Being Female

In the center of my body is a tube.

Some think this tube has been there since I had four cells; others think it didn’t present itself until there were eight cells for me to link together.


There is a tube, a hollow, at the center of my body, and I have pretty much always had it, and it is what most essentially defines me as female.

All of us who are female have this tube. This hollow, this, if you will, “uterus.” Or “womb,” if we are completely formed. We may not consciously be aware of it. We may hate it, or endure it, or – if we are particularly well-adjusted – love it.

We all accommodate it. We all process it, however unconsciously or consciously, as the core of our existence.

We might be born without an ovary, or without two ovaries. Our uterii might be malformed or missing. But that hollow is still there.

We normally develop two (or three, or more) nipples, as all mammals do; we might remove the nipples for one reason or another, and bewail our lost femaleness, but that is not where our femaleness lies.

We normally develop extra breast tissue, and we discuss and compete with each other on the most perfect size and shape of the resulting breasts, or we have them removed for one reason or another, or we decry or pity male people who develop them, and we base our shared femaleness on these breasts. But we know, we intuit, that this is also not where our femaleness lies.

We are female because of our hollow.

The hollow dictates where our other internal organs lie, the organs that we all share as mammals, as humans. The hollow dictates the types of things we experience: what our internal bacterial makeup is comprised of, what our organochemical balance is; if our balance is incorrect, it is not because we are male, it is because our hollow and its associated organs are functioning outside their base parameters.

We negotiate this hollow as babies, as girls, as teenaged thunderstorms, as weary women.

This is our immutably shared experience.

Male people do not have the hollow at their core. Somewhere, a little further along in their development, they encase the hollow, and narrow it into a tube, and extrude it to the outside of their bodies.

Forever, the reality of their maleness is conditioned on this extruded hollow.

It might be so small as to be visibly indistinguishable from a female clitoris, or it might rival that of a stallion, or it might be damaged or viciously removed – or it might be discarded with prejudice.

Regardless of how large or small it is, even regardless of whether and when it is fully extruded, regardless of the presence or absence of the ovary-analogs that are their testicles, every baby, every boy, every teenaged thunderstorm, every weary man negotiates this extruded tube.

This is their immutably shared experience.

There are some babies who visibly retain the hollow at their core and also manage to extrude a part of it. The word we have applied in English is Herm-Aphrodite, and, because it does not happen often, because it is uncommon, we regard it as ab-normal, and pity or fetishize the situation, and speak of cures or therapies. Because we fetishize the normal, oblivious of the reality that life is mutation.

Their experience is not that of females. It is not that of males. Their experience shares in each, and expands beyond both. What that experience is comprised of is theirs to identify and proclaim, and is not known to me. And if it were known to me, it would still not be mine to identify and proclaim.

There are some babies who, as they become aware of their bodies, negotiate the hollow or tube they developed around with horror or utter rejection. They are convinced that their cells ought to have developed in the other direction. They take the steps they can to alter the situation.

I accept (without the belief that they need that acceptance) that their horror and rejection is very real. I applaud (without the hubris that they need or in fact want my applause) the steps they take to process this horror and rejection to a state they can endure and in which they can thrive.

In English we have applied such terms as transgender, trans-man or trans-woman; there are many other words of which I am unaware, or which I would refuse to use as being offensive to the dignity of the persons to whom they might be applied.

I use, and will always use, the gender terms required by the individual. This is mere politeness, this is only courtesy, this is basic civilized behavior. I negotiate, and will always negotiate, whatever dissociation I may experience concerning the displayed gender norms, privately. It is the responsibility of each individual to come to terms with alterations in their understanding of the world in their own way and time, and I am diligent in my adherence to this responsibility.

What I will not do, and what I refuse to accept any guilt for, is to accept the concept that the hollow at the core of my being is without worth; to embrace the concept that the internal tube that makes me female should be dismissed.

I refuse the notion that my efforts to negotiate the hollow at my core is an act of violence toward those who lack it. I have my hollow, and I have always had it. I and my sisters have our experiences of life in relationship to our hollows and how they behave. Though it distressed me with greater or lesser violence from my ninth year to my fiftieth year, it is mine, it is real, I do not make any compromise with my femaleness.

Adult men individually, and the misshapen western male culture collectively, have distressed me with greater or lesser violence specifically due to the hollow at the core of my being from my ninth year to this my current year of existence.

I reluctantly accepted my uterus. I fought to live in spite of my uterus. I relaxed into the war my uterus was waging on me, and I have embraced my uterus, the more so now that its passion has abated.

Do not ever think that a born male person has the right to tell me. Again. That my uterus is without worth. And that my introspection harms him.

The “micro” portion of “micro-aggression” will not apply.

Robert Mapplethorpe: a criticism of a critic’s work

Originally published in Dreamwidth, NOV. 19TH, 2004 02:59 PM

Because of the impact of Robert Mapplethorpe, not least in some of our very own endeavors, I went to read up on him. Following is an email sent by me to Arthur C. Danto, author of the book I discuss below.

Dear sir,

I am in the process of reading your book “Playing with the edge: The Photographic achievement of Robert Mapplethorpe” and I came across several points at which I must take issue with your analysis.

Please let me precede such criticism by stating that I consider the greater part of your essay to be highly insightful, especially when you deal with the serious eroticizing of art within the serious artistry of eroticism that Mr. Mapplethorpe intended and achieved. I am very grateful for the presentation of your reactions to Mr. Mapplethorpe’s exhibition in 1988. I was much taken by your analysis of the extent to which trust was an issue in his work as compared with that of Mr. Winogrand and Ms. Arbus (with whose work I am entirely unfamiliar).

But I was initially jarred by your description of “a black leather garment, cut away to expose his buttocks and genitals …” (p. 130) for what was to my eyes a very ordinary pair of leather-community chaps (which are understood to be different in material and function from those used by riders). Now, it may be that you were drawing attention to the function these are playing in this situation, but you did not then name them, which caused me to believe you did not recognize them. However, when I later began at the start of the book to read through, I found that you did recognize chaps in other photographs, leading me to wonder whether you recognized them only when they are worn more properly over jeans.

I found, a few pages later, the statements “… it seems to me, immensity must play an important part in this aestheticizing, and hence in the vision from within which the (male) genitals are perceived as beautiful. And this is disappointingly as reductive and mechanistic an attitude as that which thematizes big breats in women.” (p. 132) On the following page you complain that the genital measurements of Mark Stevens and the Man In A Polyester Suit are not typical in your experience of the world, in a fashion that leaves the reader with the impression that you wished Mr. Mapplethorpe had used models more close to normality, an impression enhanced by your evocation of Louise Bourgeois’ recalling of the use of gigantic phalluses in antique theater as subjects of humor.

Your complaint puts me forcibly in mind of the complaints of feminists (of which I am one) that images of beautiful women designed to appeal to men’s tastes do not in the least approach normality in the female body and face. The reason that I am so forcibly put in mind of these complaints is that we feminists were saying, as you did not appear to notice yourself doing, that the artists claim we are not desirable simply as we stand.

One of the amazing things about the homosexual community (to which I belong as a female member) is that the object of one’s desire has roughly the same form as one’s self, leaving one in the possible position of competing, aesthetically, with the object of desire.

Which is very destructive to one’s self-image as well as to any relationships.

A more healthy position to take is to admire, with amazement, all of one’s possible objects of desire, and through that admiration, also admire one’s own body – regardless of its own limitations and imperfections. Which is something our culture has always condemned when it has not made such admiration impossible.

I can assure you that I have personal experience with heterosexual gentlemen having the dimensions indicated in the above portraits, and I can also assure you that such dimensions are sufficiently rare as to be objects of admiration and lust within the gay male community. And, from an analysis of heterosexual pornography, objects of profound envy in the straight male community.

I would also like to wonder in your general direction why, in a society in which Pamela Anderson and Dolly Parton are considered to be visually compelling by so many heterosexual men, you are surprised that men attracted to other men – and who lack any hint of the kind of body-liberation philosophies feminists have developed – would find massive phalluses to be equally visually compelling. Mr. Mapplethorpe was not engaged in the liberation of the male erotic image from chains of sizism or muscle-centrism; he was engaged in the liberation of the male image from its chains of aneroticism. And you must admit – you do admit – that he achieved this aim. I am always suspicious of criticism that complains that the artist did not achieve the critic’s aims.

Next, I would like to comment on your analysis of the picture “Rosie.” I believe that you were suffering from a profound misunderstanding of the physical structure of the image that led you to misunderstand Mr. Mapplethorpe’s possible motives in taking the picture.

The child’s dress is not pulled up. It is pulled down over her knees. And she has pushed the skirt further down with her arm. Her problem is that her knees are pulled up in a semi-defensive position, which then acts to expose her bottom and genitals.

My daughters assumed the same position innumerable times at roughly the same age, and were always thunderstruck that I could tell when they had neglected to put on underwear.

The picture’s message is simply this: In our innocence, we have no idea how much we are exposing to an observant world.

I think a similar misunderstanding shapes part of your analysis of the picture “Jim And Tom, Sausolito.” The misunderstanding is of the function of the hood Jim wears, which you saw as “menacing,” and which is more visible in the portrait “Jim, Sausalito.” You noted that it has zippers for eyes and mouth. What you may not have known is that this is a submissive’s hood, designed to limit, at his (or her) dominant’s discretion, vision, speech, and access to food, water, and other’s bodies. It has been buckled around Jim’s neck with a collar. It is unclear, in this set of pictures, whether he has the use of his eyes, though it looks to me as though he clearly does not in the other.

Tom is the dominant partner. He is not being humiliated. He is asserting complete control.

Jim’s left hand is behind his back, out of the way, unable to balance him or to grasp the head of his partner or to stimulate his own skin. Only his right hand is in use, and then only as a means of controlling the direction of his stream of urine. His hands are gloved, cutting him off from a great deal of his sense of touch – he is not being allowed to pleasure himself in this process.

Tom is saying: All your body and all of its functions are for my pleasure and my use. This, too, is mine.

The statement would be different if it were Tom who was wearing the hood and gloves.

I do not know to what extent this information would alter your essay. It is very possible that others have pointed these things out to you before now. But I felt that I should write to you concerning them.



Dear [glitchen]

Thanks very much for taking the time and the trouble to write so thoughtfully about my book, from perspectives that were not available to me. I am not likely to revise the book, but I would certainly think about your criticisms if I should do so. I am not at all sure that your observations materially affect the argument, but would have to think about this seriously were I to undertake revision, especially your detailed discussion of the hood in Jim and Tom in Sausalito. Meanwhile, it would probably be interesting to you to get to know the work of Winogrand and especially of Diane Arbus.

Many thanks and best wishes,

Arthur Danto


Originally published on Dreamwidth, AUG. 19TH, 2005 08:05 AM.

It is a common, a frequent, a harried question: our uncomprehending observers look to the sexual characters of those we slash, and argue that it is highly unlikely that such a man would ever turn to another man sexually. They look at the pairs we slash, and fulminate that we dishonor the friendships between them by holding that any such friendship must be sexual in nature.

“Sue,” whoever she may be and blessings upon her, has written, of all things, a Poirot/Hastings story that is true to character, completely believeable, suitable for your grandmother – or even mine – and which is a complete explanation of what we do and why we do it.

The story concerns the discovery of the murdered body of a young Argentinian sailor who bears a profound resemblance to Captain Hastings, and who, it transpires, was the son of his extremely brief dalliance with a since-deceased young lady back before the War. Poirot has arranged for his funeral – with friends – kept Hastings close and retrieved him from nightmares, and worked with Inspector Japp in the pursuit of the young man’s murderer. Because of the young man’s illegitimacy, the question has arisen several times of why none of the three – Poirot, Hastings, and Miss Lemona – has never married, nor is likely to do so. At the core of the story comes this passage:

“Would you like me to read it to you?” Miss Lemon was asking, smoothing the opened pages and inserting a narrow strip of card to mark the place.

He gave her one of his rather wan, inattentive smiles. On the other side of the glass partition Poirot was deep in conversation with Japp, and he wondered what they were talking about. Their voices were soft and respectful, so he supposed it must be something to do either with Ramon or with himself. No doubt Poirot would tell him if he felt he needed to know, but he was experiencing no sense of urgency or concern about it. On the whole it was much more comfortable to let Poirot make the decisions; he would know soon enough if it was anything he needed to worry about.

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments,” Miss Lemon began, almost impatiently, responding to his air of detachment. “Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove.”

Very true, Hastings thought, not concentrating on her voice but letting it wash through him. There was something soothing, almost healing, about the words; he would ask her to type them out for him and then he could study them when he had peace and quiet and the letters would stay still on the page and not try to jump into his face like the performers in a flea circus.

“O no; it is an ever-fixèd mark,” Miss Lemon continued, her tone mellowing almost to sweetness as she noticed the direction of his gaze. “That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.”

“That looks on tempests and is never shaken! That’s the one!” The phrase seemed to have sunk beneath his skin somehow, spreading out through his veins, touching his nerve endings with the reassuring warmth of a friend’s hand gripping his in time of need.

“Yes.” Miss Lemon paused, sympathetically, looking over her glasses at Hastings’ pale face and the rapt look of total absorption in his half-averted eyes. He had no idea he was being observed; he was totally caught up in whatever thoughts were running one after another through his exhausted mind, but it looked at least as if they were benign ones. That was exactly the expression of the Mona Lisa, she realised; not smug, but completely content. She had seen him in the past overflowing with vivid excitement, caught up in some grandiose scheme or other, dazed with delight at some piece of gratuitous good fortune, but she had never seen him looking as thoroughly happy as he did at this moment.

“Love’s not Time’s fool,” she continued, cautiously, “though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle’s compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.”

His lips were moving. She could almost have believed she heard him repeating the last words under his breath.

“If this be error, and upon me prov’d,” she finished, her tone hushed almost to a whisper, “I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.”

“Yes,” he said, what seemed an infinitely long time afterwards. “I know I’ve heard that before. I wonder why it came to me when it did?”

But he did not really need to ask, because he already had the answer. Whilst she had been speaking he had looked properly into the empty place in his life where a wife ought to have been, and instead of some conjectural feminine form dispensing love and consolation and strength and reassurance what he had found there had been Poirot, endlessly resourceful and irritating and loyal beyond any hope of understanding. He had never seen it in those terms before, but it was pretty damned obvious to him now that Poirot loved him.

And I suppose I love him, he thought, for the first time. I suppose that’s what love really is. Wonder why the hell I didn’t realise it sooner? Nothing strange about it; neither of us is the limp-wristed type, thank God. But you can see why chaps settle down together and how they make a go of it, if one of them’s somebody like Poirot. Infuriating, of course, but I could happily make my life with him if that was the way things turned out. Actually, come to think of it, I probably already have, without ever even noticing.

Poirot was listening intently to Japp’s end of the telephone conversation, but when briefly the police officer fell silent he took the opportunity of glancing through the panel to check up on Hastings. Thus their eyes met, and if Hastings felt at all sheepish or clumsy as a result of his epiphany that feeling was dispelled immediately by the warmth in Poirot’s regard. He did not smile, precisely, but the corners of his mouth lifted a little beneath his moustache and his eyes crinkled, and somewhere in them was the element of mischief that was not always successfully disguised by his feigned pomposity. Hastings had always suspected that there was a joker hidden deep within Poirot’s nature, a defier of convention who would one day burst free in outrageous fashion and laugh pitiless scorn at all those who had once seen fit to laugh at him – except that he could not imagine Poirot being quite so ungenerous. No, he would just go on absorbing all the ridicule and responding to it with immaculate courtesy, looking on the tempest and remaining unshaken.

It is not so much, you see, that we think – ah, they’re such good friends, they must be doing it. It is more: Oh, would that I were doing it with someone who respected and trusted and liked me that much. Because that has never been a part of the social understanding of male-female relationships: we are not supposed to be friends with each other. Go play with the girls, we are told; Go play with the other little boys. Our adult relations with each other as friends are subverted into the expectation of courting, which must be negotiated in some fashion before the friendship has a chance to occur. One of us not being of the appropriate orientation is a good way of dealing with that: explanation enough for women’s friendships with gay men. Men have a more difficult time being friends with lesbians, because there is definitely a subvocal societal expectation that men can and should “seduce” them back to heterosexuality. (The same expectation is present the other way up, of course, but women are less likely to decide that they are expected to commit rape for the cause.)

But trust of the level that we see between Kirk and Spock, between Blair and Jim, between Frazer and Ray, between Poirot and Hastings, comes because they have put their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor on the line for each other, more than once. Without the expectation of courtship.

And that, in my opinion, is what we crave.


Originally published on Dreamwidth MAR. 17TH, 2006 03:38 PM

Part of the argument that we continue to hear is that:

(pro)Homosexuality is genetic, and therefore it is gratuitously violent to legislate against a …hm, situation? that is not within the individual’s control.
(con)Homosexuality is a choice, not genetic, and therefore a different choice can and should be made.

While I am all for the scientific exploration of the function of our physical natures upon our societies, I have to say: Back the Truck Up. *beepbeepbeep*

Whether there is a genetic or biological component to a specific behavior is wholly irrelevant to whether or not a behavior should be illegal, deemed immoral, tolerated, legal, or recognized.

There are biological components, do not forget, to child molestation, serial rape, murderous cannibalism, and torture. They have all been found in many animal societies outside of our own. The fact that homosexual attraction and bonding have also been found in many animal societies outside of our own does not, therefore, in itself dictate that it should have protected status.

Contrariwise, the lack of a biological component is also wholly irrelevant to social legality. There has never, for example, been offered one shred of evidence that either religious or political affiliation has any biological, genetic, or indeed (much to the dismay of parents everywhere) even environmental components – though all do, of course, play a part in the interpretation of such affiliations.

And yet, both the religious and political freedom of the individual, the most choice-ridden situations available, are enshrined within our Constitution as inviolate.

The choice of which behaviors to protect legally and which to punish legally have historically rested on one and only one basis: danger to the social body. I will leave the proof of that to your own devices, but if you pare away the outer hulls, that is what you will find. The thing that changes over time, leading to changes in the law, is the understanding of what damages the social body and what does not.

I propose that homosexual behavior, identification, and affection be legalized to precisely the same degrees that heterosexual behavior, identification, and affection are legalized, and to the same end: the protection of the young, the unwilling, and the defenseless; the provision for stable relationships; and the promotion of the general mental health that is possible only when people can be honest about who they are in the gaze of the larger society. And that would be mental health for all concerned.

Who you are cannot be dictated by society and your parents: not political beliefs, not religion (Judaism and Catholicism notwithstanding: people do both come in and go out), and not affectional orientation. Regardless of, and wholly separate from, genetics.

CHURCH CONDEMNS LESBIAN IVF USE (and gets condemned right back)

Originally published on Dreamwidth NOV. 19TH, 2007 02:30 PM.

Cardinal Murphy-O’Connor wrote: “The bill proposes to remove the need for IVF providers to take into account the child’s need for a father when considering an IVF application and to confer legal parenthood on people who have no biological relationship to a child born as a result of IVF.

-um, ya mean, kinda like folks calling someone “Father” who not only has no relation to them genetically or legally, but whom the folks answering to that appellation still see as necessarily overriding the folks of the first parts’ own judgment in all kinds of personal and political situations?

Of course, they did say that “The direct and intentional destruction of innocent human life is always wrong and is not just one issue among many, […]It must always be opposed.” I wish they had been holding to that standard there in the 1960s-1990s, when they were asked to defend innocent human life. – Oh, right, they only care about protecting innocent life when there’s a chance of controlling a woman along with it. Because otherwise, as Garry Wills says in his LA Times opinion piece, “The supreme irony is that, properly understood, abortion is not even a religious issue.”

I have said before, verbally if not in this forum, that

the damage goes beyond disillusionment with a father figure because the exploiter-abuser was a priest, a “godlike” person, who occupied a position of sacred trust to the youth and his or her family. Furthermore, the victim had not only been violated but his or her source of spiritual support in a time of trouble—the church and its representative—had been rudely swept away.

The authors of this article and writers of the above words obviously (and unknowingly!) agree with me and bring back to the fore the fact that, media skew aside, we are really, really not talking about priests being homosexual predators. On page 56 of this document, they examine the various sources and interpretations of the statistics. But even if only half as many girls as boys get victimized – a statistic questionable on a number of grounds – that still means that a full third of the victims are young females, and their predators thus heterosexual priests. AW Richard Sipe is quoted in that same Boston Globe article as finding that “the numbers change dramatically among late adolescents and adults, with woman victims outnumbering males 4 to 1.”

John Paul II said in his Evangelium vitae of 1995 that

It may be that many people use contraception with a view to excluding the subsequent temptation of abortion. But the negative values inherent in the “contraceptive mentality”-which is very different from responsible parenthood, lived in respect for the full truth of the conjugal act-are such that they in fact strengthen this temptation when an unwanted life is conceived. Indeed, the pro- abortion culture is especially strong precisely where the Church’s teaching on contraception is rejected. Certainly, from the moral point of view contraception and abortion are specifically different evils: the former contradicts the full truth of the sexual act as the proper expression of conjugal love, while the latter destroys the life of a human being; the former is opposed to the virtue of chastity in marriage, the latter is opposed to the virtue of justice and directly violates the divine commandment “You shall not kill”.

I submit that the full truth of the sexual act is a proper expression of affection between consenting adults, and that the total rejection of any sexual permission outside that of a conjugal attempt for reproduction in itself breaks down the attempt by morally desperate but fragile people to understand the rules – which are psychiatric and neither physical nor legal in nature – by which we may sustain a society.

The sexual act between friends – male and female, or female and female, or male and male – does not in itself cause mental agony. The sexual act of a solitary person, like the sexual act between more than two friends, does not cause mental agony.

But a sexual act between an authority figure and a dependent person, whether a child, a legally or religiously submissive person, or a mentally or emotionally fragile or non-competent person, does cause mental agony. It destroys the dependent person’s full capacity for societal participation; it injures and may destroy the dependent person’s full capacity for sexual expression; and it destroys the dependent person’s trust in unconditional love, which has been shown to be profoundly necessary to full moral development.

And a sexual act between people who are not friends, or between people at least one of whom has promised sexual fidelity to one not present, does cause mental agony, to the participants who find their sexual experience to be mechanical or even despairing, and to the person or people not present, who find that their trust in their beloved is unfounded.

There are sexual crimes, oh yes. But I have no ability to hear the words of the authorities of the Catholic church on this matter: their actions are screaming too loudly.

The Meaning and Uses of the Word “Fuck”

In English, words get multiple meanings when they are used to associate a base definition with a different context. I leave for your later exploration the word “bear” as a beautiful example. The best way of identifying that base meaning is to explore what other words or phrases can possibly used for the same meaning in the same context.

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Political Stuff Herein.

Oct. 3rd, 2006
Okay, anyone who has actually been reading my journal knows where I have to stand on gay rights. But it might not be so obvious, my recent self-introduction notwithstanding, where I stand otherwise.
Let me put this in the negative, then.
I do not believe that any adult anywhere has the right to touch children in a sexual manner. I define “children” here as “human or otherwise sapient minors as defined legally or not less than seven years after physical maturity, whichever comes last.” Yeah, I said “last.” If “maturity” is legally “12” and a kid hits menarche or wet dreams at 9, leave them be until they’re 16, please. Even if local law says you don’t have to do so. If the kid hits menarche or wet dreams at 16, there’s no harm in leaving her or him be until 23. Give them time to get used to the body!
I do not believe that anyone has the right to touch nonsapients, even human ones, in a sexual manner. (Artificial insemination of livestock is a problem for me, which I’m studying on.) Whether there is a local law against it or not.
Cross-generational incest is psychologically damaging to both parties, and particularly to the weaker (the younger, or the frailly elder) party. It should not be permitted; if legal recourse is inadvisable, I would firmly recommend mandatory counseling.
That all being established, and other coercion being excluded, I see no reason not to legally recognize any union of any number of sapient adults for the emotional and financial support of each other and of affiliated dependents.
I do not believe men deserve fewer, or more, protections against sexual misconduct than do women. If it would be sexual harassment for a woman, it is sexual harassment for a man. (Thinking here of job “requirements”.) If would be sexual harassment for a man, it is sexual harassment for a woman. (Thinking here of “solicitation” of a stranger for sex – whether money is or is not mentioned should not vary by the gender of the one approached, legally speaking.)
I do not believe in the forgiving of sexually-motivated violence, regardless of the context. And by “forgiving,” I mean “responding only outside of the legal system.”
I believe that most ethnic violence, especially that which appears to be religious, is actually sexual at its root: one group attempting to control the sexuality and genetic rights of another. (“Civil,” i.e., racial civil rights: see accusations of the rape of white (or otherwise dominant group) women, and accusations of promiscuity and prostitution.)
I believe that gender-related violence is sexual at its root: men, sometimes abetted by women, attempting to control the sexuality and genetic rights of others. (“Women’s” civil rights; and “Gay” civil rights: see accusations of promiscuity, prostitution, and solicitation; see also the rage concerning birth control, abortion, and adoption.)
I believe that the dismissal of the existence of nonstandard physicality and mentality is genetic at its root: attempting to remove such folk from the genome by a form of “exposure,” causing their deaths by neglect and thereby proving their lack of survivability. (“Handicapped” civil rights: see building standards, mental health departments in hospitals, and Reagan’s “community-based care.”)
Countering all this, I believe firmly in the Ninth Amendment of the United States Constitution: The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people. Most of the country, for most of its history, has firmly ignored this right.
But by Athene, Apollo, Odin, and Freya: it shall not be so forever.

Open Letter to John C. Wright

Aug. 13th, 2009

In his post More Diversity And More Perversity In The Future, johncwright wrote, in part:

The Sci-Fi Channel (I cannot bring myself to type the phonetic/stupitastic new version of their name) has recoiled in craven fear and trembling when lectured by homosex activists, who gave the SF channel an “F” rating on their political correctness. Alas, the thoughtcrime! Not enough perverts on TV! The children have to be indoctrinated!

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The sexuality summary

May. 12th, 2006

So, if I’m reading the previous correctly, it goes like this:

1. The highest expression of physical love is the creation of new life within a context where those responsible for creating that life will nurture and raise it.

2. Any physical pleasure which does not meet the above standards dehumanizes the participants, turning at least one of them into a “prostitute” or utility for the convenience of the other.

3. When the possibility of the creation of new life within a context where those responsible for creating that life will nurture and raise it is gone, then those people ought to cease engaging in physical pleasure, whether they are married to each other or not.

This leads to the following conclusions on my part of the logical outcomes of this set of statements:

A. A menopausal woman ought not to have sex with her husband. (Or anyone else.)
B. A man whose wife is menopausal ought not to have sex with her (or anyone else).
C. A woman who is currently pregnant ought not to have sex with her husband (or anyone else).
D. Any infertile person ought never to have sex, and probably ought not to be married.
E. Any unmarried person ought not to have sex at all.
F. No parent should die ever until the youngest offspring is at least 18.
G. Therefore, fertile or not, no one over the age of 50 should have sex, lest they inadvertently die before their offspring are completely raised.


The female participants are being devalued and dehumanized and turned into sex utilities.

I think that’s it.

What they mean when they say Gays threaten Marriage.

May. 12th, 2006

Finally I have read a detailed, comprehensible, in-their-own-words explanation of why the Christian Right is reacting to sexuality the way it is. The following is culled from a nine-page article, which you should definitely read in its entirety. It may still be freely available; otherwise, the registration with the New York Times is free and worthwhile.

Published: May 7, 2006
The New York Times Magazine
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