Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by his heart, and his friends can only read the title.
HEAR ME ROAR
“Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.”
~~ Virginia Woolf: A Room Of One`s Own ~~
Of course I am biased about this, but my mother was the most badass woman I have known. Soft, gentle and empathic, but when crossed, a monster from hell shot straight out of Beelzebub`s backside. Women have always fascinated me far more than men, who I find rather fatiguing when talking with. All that meaningless stuff about sport, cars and libido; very tiring. Women have more depth of personality because men are too frightened to losen up and show their real selves; social brain washing has gripped most of them in a vice like head lock, which has squeezed what interesting thoughts they might have had out of their ears into the next galaxy.
Ah well, while men worry and boast about the testosterone fuelled nuclear missile they wish was hanging between their legs, and splatter their dialogue with overt references to it`s potency, women are far more subtle and inventive, but no less violent in language and deed when someone has stepped on their metaphorical toes. So, all in all, I enjoy the company of women, while I suffer the presence and limited conversation of most men.