So I linked “I Am Not a Slut” around at Feministe, because I want people to read it. Mostly in the hopes of expressing solidarity for survivors who feel similarly, but also partially to open a dialog about how SlutWalk is centering the set of people who want to reclaim “slut”–which is not the set of all survivors. So essentially, a spokesperson for the Toronto police engaged in victim-blaming, and the push-back excludes many of the people who were and are marginalized by victim-blaming (i.e. survivors!).
And, with that said, I would really like to not have the first post displayed here be about how I was raped when I was a kid. Sooo…here’s some poetry. You can use the comments to analyze it or tell me what a jerk I am for disliking SlutWalk (you can also just ignore, obviously :p).
“Old Astronomer to His Pupil”
Reach me down my Tycho Brahe, I would know him when we meet,
When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet;
He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how
We are working to completion, working on from then to now.
Pray remember that I leave you all my theory complete,
Lacking only certain data for your adding, as is meet,
And remember men will scorn it, ’tis original and true,
And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.
But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learned the worth of scorn,
You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn,
What for us are all distractions of men’s fellowship and smiles;
What for us the Goddess Pleasure with her meretricious smiles!
You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late,
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant’s fate.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.