If you think you are emancipated, you might consider the idea of tasting your menstrual blood--if it makes you sick, you've a long... way to go, baby.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
It is not menstrual blood per se which disturbs the imagination--unstanchable as that red flood may be--but rather the albumen in ...the blood, the uterine shreds, placental jellyfish of the female sea. This is the chthonian matrix from which we rose. We have an evolutionary revulsion from slime, our site of biologic origins. Every month, it is woman's fate to face the abyss of time and being, the abyss which is herself.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
The blood of Abraham, God's father of the chosen, still flows in the veins of Arab, Jew, and Christian, and too much of it has bee...n spilled in grasping for the inheritance of the revered patriarch in the Middle East. The spilled blood in the Holy Land still cries out to God--an anguished cry for peace.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
We as women know that there are no disembodied processes; that all history originates in human flesh; that all oppression is infli...cted by the body of one against the body of another; that all social change is built on the bone and muscle, and out of the flesh and blood, of human creators.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
I see His blood upon the rose, And in the stars the glory of His eyes... His body gleams amid eternal snows, His tears fall from the skies.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
It is like watching a nation busily engaged in heaping up its own funeral pyre.... As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding. L...ike the Roman, I seem to see "the River Tiber foaming with much blood."LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
There is the falsely mystical view of art that assumes a kind of supernatural inspiration, a possession by universal forces unrela...ted to questions of power and privilege or the artist's relation to bread and blood. In this view, the channel of art can only become clogged and misdirected by the artist's concern with merely temporary and local disturbances. The song is higher than the struggle.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh, the doxy over the dale,... Why then comes in the sweet o'the year, For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »