Feather

How it feels to fall in love with fictional characters and developing parasocial relationships with celebrities.

So ridiculous but my inner lonely child is happy, yes?

So maybe it's not THAT ridiculous, after all.

religious texts constantly tell men to control themselves. the quran literally tells men to lower their gaze before it tells women what to wear. the bhagavad gita repeatedly treats uncontrolled desire as a failure of self-mastery. apparently god expected men to have functioning brains.

yet somehow every sermon, every auntie, every self-appointed moral guardian reaches the same conclusion: women need more rules.

funny how that works.

“don’t lust” is a command directed at men, but it’s completely invisible. nobody can audit it. nobody can measure it. nobody can catch a man having a pure enough thought. so the responsibility quietly evaporates.

meanwhile a woman’s hair is visible. her clothes are visible. her body is visible. suddenly everyone becomes a forensic investigator of female morality.

a man spends all day staring at women? who knows. only god can judge.

a woman shows an inch too much skin? somehow every random guy within a five mile radius becomes god’s deputy.

isn’t it amazing how the sins committed by men always seem to require divine investigation while the sins committed by women can be identified immediately by the nearest unemployed busybody?

if your religion tells men to lower their gaze and your first instinct is still to lecture women about existing in public, maybe the problem isn’t female immodesty. maybe you’ve simply found a version of morality where men are treated like helpless animals and women are expected to manage the consequences.

Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

Pay respect to your elders.