The fire of my loins, flowing around my torso like lava, erupted from the mount Etna, spitting ashes in stone formations that sprout through the air, like the mountain being a giant whale ploughing its majestic grand body through the waves of the terrain, pouring open the wounds of evil, that live in my heart, of the cruelty that shoved in people’s throats, like the sharpened pole’s end of rupture and ego, penetrating their rectum, constituting the horrific rape of Lucrece, a crime that will not heal, but bleed here hundreds of yards beneath the plain’s surface of goodness and kindness, of compassion, of humanity, like flames licking my beard, that smells of sulphur, the passion that once fueled my madness, now aflame, and like Tantalus bending down desperately to put out that bursting heat, my thirst increases, my hunger grows, alas, why were thou Lolita of my heart, so young and luscious, to cut my head like Judith, the beak of a snake, now in your hand, that pulls me down this stream of fire. Did I not repent? To boil my soul in blood unto the end of times, is this the wage for loving you, this your justice. My crime to love you, to lust for the blood of your womb, to quench my violent passion to possess you, all born from love. Here now is my meal, the plate of man’s hunger, for the flesh to ravishly possess, to penetrate the shield of other men with my spear, to kill the impossible and to take you. Now you speak, young maiden, where lies the crime in that?

A yellowish blue colored the nightly sky above the high rising facades that formed the immensity of the city. Artaud lay in his bed and pulled the blanket over his shoulder and fell asleep unaware of the millions of lives that surrounded his lifeless body.

At the end of the conversation a brief pause fell, so unlike G, and B waited for her to say a few more words. Then G said.
G: I did something really stupid.
B: What do you mean?
G: Never mind, it’s nothing.
B: Oh. But what did you do then?
G: Nothing, just something stupid I shouldn’t have done.
B: Well tell me! First you tell me you did something, but then you’re not telling me what!
G: I am afraid to tell you.
B: Why! We always tell each other everything.
G: Yes, but I am afraid you will be mad at me.
B: No! I won’t be mad, I love you.
G: I know, but I did something stupid.
B: It’s okay, it doesn’t matter, we all do something stupid sometimes. Just tell me.
G: This is different.
B: I promise I won’t be angry.
G: You promise?
B: Yes! It’s okay.
G: Well…
Another pause increased the hesitation in G and the expectation in B.
B: Come on! Now, you just make me worry. What is it? Do you still love me?
G: Yes, of course, I still love you.
B: I love you too.
G: I’ll tell you tomorrow! Okay! I am tired. It’s nothing. Just something stupid that happened.
B: Hm. Okay, I guess.
G: I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
B: Okay, talk to you then.
G: Love you!
B: Love you too.

From the Feminist Dictionary of Words:

“mal-e-ifide or mal-e-ified [mah-l-e-eefee-de or mah-l-e-fied; Eng. mey-l-e ah-fah-dee or mey-l-e ah-feed]
adj.
contraction of terms.
feminine ablative of malus, bad + fid, declination from french, feminized form of mal;
ablative of fids, faith;
from Latin masculus, diminutive of ms, male;

used to indicate the false pretense of women in contemporary society who have taken on male role patterns and masculine, aggressive behavior to seek assimilation and acceptance from existing, conservative male elites.

“She is a real bitch. She always aggressively cuts people short, clamors above every one else to be heard, and tries to make jokes all the time. She is an archetype of the male-ified woman.”

Artaud believed that those very matters, which made him often feel so good, could in fact never be right for him and should be considered inappropriate, but he was nevertheless incapable to ever feel bad about them.

Halia was humming lines from ‘If I was a man for a day’. She walked firmly down the crowded street on the beat of her heels clicking to the pavement like automatic gun fire. She answered the occasional glance from a boy with flattered indifference, responding to the jealous stare from a girl with a friendly face of glass. ‘I turn it on, I turn it off, why? cause I can.’
A high beep vibrated in her black jacket’s pocket. She let it go over twice more before answering. ‘Riding to Bear Mountain on Sunday with our bikes? Yeah, I am down! Sign me up,’ She decisively replied. Halia had just traded her old motorcycle for a new Kawasaki Ninja and was dying to race it. She was perhaps a skinny and petite Asian girl, and made a fragile, cute first impression, but in fact she could stand up to any man on the asphalt, being more fearless than most of the boys and more than ready to burn her rubber.
Today though, although it was Saturday, she was off to a business meeting. She had just incorporated her own startup, having received substantial funding for the first six months, and without hesitation, she had quit her daytime job as business analyst for a top financial firm, and jumped into the pool of entrepreneurs that formed the powerful heartbeat of New York. Today was the first presentation to a board of advisors and she was going to push hard to step to the plate.
Success came like a hard blow and she was set to throw the punches. And as she thought hard about success, parading with a soldier’s step, she did not forget why men love bitches.

He had always avoided making eye contact with strangers in public, but once he looked at them, Artaud knew he had never realized before, the intense river of loneliness that streamed out of people’s eyes, and scared by what he saw he quickly scurried along.

Time: ~ 9:30 am
Duration: 48:10:00 minutes
Distance: 6.03 miles; 9.704 k
Speed: 7:98 minutes/mile
Pulse: average 166; maximum 178
Temperature: 75.9F