I have been learning more and more about mesh and mesh injured women and the more I learn the more terrifying it becomes. It reminds me of the holocaust, of the nazi doctor Joseph Mengele and it reminds me of the factory 'farms'. I had a breakthrough last week with the animals. I performed a new poem that I wrote. It was powerful and I was brave and I am grateful that I was able to do it. I knew that if I could do that then I could do anything. This is the poem that I wrote and shared in a restaurant inhabited by about 70 to 80 people, many of them with meat or what I prefer to call by its real name, 'the flesh of tortured animals' on their plates. Truthfully if we can dine and wine on torture and agony why would we be surprised that women are being butchered through their vaginas for money. To me it is all the same. Joseph Mengele exists everywhere in different forms...factory farming and mesh are his siblings. We all have abusive people in our families. I am the last person to deny that evil exists everywhere and that it is happening right now underneath our noses. What is shameful is that we remain silent in the face of brutality be it to animals, to women or to....

I won't remain silent. Not about mesh and not about factory farming. This is the poem that I performed last Monday at the Muse in Provincetown. 

I introduced myself saying that I am sharing a new poem from my body of work called 'Poetry for the Gut' and then I began with confidence and with freedom in my heart.

'The floors of the slaughterhouse are covered, in blood.

But it's not the blood that makes it so bad.

The terror in their eyes and the nausea in their stomachs?

No, even that isn't what makes it so bad now, is it?

The screaming? Have you heard a pig, screaming?

They sound just like humans.

Have you seen a pig thrown into boiling water alive?

That's common practice in the meat industry.

But  maybe that's just not bad enough for you, is it?

How about a pig hanging from his feet, being skinned alive?

Can you hear the screaming now?

I am going to help you here, because something is clearly not coming through.

I am going to bring the factory so called 'farms' to you.

Pigs. Are. Confined. They cannot move. They cannot turn around. For months. They lose their mind. They bang their heads violently against the wall. They bite obsessively into iron bars.

Cold. Iron.

Is that what your heart is made of?

Trapped. Chained. Forsaken. Abused. Tortured.

Oh, and one more thing, baby pigs have their testicles ripped out of them. Beaten. Broken.

Violence. Greed.

And you, you call this an apatite?

You call this dinner? lunch? breakfast?

The next time you eat the flesh of a tortured pig I hope that a piece of you dies.

I hope that compassion grows into that dead piece of you.

I hope it grows fast because their screams are killing me.'

                                                                        Atara Schimmel

I think that this Monday I will perform the vagina poem. I will dedicate it to the 30 million american women and the significant but undocumented number of men that suffer from some form of pelvic/genital/sexual pain and I will dedicate it to the hundreds of thousands of mesh injured women. I feel so angry and desperate and I feel such a sense of urgency. I am so angry at what is being done to women. We are being destroyed systematically by surgeons through our vaginas. Oh my god. I just can't tell you how many times I have cried since reading and learning more and speaking to more and more women. If I wasn't doing my art I would want to die from it. It does the same thing that the holocaust does to me and that factory 'farming' does to me. Only that the difference here is that I feel that I CAN do something and I feel that I AM GOING TO DO SOMETHING MAJOR. I can't explain the feeling. I just know that I am going to burst and that I am going to be heard big time. I just have to protect myself. My own sensitivity can kill me. 

These paintings are in process. This one is going to say something like

 'Mesh sisters stay together.'

This one is going to say ' Mesh-injured sisters, I am praying for you.'

And to add joy onto joy, as though I have not suffered enough at the hands of an abusive older brother. Now I live next to a (recovering?) heroine addict, local street performer that is aggressive and abusive. I do not feel safe here.

I want to live in a safe and quiet space with a beautiful view of the sea with plenty of room inside my home to do my art. I want to live in peace and quiet. I want to be able to take care of myself. Goddess help me.

I have so much work to do. I have to be able to remain balanced, focused and peaceful in order to do my work in a way that won't hurt myself. Meeting mesh heads on is a meeting with the devil and this devil is dangerous and cruel. I need safety and peace to be able to meet the devil and fight him successfully.

Why are there abusive people everywhere? And will they ever get out of my hair?

I am not feeling loved or loving today. I was cursed and violently screamed at. I called the police and changed the locks on the door. My key has disappeared since last night, if it doesn't suddenly swim out of the toilet bowl or drop down from a star than either my crazy neighbor stole it or a workman that was here yesterday stole it. Needless to say I started looking for a new place to live. My little dream room in Provincetown with the gorgeous view of the sea is no longer safe for me.

I haven't started praying to the angels yet. But that will be next on the agenda. Oh, and one good thing, I practiced the guitar and made headway with the chords and I feel ready and prepared for my next lesson.

One day I am going to sing my troubles, oh they will sound so beautiful sung.

Atara, here is a blessing for you. I want you to know that I am proud of the incredibly important work that you are doing. I want you to know that I love you deeply and that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and protected living in peace and in quiet.

I am working on a painting to raise awareness for mesh. I will submit it to the Provincetown Art Association's upcoming juried show. I can pray that it be seen and recognized and admitted into the show. Pray for me too. Together we can make it happen.