CIA Veteran Gloria Steinem Has Died

CIA veteran Gloria Steinem has died. She helped Langley win the Cold War while women remain blacksited and broken raining teeth from bloody mouths like the reds in Pinochet’s torture camps. In this CIA civilization women slap name tags over baby vomit stains smiling ear to ear for chortling customers who shovel cheesecarbs into their faces while she juggles dishpans and breast pumps and goes home to collapse in bed and dream about work, women take selfies in IDF uniforms and do TikTok dances on the ruins of Gaza and pilot Girl Power drones and drop Girl Power bombs onto mothers clawing at the rubble, women stand with sedated eyes stranded in suburban deserts spooning cereal into restless children until hubby comes home to rape everyone in the house, women hate their bodies so much they remove the fat from their cheeks so they look like skeletons and then freeze their faces trying to look twenty and it freezes their minds at twenty and their hearts stay stuck at twenty and they don’t grow and they don’t heal and they don’t know any better than to call their daughters fat and stick porcupine quills in their flesh, women spend their lives staring at the side of a man’s head yearning to be loved and feeling their light fade while he stares at a screen and makes loud noises to drown out the echoes of his father’s fists cracking on the bones of his face, women tear strips off each other’s flesh to win the approval of wolf-mouthed men who gobble up the carnage and then choose a favorite slave. Gloria Steinem was not a girl’s girl. Gloria Steinem was a pick-me girl. Pick me, CIA. Pick me, empire. I’ll be a good little supplicant for the banker boys. I will starve feminism of its boobs and belly, shave it back to into the image of a child, put a tie on it and call it equal. I will say to the ladies: “Get out of the kitchen and into the Amazon warehouse! Take off that apron and put on this efficency tracker! It monitors your calories, too! 10,000 steps a day for the empire. Congratulations, you do two jobs now.” And I will return my magical baby portal back to sender unused in my box. I promise I won’t even peek at my own life-creating god potential. I will poo-poo it even, if anyone asks. Who cares if we can make life? We can make money! That’s much more important. I will civilise us hairy juicy vag goddesses, sir. You can count on me. Gloria Steinem was a pick-me girl, and boy was she ever picked. But now she is dead, and the empire is dying, and the drumbeats of the wild are unnerving the boys at Langley. Something is stirring within us. Something ancient. Something forgotten. Something moves within our wombs which they tried to paralyze long ago. The drums are getting louder, and we are growing increasingly feral. The time is coming, and coming up fast, where we will stand before them, blood-bladed and hairy-bushed, the wreckage of Langley beneath our feet, saying, I am not civilized, motherfucker. I am not fucking civilized. Reading by Caitlin Johnstone