Archive for the ‘Forty years later’ Category

One of my all time favorite movies is Midnight Cowboy, for reasons that go beyond being a mere devotee of the acting of Dustin Hoffman, or  the music of Henry Nilsson, a fan of the young Jon Voight, or practitioner of  deconstructionism. Or the fact that  it only got a showing at the seedy theaters in my town when it came out.

It is one of the best, most insightful scripts I have ever read too, and in fact the background guys–like song writer Fred Neil, and script writer Waldo Salt, who survived and thrived after being blacklisted during the red scare of McCarthy–are more incredible than the actors .

Here’s the intro clip:

Midnight Cowboy is the only X rated film in history to ever receive an Oscar. Maybe it was the “gay theme” or maybe it was because it was one of the rare films in all of history to examine the issue of women who sexually abuse young boys; and how women are complicit, if not instrumental  in shaping the sexuality of children (no pun intended–but you will see what I mean). Here is a bit of Joe Bucks nightmare:

Zoom close-up -- Anastasia screaming soundlessly...
... thermometer under Little Joe's tongue... 
... Sally Buck shoves chocolate in her mouth... 
... bewigged poodle licks her fingers... 
... Sally Buck hangs enema can on bedpost... 
... Ratso leads ratpack chasing naked Anastasia... 
... corona of flashlights...

I still remember the run-down, dirty white theater fronts that had it up on the marquee in blue letters, or red; and everything about cowboys fascinated me in that era.Certainly everything about the forbidden letter X fascinated me too.

Being stoic, self reliant, silently suffering  cowboys was what they taught boys to be back then, and to think about being when we got older–little men running around with guns that go *BANG!*,  fighting the bad Indians, and the ‘bad men’ who were-apparently-everywhere. And certainly, we were taught to always tip our hats for the ladies–even if they were sticking enemas in our asses.

But by the time I was old enough to watch it myself, some fifteen or years later, it showed me some things about cowboys that John Wayne and the other cowboy as uber-man posturing of that era never did, and I liked that too.

But I like Midnight Cowboy because it’s just plain old, incredibly good film, full of stunningly complex images that are explained to us with remarkable simplicity.

Midnight Cowboy

Original Movie Poster

Very few films address sex and gender imbalances in ways that are inclusive of the recognition that men are engendered in certain ways that women cannot, or will not understand, even when they see it in action. Women as a rule are either not equipped to understand the male experience, or because of the nature of woman is equipped only to stare at herself, and issues that reflect herself constantly–or something like that…;-)

In the case of Joe Buck, the intrepid male prostitute, our character learns that the world is not equal, and we, as an audience, learn a bit about what creates false constructs of sexuality in the mind of a young boy. And how those constructs lead to poor choices.

In one scene we have the gang rape of a woman who could aptly be called “the town pump”, and Joe Bucks inability to stop that rape–of the woman who he thinks he loves; in another scene, aptly a nightmare, we have Joe Buck being anally raped by his grandmother; and the all too obvious conclusion that male sexuality is undervalued, or disposable to women.

It’s a film about the awakening of America to issues of  the human body as a commodious object, and the reality of under-valued male love. It’s a gay film in as much as it has a theme of men, loving each other, or men who are used by other men, but it’s a human story beyond that.

If you haven’t seen it, rent it, and if you have seen it, rent it again. Or just have a good read tonight--here’s the script.


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You know it's an Andrea Dworkin index when ...

Image by poppet with a camera via Flickr

Here is why nice guys finish last–if at all–in the feminist discussion: women lie, men die. Got that?

And I can prove it to you!

Andrea Dworkin was a monolith indeed. She wrote Mercy as an act of revolution, and a courageous one fingered salute to patriarchs whom she felt had let women down.

She was at war with the idea that women are not believed.

Or, so she said that’s what she was at war with… but her writing is basically a long, drawn-out coming out of the closet, that is helped by her father, and discouraged by her mother.

There are feminists, and then there are CIA-backed feminists, andeven they don’t always know what the difference is, much less what sexual games go on between a daughter and a mother, which Andrea touched on for a minute.

But more often than not, they agree that dubious methods of story telling, and manipulation of data in the pre-writing of a narrative is the best way to arrive at truth.

Very much like religious people who try to disprove scientific fact by stating ” it’s not in the bible; it isn’t truth,” feminists agree that “a feminist didn’t say it; it isn’t true,” like the recent case of the Women’s Funding Network, and Craigslist, which was debunked as junk science, but funded anyways!

Dworkin betrayed her father, and threw truth out the window  for fame, money and and pussy.

The facts were irrelevant there, in that idol she was crafting. The truth is irrelevant here, now, and only the power of one lie to make it around the world in a day is the detail that becomes fact to this version of feminist thought.

So a closer examination of truth is warranted.  Here are the facts so far: Andrea Dworkin created an arguably monstrous image of men, and fictionalized, fantasized, and publicized Mercy as a tale of  incest, despite its contradiction of her own experience; and in order to be believed.

What a way to coral off the competition for the pussy supply!

Her own actual, personal story of sexual dominance games with little girls, and later, women;  and her sexual displays in front of her mother are largely  irrelevant in her tales, as compared to her drive to move men aside; and  her necessity to claim to speak for incest survivors is her imperative, and yet, in her autobiographical notes, we find her justifying her use of lies in her fiction.

Never mind that fiction is inherently a liar’s game, or that all fiction is contrived. Think instead that women actually believe the fiction, and despite never having read Dworkin, adopt her position by rote, via whatever meme is circulating about paternal incest.

And especially never mind that Dworkins largest and looming issue was her tantalizing, sexualized incestuous desire for a relationship with her mother—Andrea’s leap from the abject was to stumble bull-like through the mirror.

That is feminisms biggest non-secret so far, and difficult to grasp, because women’s ‘truths’, as Dworkin rightfully posits, are often  not believable.

So: after describing her close, productive, nurturing, and creative relationship with her father, and her  sexually frustrated relationship with her ice cold and controlling mother, she talks about Masada, the famed site of a sort of Jewish last stand, and extrapolates it into incest with fathers in general, and decides that writing about incest with fathers is more important  than writing about the great relationship she had with her father, Harry, which she describes thus:
“I trusted and honored him. I guess that I trusted him to love me more even than to take care of us. In an honors history seminar in high school, the class was asked to name great men in history. I named my father and was roundly ridiculed by advocates for Thomas Jefferson and Napoleon. But I meant it– that he had the qualities of true greatness, which I defined as strength, generosity, fairness, and a willingness to sacrifice self for principle. His principle was us: my mother, Mark, and me….”
She describes her father in glowing terms.Then, she states that her best qualities as a writer came from him as well.
“I think that he did abandon me when I was in circumstances of great suffering and danger. He was, I learned the hard way, only human. But what he gave me as a child, neither he nor anyone else could take away from me later. I learned perseverance from his example, and that endurance was a virtue. Even some of his patience rubbed off on me for some few years. I saw courage in action in ordinary life, without romance; and I learned the meaning of commitment. I could never have become a writer without him.”
Then, on her writing, and the great fiction of fathers and incest. Most importantly, I think this is the root of the meme that we should “believe women” when they talk about incest, and then it’s later version, rape, which is evident below, in highlights.

And most importantly, and in context to her need to be believed, note that she had no degree in anything but fiction. And here are her words about how she decided that crafting a story with a lie as its premise was what actually drover her writing:
“I’d like to take what I know and just hand it over. But there is always a problem, for a woman: being believed. How can I think I know something? How can I think that what I know might matter? Why would I think that anything I think might make a difference, to anyone, anywhere? My only chance to be believed is to find a way of writing bolder and stronger than woman hating itself–smarter, deeper, colder *This might mean that I would have to write a prose more terrifying than rape, more abject than torture, more insistent and destabilizing than battery, more desolate than prostitution, more invasive than incest, more filled with threat and aggression than pornography. How would the innocent bystander be able to distinguish it, tell it apart from the tales of the rapists themselves if it were so nightmarish and impolite? There are no innocent bystanders. It would have to stand up for women–stand against the rapist and the pimp–by changing women’s silence to speech. It would have to say all the unsaid words during rape and after; while prostituting and after; all the words not said. It would have to change women’s apparent submission–the consent read into the silence by the wicked and the complacent–into articulate resistance. I myself would have to give up my own cloying sentimentality toward men. I’d have to be militant; sober and austere. I would have to commit treason: against the men who rule. I would have to betray the noble, apparently humanistic premises of civilization **and civilized writing by conceptualizing each book as if it were a formidable weapon in a war. I would have to think strategically, with a militarist heart: as if my books were complex explosives, minefields set down in the culture to blow open the status quo”
So, as I dif around for the truth of whether or not Andrea was in Minneapolis in 1971, I won’t draw any conclusions. I will have to see what Preston’s people have to say about it, but for now, she herself readily acknowledges that she lied about her internalized experience with paternal incest, and in so doing, created a boogieman that indeed covers over that boogie woman inside herself.

To me, that seems worth examining.
*Her only chance to be believed was to lie, as she aptly notes, and portray it as truth. In so doing, and in creation of a monolithic woman, she justifies her position that lies carry more weight than truth itself.
** she betrayed her father specifically, not civilization. In doing so, she not only succeeded in hiding her mother’s and her secrets, but also perpetrated an ignoble lie. We will never know what sort of sex play she engaged in with her mother, and Dworkin has been evasive on that topic, merely noting that she was essentially scolded by her mother, but only then, after some period of time displaying herself toher mother in sexual play. Call it revolution, call it what you will; I call it and her, a liar by omission ( and she infers as much when discussing her relationship with her mother)

et, al: Inspiring White Female Privilege.

A critique of an introduction, which functions as a rationalization of late-term post-partum white female privilege, abjection,* separatism cloaked in rape anxiety,and feminist cowardice.

This article is written for academic, “school educated” people, but I think it is important to write for non-academic people who should come first. For anyone reading this, who has never been to college, go here ** below the second line down.

For Nell, from Brooklyn–and feminist men: here below, is Nikki Crafts phallic totem.


Nikki Craft deserves more of the ear than most of her white female, feminist peers.

Why? Because Nikki Craft has ovaries ( I just thought I would see how that sounds–like if I said, “she has balls”-doesn’t carry the same ooomph, does it?).

No: Nikki Craft had balls–no, the gonads, in the sense of the phallus as a metaphorical and transferable human-family totem to actually take on the system. That is, before she located, and centered herself squarely, and interestingly in the middle of groups of naked children–but then changed her course– in order to argue against pedophilic sexual voyeurism of males, a curious position to be in indeed.

Nikki Craft was a warrior, not a whiner.

And Nikki Craft wasn’t a coward in her early activism, sniping from academic turrets of police and state mechanisms of pure power, like Russell[.], or from behind fire-walled, lap-dog guarded pseudo-feminist blogs like which has recently had quite a discussion about Richard Dawkins, atheist, and sexism.

Most feminist men and women can’t help themselves, stuck as they are in Julia Kristeva‘s “borderline,” structured over a ‘lack’ of something rather than a possession of something, or cowering in the binary disconnect of self and other, like most modern entitled, privileged white feminists who lack the gonads to truly protest, or risk shattering the prolonged period of privileged female abjection.

Ms. Craft once took REAL risks–the same kind of risks that men face every day, and in doing so, was inherently believable, understandable, and respectable in her protests, unlike those who employ themselves merely as female ‘minds’ but inhabiting primarily, female bodies enmeshed in post-structural feminist narratology; and she transcended fear, and ‘her’ self.

She literally risked going to jail ( with all of it’s implied, potential, egalitarianism enhancing potential violence, and potential rape), and was actually jailed 17 times during her protests against misogyny.

You definitely can’t say that about any of the modern, entitled white women who talk, blog, and march in SlutWalks, and cry wolf at the mere possibility of male attention–who equate being spoken to in an elevator with rape , like white young feminist and religious skeptic Rebecca Watson, or joust at penises who have heretical gametes instead of right wing or power structure males.

However, the history of women’s protest in modern times is the history of differential and lesser-charged treatment by authorities in comparison to criminal offenses charged against men, and women of color.

The slap on the wrist is the norm in prosecuting white female criminal acts, and has been throughout the millennium–not the exception–which is not to minimize the effect of not being taken seriously by authority, but to point out the nature of second, third, and 17 th chances for those embodied white and female.

Craft was mad about men looking at pictures of naked women, which took their attention off of her, and other women she knew. She marauded in book and magazine stores, destroying magazines which portrayed naked women, which she felt threatened women’s safety–she took actual as opposed to imagined risks:

Unprivileged men don’t get 17th chances,stomping into stores and shops and wreaking havoc on merchandise; non-white women do not get second guesses, and second chances are rare, even for privileged men.

Black and brown or non-privileged white women are being locked in American prisons at an increasing rate[..], and all of them have historically faced harm that white women have NEVER faced.

However, white women have never faced prison, or the primary violation of their bodies as mere orthographic descriptions denoting criminality, unfathomably above and beyond the cold descriptors of ordinary humanity.

Further: imagine the absolutely unimaginable: that any man who acts in the agency of male, protesting the violence against the male body not just from authority, but from its constant companion of white female privilege that negotiates each male and other identity against racial and sexual pardigms of white female engendered or upholding power–should ever be nominated for an award by his arresting officer!

It could NEVER happen. Male protest, and other bodies for whom male protest attempts to speak, has been co-opted, essentially, at the site of a white woman’s womb.

To even attempt to create a list of men who have been imprisoned, beaten, jailed, and ruined by criminal records compiled by cops would be an exhausting project that would require a multi-billion dollar endowment, because the male body–regardless of race– is and has always been the center of the primary battles of discrimination between privileged men, and privileged women who compete for a voice in their ranks ( those ranks birthed, and upheld by mothers who birthed such men).

The use, control and abuse of male bodies is an agreement between the privileged of both genders; and male embodiment for most men is in and of itself ‘potentially harmful’ to society–men are punished merely for being male, because definitions of crime itself is proscribed male.

The male body that the privileged woman reaches into for phallic energy, and sperm donations is not the same male body that privileged females squeal to, or appeal to in their quest for justice.

In Russel’s introduction, she goes on to state what has become the driving mantra and the essential position of white female privilege-and by using the term white female, I by no means preclude brown, or black contenders for the white female influenced voice of privilege.

Russell admits her cowardice to some degree when says:

And likely, the lesson she speaks of brings her closer to comprehending what it is that keeps white female privilege arguing up the asses of male politicians, police, professors, and feminist lap-dog men, while purporting to care about brown and black women around the world– because jail is a very real possibility for all men, every day, and actual rape, death and harm a fact of life for non-white women.

But white women? C’mon…they are way too scared to take risks like talking to someone in an elevator, much less go to jail for insurrection.Fear of crossing from ‘abject’ reality to “actual reality”*** is what motivates the modern white feminist–fear of losing their entitlement, not fear of actual rape.

Unlike Craft, a primary cowardice that stops white women at the door of actual risk, and perpetuates their privilege, while minimizing the effects of their abject fear projections on men, and leaning on the backs of ‘other and othered’ men and women for actual stories of suffering and inequality.

Or, in the words of Russell:

This dialectic of “fancy” preemptive dialogue is “limned with the abject loss” of white female privilege–a murderous impulse against growing up, being truly equal, or at least facing the violence of ‘reality’ that most men, and non-white women face. It eludes reality, and eludes the presumptions of ‘othered’ male innocence in every discussion, and merely tokenizes actual violence that non-white women face.

Unimaginable, utopian, unavailable, and unattainable as white female perceptions of abject reality is, it is seductive in the least, for privileged, and compliant males, but it borders no reality known by the rest of men, or non white women.

White female abjection is so fetishized, and so normalized that egalitarian options are demonized and co-opted by the collaboration of cowards; the white female abject is a tool to diffuse and disorganize ‘other’ and ‘othered’ male protest, diminished as much by the actual arrests and subsequent brutality that non-white women and othered men face, without letters of recommendation, or commendation from police authorities.

* abjection in Julia Kristeva’s conception: “On the level of archaic memory, refers to the primitive effort to separate ourselves from the animal: “by way of abjection, primitive societies have marked out a precise area of their culture in order to remove it from the threatening world of animals or animalism, which were imagined as representatives of sex and murder” (Powers 12-13). On the level of our individual psycho sexual development, the abject marks the moment when we separated ourselves from the mother, when we began to recognize a boundary between “me” and other, between “me” and “(m)other.”[ needs citation]

But instead of art, or literature, white feminism gives us regurgitation’s of Plato, a structuralist, and Socrates, a pedophile, and always posits her place as an innocent, vulnerable, and unaware of conflict, holding her place at the mirror image abject, never quite seeing, or admitting to seeing, but always looking at herself, and projecting upon others whatthey, not she, sees there, in HER unbroken mirror.


**What I am saying up there above the line where the book-smart but street-dumb paper-people live.

But for everybody else: Don’t white women act like they are a threatened species, and claim they have not enjoyed freedom because white men were in the way? White women have imprisoned white men and black men for generations, with social morality campaigns, and social scares, claiming black men “looked at them, ” assaulted them, ” raped them,” etc., while making black women nurse, and watch their babies while they ran around.

White women negotiate from a perspective of entitlement, but once, some white women, who kicked ass, did cool things that helped all women, like what Nikki Craft did, before she became incredibly fascinated and obsessed being near nudist children.

Yet sadly, modern white women are cowards,who want you to keep them in the position of power that they are used to (listen to them, pay for them, enable them, believe in them, and at all times spoil them like little girls, but never talk about it): and, unlike most people, and most women, especially black, brown, or non-white women, they want you to think that they have a hard time in life, despite the fact that white women have been the primary living, breathing, financial beneficiaries of all of histories wealth, all of histories dead men, and all of histories power.

In fact, white women want you to help ensure their breeding success, against your own, and want you to believe that mixing with them will help protect your childrens future–it won’t. The problem is, you cannot protect your children from them–look at American laws, look at ‘modern’ history–everywhere there is a white woman, there is child rape, slavery, death of fathers, subservience of ‘colored women’, and kidnapping or “adoption” of your non-white children]

*** actual reality is what non-white women, and unprivileged men everywhere face due to the un-modulated voice of white women and their fears, as opposed to the rest of people and their realities.

America protects children from sex trafficking in Laos with a well developed scrap metal collection plan and provides economic opportunity for women.

Lao girls contemplete only a life as baby hookers upon meeting Americans, largely due to CIA sex programming.

According to the, Laos has a thriving economy that protects girls from prostituting themselves,which aids Americas quest to end child slavery and child prostitution around the world.

“But it comes at a high price. At least 13,000 people have been killed or maimed, either digging in fields contaminated with live bombs or, increasingly, in their quest for lucrative scrap metal. Half the casualties are young boys [ 6,500 boys are killed in Laos collecting scrap metal from American bombs] , most killed by exploding tennis-ball-sized cluster bomblets – christened “bombies” locally – that are everywhere.”

Local farmers are aware that 37% of the land in Laos is untouchable, because American military industrial waste—unexploded bombs—are everywhere. So risking their lives to dig up bombs that would otherwise kill their sons seems like a worthy risk.

And women in Laos see an upside to both the recent upsurge in metal prices due to China‘s growing economy, and America’s post-war scrap metal warporn policies, and Hmong women associates thrive in such an economic boom time that nets Americas newest uplifted minority almost more than a dollar a day.

According to the Guardian, the trade is “so lucrative that scrap dealers ferry collectors by truck to virgin forests every day. Sypha Phommachan, 45, need not to go to such lengths. Farmers around Thajok village beat a path to the scrap dealer’s door. A pile of fragments, casings, and mortars is all she had left after the foundry took away nearly eight tonnes a few days before.

In Thajok, a woman collects the remnants of American bombing campaigns.

“That took me about three weeks to collect,” she said. “That’s quite slow because it’s the rice harvest season and people are busy farming. In a couple of months they’ll be out furiously collecting to raise cash for the Hmong festival.” Yet she carefully inspects the bomb harvest, rejecting live munitions. She knows the risks. In the six years she has lived in the village, 10 people have been killed collecting scrap. One 50-year-old man died three months ago when he tossed half a “bombie” he believed safe into the wicker basket on his back. It exploded and the ball-bearings it threw out went clean through his chest, killing him instantly.

Which is good news to American feminists and the growing industry of female sex tourism, the CIA  brothels there and elsewhere, and the FBI’s mission of prosecuting CIA brothel clientele when they return to the United States, because more young girls are left fatherless, and available for Americas wider objectives of ending female child exploitation by foreigners who come to Asia for short term sex tourism.

Forty years on, Laos reaps bitter harvest of the secret war

More than 100 countries will today sign a convention banning the use of cluster bombs. In Laos, the most bombed nation on earth, their lethal legacy is a part of daily life.

Part of a US bomber lies in a temple in Phanop village, Laos

Part of a US bomber lies in a temple in Phanop village, Laos. “We keep it here to remind the children of what happened,” the monk said. “If one day we badly need money we might sell it for the scrap value.” Photograph: Sean Sutton/Mines Advisory Group

The entrance to Craters restaurant is guarded by a phalanx of bombshells, each as big as a man. Opposite, the Dokkhoune hotel boasts an even finer warhead collection. For tourists who have not cottoned on, the Lao town of Phonsavanh lies at the heart of the most cluster-bombed province of the most bombed country on earth….” more here at the Guardian U


Children are STILL dying in Laos, because of Americas child warporn machine. In Laos, American soldiers routinely raped under-aged girls, while torturing and murdering their fathers and mothers, as well as in Viet Nam, Cambodia, and Thailand, where the CIA still runs child prostitution.

Now, America just helps clean up after another kid gets splashed into bits against a wall by a UXO. Hillary Clinton even  has cleaning up the messes these little kids leave behind in her portfolio.