I put my love in a little box and I sent it in the mail

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I wonder if you now have golden fur?

"If you listen to Black Metal, but you don't know what phase the moon is in, or what wild flowers are blooming then you have failed. It is shocking to me that one could be seriously interested in Black Metal and not be deeply committed to radical ecology. The music is about wild forests, unfettered rivers, nature: furious and vengeful." -Wolves In The Throne Room

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The Thought That Counts

Men believe in logic. Control. Only a man would tell me, as you often did, "It's the thought that counts." Not my body or what dress I am wearing or the day of the week or the words of my dreaming pussy, the ones, I am so sorry to say, you never heard. But they are all the same, Love. What I think is in my body and clothes and words. No matter how often I told you this, you never understood. One day, I gave up and said, "Listen, Honey, I'm sorry. Maybe I'm just having a bad day." That's when you gave me that tape called Reason Your Way To Bliss. I tried to listen to it. Honestly, I did. But I stopped, every time, at the point where the speaker (a man, of course—only a man would equate reason and bliss) was saying: If you take a rock and examine it beneath a microscope, it is no different from a human beneath a microscope. Everything is just atoms and molecules. But can a rock have a bad day? Can a bad day be seen beneath a microscope? Of course not. If a rock is smart enough not to have a bad day, then how could you be having a bad day? In truth bad days do not exist. Humans and rocks do. I had to turn off the tape. This, Love, is male logic at its best. I could never master it. Only a man would use a microscope to define a human, a rock and a bad day. Only a man would think what cannot be seen beneath a magnifying lens does not exist. That there is no such thing as a dreaming pussy.

Nin Andrews