He sees through you. He sees into you. Into your barren soul surrounded by a "vehicle", as buddhists would call it. fascinated by baroque, by displays of the dramatic, by death and drama, even, you'd hesitantly admit when drunk, by blood, because blood is life, and life is animated by, if nothing else, a flair for the dramatic. She shared this flair - by the age of 8 her forehead had become well-acquainted with the back of her hand. Sometimes the only power a woman has is to make a scene. She knew this all too well. He sees your lies. He sees that man you who gave you such a rush - that man you didn't know, but let think he knew you - dumbass. He sees that time you looked at your sick Grandmother with contempt when you were nine years old because, for a split second, you resented her for taking up time spent in Florida which might've, in your mind, been better spent at Disney World. He sees that time you got yourself off after your boyfriend fell asleep. He saw your fake orgasm too. What's more, he heard your fake "I love you" - in the opinion of many, a much bigger lie than any which can be told with one's body. He drinks whiskey because he is a cowboy. He might even wear a hat. The cherry of his cigarette burns as red as his retinas, infrared lasers which penetrate your eyeballs, giving you an uneasy sense that he knows too much. What if he sees it all? Everything? What judgment would he bring upon me - is he capable of bringing upon me? I don't know who this man is or where he got his power, but I know it is borrowed. He was not born with it; it is not his. He takes it from me - from those he judges - and he knows it. Without those from whom that which those have is taken, that which those have taken does not exist. We know where the power originates. We know we are needed. We are the overfed, hormone-filled cows made to suffer lives of misery so that wealthy people can dine on steak - our flesh. He uses our own power against us, a form of deception much hated by Americans who were alive in 2001. He lives off of steak. I survive because of their secret and unspoken need for me. I must be the lower 50% so that he may call himself the upper. I must feel guilty of my sexual indiscretions so that he will feel comfortable with his sexual inexperience. I must be a woman so that he can be the man.