Substitutes for human love. Less risky than a human relationship.
And when the 'affair' is over you can always put your pet to 'sleep'.
An affair of convenience. The convenience of the dominant species.
Capture. Domesticate. Exterminate.
Alongside the exploitation of animals for laboratory experimentation, the pet and petfood industry is enormous, feeding off our alienation from each other. Sentimentalizing animals to fit in with our deprivations and needs for love, physical contact, and control.
Capture. Domesticate. Exterminate.
So the prettiest and most appealing pets are fed and pampered in return for companionship and obedience. Where have we heard that story before? The Miss World contests? The pretty docile pets of male sexist fantasy.
Capture. Domesticate. Exterminate.
A new girl every year. A new wife every seven year itch. The Nazis selected the pretty Jewish girls for their brothels in the concentration camps, and murdered the old and the ugly. Discarded them and used their bodies for soap, lamp shades and even to feed their guard dogs.
Capture. Domesticate. Annihilate.
I was a young girl child in the second world war. All men were soldiers.
I couldn't tell from their almost identical khaki uniforms which were 'ours' and which were 'the enemy'. Some of them came home on leave and mingled their tales of fighting on the front with sickening stories about the famous brothels of Port Said, where the prostitutes were on offer side by side with donkeys. Donkeys were screwed and abused just like the women were. Extra, extra thrills and treats. I couldn't understand the hot-eyed glances and laughter at these stories. I was frightened. I am still frightened.
And of course male military macho ethics approved of these brothels rather than encourage homosexual contact between the ranks. Military regimes are terrified of love developing between soldiers. Wars must mean toughness and courage. But the bullet rips through and reveals the
vulnerability of male flesh. Almost as tender as a woman? Almost as vulnerable? They dare not admit that possibility.
Listen. All butchers are men. The master race. Manipulators. Tormentors. Manufacturers of meat. You rape and plunder and train your sons to follow in your footsteps by word and by deed. Give up your knives. Take instead the vulnerability of your own body. Your fragile penis. Cherish love between man and man. Learn the tenderness of your own genitals before you carelessly penetrate the bodies of young and fertile girls. Learn first the mysteries of contraception, love and respect.
In the meantime do not be surprised if the rest of us rise up and turn against you. We can invoke nightmares of revenge worse than you can imagine. And the woman may rise up who will have her knife. And in the name of life she will take her knife, and, castrating, will avenge even the least laboratory rat that, discarded, ends up in the tin of Pal you may feed your pet tomorrow morning.
And when the 'affair' is over you can always put your pet to 'sleep'.
An affair of convenience. The convenience of the dominant species.
Capture. Domesticate. Exterminate.
Alongside the exploitation of animals for laboratory experimentation, the pet and petfood industry is enormous, feeding off our alienation from each other. Sentimentalizing animals to fit in with our deprivations and needs for love, physical contact, and control.
Capture. Domesticate. Exterminate.
So the prettiest and most appealing pets are fed and pampered in return for companionship and obedience. Where have we heard that story before? The Miss World contests? The pretty docile pets of male sexist fantasy.
Capture. Domesticate. Exterminate.
A new girl every year. A new wife every seven year itch. The Nazis selected the pretty Jewish girls for their brothels in the concentration camps, and murdered the old and the ugly. Discarded them and used their bodies for soap, lamp shades and even to feed their guard dogs.
Capture. Domesticate. Annihilate.
I was a young girl child in the second world war. All men were soldiers.
I couldn't tell from their almost identical khaki uniforms which were 'ours' and which were 'the enemy'. Some of them came home on leave and mingled their tales of fighting on the front with sickening stories about the famous brothels of Port Said, where the prostitutes were on offer side by side with donkeys. Donkeys were screwed and abused just like the women were. Extra, extra thrills and treats. I couldn't understand the hot-eyed glances and laughter at these stories. I was frightened. I am still frightened.
And of course male military macho ethics approved of these brothels rather than encourage homosexual contact between the ranks. Military regimes are terrified of love developing between soldiers. Wars must mean toughness and courage. But the bullet rips through and reveals the
vulnerability of male flesh. Almost as tender as a woman? Almost as vulnerable? They dare not admit that possibility.
Listen. All butchers are men. The master race. Manipulators. Tormentors. Manufacturers of meat. You rape and plunder and train your sons to follow in your footsteps by word and by deed. Give up your knives. Take instead the vulnerability of your own body. Your fragile penis. Cherish love between man and man. Learn the tenderness of your own genitals before you carelessly penetrate the bodies of young and fertile girls. Learn first the mysteries of contraception, love and respect.
In the meantime do not be surprised if the rest of us rise up and turn against you. We can invoke nightmares of revenge worse than you can imagine. And the woman may rise up who will have her knife. And in the name of life she will take her knife, and, castrating, will avenge even the least laboratory rat that, discarded, ends up in the tin of Pal you may feed your pet tomorrow morning.
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