Posts Tagged ‘women’


Women have restrictions.  Boundaries. It’s nothing new.  We startle. We unnerve the opposite sex. We put our own kind on edge. We can anticipate your every move –especially in chess.

Don’t be flashy. Put away the Dior, Zsa Zsa.

                                                                                    (Tut-tut. You should know better, girls.)

Women make their own moves now. We roll the dice. We move the pieces. We finish first.  We take care of ourselves. We say when. We say how, but there are rules:

Watch those thumbs. You can’t unbutton anymore than the top and second buttons in a dress shirt. (You wouldn’t want that ample cleavage turning on your opponent’s knight and asking your rook for an after-dinner drink at Chez Lancelot.)

No one really smells like roses.  Watch the body odor, and the perfume.  We don’t want the pheromones taking charge. Chess is a game of strategy and precision.

Lastly, don’t be gauche.  Pretend you’re back in Tolstoy’s day – you wouldn’t want to be distracted on your move. Be coordinated in mind and outfit.  Your jewelry must be in line with your garb.               (You wouldn’t want the judges giving you the boot, right?)

Be ordinary. Put the bling away. The game’s been played since 600 AD.  Times might change, but the game is always the same.

© Umansky 2012


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Our foremothers were grateful. For the corset. For the cincher. For the girdle. The bloomer. For the bustier. For the bra. For the panty and the drawstring waist.


For Goddamn Little Miss Elastic.


For silk. Chiffon. Gossamer and lace. The fishnet, the back-seam; the push-up; the strapless; the open-front. The halter.

Then man created the “stay-up” and with it,             the depletion of the garter.


                                                                                                                                    [SNAP !]


And now … what would our foremothers think of “the thong?”

The Spanx?      The convertible bra? 

                                                                                    We have come so far.  

[Would they be proud, sitting on the porch in their rockers/ Peeling potatoes over the kitchen sink/ digging up rhubarbs or turnips on the farm; dusting the china-cabinet with a shmata; reading by the fire or the hearth 

                              – would they even care? ]

They used to just be grateful for their health,

                                     but now, we have it all

all at our fingertips                                                                            

[and I don’t mean sewing]

We can  wear pants; we can cut our hair. We can control our “cycles.”  We can create our own children.


Strip it all !

Let the seam tear…  

We have come so far

from giving in

from sucking in


Let it all hang out,

like a man. 

 (c) Umansky 2011


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Every Thing Possible

To be believed is an image of truth & not-truth. Thinking outside the box. The function of  [space] rests on your fingers. How we categorize the thinking of functions is like immigrating across time.  Even cockeyed gibberish translates into some vernacular.  Into bits of alpha-male flanked on the screen.


                       It is sensational. It is artisanal.  It is extra sensory that

                       everything at once still ends up in someone’s mailbox:

                       electronic or not.


It would be an insult to the possible to succumb to it. If the box you lie in makes you ill; sod it.  A theory or grams uncritically ties the page to the mast; the mast to the page.  Pitch a sail and traverse the intellectual field: find a lover.


                         From the erotic to the neurotic; an alternative explanation is:

                         do –it yourself. 

                         Is:  annex what is potent and ride it out at your desk

                         [everyone’s doing it]


So, men will continue; with their dirtiness. He didn’t dislike you –  it’s the porn..  It’s the digital SHE that represents the real (if you’re delusional). The menaced-men investigate what is reached: they take their political past and  their psychosexual flair and auctioneer their best traits to the highest bidder:


A startling departure: the electronified woman. [ Surely Darwin didn’t see that] What baffled naiveté we own, to stand in the midst of such beauty and desensitize it.  To come through so perfected through a screen.  To do-it-myself with myself as if waiting for the phone to ring.  A call not made.  Disconnected. Disdained.  The lazy days. The lazy ways. The lazy phrase. So urgent is that– that immediate gratification; immediate satisfaction; immediate attraction that it Kings your life. Stirrings resonate in the mind.  The physical is unified.  The need to be held becomes  disembodied –as SHE is disembodied when you hit [power off]. Did she lie? 


Her treats are too sticky. Her sap is too tricky. Her figure is jerried-up just so to speak [or peak] before it sours.   These [little] questions are all harrowing; or all narrowing.


                          Go back to the mind, and feed it.  [REFRESH]


The soul: the original electric.



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