"....orbiting around the Big Dicks..."

Dear Chris:

You said: as if sex can provide the missing clues….

I’ve been meditating for a long time now and the more stable I become I wonder if it is ruining my art. I mean, how does hysteria help us.. get there… how to embody that Kali energy… is there another side to come out on.

I stopped having sex a few months ago because I got tired of fucking strangers… and by tired, I don’t mean really tired, because I loved it. I never got bored fucking strangers, but it’s like eating chocolate cake with every meal. You don’t start hating chocolate-- it’s just you reach a point where you want something else for dessert.  And what’s the alternative to meaningless sex. Is it love?

Is it nothing. I thought maybe I’ll save all of that energy for my art. But my horoscope last week read that this was a bad idea. It literally said not having sex is bad for me … I’m an Aquarius with a rising Sagittarius and the tarot card reading I did last week-- to see if I would ever reunite with my ex-love-- came up 3 of swords, popping out of the deck before I even did the spread. How can you argue with that? So I stopped talking to him at all.

I don’t think you should ignore signs. It’s all signs isn’t it Chris? Like now it’s just you and me here.

Two girls. Two Women. Two Bodies with Holes. Two Body Suits talking about art.

I’m gonna try to not think about fucking you just yet. Because I want to take it slow.

I think about fucking almost everyone I meet. Is that normal? Is it because sex provides a clue (..... LOL to the fucking bank, Barthes...) ...we need to know how the other sees us? Do I even exist if no one wants to fuck me?

Let’s talk about hysteria and its aesthetic. Is it even necessary to say female here?

I saw a review online that described I Love Dick as vomiting on the page.

Proust isn’t vomiting on the page. DH Lawrence isn’t vomiting on the page. Fucking Milton is not a vomitorium of morality. Faulkner is certainly not vomiting and jerking off at the same time. Hemingway is never diarrhea. They are all the opposite of expulsion from the body. They are the insertion into the body. Only hysterics vomit it out, take it out of the body and put it on view.

The monster under the bed is only scary because we know

a) that the monster exists

b) we know the monster is in the room with us

c) currently we cannot see the monster, but at any moment it may come into view

Free from the Salpêtrière: where are the hysterics contained?

I read another review of I Love Dick where the reviewer seemed offended that at some point the author was performing “art” and not life. That at some point, Chris, you became self aware of your hysterics and decided to make it art. Decided to create something bigger than your self. Decided…. to shed the helplessness of female passivity and step into your person suit of autonomy shoving aside your role to be an emotional caretaker to those men whose lives you circled… you… you….. monster….You made something with your name on it. You are practically a real girl now.

“…anything that is repeated so emphatically must always be suspected of being a kind of denial or refusal of awareness…” – Luce Irigaray

When I wrote Basic Programming  I spent a year fucking strangers to learn about how attachment works inside me so I could write poetry. I used these men’s bodies to write poems because I’m a genius.

I used these men’s bodies to write poems because I am Genius. Just like you, Chris. Just like Augustine writhing under the gaze of a man thinking he was going to tell us what it means to be hysterical. Going to measure it out. Going to take a picture of it in practice. Going to note the symptoms and the treatments. Going to be left holding my limp "dick" in my hands when that bird called Augustine flies away… monster us all. Wait long enough, and I’ll write you an ending that really matters. Write enough letters to free us all.

That’s why I’m writing to you, Chris. There’s not enough written to counter the tide yet.

“… the less we see and recognize… the more powerful and insidious is the fiction at work…” –Luce Irigaray

So let’s see each other. Let’s see how we are hysteria and not how it is told to us. Can a woman create without a man? Can a woman create art without a man? Come into the menstrual hut with me. Our womb, our hystere…in the menstrual hut: we examine the “logos” outside the spectacle, we erase through repetition, the way a poem sings into existence a type of life forgotten. A poem rivets on the image, images seep into the gateways of our sensory perception and tell us how to structure the world. Hysteria is the counterpoint of control defined by the hegemony: image of what you are allowed to be and how you want to be perceived.

 We have been asleep.

But it’s all in there. It’s all inside there, under the “bed.” It’s 2017 and we are still waiting on a discourse on female anal eroticism… [how can it be, Eve?]

Where is our tree? My spirit animal is a snake. A fucking snake.... I wanted a wolf or a crow, but there we are, sexed in the clues all the way fucking down a rabbit hole of metaphors. I imagine you are soft. I imagine we lay together on the bed and look at plastic stars affixed to the roof of the hut, and the animals come in and we each take turns naming them. 

There's no getting away from the body. There's no getting away from the sex of the body. There's just far enough we can reach with our fingers. There's just far enough we can get inside. The contraction of the uterus when it bleeds, the contraction of the vagina as it cums, the beat of the heart and the poem:  a space waiting to be filled universes inside us... count me in words not yet delineated to square off the medium of what now communicates between... count off till I'm allowed to let go. 

Sex isn't at all like making art, is it? 

-M

Day 8: Ejaculate

Female Ejaculation: A Tempering

Faith is a double edged sword.
All your life people will tell you to believe
in things you can't put your finger on
like love, and you will never
doubt the half of it. Remember
that male ejaculation is a myth.
In the beginning was the word
and no one mouthed off. Every river
runs its bounds, a masterpiece
knows its being watched. This time
set it and then you do.  My,
oh my, what long lists of betrayal
they reserve for you. This man will
say it is so and this woman will say it
is not. But when you gush
over the smallest gestures, there's
a name for that, it's etched lower
on the turnstile, like a carnival
she's a middle ring act
acting up: the entire internet
will disagree as to her cohesiveness.
This one is split level and messy;
this one shakes waterfalls.
Every cue says wait till you feel
like you have to go and then
go, anyone who won't swallow
each piece of you doesn't
really deserve more time
and heart. A study dismisses
or in one fell swoop all the pretties
mimic other bodies, male bodies
made to perform, their marker
a mark of trade: here we come along
secretly in the tented margins
where the heading runs. She can splay
genderwise the beauty of a nothing,
a sparkled gemstone in the crutch;
you get more than you bargain for.

I don't really understand this ecard: are they swimming in female ejaculate or are they going to look for it underwater? Or are they just having one of those conversation you have when you're about to go scuba diving? 

NAPUSWRIMO: Taboo

Why we can't say 

"Vagina"

I remember when you couldn't talk about abortion and say the word "Vagina."

I remember when Oprah told us what she called her Vagina.

I remember when Women's Day suggested that in order to get a raise you should 

freshen your Vagina.

I remember all the times the word vagina was used when someone really meant vulva.

I remember learning every other word for the word vagina.

I remember teaching each one of my children the word vagina.

I remember when Rush Limbaugh called Sandra Fluke a slut and a prostitute because 

she was using her vagina to have sex and wanted to protect it.

I remember when Republican Mike Callton said that the word "Vagina" was so offensive he wouldn't say it in front of women. 

I remember when Naomi Wolf wrote Vagina: A New Biography but I can't remember if anyone read it.

I remember when we had to have an exhibition of vaginas to teach women about vaginas. 

I remember a time before labiaplasty was a popular procedure. 

I remember thinking someone is actually making money selling women Vagina tightening pills. 

And it's probably a man.

I remember looking at thousands of images of Vaginas on Tumbl, more than half depicted rape, abuse, or violence against them. 

I remember being so angry when I was a teenager because I could be raped, and there was nothing I could do about it. 

I remember watching a movie called "Vagina Dentata" where a woman's vagina bit off penises. 

It was hilarious. 

NAPUSWRIMO: Day 4 of 30 Days of Pussy & Poetry

OKCupid, an online dating site, provides questions to match potential mates. 

Have you ever tasted your own sexual fluids?

severing these plays, these fiery gaits

oh echoing madly, then etching wide as

or long as, this body of green sea

aswirl, a masking you could cooperate

blinding conducive or confirmed a losing

he’s a simple anagram of forward/ backward

timing & only you could make it more complicated

let go to the point of possible

a reminder of endly the same, you just

put it to bed another & then again

hold on to the reflection of the reflection 

If your 9 year old daughter was begging you to wear a thong, what would your response be?

remember when playing back the way an echo loops 

so that each cheek blossoms when you rush

into longing that seems like it would be adult

but then you simply never

once the way to learn anything was a gaggle

girls in their undersea anemones

all arms a type of poisoning to those not

initiated to the rub: you lied about the blood

you had and the blood you didn't 

the first time you come 

there is repulsion tinged with wonder

sex is no different; it's the way out of this

and into another

NAPUSWRIMO: Day 3 of Pussy & Poetry "The Perfect Vagina"

Specifics: A Coding

the infinite return from exactness

what in a language is deformed

[vagina (from Latin vāgīna, literally "sheath" or "scabbard") is a fibromuscular elastic tubular tract which is a sex organ and has two main functions: sexual intercourse and childbirth. In humans, this passage leads from the opening of the vulva to the uterus (womb), but the vaginal tract ends at the cervix. Unlike men, who have only one genital orifice, women have two, the urethra and the vagina. The vaginal opening is much larger than the urethral opening, and both openings are protected by the labia.^[1][2] The inner mould of the vagina has a foldy texture which can create friction for the penis during intercourse. During arousal, the vagina gets moist to facilitate the entrance of the penis.

The Latinate plural "vaginae" is rarely used in English. Colloquially, the word vagina is often used to refer to the vulva or to the female genitals in general.^[3]However, by its dictionary and anatomical definitions, vagina refers exclusively to the specific internal structure.]

:: ssshhhhhh ::

[The Great Wall of Vagina (artist Jamie McCartney) ]

Apparently, the excuse is that specificity in citing particulars is not necessary.

A naming of a naming is an excuse.

As much as I want to say: look at this.
There is no way of looking for me
that can look away from the body
of a man who puts his hands on a woman's
body in order to show her
her body// do you under/ stand
the imprint of the gaze
and under what duress you make
a thing called art
a telling of what I'm seeing
but told wrong
from the exact definition

you get to rename
again



Dear Travelers in the Landscape of Perfection:
Dear Mothers in the Lost Desert of Mouths:
Dear Sisters who Labor Under False Impressions:
Dear Girl who Sewed the Flower Tattoo:
Dear Monster who Crept This Shadow Into:
Dear Hand over Hand that Waded:
Dear Good-Byes to Mirroring:
Dear Frightening:
Dearest: 

NAPUSSWRIMO: November Constraint: Pussy & Poetry

For the month of November, I'm going to write every day about pussy, specifically pussy in relation to poetry, poetics, art and social media.

This is my NAPUSSWRIMO: Pussy: From Luce Irigaray to Azealia Banks

Things I'll be discussing include but are not limited to:

Luce Irigaray, Carolee Schneeman, Nicole Peyrafitte, Dodie Bellamy, Susana Gardner, Kathy Acker, Kim Vocika, anatomy, OKcupid, Tumblr, The Great Wall of Vagina, The Perfect Vagina, Vulvatic art expressionism, nip/tuck vulvas, Azealia Banks, Iggy Azealea, Lil Wayne, orgasms, ejaculation, fluid, dolls, Pussy Riot, Pussy Galore nail polish, Pussy the energy drink,

and there will be poems



"If we keep on speaking the same language together, we're going to reproduce the same history."

 -Luce Irigaray


No real pussies will be used/ abused/ denigrated/ injured/ disrespected/ neglected/ ignored/ overlyadored/ displayed/shared/ reblogged/ liked/ not liked/ touched/ not touched/ in this process

except my own.


Megan Burns