Hey New York Times!

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/05/26/us/politics/trump-tweets-democrats.html



Remember how you and most of the rest of the media, the entertainment industry, a lot of corporations, cultural institutions and a bunch of politicians and governments around the world started using most of your workday to tell vagina jokes and to promote child rape in 2010, when Barack Obama was President and Joe Biden was Vice President? You didn't begin to stop until Me Too and the gymnastics scandal gained prominence in 2017, almost a year after President Trump was elected.


Even the sudden popularity of "feminist activism" among all of the formerly jeering misogynists, male and female, who took over Me Too didn't stop me and thousands of other people from being illegally filmed in bathrooms, shower rooms, locker rooms, and our own homes. That has already happened to me and EVERYONE AROUND ME again today, and will happen several more times before tomorrow, when it will all happen again.


Instead of all of the voyeurs who had already spent years blaming me for their criminal victimization of me and of EVERYONE AROUND ME finally saying "You're right, Lena; we should stop treating you and EVERYONE AROUND YOU so badly," even Me Too and other movements have been exploited to exclude the issues of voyeurism and involuntary pornography.  You're all blaming me more than ever.  The rationale seems to be, "Even now, nobody who's not being helplessly victimized by those crimes cares about them; that must mean that Lena is such a bad person that she REALLY deserves it."

Here's something that I didn't know before today.  Every video at the first page of Google results for "involuntary pornography" is of me talking about voyeurism and involuntary pornography at one of my past YouTube blogs.

Since millions of people now know me as Crazy Internet Lady, (Google my name and that's what you'll see, which is why I can't get a job or a place to live), and since the conglomerate is invested in denial about the sickening crimes which it has laughed about for years, and since victims of these crimes can't report them to the police or talk about them in public without identifying themselves as victims and increasing the audience for the pictures taken of them or videos filmed of them, it's not surprising that these issues continue to be unaddressed by the legislature, the criminal justice system, and all of the other powerful or privileged people who are supposed to be concerned about human rights.

I'm not excusing President Trump for his insensitivity.  I have never done that.  What I have said, since he was elected, is that if there were a bunch of Democrats who tried to persuade the Obama administration to be less sexist, I never heard about it.

If I spent years after 2010 trying to discern whether or not I'd like to date a celebrity, I'm not sure why so many people have attacked me for it.  After graduating from high school as an honor student in 1991, a year younger than everyone else in my graduating class, and being hospitalized in a psychiatric unit in 1992,  I have spent the entirety of my adult life working at menial jobs, because that's what society thinks is appropriate for people who have psychiatric histories, no matter how smart they are.  Contrary to what society also likes to think, which is that there's a direct correlation between being smart and being crazy, being smart wasn't the problem.  Even being encouraged to be a good student wasn't really the problem, although my parents overdid it sometimes.  I liked being a good student.  I liked having good grades.  The problem was that my family had had a lot of emotional trauma before I was born, and my smart, talented, funny family was also lonely up there in pre-Internet Vermont in the 1970s and 1980s and most of the 1990s.  Vermont is a nice place to visit, and it's a nice place to live for people who need to do outdoor sports more than they need to have everything that a real city has.

Working in menial jobs all of my life gave me a perspective that I wouldn't otherwise have, since when I graduated from my cordially competitive public high school, my mentality was already imbued with the idea that there's some shame in having to attend a college or university that's not listed in the top tier of school rankings by U.S. News and World Reports or one of those books that's supposed to help you decide where to apply.  I don't know if this is still true for high-achieving high school graduates, but I remember thinking of myself and everyone whom I knew as being the important people, while everyone else wasn't.  Being in the hospital a year later, reduced to the ultimate stigma of being a mental patient, surrounded by hospital employees who didn't know how to talk to an 18-year-old about anything, unable to articulate to anyone that when my parents weren't in their occasional good moods, they were overbearing, controlling, and emotionally cruel to their children in addition to being self-pitying and surly to each other almost every day of their lives, I finally stopped trying to talk at all about what my problems were, resolved to kill myself as soon as the hospital would let me out, took medication as prescribed, told them all what they wanted to hear, and started trying to hang myself in my parents' basement as soon as I got home.  I did something like that every day for months, until I took an overdose of acetaminophen and had to have my stomach pumped.  Then I was in the hospital again, diagnosed this time with Major Depression, because obviously you have a biologically based mental illness if you want to kill yourself when you have realized that the world will be pushing you around for the rest of your life because of the stigma of having been in the hospital at all.  The problem, of course, is not stigma or that all the work that you did since you were in elementary school is being treated as if it made you sick because nobody should have expected that a pretty little thing like you should try to be smart; the problem is that you aren't taking enough medication, or you're not taking the right medication.  When you're taking enough of the right medication, then we'll all feel better.

I have written about all of this before at past blogs.  The conglomerate really doesn't care.  All it wants to know is when it can watch video of my hand in my crotch again, so it can continue to blame me for why it's watching video of young professionals, college women and high school students, in addition to fat women, other middle-aged women and grandmothers in the locker rooms and showers at my gym when I'm not even there.  Over the past few months, I have been considering not taking top bunks at the Pine Street Inn women's shelter anymore; at least once per week, I am woken up by the masturbation of whoever is in the lower bunk.  Homeless people do not have good sex lives.  Most of us don't have sex lives at all, since we can't pay for private places to have them.  I don't hate the people who masturbate in the lower bunks.  However, contrary to the lascivious myth that the conglomerate has spun around me to rationalize its abuse of me for almost a decade, I don't like having to be part of someone else's sexual acts without being asked and without giving my consent.  I don't masturbate at the Pine Street Inn.  I also am not enthralled by masturbation.  The life that I had already had before the conglomerate descended on me like a plague didn't provide many opportunities for dating people whom I was really attracted to or could fall in love with; when I did meet a few of those people, I was too messed up by the mental health care system and the self-hatred of stigma to talk to them normally.  As I have said before, I was a virgin until I was 27 and haven't had sex since I was 29.  I'll be 45 this summer; it is not unlikely that I will be menopausal before I have a good experience of sexual intercourse.  If the conglomerate doesn't stop persecuting me, hacking my phone, invading my privacy in every way, ruining my reputation, doing the same to everyone who isn't horrible to me, I will live through old age and die without having another date in my life.  As I have also said before, the last time that I touched or was touched by another person, even for kissing, was in 2010; someone videotaped it and also videotaped the one date that I had in 2009, and the conglomerate, including all of the celebrities who are fucking other celebrities and anyone else whom they feel like every week have shoved their having watched those voyeuristic videos in my face ever since as if they're evidence that I'm a slut.

What else about not masturbating at the Pine Street Inn women's shelter?  I don't want to upset other people who are trying to sleep.  I also don't need to be "That" guest the day after, if another guest hears it or sees it.  It also seems to me that there have been hidden and illegal cameras in the locker rooms, bathrooms, showers and possibly even the sleeping areas of the Pine Street Inn women's shelter for years, so even if I tried to masturbate somewhere other than the bed, I would be filmed and the conglomerate would be hooting and hollering about that for years, the way it does about everything else in the distorted subsistence which it has forced me to live in while it accuses me of being a narcissistic diva.

What was I saying about dating celebrities?  Yeah, I thought about it.  I already knew, before 2010, that to date someone who has a lot more money than I do is to have a relationship with a built-in power imbalance.  I was also in my mid-30s, which is a time in life when most rational, nonfamous people who have a sense of self-worth that isn't totally superficial have at least partially grown out of whatever fascination with celebrity our culture likes to infect everyone with.  I also had begun to understand that being famous would not be synonymous with having everyone like and respect you, and that it could be really dangerous.  As I said in 2010, being rich and famous were not in the Pro column of my celebrity suitors.  When they continued to show, day after sad and shocking day, that they were incapable of offsetting their wealth and fame with educated intelligence, awareness, a good sense of humor or even fundamental courtesy, I suppose that my repulsed disappointment, my consternation that these intellectually blighted, emotionally stunted, condescending chauvinists and their alternately simpering and screeching, envious female counterparts were wearing their incongruous public personas like insects wearing mile-high costumes; you know, it made me irritable.

Knock knock at Cinderella's house.

Cinderella:  Who's there?  I won't stop working, even if I marry you.

The Conglomerate:  GIMME THAT SMELLY CUNT!   I WANNA SMELL IT!  I WANNA SEE IT!  YOU KNOW YOU WANT IT!

Cinderella:  Gosh, no.  I spent all of the years before you heard of me busting my ass in low-wage jobs, figuring out that the stigma of being a mental patient is much more debilitating than everything that put me in the hospital in the first place, being treated like I'm stupid just because I have a psychiatric history, and facing a lifetime of being vulnerable to anyone who wants to screw with me and then say it never happened and that I'm a crazy bitch who makes things up for attention.  You really need to stop talking to me that way.

The Conglomerate:  WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU SMELLY CUNT!?  WE'RE FAMOUS PEOPLE!  WE'RE THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE WHO EVER LIVED!  WE'RE LEGENDS!  YOU DESERVE TO DIE FOR TALKING TO US THAT WAY!

Cinderella:  You don't really think that, do you?  Some of you have to have some redeeming qualities; it can't be that "legends" such as you are this fucking disgusting.  Despite all of my hospitalizations, I never met a mental patient who said such disgusting things or repeated anything as much as you do.  The drunkest person whom I ever met in my life never said the things that you're saying.  The least educated, most obnoxious coworker or customer in the lowest-paid job I ever had was not as much of a pathetic boor as the most couth person among you.

The Conglomerate:  YOU STUPID BITCH!  WE GIVE MILLIONS OF DOLLARS TO CHARITABLE ORGANIZATIONS!  WE SIGN AUTOGRAPHS!  WE INSTAGRAM PICTURES OF OURSELVES WITH DYING CHILDREN IN HOSPITALS AND CALL THEM OUR BEST FRIENDS!  YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH!  YOUR MOUTH SMELLS LIKE YOUR CUNT SMELLS!  FROM NOW ON, WHEN YOU OPEN YOUR MOUTH TO TALK ABOUT US, WE'RE GOING TO MAKE JOKES ABOUT YOU HAVING A SMELLY CUNT!

This went on for a while, several years, and then, as is probably typical when one person is being bullied by a lot of people, sometimes one of them or someone joining the situation would do something like this:

Knock knock at Cinderella's metaphorical cardboard box on the sidewalk:

Cinderella:  Nobody who knows how I'm being treated could be both knocking and planning to treat me the same way.  You'd have to be either stupid or sadistic to do that.

Guy Knocking On Flap:  I know that nobody likes you, but I think that some of the things that you say are funny and you're still pretty even though you have bad teeth, turkey neck, spider veins, cellulite, thinning hair and acne and I was thinking that maybe we could go out sometime.  You're probably saying "Aw" right now, aren't you?  I knew you'd say that.  I'm such a good guy.

Cinderella:  I'll think about it.

Then I would think about it.

Cinderella:  No.

Guy Kicking Side Of Cardboard Box:  YOU SMELLY CUNT!  THEY'RE ALL RIGHT ABOUT YOU!  I LOWERED MYSELF TO OFFER YOU A DATE AND YOU STILL THINK YOU'RE ALL THAT AND THAT YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REJECT ME!  YOU'RE A SMELLY CUNT!  YOU'RE A LESBIAN!  YOU'RE OLD; THAT'S RIGHT, YOU HEARD ME, BITCH!  YOU'RE OLD!  YOU DIDN'T THINK I'D SAY THAT, DID YOU, YOU STUPID BITCH!  YOU ACT LIKE ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS BEING TREATED WITH THE RESPECT THE AVERAGE PERSON WOULD GIVE TO ANOTHER AVERAGE PERSON, YOU ACT LIKE IT REALLY BOTHERS YOU THAT PEOPLE CALL YOU CUNT ALL DAY AND TELL YOU THAT THEY WANT TO SEE PICTURES OF YOUR PUSSY, BUT I KNOW I'VE GOT YOU CRYING NOW!  I CAN ALMOST HEAR IT; YOU'RE CRYING 'CAUSE I'M HONEST, AREN'T YOU?  YOU'RE OLD!  CAN'T SAY SHIT TO THAT, CAN YOU, YOU STUPID BITCH?!


What was I saying?

The entertainment industry doesn't interest me that much these days.  Sometimes some of it is entertaining, but it presents no intellectual challenge at all.  It is also of particular insult to humanity that the ultrapleasant, wealthy lifestyle of celebrities is funded exclusively by the fake emotional connection which celebrities forge with the public, whom celebrities and the rest of the conglomerate think it's funny to criminally victimize.