Girl, interrupted

The film itselfⁱ is hardly worth the mention in the direct. Yet another one of those, pantsuit-made transparent agitprop wanna-be edgy, controversial, captivating the youth and so on. Programele Casei De Filme Unu Pentru Pionieri Si Soimii Patriei -- Sub Deviza "Tot Inainte, Spre Decenii De Impliniri Marete!".

The reason I'm mentioning it has everything to do with happenstance, and coincidence : as it happens, coincidentally, sitting through a screening of the atrocity amidsts a very sad harem (various variously painful nails of "no, you're not a girl anymore" having recently been driven mercilessly under whatever nails and assorted accretions) it occured to me -- there's yet another red thread going through all the pantsuit agitprop pieces.

Have you noticed how all discussion of teenage female sexuality in pantsuit media necessarily snaps to the very narrow guiding line of... dicked girl gets her pseudo-maturing into the pantsuit atrocity (also called "careerwoman" in-universe, much like weirdo cults call their deranged "leadership" inspired or whatever nonsense, touched by the vorlons) delayed, by "unnecessary", as well as "wrong" excursions into some version of "ultimately failed" but in any case charicatured womanhood ?

It occurs to me that this isn't in the slightest coincidental. It occurs to me that the batshit crazy delineation is an actual thing, and that it informs pretty much everything these idiots do. It occurs to me that the pantsuits well know pantsuitism has entirely no chance of flourishing in places where the useless females are turned to breeders by age 16, like those evil Catholics do in SouthAsia. Pantsuit-flavoured socialism needs their useless females sterile "careerwomen", like they do in NorthAsia, can't have catholic social practices taking hold in protestant lands, right ?

So a narrative is constructed, always on the same fundamental lines : yes, you're biologically worthless, society's in the business of dealing with the loss you represent, but let's do it like "writer/barrista in small storage box", and not like "baby factory", okay ? We're not set up for doing it the southern way, and what's more, what's infinitely, indescribably worse : other people would be handling that situation, in different ways. Don't you love your niggerⁱⁱ ?! Don't you want them to do well in life, don't you want the nigger class to flourish ?! What, you don't care if its those handlers or these handlers, the matter of cattle ownership's rather indifferent to the cow herd ?! What heresies!

I obviously don't care so much what music the respective cattle farms play in their cattle pens ; but I do feel rather amused at whatever females with aspirations to humanity that genuinely mistook this lulz as some sort of deeply personal, intrinsically meaningful piece of art. I know they exist, through direct experience not to mention statistical considerations ; it's a little bit like the kid volunteering to lead a cavalry charge on the basis of his experience with stick horses at home. What's he to do if his noxious parents won't have real horses around when he was kiddingⁱⁱⁱ ?

What's he to do ? Why, he's to be amusing, of course! Unintentionally, of course, but then again agency's not for pantsuitism by-products, nor ever could be. It'd go against the whole principle of the entire thing.

Agency's reserved for the actual women within the bunch, always and everywhere necessarily a minority. It is my considered oppinion that these few, these happy few, these band-of-sisters are better served in practice by one rather than the other environment ; but then again... what the fuck do I care, the chief defining characteristic of the woman is that she womans out, irrespective of what her girlyhood was like. If she makes the cut she made the cut, and definitionally satisfies that criterion ; and if she doesn't make the cut she's no part of this conversation anyways. It could be perhaps argued that making the cut from the North is a lot more painful, hard work ; but then again nobody really suffered for painful, hard work in the past. The suffering associated with these is always in the present, and stays there.

In the end, they say wisdom is when you understand how the world works so well, you correlatively perceive there's not much if anything needing any fixing. Because... well, what can you do.

1. 1999, by James Mangold, with Winona Ryder, an Angelina Jolie before her going completely off the deep end, and a "Clea DuVall" which to me looks almost exactly like Val Kilmer's feminine side.

   

   Don't you find ?

   Anyways, if you don't you don't, that's it for her, she didn't exactly age well. Born '77, baiting by 96 (above), HD'd by 1999. A life. [↩]

2. Here represented, comedically enough, by a coincidentally-black but utterly nigger (just review her career) Whoopi Goldberg. And my oh my, with what hosannas is that representation stuffed, good lord, never a mary sue has received such glorious portrayal (for the obvious reason that in general mary-sue-pushers make the mistake of giving the avorton a central role, which is incompatible through volume with success in its line). I suppose the work's worth seeing just for that, like that recent Disney atrocity about a "preditory race" -- figure it out, blacks, America's gypsies, the cowardlier breed ever seen under the sun, "preditory" -- that's "trying its best" to "live in harmony" with a herbivore majority, but they're mean and oppress the poor darlings. I don't intend to, for myself, but then again I am not employed at sifting through socialist garbage. [↩]
3. As in the continuos form of the verb describing the action of being a kid. Right ? [↩]