Author: Brawl Girl

Brawl Girl is a feminists activist, kung-fu padawan, and writes at brawlgirl.tumblr.com. She has written under various pseudonyms and even written some shit in her actual name. Brawl Girl is the most recent manifestation.

a cynical commentary on the last four years of my life.

We used to play a game we called “contemporary art”.

Take one object and one theme and imagine one contemporary art piece.

I invented grandiose installations as a witty comment on the state of society.

You created absurdity.

We would imagine art rag write-ups and that we would be famous and then we would laugh about what inner city wankers we were.

We sometimes shared this game with friends,

but it was our game.

We invented it together and played it in those idle moments that bloom in your heart like beautiful spring bulbs.

But that is all done now.

It all ended via Skype when you said: I can’t do this anymore,

like I was some sort of endurance test you failed.

You said: I have packed your books in boxes. I don’t know which ones you want.

You said: I can’t pick you up from the airport, I promised my friend Katey I would help her move and have a beer with her.

I said: My friend Katey my friend Katey my friend Katey my friend Katey my friend Katey my friend Katey my friend Katey my friend Katey over and over in my head until it made more sense that you would leave me to drink a beer with someone called Katey.

If we were to play the contemporary art game today the object would be my bruised interior and the theme would be my crippling sense of abandonment.

It would be a cynical commentary on the last four years of my life.

FUCK you and your fucking charcoal suit.

I am sitting in a bland airport departure lounge in Kolkata.

A poster to my right says “Winner: Best Improved Airport in 2013”.

A man to my left is wearing a charcoal colored suit.

He has been staring at me since I sat down 30 minutes ago.

The charcoal suit makes me uncomfortable.

His suit says: I have money and money = bitches

His eyes say: bitch I know you DTF, don’t be so coy.

I usually have a way of dealing with men like this.

I eye-ball each and every one of them a quiet little ‘fuck you’.

I exude silent threats like: I will cut you.

The men are everywhere with their eyes and their hands and their ‘hey baby’s’ and they need to be managed.

I manage them with the potential for violent retaliation.

But this charcoal suit has cornered me.

I am too tired.

Too unsure that he won’t mistake my silent threat as cheeky request to go and fuck in the disabled toilets.

Men like this need more energy than I can muster.

So instead I will write FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU FUCK YOU and your FUCKING charcoal suit,

and hope the stupid cunt can read it.