Caroline Ryan, you are a cruel, selfish, and incredibly unabashed idiot. I am amazed by your callousness and lack of empathy. Your article does more for the case against routine infant circumcision than almost anything else I’ve ever read.
If you’re not able to respect your lovers’ bodies as they are, you should not be having sex. If you can’t stop yourself from ridiculing another person’s genitals, in print no less, you should not be having sex. If you think that someone’s genitals being able to feel sensations is bad, you should not be having sex. If you would prefer your lovers to be unfeeling machines instead of human beings, you should not be having sex.
At least not with anyone else.
1. The wrong reasons for same-sex marriage — on gay conservatism and what Stonewall was really about.
For fuck’s sake, for at least the third time here, a minor is being charged with sexually abusing herself by taking (and distributing to other minors) pictures of herself naked. The fifteen-year-old is facing felony charges and the possibility of being a publicly-registered sex offender for ten years.
The distortion of the intent of the law here — you know, to protect minors from sex predators — is so overt, so extreme, I (almost) have trouble believing it’s happening. What’s the problem with child pornography, people: that an adult might be sexually aroused by children, or that a child has been abused?
The latter is a catastrophic violation of the sovereign rights of a person with almost no power. The former, disturbing though it may be, a thought crime. And it’s disturbing because it clearly implies the potential for child abuse — i.e. the actual wrongdoing we’re supposed to be trying to prevent here.
What the hell.
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And another post from me at Revolutionary Act…
Okay, so the title is a little misleading — there’s no problem at all with the narrow practice of having one sexual partner at a time. I’m monogamous because that’s what works for me (and my girlfriend); it’s what works for lots of other folks, too. That’s great.
What is problematic is the massive culture conceptualization of monogamy, which, in my estimation, goes way beyond how many people one is sleeping with. It is, rather, the cultural construction of love itself, which seems to amount to the idea that each person should get (and give) all her love from (and to) just one person. It is the idea that we should have all our emotional needs met by a sole other person, and meet 100% of that person’s needs in turn. It’s the idea that adults should have only one really important adult relationship — that the (sole) person one is sleeping with should become the single most important person in one’s life, that one’s spouse should exist on this sacred plane of total devotion, while our friendships should be basically casual, basically unimportant, or, at best, less important.
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Via Jeff Koons, fest your eyes upon some strange, yet somehow hilarious, creations.
My personal favorites are, of course, the giant balloon animals and the Kama Sutra positions. All these and more can be viewed here, at Jeff Koons’ official website (the balloon sculptures are under the heading Celebration, while the glass renderings of the Kama Sutra can be found under Made in Heaven).
And for those of you with a more philosophical bent, in his book on postmodernism, author Glenn Ward defines Koons’ work as “neo-geo-postmodernist visual art”. And no, I don’t actually know what that means. But hooray for animal balloons!
I have now seen this movie.
It was somewhat horrific.
But, if you want to watch a pro-abstainence good-girl christian bite off men’s dicks with her vagina, it might be the film for you!
My roommate and I are eagerly awaiting a sequel. We hope that the main character will decide to become a superhero and re-emerge in glittery spandex, guarding the world from the extreme evil of uncastrated men.
Also, this movie is self-described as “feminist horror”. Really, people?
Just finished up a paper I mentioned I was writing last week, analyzing sexual imagery in the writing of Jeff Mangum. I feel a little unsure about all of it — I think I oversimplify, and how could I do the work justice in 2000 words? And I have a weak conclusion. And it’s shorter than it’s supposed to be, which my papers always, always are. Oh well, at least it’s done, and at least I finally got the chance to write about Mangum, who is one of my absolute favorite artists. I’d love to do a much, much bigger paper sometime, like a book really, exploring all the recurring images, the connections between the songs, trying to figure out who’s who. Maybe that would be better as a sort of mural/map than a paper.
Anyway, any other Neutral Milk Hotel fans passing through here might enjoy this. Here it is:
There is a singular magic in the lyrical work of Jeff Mangum, the central force of the now-defunct band Neutral Milk Hotel. The songs are lovely in their odd and overflowing musical arrangements — the work of the band’s other members, Jeremy Barnes, Julian Koster, Scott Spillane, and often others, including Laura Carter and Robert Schneider — and in Mangum’s haunting, phantasmic lines. The most striking quality of the words is their complete harmonizing of the grotesque and the beautiful, the winsome and the profane. Mangum is showing us the terrible and the splendid in the same glance, a world that is fallen, ruined, and full of pain — and overwhelmingly beautiful, anyway.
This is most apparent in Mangum’s many complex, conflicted references to sexuality. Throughout On Avery Island, In The Aeroplane Over The Sea, and various live recordings, Mangum’s mentions of sex are both tender and disturbing. He has found something beautiful in the more fraught encounters, and something revolting in the more mundane ones. The allusions to sex convey both disgust and desire, and both pain and joy. Read the rest of this entry »
Note! This post contains graphic depictions of sex, beyond the “Read the rest” link. Click on at your discretion.
For this to make the best kind of sense, please refer to back to SOPP and the guidelines therein.
This is Via the Hookah smoking and infinitely creative ways of Tayzer Carrotsauce, Staceysaurus, and Kelsa.
There are a few Antioch-specific references, but I hope that won’t throw anyone off to far.
Emerson and Libby shared a glance across the smoky dorm room, the sweet scent of melon shish curling delicately through the air. It was nearing the end of the second term, and with Antioch College closing for good within a few short weeks, Libby felt the pressure of her secret desires closing in. It was tonight, or never.
Libby and Emerson had become close within the first few weeks of school, but strictly within a friendly sense. Libby had entertained numerous open relationships with the boys on campus, and presented herself as strictly identifying as straight. Libby had shared details of all of her sexual encounters with Emerson, but had kept one big secret from him. She wanted him. Bad.
As friends slowly filed out as the hookah ran out, Libby worked up the courage to make the move she had been dreaming of. She took a deep breath as she struggled to finally ask him, “do you want to take a walk in the glen?” Emerson, used to these late night walks, where they talked about everything, from future plans to crushes, did not realize that tonight was a night unlike any other.
“Of course,” he said, smiling his usual roguish grin. They set off, and soon found themselves along amongst the trees. It was a pleasantly warm night in mid April, the full moon showing full and bright, illuminating the rocky steps they walked on.
“Emerson,” Libby finally broke the silence they had been walking in, “I have something to tell you.” She sat down on one of the large boulders close to them. “I’ve always wanted you. From the first day I met you, at propsp. weekend.” Emerson looked stunned.
“I’m flattered, Libby,” he replied, pressing a hand to his tightly bound chest, “but I thought you were only interested in male bodied people.”
“Well, Emerson,” Libby began, “After taking queer theory with Isabella Winkler last term, I realized that I should stop limiting my desires into the box the society creates. I realized that want you and what I want to do with you, and that is that.”
In honor of the Gender-shenanigans that went down last night, and of course to afford Daisy and Emily more time to watch Lost, I am going to post briefly on something called the Sexual Offense Prevention Policy, or SOPP. It is a policy at my school designed to combat Rape Culture and make everyone feel a little more safe and secure about their sexual and gender identities, and the likelihood of harassment.
The main point of SOPP is consent. The two or more parties involved in physical activity of ANY kind, from hugging to making-out to fighting to naked jello wrestling, must VOICE explicit consent at every level of said activity. Basically, you have to hear the word “Yes” before you can throw your partner down and rub jelly in their face.
Obviously SOPP gets fudged a lot if you’re in a long term relationship, and its pretty darn ineffective against rape or any sort of real sexual harassment. But if something out of line does occur, under SOPP a complaint can be filed, and that person will be kicked out of school/banned from campus/reported to the police, etc.
But what does SOPP really do? It doesn’t stop harassment. My first month at Antioch I was verbally harassed very badly, in the form of questions. I would say no to one sexual position and I would quickly be asked if I was open to another, and this would go on and on and on. There is also definitely rape, fighting, and child abuse on this campus. Although I have seen some pretty bad situations, such as fights, adverted because of SOPP.
What SOPP does manage to achieve is an open dialogue. Some people have already gotten to this place on their own, and for that, I applaud you. But partly because of SOPP and partly because Antioch is a sex-positive campus, the conversations about sex are never-ceasing. In a society where you are forced to talk about what feels good to you sexually, how you identify, even what diseases you have, all before you actually sleep with someone, misunderstandings and some bad situations are avoided.
The SOPP: talking is good. Consent is good. Dialogue about important issues, such as sex, is very, very good. And I live in a community where if you don’t follow these guidelines, then you lose the right to be a community member. Because it’s that important.
Daisy asked me to blog a little about my school, so here goes. I go to Antioch College, in a tiny itsy town called Yellow Springs. Antioch, as a collective, has currently gone mad.
Because this week is Sex Week.
Which is pretty much the best week ever, if you couldn’t already tell.
Genderfuck happens once a semester, and is an entire week devoted to workshops, seminars, field trips and dance parties concerning sex, gender-bending, and exploration of identity. To give you an idea of the schedule, here are a few of the activities posted:
Reproductive Justice, a seminar on Adoption (for Gay couples, etc.)
A Survivor/Ally Workshop
A porn and cigarettes party (free cigarettes!)
Porn 101- The new wave of porn, Sex 101, and Kink 101, Bottoming Workshop, Topping Workshop (all but on by our local Queer Center)
A trip to the Sex Shop
Love Your Body Night (open to female-body-identified people)
An SOPP (Sexual Offense Prevention Policy) Dance Party
Non-normative Masculinities Panel
Erotic Art Party
and of course, the grand finale, the GENDERFUCK dance itself.
The end of Sex Week is the Genderfuck dance. To illustrate a snapshot of what people usually look like at Genderfuck: a friend of mine will be dressing like Liz Vicious, a gothic porn star. I believe my friend plans to add a thong to Liz Vicious’ general ensemble, but still. Another friend is going as a broken marionette doll, and a third is going as Rainbow Bright. People will “perform”, and usually there’s at least one performance set to the Dresden Dolls, who I love.