Sex is Not a Social Construct. Part One.

… so when you go home to-night and give a job to your partner or masturbate, what ever floats your boat, (and I hope that it is at least one of the two, unless you have a good and personal reason for asceticism), re-call what George Carlin said: Have you ever wondered why they call it a “job”? It makes it sound important. Makes you feel like you did some thing use full for society.

Remember that this is not entirely a joke. You are not merely releasing a thousand* or so unborn humans from repression; you are releasing all of human-kind from Oppression.

I decided to begin this Critique at the end, because fuck the structuralists. Seriously. They need it.

I decided out of curiosity to do a search on the word “images” on the Google Image Search. This was of course accidental; I have little time for idle games. I merely in-put “images” in the Google Search server, hoping to be brought to the Images Engine by virtue of one of the Results, and when that did not work I simply clicked the “Images” tab. But the word “images” was still the query, and the results were GENUINELY fascinating.

The prospect of Compassion and Humility was on my mind at the moment. Having debated competitively for a year on the College level I was beginning to wonder why I had forgotten these two virtues. By “wonder” I do not mean to say that I was surprised; Debaters tend to be at times the least compassionate and the least humble of people. I only wondered why I would lend so much authority to their conformity, complying with a proto-Fascist narrative all for a false sense of security, to the point that it totally eclipsed the Sun of Compassion and the Moon of Humility.

But here it was like walking into a genuine Zen temple. I saw the most majestic tiger, the most heart-tugglingly awe-inspiring orangutan (which was peculiarly labeled “panda”; the url simply said “panda.org”) a small legion of adorable puppies, a vision of grandeur as hot-air balloons drifting into the sun-set (funny how a still shot evokes so much motion to the mind. It makes one think of Proust.). I saw a young girl holding sub flowers in her hands, smiling innocently. I saw mountains which may very well have been the object of her consciousness jutting out of a horizon like golden shark-teeth, diving a sky that flowed into a reflective lake in two. I saw a penguin (I think a macaroni-flavoured one; one of those distant relatives of the auk surely) about to be devoured by a snake-tike aquatic mammal (weird, huh?). And though my heart might have felt a trepidation of dis-ease at the sight of this, simply by virtue of the pathetic fallacy (as Camus said we tend to want to stamp the world with the human seal (seal in the sense of a rubber stamp, not the aquatic friend [if that is not too pathetic and sentimental a fallacy in its self]), and we are too sheltered from the “mutual eating society” that Watts described Nature as) I was put at ease when I gazed upon the first of the images: That of a tree standing solitarily in the midst of a tremendous field, under a sky en-shrouded in clouds, but not concealed by them so much as adorned as though they were fossil casts (the convex corollary of whom imprints are concave) or bumps in Greek plaster or rust in Roman bronze.

And of course the moment would not have been complete were it not for the glorious image of a woman. I thought: Yes. Behold the goddess: The archetype of life. I speak by exaggeration of course, because it was her sheer humanity, and the fortitude with which she asserted it, that completed by vision of the Human Being within the field of immanence. Her perfect blonde hair evoked the integrity of the fields, an analogy that a less utilitarian and environmentally destructive race of people would have gladly made with no more hesitation than the eye does. Her lips, firm and apprehensive but not shaken, were open with a kind of receptivity with in her eyes, a gentle firmness that balanced so eloquently the trust that all natural phenomena are heir to but the more masculine warning: Do not violate this trust. Her God-given (or might one say Nature-given?) frame was adorned in white spots like the cosmos their selves, wrapping about the deeply humane curves of her breasts, knees, and shoulders as though about some black hole, held together by a fabric that to the unwitting eye would seem invisible, and to the more discerning eye looked like a kind of soft chain-mail of miniscule links, holding the entire body together like the fabric of the Universe (because of course one would not think except in a state of total perversion to segregate those clothes from the body, as though to un-dress and to violate her aforementioned sacred trust; as shall be explained it this kind of “undressing” of the beautiful immance of truth, this violent tendency to “expose the naked ugliness” of a situation by reducing it to the merely human, that is the chief perversion of the cultural Marxists and other self-proclaimed ‘feminists’ that I shall be criticising.). What complete the image to my immense delight especially as a man were her boots. For a man, the archetype of the damsel in distress is peculiarly moving, occurring in every civilization in the course of human history, because I should never want a woman to suffer unfairly. The instinct of man is to protect woman, and as my dear friend Isaiah Valentine said: ‘The best way to defend your friends is to teach them to defend their selves.” The stilettos time and time again have been for me a symbol of female authority. If I ever criticised them the only argument I could come up with was the feebly Utilitarian one: Why do women wear heals? They must be so uncomfortable and damaging to the legs. The response that shut me up in that matter: they make me FEEL POWER FULL.

I knew beholding this image that THIS was human sex. Not animal sex, but akin to it in a way that the human mind, with its delicate but unshaking balance of civility and passion, could stomach (or crotch?). It would never have occurred to my mind that this was a “social construct”. Have you noticed that people who claim sexuality to be “socially constructed” forget to specify “human sexuality”? It is because they are humanists; they do not give a flying fuck (literally) about the greater World. In this woman I beheld the human animal: Not “all-too-human”, but retaining the dignity of Animality that Humanism took from us, occurring with in the grandeur of the Universe in a distinctly human way that is a gift to man. And by man I mean both the generic, asexual word for “human”, (in fact that and “he” are the only asexual ways of referring to the anonymous human in our language) as well as the sexual, erotic version that means “male”, because to feel entitled is not a sin except in the Judeo-Christian ethic.

Behold the dignity of the second chakra in the spectrum of Existence. In other words.

Imagine my descent into frustration as I read the perception made in the caption. The Absurd can truly strike one, as Camus said, at every corner:

“This image is very sexualized. The clothing she is wearing is designed to show her body shape and it is fairly revealing. The high heels she is wearing are also associated with sexiness, and she is in a vulnerable body pose. Her direct look at the camera, her red lipstick, and long hair also contribute to sexualization.”

I’ll bet that “Sarah Murnen”, the author of that quote, does not get laid a lot. I am too apathetic to look her up. If she does she must be competitive. If she does not, as I suspect, she must be jealous.

Too soon? Then keep listening. Surely it is my responsibility to all ways protect women like this model from humiliation. It must be difficult to be young, female, and beautiful, right? The feminists at least got that right, I think.

Sarah Murnen, her critic, probably lost some of the young zeal, if she ever had it, over the years of working towards her PhD. Do I care? No. Should I care? No. I have had enough of my own issues with PhD’s in order that I might never again care except where such a title adds spice to a personality that all ready commands respect with no need to demand it.

There is of course a dynamic betwixt the academic and the artist. I have my self intuited it, playing with the idea of writing a script where in a philosophy professor meets his doppelganger, an edgy punk-rocker. Of course the aim of integration is to have both; it is only when we regard our selves as victims of a social narrative, rendering our selves guilty of our own victimhood by betraying the cause in cowardice, that we forget that we can do both: Be respected AND visceral.

So what to make of Sarah’s commentary? Well clearly it is far from mine. So why the slander? Why should I care how indecorously she adorns this all ready well-adorned slut (I look fore ward to the day that this word, surely in the back of Dr. Murnen’s mind, can not be used against women because the cultural Marxists will begin to wear it as a badge of respect)? Why put legs on a snake? Her legs are fine enough. She should be proud.

Sarah is engaged in no thing short of bullying. Alan Watts says that it is a particularly domineering sort of personality – the kind that wishes to “rule the world”, and badly – that must de-Romanticise every thing, forgetting our kinship to Nature, condemning Human Nature, and establishing an attitude of hostility towards the environment, whether its victims be kids holding sunflowers, lions, puppies, trees, or damn fine-looking women.

Of course that a Will to Power is at work in Murnen’s description is ubiquitous. It is no thing short of the Resentiment of a school-girl for a more attractive class-mate. That this happens is a serious problem, and every one who does this must be held responsible I think. Not in a Fascistic way, but as a matter of general principle. We hear enough of violence from men to women. But the most cruel violence must occur with IN a gender; after all, as the Jungians pointed out: the Shadow is all ways the SAME GENDER as the dreamer.

If the feminists want respect they have to earn it; they cannot dis-possess their selves of the violence they do to their own kind, the kind they have sworn to protect. And if you want to be an Equalist, well: Dr Murner is far from that. Her entire attack is childish and of course matronising. The worst kind of totalitarian cruelty, as pointed out by Slavoj Zizek, is done by the Politically Correct crowd, because they do it IMPLICITLY. This is the Bad Conscience idea from Nietzsche and the reason that Foucault criticised the “civilisation” of the penal system. What is worse? To be punished by public torture? Or to be “re-formed”? Do we pass judgement upon a person soul or her actions? Clearly one can judge when the soul is PROJECTED upon others, but that is the only excuse I can muster. Much like Alex in A Clockwork Orange, the model in the photo-graph (whose name is peculiarly and contrary to humane politeness omitted) is a victim of a system that wants her to re-form. Except that she refuses to be. Her victimhood is not actual; it is potential. Yet there is an aspect of it that is most cruel because it rests OUTSIDE OF HER CONTROL. And that is the affect that Murner’s words have upon an audience that the model shall never see. By portraying her as victim, simply a projection of Dr Murner’s fantasies of vengeance, she RENDERS this woman (or at least her image) a victim, and to the degree that we confuse the doctor’s projections with Truth, so that we might with equally stupidity confuse images with physical reality, this model will BE a victim.

So let’s look at her words care fully and closely…

Dm.A.A...