, the helicopters brought Santa & a bunch of gifts to us kids at the army base & the green cladded men came with smiles & once in a while a strong hand or two ruffled my blonde hair. It all felt so safe, home… So, guess I’ve been searching for that safe haven again for most of my life…but even wit