A “man” who brought us movie titles like Scandal, The Hour of the Pig and Scream could, of course, only be someone as predatory, foul and latently self-loathing as Harvey Weinstein. Yet it is that latency that makes Weinstein believe he is still somehow deserving of mercy after decades of assault and general perversion carried out at the cost of others’ permanent trauma. There can be no denying this is the reason he was conveniently rushed to Bellevue Hospital (a name still commonly associated with lunacy) after the pronouncement of his verdict in Manhattan on Feb. 24th: one count of criminal sexual assault in the first degree and one count of rape in the third degree. Sadly, he was not condemned on all five counts, one of them being predatory sexual assault, which would have led to a life sentence. But alas, women are supposed to be grateful for any legal comeuppance Weinstein has received. After all, something like two percent of “men” accused of rape are ever actually jailed for it. Weinstein, evidently, only wants to be part of the one percent wealthy instead of the two percent of convicted rapists. Surely that’s why he decided to have “heart palpitations” at the convenient moment of when he was supposed to be transferred to Rikers Island.
Instead, he was taken to the prison wing of Bellevue, where discussions centered around whether or not he’s “fit” to go to prison based on his deteriorating health is such a prudent idea. The answer, to be sure, is yes. Justice is always a prudent idea. The problem is, in our society, we’ve become so hung up on this notion of being able to forgive a monster in order to move on that we seem to all have forgotten how satisfying it is to slay a proverbial dragon. Watching it slump to the floor in a heap of defeat in some tower that seems to be a prison unto itself. A once “great” titan now nothing but the scaly sum of his deflated parts. Indeed, one hopes the part of Weinstein that has been his and countless women’s undoing is now forever deflated. Then again, a disgusting being such as himself could probably still get an erection in a cellblock. That is, unless the ultimate karmic justice is served and Weinstein is raped on the regular as the “freshest” prison bitch to arrive. Only then, perhaps, would he understand the same feeling of powerlessness he inflicted upon others for so long during his Hollywood Reign of Terror. Ah, but who is one kidding? No one wants to tap that. What’s more, it’s entirely likely that he’ll manage to weasel his way out of any real, truly harrowing jail time by playing the health card to its utmost potential. Because a “man” like him would surely go the way of Jeffrey Epstein if his sentence was actually enforced rather than given merely as a verbally symbolic gesture of the courts.
Right in keeping with the “instant write-off” “burn” of “OK Boomer,” a tradition as old as time for “men” has been the tried and true gaslighting method. In keeping with that tactical shutdown of any opinion–particularly a woman’s opinion–against that which is accepted as The Unequivocal Truth (e.g. Ulysses is an unbesmirchable masterwork), one of the simplest ways to negate a female and make her feel like she ought to shut up lest she start talking further nonsense is simply: “You are delusional.” Knowing full well that this once cut to the jugular for its intention to scare a girl into thinking she might have to go the way of Mrs. Lincoln or Frances Farmer, with the “men” in white coats sure to come and put her in her own white coat of a straightjacket. Well, darling, fuck that. So-called crazy is worn as a badge of honor these days as though it is a form of cosmic retribution for all the times any “abnormal” behavior or dissenting viewpoint was suppressed by “men” and their power-hungry need to puppeteer the thoughts of others to mimic their own.
The image of a “man” making the “crazy” gesture–circling his index finger near his temple–comes to mind as he tauntingly chirps, “You are delusional” to any woman who has said something that is, from his perspective, not in keeping with formerly accepted without question old guard “truths.” But how is this immediate rebuffing supposed to breed any form of intelligent conversation or cultivate an overall philosophy of heterogeneousness (after all, don’t “men” of this nature tout all things “hetero”)? Alas, thanks to the political climate of the past several years, there has been a societal conditioning to believe that argument is no longer intelligent, but merely a product of harboring the “wrong” stance. They get particularly uppity if you violently suggest that–gasp!–despite white “men” being the most pervasive kind of “artist” in every century, this sect is, in fact, the most whining, noncreative excuse for “artistry” the world has ever known (this includes Christopher Isherwood, invention of Montmere or not). But no, we cannot say such things. Such things are “delusional”–merely a product of an undiscerning woman’s inability to separate a feel for talent from her own feeling of being jilted by the type of person who masturbates over white “men” and all they “do” on a daily basis.
That’s fine though, this delusionoid would rather be pazza than finger the pages of James Joyce with reverence when I could be fingering my pussy with much more genuine respect instead. You go on ahead and have your Birth of a Nation/Gone With the Wind viewing party with Trump though. Just make sure you know that you’re the one actually in the padded room as you soak up these “beacons” of High Art.