like dreaming

Short dress, she feels the eyes like handprints pressing against the skin of her
_____chest and ass, swaddled blue.
[Who are you], grave night soul, that they bare
____________their teeth at you in silent lusty craving to slide their moist palms across you?
_____She is the pale skin, she is the vagina
that they long to fuck her backwards, face down, faces blank, eyeless, gaping,
______silent.
Seldom does she hunger this way,
She sees the grin and the wolfish stare or the kindly shadowed never-festering shy flights
___________of eyes.

She is touched.
She is fucked.
She so tiny, so infinitesimally tucked into herself with horseshoe pockets
_____and the grandiose panting of unwilling lovers.
The eyes are watching, frowning like clownly laughter,
__________a hideous deluge of the judgment of cyclical stories,
_____black ice in the spring wind [it is so fucking windy] it wisps away her skin
_____to flesh to bones to the gray cradle of nonbeing.
Then it is dim supper rooms, then it is blank staggering blasts, and the eyes,
[the eyes] like flashbulbs bursting and smashing open from the lens of god.
As she beseeches their blindness leave me
Leave me
______Leave
_____Me
Does not the breeze still?  Do we not join hands in our humanity
______with the ferocity of empathy that simmers and wakes each morning
___________in the fluttering in the lids of our sight?
We
_Are
__So
___Small (!)       she cries,
___________Let us shed our brief dresses and love each other,
___________________________is that not everything?
Not when you look at me that way,
Not when you are seething with loathing,
Not when misogyny runs rampant and free,
Stampeding the aisles of the supermarket,
Flooding our faces with ruddiness at the outrage
______________________of spread legs.

Quiet!
We
Do
Not
Want
This.
[Read between the lines,] she says, I am clichéd.
I am tired and all I remember is nothing, the stammering stir of the wine bottle and then nonbeing,
And when I awoke this morning                         I was ashamed.
Three wineglasses, Three wicked, ghoulish sneers and drenched giggles.
It was nothing, really,
____I felt
__sturdy
_____until I
____forgot
_it all,
[She wonders at the slight of slick hands from the orange bottle that damned her.]
I am not ashamed.
Fuck me? she says. Fuck you.

Something Cute for the Holiday Season…

A bookstore recently opened near my apartment which actually sells—I am not kidding—used books by the pound.  It’s pretty fantastic.  Their selection isn’t that huge at the moment, but they have a pretty decent fiction section, and it’s so cheap and tempting that I have honest-to-god had to change my normal walking routes so as to avoid walking directly by it.  Anyway, I was in there not long after it opened and came across a short-ish book called The End of Alice by the author A.M. Homes.  I had seen the name a few times before, particularly in an interview with David Foster Wallace, and so had always been curious.  I hadn’t heard anything about this book specifically, but since it was so cheap (and light!), I decided to buy it.

Now, the description on the back had given me some clue as to the disturbing world I was about to immerse myself in, and I certainly wasn’t expecting a humorous, light-hearted walk in the park.  But holy fuck!  Holy fucking fuck.  I mean, I’ve read some crazy, fucked up shit over the years, but this might just top them all—it certainly surpasses Lolita and is right up there with something like Naked Lunch or Crash (the J.G. Ballard novel, not the crappy 2004 movie).  I finished it 24 hours ago as of this writing, and it is still lingering, and is showing a stubborn resistance to my efforts at some peace.  (I had a date last night, and was actually rather glad that nothing happened sexually, because any intimations of sex would have just gotten me thinking of this book, and that would not have been good.) [Update: it has been a bit longer now since I finished, and I think I've gotten enough distance to say with some trepidation that I think the book is also rather brilliant.]

The novel is narrated by a prisoner, a middle-aged pedophile.  A lot of the book is devoted to him describing his life in prison and his obsessions as he slowly reveals to us the details of his past, culminating in the last 100 or so pages, which are simply masterful and where we learn in great detail of the heinous crime that landed him in jail.  The other strand of the story is Chappy’s (the prisoner’s name, sort of) correspondence with a 19-year-old college girl who is home for the summer.  The girl has some sexual peculiarities of her own, and is attracted to and eventually seduces a local 12-year-old boy whom she has been giving tennis lessons to.  (In one particularly unnerving scene, she eats a scab off his knee.)  The book, as you might have guessed from my reaction, can at times be exceptionally graphic, describing prison sex, pedophilia, and violence in great detail, and all from the point of view of a seriously fucked up narrator—in this novel nothing is spared or left to the imagination, it would seem.

Consider just one example of the depravity which the reader is so frequently subjected to.  The narrator in this scene is talking about a 12-year-old girl he has tied up:

woman

My tits

are swollen

the grandeur

of the woman

bright-eyed

hard-eyed

beaming or shrugging

love love love

each other

I say.

The world is love

is terrible

is the infinite connection

of us

every living day

until we die

that we grasp hands

and raise our voices

to the great galactic sky

that we are fighting.

The seedlings

are sprouting

tiny green

pieces of the

universe

breathing

the whole structure

of time

to love one another.

We stand

howling through the black night

our cry reaching

the blank heavens

for all to hear

that no one is alone.

we have each other.

we have the world.

The Damage Done

"The Damage Done" by Tanith Griffiths

WARNING: Using condoms will make your arms fall off and causes nuclear missiles to explode in our preschools.

This is a response to Eric’s abortion article.  I am relating it to feminism in that I think that proper sex ed is an indispensable way to prevent teen pregnancy, thus preventing abortions.

Key Points in this article:

http://www.prolife.com/CONDOMS.html

“Relying on condoms for ‘protection’ can mean lifelong disease, suffering, and even death for you or for someone you love.”

Quote from: ¾ Dr. Andre Lafrance, Canadian physician and researcher.

So does relying on an airbag while driving.  Be safe.  Stay at home.

Also, he’s Canadian.  We’re conservative Americans!  Do we listen to those pansies?

“Saying that the use of condoms is ‘safe sex’ is in fact playing Russian roulette. A lot of people will die in this dangerous game.”

Quote from: ¾ Dr. Teresa Crenshaw, member of the U.S. Presidential AIDS Commission and past president of the American Association of Sex Educators

You know what, you’re right.  Putting a loaded gun to my head and pulling the trigger is equally as dangerous as having sex with someone who, as an American, has a 0.5-1.0% chance of having AIDS.  How many bullets fit in a gun?  I think our odds are a little better than that.  Also, fear mongering?  Real classy.  But it’s good to know that you’ve infiltrated our schools and made yourself responsible for molding the minds of our children.

To give you an idea of how easy it would be for the virus (AIDS) to pass through these holes (in the condoms), just imagine a ping pong ball going through a basketball hoop.

That’s how ineffective condoms are?  Fuck that.  If I sleep with someone with an STD, I’m probably going to get it anyway, so why bother?  Plus, it feels way better without one.  Although, really, that game sounds like fun.

Condoms provide considerably less protection against sexually transmitted diseases (STDs) than they do against pregnancy.  That’s because a girl can get pregnant only at ovulation time (that’s two to three days each month) but STDs can pass from partner to partner at any time of the month.

No comment.

The Abortion Amendment

Two Republicans, Steve King of Iowa, right, and Peter Hoekstra of Michigan, crumpled a copy of the bill Saturday. (reprint from NY Times)

As anyone who has been paying attention to the news in the past few days is aware, the House recently passed a major piece of legislation to overhaul the healthcare system.  However, it comes with a pretty nasty compromise. As has been widely reported, a key reason the bill was able to get through the House at all is that an amendment was added at the last minute which forbids the use of federal subsidies for insurance plans which cover voluntary abortions.  (Thankfully, this means that federally funded/subsidized insurance will at least still be allowed to cover abortions resulting from rape or incest, or if the mother’s life is in danger.)  Like many others of a progressive, left-wing bent, I am not particularly happy about this.  Nevertheless, if this amendment is going to be here to stay, I would like to suggest a possible silver-lining in this otherwise distasteful turn of events.

One problem with the abortion discussion in this country, and something Obama will hopefully fix as he indicated he will, is that no one really talks about other ways to support pregnant women, and these can be just as important to women’s rights as abortion itself.  In other words, there seems to be an important common ground between both sides that is being completely lost in the media-fueled craziness, and that perhaps the introduction of this amendment will bring to the fore.

Let me explain what I have in mind.  No one likes abortions.  No one thinks high numbers of abortions are a good thing.  And, despite what some Republicans will tell you, just because someone is pro-choice doesn’t mean they go out every weekend and try to get knocked up just so they can stroll into Planned Parenthood in a few weeks to get their monthly abortion.  Of course not.  For most women, having an abortion is not an easy decision, and in some cases it can lead to relatively severe psychological consequences. This is why both sides need to be finding ways to reduce abortions that don’t involve coercion or making them illegal.  We need to be focusing on things like making it easier for working mothers to have a child without fear of losing their job, and on getting them affordable, quality childcare if they can’t pay for it on their own.  In other words, we need to make it more of a real choice.  No woman should ever be in a situation where she has to choose between having a child and financial/job security.  And given that in our society many women do indeed have to make such choices, it can’t really be called a full and free choice at all.  This is perhaps the explanation as to why abortion rates in many European countries are so low—they have the social safety nets and free medical care and equal rights (or more equal, anyway) that allow women to comfortably have a child even when the pregnancy is unexpected.  My hope, then, though admittedly I have very little confidence that this will actually come to fruition, is that this amendment will be an impetus to refocus the debate a bit.  My hope is that when the Senate proposes its bill it will deal with the abortion issue more in the ways that I have described above, regardless of whether or not the amendment stays.  This is an issue all sides should be able to come together on, as it is not just about abortion specifically, but women’s rights more generally.  It’s about time that our society doesn’t essentially penalize professional women or poor women or any women at all for having children.  I can only hope Congress, and the nation, starts thinking more seriously about these things.

Unfortunately, despite what Obama would have us believe, hope don’t seem to amount to much these days.  But here’s hoping anyway.

- E. Bottorff

Getting Fit: Why They Love the Pole

(reprinted courtesy of Jo Sanger and Ross Wantland of doinitwell.blog.com)

Recently, Ross was talking to a friend who took a pole dancing class at Flirty Girl Fitness, a gym in Chicago that specializes in exercise a la strip club dancing.  She and her friends really enjoyed the experience, so “Doin’ It Well” decided to interview these women to find out more about their perspectives and understand stripper aerobics a little better.

Over the past five years, pole and chair dancing classes, along with a host of other stripper-inspired fitness routines have swept the nation. Even before Carmen Electra released her Aerobic Striptease videos, women who are notworking in strip clubs have wanted to learn how to perform like women who do. Many women who take these classes leave in awe of the performance of women in strip clubs, of the muscle strength and control that the moves take, all while looking sexy.

Where the Girls Are

Flirty Girl boasts they are “Chicago’s hottest women’s fitness and lifestyle facility.” In addition to pole dancing, chair dancing, video vixen classes, women can also take kickboxing or boot camp classes, get manicure or visit the bar (juice or liquor). Imani (a pseudonym) said, “Probably what I liked most was that they seemed to be very focused on promoting women’s health and empowerment — there were a number of classes… that were not in the pole dancing ‘genre’, but that were geared towards general women’s fitness, like kickboxing.”

As a women-only club, men aren’t even allowed in the waiting room. As Sasha said, “The class was a lot of fun and the instructor made it fun. She encouraged us to feel comfortable in our own skin and that made it enjoyable. Also, the space is strictly for women so that made it a nice place to hang out.” Grad Student added, ” I think there are a lot of women who [have wanted] to be that woman for a while – intrigued by what they know about strip clubs – and like the opportunity to try that in a way that feels safer and gives you more control.”

The women also found Flirty Girl to be welcoming because as women of color, they appreciated that many of the women who were staff and customers were also women of color. Grad Student said, “It didn’t feel like we had to ascribe to ideal/European standards of sexy. There were all different body sizes and shapes… Women were there in sweats and ponytails, not all done up and made up to be super gorgeous. It was more like a real gym class.”

Sexual Empowerment on a Pole

We asked the women if the experience changed how they felt about themselves sexually. Several of the women talked about feeling freer with their bodies after the classes. Imani said, “I tend to be less comfortable with my sexuality, particularly in comparison to some of my friends. Going to Flirty Girl helped me to ‘come out of my shell’ and feel a little more comfortable with moving my body in more sexual ways.” Others talked about feeling more sensual and more connected to their bodies after the experience.

If Pole Dance Occurs Without a Man Around, Does It Objectify?

The women who went to Flirty Girl Fitness were very clear that they did not feel objectified during their visit at Flirty Girl. Sasha said, “The instructor made us feel comfortable with our sexuality and it was not about pleasing a man or learning these techniques to attract men.” Grad Student added, “I feel 10 times more objectified in an everyday night club than I do in these classes.”

It raises some interesting questions: Is strippercise liberating? Or are we buying into the same messages we’ve been told about ourselves? For women who perform in strip clubs, dancing is their job, and they act out a fantasy for the viewer. Strippercise allows women to perform the stripper role without it being tied to paying their bills. Strippercise is marketed as an avenue for sexual liberation and weight loss – two things women are often told they aren’t doing well enough.But it’s also part of a larger porn-inspired phenomenon, encouraging women’s sexual empowerment by acting like sex workers. This benefits the sex industry from a simple marketing perspective: men want her, women want to be her.

At the same time, it may not be objectifying if objectification relies on someone else watching. All we know for sure is that in these experiences these women aren’t dupes; they are making choices about their own bodies and sexuality, aware of the complex messages about what it means to be a woman and “sexy.” And they felt empowered by it and enjoyed it. As Firewoman said, “[Y]ou felt comfortable in your own skin and learned how you can be sexy and healthy at the same time.”It is perhaps each of our ability to make these thoughtful choices that keeps us “Doin’ It Well.”

http://doinitwell.blog.com/2009/09/03/getting-fit-why-they-love-the-pole/

Welcome Feminists to ‘That’s What She Said!’

They say you should always start with a joke, so… Bert says to Ernie, “Want some ice cream?” And Ernie says, “Sure, Bert.”

But seriously… Feminism. Dig it.

A history of That’s What She Said:

An atheist and a Christian Jew walk into a bar. The Christian Jew says, “we always talk about feminism, but what are we doing about it?” The atheist says, “nothing, we meet all the time to discuss our thoughts, but nothing ever comes of it.” “Exactly,” says the Christian Jew, “but with my brainpower and your razor-sharp wit, we can come together to form a feminist blog tied neatly into a clever pun.” “Perfect,” says the atheist, “now all we need is a highly specialized team of writers, artists, poets, musicians, badasses and activists to join with us in our cause. We will call it ‘That’s What She Said,’ and it will be spectacular.”

What makes a feminist and how do you become one?

There’s no initiation process. You don’t have to do anything. You just have to believe that women deserve the same rights and respect as men do, then you’re in.

Examples:

Do you believe that men and women deserve equal pay for the same work?

Do you believe that if a woman chooses to raise a family and work at home, her work is equally as important as paid work done outside the home?

If you answered yes to both questions, then you’re on your way to becoming a feminist. Or maybe you’re already there.

What this blog is:

* A sharing space for women AND men to discuss their thoughts and ideas on feminism and feminist issues through a variety of forms, including essays, fiction, nonfiction, poetry, drawings, music, graphic design, photography, paintings, pretty much anything.

* A community that upholds all opinions equally, without emphasis on any particular person as a leader or creator.

* A safe place to ask questions and respond honestly and openly without fear of judgment or derision.

*A place that can be humorous yet poignant, lighthearted yet still tackles the tough issues that need to be addressed.

What this blog is NOT:

* A place to complain about things without trying to find the core truth behind them, and working to constructively unpack their meaning to ourselves and to our society.

* A place to bitch about men, or to downplay their role as feminists.

* A place to criticize or attack feminists or feminism. There are enough places where this already happens, so please don’t bring that here.

How to contribute:

Send us your shit. All of it. Because of space, we can’t guarantee that everything will be posted immediately, but we’ll let you know when we are going to post something that you have sent us. Don’t let this discourage you from sending us stuff, though. Send on, sisters and brothers.

Once But Never Again

Disclaimer: I should apologize in advance for any stylistic atrocities or lack of clarity which ensue—it has been some time since I’ve really written for any kind of public audience. Pretty much anything I have put down on paper (or on screen, as it were) in the last couple of years has either been for myself, in an email, or homework assignments for my class. So, I guess, bear with me, and let’s hope for the best.

When I was first asked to contribute to this blog, I really had no idea what I could possibly write about that would be relevant, interesting, and engaging. But as I walked around I realized that I frequently have little mini-struggles to reconcile my belief in and support of the feminist cause with certain, let us say, less than noble desires and thoughts which occasionally surface. And certainly I hope to explore this more mundane (though in some respects no less important) facet of my experience as a male and self-described feminist in later posts. But you gotta kick things off with an attention grabber, right? So let’s talk about strip clubs! [queue music?]

Now, I’ve only been to a strip club once. And, as you will see below, it was not a particularly good experience. It was an edifying one, I suppose. But it was far far from fun. At least for me.

And that’s really beautiful.

Can you see how beautiful it is? The wife running her mouth down the stomach of another woman as her husband walks in and instead of being surprised,

he is watching her, her lips, how they drag, how it’s all come to this. And he knew when she told him she didn’t want the baby, and he knew when her lyrics turned, how her melody went flat just before the chorus.

And now he knows. And it’s beautiful.

•

It’s in the room. Grey and large and we walk around it, talking about it without mentioning its name.

•

Can you see how beautiful it is? So beautiful that I see myself in your story. Just like you see you in mine.

You can’t talk about it because the words are too heavy,

but not strong enough. So I fill in the spaces

and nod because I know, because I’m tired of fighting when the stories keep coming.

Our hands are small and only capable of so much and I’ve just begun to realize that it’s time for me

to shake off my skin and walk home.

•

There is a story where blind men feel it—each touch

a different part and imagine it as a tree, a wall, a rope. The sum of its parts is never added. They feel its body

but never understand perspective.

•

Can you see how beautiful it is? The memory of how it felt when he held me under water. Too long, too long to be funny, the lake filling me up, my ears burning,

face bursting with pressure.

When I fought my way up I could hardly breathe and I kept hearing someone screaming in my head

and I looked at his smile, looked to my family, and waved.

•

It is large, but that doesn’t mean anything.

It is unwieldy, but that doesn’t mean anything, either.

I’ve been staring so hard that I can’t see it anymore.

But I can see it through the prongs of my fork.

I feel it in my shoulders, pressing against my neck, and I know you feel it, too.

•

Can you see how beautiful it is? The forgetting, sand falling through open fingers, a match flamed to ashes, candle snuffed out, broken wine glasses, graying dust piles, graves weather-worn and overturned.

I don’t remember it all—only pieces, splinters stuck

in my brain. The hot metal of an iron melding cotton

to a board.

He smothered me with his mouth, all tongue and impulse mixed with leftover cigarette smoke. The wriggling feeling in my stomach, his pants around his ankles, a blue paint spot on the white ceiling.

Stay with me, stay with me. Close your eyes

and find another place. A place that is more beautiful

than this.

•

It’s in the room and we joke about it being cliché.

And it is cliché.

But we don’t know how else to say it.

-Sarah Brook West

A Photo

"Wrap" by Ryan Adair

Gang-rape? Not me? Not my problem.

Onlookers Apparently Did Nothing as High School Girl Allegedly Victimized

We’ve all heard about the gang-rape of a California high school student after her homecoming dance.  It’s been all the rage on the news channels and in the papers.  As it should be, because it’s sickening.  Ten, count them, ten males ranging from their teens to their early twenties beat and gang-raped a 15 year old girl for TWO AND A HALF HOURS.  To torture an innocent girl at all, let alone fuck her over and over again for TWO AND A HALF HOURS reaches an unparalleled level of despicable horror that no person should ever have to suffer through, let alone a child of only fifteen.  We read this story, and we are appalled.  How these men could do such a thing is frightening and makes us feel ill.  Our hearts go out to the poor girl, who will never be the same after this nightmare.  She will live it over and over again in her mind every day, because that’s how it happens with rape.  You never, ever forget.  You may be distracted by homework, or friends, or TV, but you never forget.  It’s there with you every night when you lay awake in bed, begging for sleep, with every person you are intimate with after the fact, with every person that brushes your arm in passing.  The fact that this girl was raped, let alone by ten men, makes me want to throw up.

Now, it’s obvious who the bad guys are here– the sick, nefarious rapists that attacked this girl.  But they were not alone.  There were more than twenty bystanders in the immediate area of the attack that did absolutely nothing.  These men raped and beat her for TWO AND A HALF HOURS, and no one did a damn thing.  “Anyone who had reservations about the unfolding events ‘was surrounded by people who were apparently tolerating what was going on and maybe even encouraging it,’” says John Darley, a professor of psychology and public affairs at Princeton University, according to the attached article from ABC news.   Darley states that the heavily male atmosphere was charged with sexual tension, and as things began to escalate, the men’s actions seemed more and more acceptable.  It’s that old mob mentality.  Someone makes a move, and then someone else takes it a little bit further, and before you know it, you’re raping and beating a 15 year old girl.  So where does the blame lie?  Certainly with our first perpetrator, the first guy that originally hit or touched her.  But the fact that the other men not only thought attacking her was a good idea, but became excited at the prospect is truly frightening.  And every single one of them must go to jail for what they did.

These are the obvious criminals.  You rape a girl, you go to jail.  End of story.  But I’m putting these “innocent” bystanders on trial.  How can one, in good conscience, not only witness such atrocities, but actually stand around and watch them, like they’re in a theater taking in a movie?  This isn’t cinema, this isn’t television, this is real fucking life!  And I refuse to believe that they thought otherwise.  They knew what was happening, and they either didn’t think that there was anything wrong with the situation, which is absolutely terrifying, or they didn’t have the guts to open their mouths and speak up.  Or at least pull out their cell phones and call the police!  This again, goes back to the heavily male atmosphere.  Adrenaline pumping, a bunch of dudes standing around taking out their misogyny on a little girl.  Because fucking girls is the point of life, right?   And why not show this little bitch who’s in charge?   Because she let herself be vulnerable, she strayed away from the rest of her friends.  And girls that walk alone at night deserve to be raped.  Because they chose to put themselves in that situation.  Especially if she’s all dressed up for a dance.  If her dress was even a little low-cut, she was probably begging for it.

When those people stood and watched that girl be raped and beaten, they raped and beat her too.  And they deserve punishment.  They absolutely do.

-Katie Pecho