Another cancer stricken-victim… I was in awe, when the kind, quiet, silent woman of my acquaintance opened a little her vest and I was presented with a hideous absence in the presence of the adjoining prominence. I was particularly moved because if it were a logical explanation of this fatal disease in terms of crime and punishment even proceeding from the life hygiene aspect; these two women from my close environment that had lost their breast are the most innocent, the kindest, and most correct, the former a workaholic, the latter woman – with already a disability, dumb and deaf. Obviously, the Chernobyl consequences are not following any logic.
The recent volcanic explosion in the media produced by the pornographic images of our fine arts representatives is still unfolding. First the vulgarly stuck out tongue of Jenifer Lawrence displaying her genitals to the starving masses of vulgata; the provocation was in relay taken further by the model Bar Rafaelly who not only showed her monkish ass, but in addition daringly, heroically – did that – on the net: avidly masturbated on-line; and not the last in the fools’ row their guild sister the plump, chubby just like the first mentioned, always flushed, Kate Upton exhibited her pearls. I would say an obnoxious scandal. No justification, magpies, they did that premeditatedly. Now they deserve not apologetic steps taken by security authorities, cyber police and movie industry – but punitive measures, sanctions, ban from the professional sphere they are compromised with the frivolous, lusty-stripy game. The moral of those lasses is faulty, because being possessors of millions in their accounts could have secured their asses with their own means with more care for the consequences.
The problem takes an augmented, magnifying dimension when these three not champions but already veterans at their early 30s are being duckstepped by other millions of “ugly ducklings”, that follow the malicious, viral example and also annex “that” to their credentials, either engage in incestuous rapports with their daddy, or climb on 15 cm cork-hilled shoes, the champagne is drank by the immediately anterior in that, line who had managed to pull themselves into the hunger games casino, and had already won the lottery for several rounds.
The raptoric role of the millennium women is not a myth. Women are driven not by passion, or love, or self-sacrifice or any other noble sentiments when they are jumping and grappling brutally men. Not even by the mythological instincts of mannish, vigorous amazons -the procreation and continuation of the species.
Another instance is the recent blasting publication by the Amazon of the French President’s former partner Valerie Thierwiller. A genuine public washing of the linen, compelling and harassing. The diatribe caught all the attention of the masses, Mr President’s friends and foes alike, as a CNN site author reported, even in the detriment of many more valuable books, written by talented authors that have appeared at the autumn book fest in Paris. To begin with the title “Merci pour ce moment” which already sounds like a viturperative revengive, threatening come back, and not a gracious adieu by a woman who would sincerely appreciate and express her gratitude for the precious years spent by her much beloved man. Mr the President is lucky enough that he did not marry formally that woman mother of a bunch of children of another man; moreover he is lucky that he did not have his own with her, the blackmail and harassment would have been complete then. The depths, profusion and sincerity of her sentiments first of all are doubtful; she had to make reference to THAT primarily in her book. I suspect, she as a woman knew alright about her partner’s night escapades, joy rides to another muse comedienne, and that fact did not bother her until the moment of public revelation, until her “ordeal” became public knowledge. Very cynical indeed! My disappointment is that the President did not at least run away from the fallen out of favour woman to a much younger, much more beautiful, a much more intelligent, talented, dignified female but to another old, plain, unsuccessful actress, to play. To remind only the photos captured by the paparazzi of that Cinderella waiting, creeping at corners, slinking behind the man she was coveting at mondaine ceremonies, in spite of the fact that he was accompanied by his then consort. According to classical drama, Julie must have known, it was always the man who was waiting, seeking, worshiping recklessly the woman. I think the two, both are still going to swallow enough venom by the hands of the public and not the man in point would suffer any rebuke because he did not love enough either of them.
The above-mentioned autobiographical book was nevertheless blaming and intended to hurt, to compromise, when the author could have whispered to the ear of her man in human language words about her anguish, regrets and gratitude, the man would have gotten it right. Out of love, out of passion=affect vs metaphorical language described in images of horses, cars, PCs and riding motorcycles behind a slender black bodyguard by night…