Buried Alive

19th CoF–Call for Submissions by pisaquaririse
September 29, 2008, 1:02 am
Filed under: I Hosted a Carnival!


I’m gonna host the 19th Carnival of Radical Feminists. Saweeeet! And I’m sooo going to copy the last one with the theme idea. Two things I’m looking for actually:

1. Drawings–just to make it colorful, vibrant, interesting (not that all you fab writers lose appeal without pictures). Some ideas would be artistic representations of radical feminist humor, comics, goddesses, pop culture, etc. I’ll pretty much be accepting any form: multimedia, pencil and paper, graphics you create, etc. For example, I would totally have accepted that jumbled depiction of Medusa meets a pile-of-leaves pasted above. Yes I made it, hush. I’m calling her the Goddess of Fall Blogging. Make your own!

2. Interviews–I need willful contestants for this one. That means some of you will have to lose the mysterious aura (we can talk in Radfem Conspiracy code if need be). I’m actually really interested in how people arrive at their philosophies and perspectives. Archiving the herstory of radical feminist journeys, if you will. No need to be too personal–general questions with as much specifics as you find necessary or are comfortable offering. So if you are a commenter or blogger in the radical feminist blogo-thing please e-mail me! pisaquari@gmail.com

And of course, the Carnival will still include a slathering of brilliance from all corners of the radical feminist blogosphere. Please submit your favorites by October 7th!


The 19th Carnival of Radical Feminists has been extended two weeks–that means submissions will not be due until the 21st of this month.  The idea is to give each Carnival some breathing room–our Carnivals are so vast and extensive (wonderful!) that it seems too quick to have submissions due only a few weeks later.

So guess what!  That means all you hermits that haven’t e-mailed me yet have 2 more weeks to do so!  And did I mention I’m conducting interviews?  Don’t be shy…….

Thoughts about the extension welcomed in comments below.

Kids, stop embarrassing your parents by pisaquaririse
September 23, 2008, 9:11 pm
Filed under: Grab a shovel, PUKE

Ever notice how unbelievably talentless the progeny of great artists can be?  Oh, but how they try.

Filling legendary shoes can be a daunting task so I try to be fair whenever assessing the 2nd generation of wannabe artistry.

However, there is simply no excuse for the son of James Taylor and Carly Simon to write a bad bad bad folk song about wanting to rape a girl.  None, no excuse.    Ben (that’s his name), your father wrote Fire and Ice–unless you’ve got Imagine waiting around the corner you will knowingly pale in any comparison (and yes you will be compared).  Not only is the melody boring and predictble but the lyrics are so profoundly dumb and creepy that I’m surprised you are getting to keep the last name.  Now, I like a blatant rapist as much as you apparently do (easier to spot and avoid) but who the hell let you out of the house with this crap?

The song, entitled   “Wicked Way” (you all can look it up–no link from me), sucks 5 minute old hairy turds.

Behold the first and last few lines:

I just want to take you out and get you drunk
So I can have my wicked way with you
Im just being honest ’cause I know the other guys
Are thinking just the same way too
And Im not gunna lie and say
That I will take you out to dance, there’s just no chance
‘Cause I don’t even like the same music you do
I just want to have my wicked way with you

Now, don’t you fight it
‘Cause I know you’re gonna like it
Show me some skin, I might bite it
I want to have my wicked way with you

Let us all now channel our inner Joni Mitchell and write a response…

What’s a “lisbian”? (trigger warning) by pisaquaririse
September 9, 2008, 7:46 pm
Filed under: Antibodies, gender pimps, Grab a shovel, PUKE, rape extinction

In a depressing revelation, I have come to realize most of my hits these days are coming from PEDOPHILES.

So guess what. I’m making a list for the little turds, most of them probably men of good standing in their communities who think there is nothing wrong with their little internet habits, just in case they’d ever had a shroud of doubt…



little girls


little (body part) getting fucked/hammered/pounded/(insert violent term)

young teen




hot children

sexy kid


Yes, I’ve gotten all of these. In the past week.


barely legal

almost legal

almost illegal


older teen

No cookies for you. Just because you like girls fresh off the legal list! Disgusting.

Pedophiles are everywhere! Seriously, everywhere. If you are an older white man I already think you are a pedophile. Older white men are the first to go for the kiddos.

And anyways, back to the title of this post: just got a search for “older lisbians fucking young girls.” Don’t know if a lisbian is a lipstick lesbian or what but seriously nothing is off limits for these sickos. This is beginning to give me an idea for some cyber activism. Be back later…

Intermission, a poem by pisaquaririse
September 1, 2008, 8:04 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

If you haven’t already, vast and wide readership (there were 19 hits yesterday), do take a look at the marvelous new header atop my blog.  It’s marvelous.  Thank you Mary Tracy (hey everyone~show some love!) for the smashing artistry.   (We will get that sizing right, yet.)

In other bloggular news, things are still slow here you see.  Way slower than I had intended them to be.  I am not a lazy butt–I have been busy!!  For the curious, some news:

I am currently engrossed in 5-count 5!-musical projects.  Three out of the 5 are technically favors (to be returned? we shall see..), another is a band that is almost ready to gig but the problem is, like any band, it is made of musicians. And the last is my personal recording project which I am pouring myself into.  It is an emotional project, to say the least (p-blaming lyrics, alterna bluesy angry stuff), and very time-and-money-consuming.  So when I’m not busy filling the vocal and writing interests of 4 other music situations, I am working to afford my own thing.  Don’t ask me how I got pulled into all this because I’ll tell you: too many “yeah, sure, why nots,” semi-honest people relaying only *so much* the true extent for which they need me, and the crappy Life Luck that is everythinghappenallatonceokaygorightnow!

Still reading around of course.  Commenting tres lightly.  I don’t like commenting and then not having the time or energy to follow up–which would explain the lack of posts.   Don’t know when we’ll be seeing a pick up in posting either — I’m in the the thick of the messes right now.

All that said, I am planning to host a little *private* listening party here for my songs once they are finished.  Seeing as how so much of what I have to say, creatively, has been affected by feminism and the internets (of all things) I would like the internets to hear me holla back.  So you have it in writing: I owe you songs.


I was grabbing at inspiration today and picked up Atwoods “The Tent.”  The first poem I turned to was called “Bring Back Mom: An Invocation.”  The contents, of which I cannot grant you full access because it is so looooonng ( & in case you haven’t been reading, I haven’t the *time*) are too perfect for a radfem blog not to share.  I have copied down the end below.

Read it.  Then tell me something in comments I don’t know about you.

Bring Back Mom: An Invocation

If only we could call you-

Here Mom, Here Mom

and you would come clip-clopping

on your daytime Cuban heels,

smelling of sink and lilac,

(your bum encased in in the foundation garment

you’d peel off at night

with a sigh like a marsh exhaling),

saying, What is it now

and we could catch you

in a net, and cage you

in your bungalow, where you belong,

and make you stay-

Then everything would be all right

the way it was when we could play

till after dark on spring evenings,

then sleep without fear

because you threw yourself in front of the fear

and stopped it with your body-

And there you’ll be, in your cotton housecoat,

holding a wooden peg

between your teeth, as the washing flaps

on the clothesline you once briefly considered

hanging yourself with-

but forget that! There you’ll be,

singing a song of your own youth,

as though no time has passed,

and we can be careless again.

and embarrassed by you,

and ignore you as we used to,

and the holes in the world will be mended.