Feasting on Bond

I love James Bond films because we are taken to the edge of possible and maybe that happens and a world of now which may as well be the future. I love the sets, the direction, the production and the songs. I like to see how the make-up artists make up their charges and how skinny are the women. I see male thunder thighs and clean finger nails. I see stereotype foreheads of stereotype criminals. It’s a film world, a money-making thing tickling our imaginations and soaring us away to the unbelievable believable. it’s a man thing, created for a male audience with trophies real or imagined on their arms but keeping quiet for the big boys’ enjoyment.
How am I not repulsed by ole man Bond seeing women as holes to be filled? He is promiscuous to the end of his dick. How not? For I am compliant. But the moneypennies and the whores, the bints and the abused are equally promiscuous; all mouth and slink, confident that their vaggies are desirable and a prize for ole man Bond. M, the female character post-menopausal is mummy incarnate, mothering and grand-mothering her boy. I should not watch it.I should go read a book. I should go paint a woman with a prosthetic limb and an Afro.
I replay Clapton and should feel bad cos he was a racist once.
I need to care about what I know and what I decide otherwise I may just as well join Leytonstone Life and be told how to behave for the sake of a better community.
How very are we all.

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