Playgod: Entertainment for Fools

Abstract

What is a woman? What is it like, to be her? To be locked in the cage. To yearn for freedom while being told she isn’t real. Whatever’s in her head, it’s all mush. She’s nothing. Not person, not animal. Sometimes, she might be decoration: a pretty painting to hang on the wall, an expensive watch or tie. Therefore, a woman is mineral. She is what she is, nothing more. She believes what she is told. She believes in the gods of all things pretty and soft, her bible a girly magazine. Every man a threat, or a promise. Her existence defined by the face in the jar by the door. Every part of her life, a grotesque play for the pleasure of her watchers. She must keep sweet. She must be small. She must she must she must: every day, a mantra, repeated by everyone but her. (But sometimes, in the mirror, it comes out anyway.) To be left with a single question: Why?