"This book is written in blood.
Is it written entirely in blood?
No, some of it is written in tears.
Are the blood and tears all mine?
Yes, they have been in the past. But the future is a different matter. As the bear swore in Pogo after having endured a pot shoved on her head, being turned upside down while still in the pot, a discussion about her edibility, the lawnmowering of her behind, and a fistful of ground pepper in the snoot, she then swore a mighty oath on the ashes of her mothers (i.e., her forebears) grimly but quietly while the apples from the shaken apple tree above her dropped bang thud on her head:
OH, SOMEBODY ASIDES ME IS GONNA RUE THIS HERE PARTICULAR DAY."
#get some fucking manners everyone
probably the thing I hate most about grad skool is that not only is there is just tons & tons of weird interpersonal politics & drama, which kind of swirls around but never directly affects me, but that it involves an uncomfortable large number of people in a giant department at a giant university, people you see around a lot but don’t know know. I know the names & faces & research areas of almost everyone in my dept., students and professors alike, because I pride myself on knowing who everyone is. however, many of my colleagues, even ones I’ve been introduced to or TAed for or had long conversations with, don’t remember ever having met me.
this is an experience I regularly have in the world at large, and I’ve mostly made my peace with it, but it’s extra disheartening as a grad student because these people are not only my fellow students and teachers, but also my co-workers. and, like, seeing someone at a non-department-related party or other public event and trying to say hi and somehow not making it work and wondering if there’s weirdness or if they just genuinely don’t recognize me is an experience I’ve had way too often and one that my sensitive soul just can’t handle.
tbh the only reason anybody is “straight-passing” is because of the common and harmful conception that heterosexuality is the default and that queerness must have extreme and visible markers to be valid
like five years ago I decided to assume literally everyone is queer flavoured unless stated otherwise and it’s the best decision I ever made
Undoing Sex: Against Sexual Optimism | negationparty →
#against sexual optimism
I’ve been reading Lies: A Journal of Materialist Feminism and I can’t recommend it highly enough. it will set off bombs in yr brain. and it’s free on the internet! the first essay is below.
[a.k.a. Against Sex Positivity: The Third And Final Draft
hi internet! i saw that some people were reblogging the second draft of this piece still, which is super cool, but i figured it would help if yall had the final piece in rebloggable form. as much as i feel i’ve outgrown what i’ve written i still feel so proud of it and i hope that what reaches people is a somewhat more complete and polished presentation of my thoughts.
First published in Lies: A Journal of Materialist Feminism vol. 1 (the best journal! and free to download)
zine formatted by Negatecity
-caitlin n. party (c.e.)]
I - Starting
A story we are told:
You are on the brink of sexual freedom; it is here and at your disposal. It is asked only that you find it or make it. If before we were ugly, we may be beautiful now – still, you must make yourself natural, whole, and good. You were traumatized but you may recover, simply possess yourself. This is work to be done but it is a good work. Work on your shame, perhaps even fight those who shame you, and it follows that you will be free. At the end of it you will be whole and you will have reclaimed your natural pleasure. The right of man is to fuck and to orgasm. Feel free with your body to do these things because they are good. The feminists and the sexual liberationists knew this and this is why their movement is over. Cosmo and Oprah know this now and therefore everyone knows it. Sex is good and pleasure is powerful, and it is this proposition that will save us from our pain.
Michel Foucault repeats this tale in its barest bones: “someday, sex will be good again.” (1976) Yet for all such optimism may aspire to, it exists seamlessly with the brutal realities of gendered life. Rape goes on unabated; the lives of so many remain consumed in domestic and reproductive labor. It is not that optimism is simply ineffective, that it has been appropriated and de-fanged by a system of repression and may thus be saved, but rather that it exists alongside shame and silence, each playing their part in a broader production of sex and gender. If it was once radical and marginal to assert an essential, or simply available, goodness to sex, it is now central, institutional. Far from the domain of some radical set, it is at once an ideology of patriarchy and the majority of its opponents, a disparate, heterogeneous collection of discourses united in common aim. It is the optimism which insistently, cruelly returns us to the work of fucking.
Last month, when Glenn Ford was released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, the state of Louisiana “gave him a $20 debit card for his troubles.” That, plus the four cents he had left in his prison account, was all he had.
How do you build up the material accumulations of a lifetime overnight? How do you do it with no money? Where do you even begin?
Ford’s friend John Thompson had a clever idea: Do what millions of Americans do when they are hoping that other people will buy them a whole bunch of stuff. Build an Amazon registry.
The Amazon Wish List is here.
Read the whole piece here.
Just bought this dude something off his wishlist. You should too.