A Treatise On The Divine Feminine
By: Pixie Sloane
Date: 13th Aug 2021
Since the dawn of misogyny, thereís been female on female envy. Attacks on women who would dare to put her head above her shoulders and stand proudly. Who would dare to lead.
Back in the old days, weíd explore the ideas of witchcraft. Or dismiss them as spinsters, or women on the shelf.
Question their sexual purity, or laud their promiscuity over them.
And if she dare defend herself, then the hunt intensifies.
A womanís anger is something to behold.
Look around you, and youíll know it to be true, because everything that graced the delicate fingertips of a furious woman was turned to ash.
She could and would burn everything to the ground, should the mood take her. Should something within her trigger the switch. Say what you like, but you would be fooling nobody to say that a woman is not beholden to the whim of emotion.
There is no femme fatale except in the minds of the patriarchal imaginations. We women are women. We deserve our own space. Our own right to appear in the world as we wish to. To express ourselves, and to be seen.
We are not the sum total of your fetishes, we do not exist to satisfy your needs.
We are not the missing pieces to your whole.
What a reductive way to be.
Like a snakecharmer, if you learn to move with her motion and not crash against her and disrupt her flow, youíll find that she has the kind of passion that fills you and completes you, a feeling that you can barely believe is real, let alone describe.
But break the trance, disrupt the flow, cause unrest in the ecosystem and by the grace of whatever you call Holy may you tread, because each footstep could be your last.
In the last year, as Iíve watched everything unfold, one thing has become so unbelievably clear to me. It made me question somebody that was always, in my mindís eye, an infallible role model. Somebody who carved the path that we all followed, the original matriarch.
How sad, then, that I feel myself becoming so completely and utterly crushed by the disappointment of the way she reacted to the end of her marriage. Because instead of the fearless, proud lioness that Iíd come to admire, Candice shrunk like violet, took her leave and disappeared.
Vincent Black did what he did to Candice and her response was feeble, weak, and pathetic. He ripped out her heart, told her that all these years he had been living a lie. Not because he was actively engaging in adultery, but because he squashed down his feelings for another woman and settled for her.
It was far worse than if heíd been railing a stripper in the New Orleans headquarters of Outlaw Pro Wrestling, they had a few strip bars on Bourbon Street and he was famous enough that theyíd have thrown themselves at him. Fucking a groupie, or hired help, itís almost victimless. You might feel slighted, like he doesnít think youíre so pretty anymore, now that smile lines have started to take hold. Or he might not like what the filler did to your expression, your ĎOí face looks contrived. But youíd forgive it.
What Vincent Black did, though? Not only was it unforgiveable, he wasnít asking for forgiveness. He took her input on the matter and disregarded it completely. There wasnít a choice for her to make. She was not even part of the thought process.
But she, too, embraced the powerlessness. She faded away. Told Stylez she wanted out, and the simp granted her wish. Disappeared. And you could say that is valid. She was powerless, after all, wasnít she? So whatís the use of standing around, like a pathetic unrequited lover?
To be strong, to be proud of who you are despite the choices of the man you entrusted your life to. To not cower in the face of adversity. To show the world that you are who you are no matter what. You are not defined by him. You are not defined by anybody. But it turns out the hero I looked up to was, in fact, defined by him.
Without him, you had no identity, no reason to be, no reason to exist. So you stopped.
We all heard the rumors as they filtered through the locker rooms, about the time you had to have your stomach pumped or the time they found you on a window ledge, or with a knife to your brachial artery. I donít know whoís lips are loose, or whether the rumors are even true. I do know that you disappeared into a dark place, and by no means would I ever begrudge anyone their mental health, but you showed me that I was wrong to put you on a pedestal. Youíre… mortal. Human. Flawed. Fallible.
Everyone gets to have their dark moment.
But you let him do that to you. And you took it.
So much so, Candice, that when you decided that you werenít going to off yourself, and you were going to put on your big girl britches and come to fight, you laced up your knee high boots, strapped yourself into your black and red corset, and set your sights on who?
The man who stripped you of everything you knew for the last twenty years? The man who walked away with barely an explanation? The one who took your opinion on the matter and disregarded it completely? Forgive me for the repetitiveness, Candice. By now we all know who did what. As I sit here, in the stairwell of the Tower that youíve spent weeks destroying in your foolís pursuit of the woman that has given me everything, the irony is not lost that you let him off the hook and chase down the woman who was very much the same victim in the same game as you. The only one who could even vaguely understand the pain that is to love Vincent Black.
Because youíre so lamentable and pathetic that you donít have the mettle to confront him directly. You want to hurt him through her. Matriarch indeed. Tear down the woman because he could not possibly be at fault. It was her. She stole him. Sheís the villain.
Did you ever stop to think about that, whilst you were devising new and exciting ways to ruin Xavier Wolfís pristine newly refurbished building? Maybe your crosshairs were trained on the wrong target? Or donít you care? Because Iím right, arenít I? You bury your feelings because you donít want your children to see you fighting your ex-husband, their father, so you pretend that it is all amicable.
JJ Starfire was chasing after me, but my vicious tongue dismissed him, and I barely turned to register his existence. His face dropped, but he knew better than to push his luck. My heels crunched into the ground, the anger resonating within me began vibrating through my step, thudding and shaking the floor beneath me with each step.
How dare she?
”Harrison is in hospital.” Jessie – my little sister – cried, panicked into the phone.
At first it took a moment for it to sink in, what she was telling me. I never heard from Jessie unless she wanted something, needed something, or something bad had happened. She was the one who I shielded from the trauma, who I kept whole in the face of every adversity that a child could face, made sure I had her six because I knew nobody else would. When we went into the system, it didnít take a few weeks for her to find a permanent home and although she never forgot me, it oftentimes felt like she only remembered me when it was convenient for her.
And then I realised, and thatís what prompted my anger.
“This is so easy to solveÖ“ she said, as she sat in my room.
Her strange features trying to contort into an expression that endeared herself to me, before uttering the next sentence. The one that echoed in my head, as I drove furious footstep after furious footstep into the stairwell of Hearst Tower.
And Vhodka Black plays along, too, because itís easier to have someone to direct your hate towards. A boogywoman. I am around that woman all day, every day. Donít think I donít know. Much like you, sheís furious with him. She resents him, because he didnít pick her. But she doesnít know what to do about it, because now sheís the one he wants to pick up and play with. So all that aggression thatís bubbling under the surface, at any moment ready to explode out, she channels it into the ex-wife. Because why not.
All that talk about being strong, being women, being role models, itís just that. Talk. Because when push comes to shove, when its time to bite down on your mouthpiece and throw hands? Youíre as indoctrinated as the rest of them.Bow down to the patriarchy.
Yeah, thatíll be the last time I ever fucking do that. I confided in you. I trusted you, and you betrayed me, Vhodka Black.
This man has ruined my life since I was a child, he has turned me into this problematic person who trusts nobody, who will set fire to everything at the first hint of condescension or assertiveness. But you? You fooled me, tricked me. Lolled me into a sense of security.
And then you probably told him all of my fucking secrets. All of my dirty laundry, about how I was taken advantage of, brutally and violently, by a man. And then he acted, like a man.
Because thatís what you do, isnít it? Thatís what you all fucking do. Act first, ask questions later.
And I can just imagine how that conversation goes…
”I did it for your own good, Marf. You might not realize it now, but it was. Itís what we do for each other.”
How the fuck do you know what is in my best interests?
Why does everybody think they have this god-given right to make life-changing decisions on behalf of the people they supposedly claim to care about, without even giving them the decency of a conversation?
Who gave them the right, the authority, the permission to act on behalf of anyone?
Do exactly what the man wants. Fight over him, make him feel so fucking desired that two grown mothers will devolve into the kind of child-like fighting that single-handedly tears their combined legacies to shreds.
Both of you.
How dare you? This misappropriated justice. He did this to me, and nobody else. And yet, you metered out punishment, penance, revenge. Left that man crippled and forever scarred by the consequence of your decision.
The decision that you took from me. It makes you no better than he. He took my innocence, he took my childhood, he took my choices away, because he put himself in a position of authority over me and made me do things that make me sick to even think about. Didnít give me a choice. All of a sudden, an outcome is thrust upon you by somebody that you knew no better than to trust.
But maybe I shouldíve known better. I donít know what it was about you, or him, that made me let my guard down. Big Tony never got this close, my shield stayed up at all times around him, but JJ was smitten with you guys and you found space in your heart even for Noelle, so part of me just wanted to believe in you. Which makes me the fool. You did the same to me, that he did.
JJ plead with me to talk to you. To hear your side of the story. Just like I did with Mom, I begged her and begged her to listen to what Harrison did to me, didnít I, Jessie? She wouldnít hear of it. She made her decision, to stick with him. God knows why, because he did nothing and earned nothing, but she stuck with him and let us go. What would talking to Vincent or Vhodka Black achieve at this point?
More gaslighting. More manipulation. More diversions, headgames. They did this to me, they had to understand.
I dreamt of being like you. I dreamt of following in your footsteps.
They always said you shouldnít ever meet your idols, but I didnít think itíd be because theyíre frauds.