There Is Nothing As Dangerous As An

Feminist Art May... Though Perhaps Our Imaginations Are So Mutilated Now That We Are Incapable Even Of The Ambition, Introduce A New Theme... Should We Call It 'joy'?

Wild Intelligence Abhors Any Narrow World; And The World Of Women Must Stay Narrow, Or The Woman Is An Outlaw. No Woman Could Be Nietzsche Or Rimbaud Without Ending Up In A Whorehouse Or Lobotomized.

Marriage As An Institution Developed From Rape As A Practice. Rape, Originally Defined As Abduction, Became Marriage By Capture. Marriage Meant The Taking Was To Extend In Time, To Be Not Only Use Of But Possession Of, Or Ownership.

By The Time We Are Women, Fear Is As Familiar To Us As Air. It Is Our Element. We Live In It, We Inhale It, We Exhale It, And Most Of The Time We Do Not Even Notice It.

Men Love Death. In Everything They Make, They Hollow Out A Central Place For Death, Let Its Rancid Smell Contaminate Every Dimension Of Whatever Still Survives. Men Especially Love Murder. In Art They Celebrate It, And In Life They Commit It. They Embrace Murder As If Life Without It Would Be Devoid Of Passion, Meaning, And Action, As If Murder Were Solace, Stilling Their Sobs As They Mourn The Emptiness And Alienation Of Their Lives.