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They say not to speak ill of the dead – but no one ever really dies. Football is a misogynistic culture built on the consented abduction of little boys prematurely taken from their often poor families with the promise of fame, fortune and hero worship, a culture that not only endorses the gang rape of women but funded by corporations and entities who are prepared to protect these rapists – while their victims are humiliated and threatened into silence. There is no person representative of that culture that I can comfortably – that is, upon my own conscience – say doesn’t know better.

My little cousin told me he likes football and it upset me so deeply.

The aztecs used to sacrifice footballers ritualistically. Just saying.

Think I’m going to watch Deathnote, or perhaps meditate and visualise every woman that has been raped by a footballer, or gang raped by footballers being not only given the chance to publicly discuss their horrifying experience – but the extent to which the media, the police and those that protect that culture were prepared to silence those women and the methods by which they did so. Then I’ll watch Deathnote.

RIP, in my most beautiful dreams there is a Planet that footballers incarnate to – they look exactly as they have in this life – they don the sad sports uniforms with all the logos of corporations that use their bodies as advertising boards – they recognise each other and relive their memories repeatedly and eternally on this Planet of my imagining – and never have to fear their own deaths because there is none. Perhaps just the capacity for empathy so magnified that when they relive their memories on Earth they experience them through the emotional landscape of the women they made suffer.

Perhaps I seem somewhat insensitive – but in a World where there are “innocent” people  (y’know, non-rapists, boring and well behaved tax payers whose greatest crimes might be getting a little bit boisterous at ye olde pub, the kinds of people who watch the Queen without fail every Christmas, people who can’t actually afford date rape drugs or electricity or heating or food) dying every day en masse, who never ever get the front page of any kind of news publication calling on the public who really never even knew them as an individual or benefitted from their time on this Planet beyond some kind of brief entertainment or other distraction from a life of wage slavery – to mourn them (such a glory is reserved only for the often poor & often also quite talentless excuses for people we choose to call “celebrities”) in a time in which we are actively living in a state of outwardly offensive hostility (certainly the British are guilty of contributing to that hostility but I suppose it’s unimportant if it’s directed at countries that muslims or Africans are residing in – y’know – countries kept poor whose natural resources outmeasure those of the British by FAR) this is a moment in time which will be looked back upon as the Third World War and… I personally reside in a country where there are people (and not just awful immigrants – sarcasm – but people of British descent more generations over than The Queen of England herself, ha) who are still living – whose disability benefits are stolen from them – … and certainly their stories aren’t worthy of an appearance on my facebook trending list – really: I’m not even a little bit sorry for my insensitivity about this guy’s passing

Edited later to add…

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so sad

Published by KARINITA


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