Marriage As An Institution Developed From Rape

Surely The Freedom Of Women Must Mean More To Us Than The Freedom Of Pimps.

The Hurting Of Women Is . . . Basic To The Sexual Pleasure Of Men.

I Love, Cherish, And Respect Women In My Mind, In My Heart, And In My Soul. This Love Of Women Is The Soil In Which My Life Is Rooted. It Is The Soil Of Our Common Life Together. My Life Grows Out Of This Soil. In Any Other Soil, I Would Die. In Whatever Ways I Am Strong, I Am Strong Because Of The Power And Passion Of This Nurturant Love.

Does The Sun Ask Itself, "am I Good? Am I Worthwhile? Is There Enough Of Me?" No, It Burns And It Shines. Does The Sun Ask Itself, "what Does The Moon Think Of Me? How Does Mars Feel About Me Today?" No It Burns, It Shines. Does The Sun Ask Itself, "am I As Big As Other Suns In Other Galaxies?" No, It Burns, It Shines.

Writing Is Alchemy. Dross Becomes Gold. Experience Is Transformed. Pain Is Changed. Suffering May Become Song. The Ordinary Or Horrible Is Pushed By The Will Of The Writer Into Grace Or Redemption, A Prophetic Wail, A Screed For Justice, An Elegy Of Sadness Or Sorrow. ... There Is Always A Tension Between Experience And The Thing That Finally Carries It Forward, Bears Its Weight, Holds It In. Without That Tension, One Might As Well Write A Shopping List.