Shulamith Firestone. How far has feminism come?  Is it any closer to understanding sex?

We at Scarriet have a lot on our mind: feminism, sex, conception, and how it all connects to poetry.

Shulamith Firestone, author of “The Dialectic of Sex,” (1970)—the book proposed to separate sex from conception and to erase gender distinction—is dead at 67, after initial fame, flight from fame, and mid-life hospitalization for schizophrenia.

First a bit about sex.

George Santayana said, “Life is neither a feast nor a spectacle; it is a predicament.”

Sex, more than anything, is a predicament.  It is supposed to be the most pleasurable thing there is, and yet it is probably the greatest cause of moral and mental derangement, long-lasting misery and emotional pain there is.

Sex is bi-part: on one hand, necessary for conception, child-bearing and the furthering of human life, the foundation of gender differences and intimacy in traditional marriage; and, on the other, mad, illicit, jealous-invoking, fun.

Ms. Firestone—who theorized conception should happen in test tubes and believed that the “the end goal of feminist revolution must be … not just the elimination of male privilege but of the sex distinction itself”—took on the predicament of sex’s bi-part nature—and ended up suffering from schizophrenia.

This is a single, unproven example—but just too mythic to ignore.

Feminism is correct in one important sense: sex oppresses women.

Forget the usual feminist argument: who ‘has it worse,’ men or women.

Sex oppresses women more than men, because women are more involved and conscious of the dilemma of sex’s bi-part nature.

The woman is confused by sex and its role in society as vulgarity, half-truths, and do’s and don’t’s come thronging to her consciousness from a young age.  When she is actually confronted with potential mates as a young woman, she finds either clueless dweebs or frat-type jerks.  Physically attractive men are gay, or unreliable. Attentive heterosexuals are physically repulsive, or just plain weird.  One wonders sometimes how marrige and reproduction even happens.  And, on top of this, almost overnight the attractive men become aged and pot-bellied.  For men, sex almost seems to exist on a superficial fantasy level only—and yet it seems very important to men; and the poor woman is supposed to play some kind of role in all this?  How can she, without becoming repulsive to herself?  The dignified alternative for the woman is to focus on sex not as sex, but as a means to conception and birth, a partnership that produces children—but feminists and intellectuals frown on this alternative more than any other, for it bespeaks of the terribly old-fashioned, and it would seem to run straight into the arms of self-denying, patriarchal oppression.

So, when it comes to sex, how can a woman win?  Men themselves surely don’t help; nature doesn’t help; nor do any of the expectations advertised by the various religious and anti-religious philosophies, help.  The modern woman lives her whole life on the horns of a dilemma.

Shulamith Firestone went for the radical solution: let’s have babies in test tubes and separate the female gender from the burden of child-bearing, in order to make the genders truly equal.  Fix nature, which is unfair.  It’s what humans do.

Plato suggested child-rearing be done by the state and not families.

These practical considerations are just that—practical.  But how can sex ever be practical?  Is that even the point?

And further, what of love?  We haven’t mentioned that yet. (did you notice?)

Will taking sex away from conception make sex all about love?  Is this what Ms. Firestone, the theorist, wanted?  Is this what Ms. Firestone, the person, wanted?  Is this what we want?

But are sex and love even the same thing?  And, if so, is this the same thing as equating beauty and love?  Surely sexy and beautiful are close?  Or perhaps they are very different, depending on the person?  But if sex no longer leads to children (and how will that other technology actually work?) and is merely recreational, and sex is no longer a means to an end, it will certainly lose a certain power and come to signify a means by which a sexy person is enjoyed—but now, notice that now sex and love have become more selfish and objectified than ever before.  Is this what feminists like Firestone, in theorizing to make the world better, really want?

In a coldly materialistic world, how is sexiness and beauty and, most importantly, love, best realized and expressed?

This is where poetry comes in.

Poetry expresses love, and it is safe to say, can do so, no matter what the sexual or feminist or political landscape happens to be.  Love needs to be expressed, and poetry expresses love best.  Sex’s bi-part nature can mentally and morally afflict the best of us.  Poetry has the scope, expressiveness and the ability to create love and romance between two people, and since it belongs to words, it is accessible to many.  Poetry can lift love above material vulgarity; it can intelligently navigate the landmines of politics and change; it can bond two human beings over time and distance; it can heal the moral and mental rifts which afflict all those curious about sex and love; and poetry itself borrows from other important arts: music, painting, and rhetoric.

What if Ms. Firestone had been a love poet?



  1. noochinator said,

    September 9, 2012 at 11:43 pm

    For a woman, it’s about the children,
    And their close connection to her—
    For a man, it’s about the potency,
    And remaining an erection-doer.

    • thomasbrady said,

      September 10, 2012 at 1:26 pm

      Potency, if it’s potent, makes one immortal.
      We all want this, man or woman.
      You may seek erection, but you’ll
      Find short-lived is not the key to human.

  2. noochinator said,

    May 20, 2014 at 2:28 pm

    BRIEF CANDLE, a six-minute feminist micro-opera by composer William Mayer with libretto by Milton Feist. The libretto is as follows:

    Act I: “Isn’t she the cutest baby?”
    Act II: “I never saw a lovelier bride.”
    Act III: “Poor dear, but doesn’t she look natural.”

    The composer has written: “All its six minutes are a parody about how superficial conventional society can be, and…how only the LOOKS of the baby, bride and departed seemed to matter. So in a sense BRIEF CANDLE is a feminist work by pointing how myopic society can be in seeing a woman as a two dimensional stick figure rather than as a three dimensional human being.”

    The performance is by the Princeton Chamber Orchestra conducted by Nicholas Harsanyi.

  3. noochinator said,

    May 30, 2015 at 10:12 am

    Two quotes from Quentin Crisp:

    “Nothing in our culture, not even home computers, is more overrated than the epidermal felicity of two featherless bipeds in desperate congress.”

    “[S]ex is a mistake. It is the last refuge of the miserable. It is largely a mannerless occupation. Takes up a lot of energy, a lot of time, causes a lot of shame and grief and for virtually no result. It accomplishes nothing. It is only a pleasure, and when we speak of manners we are speaking not of pleasure but of happiness.”


  4. noochinator said,

    January 9, 2016 at 5:16 pm

    From Bleak Hotel by D.M. Thomas, about the unsuccessful attempts to get his novel The White Hotel made into a movie:

    Relate [, a soft-porn monthly of the early ’70s,] showed naked breasts and pubic hair, and occasionally erect penises, but never sexual activity. The letters, from men and women, seemed to be genuine and highly-charged. One of the stars, perhaps the brightest, of Relate was a woman called Mrs E.T. I don’t imagine Spielberg named his extraterrestrial after her, because Mrs E.T. was totally of this earth and earthy. In her fifties or sixties, plain, stout and peroxided, she was a primitive Earth Mother fast forwarded to the 1970s; or perhaps ten or twenty years earlier since, like most of the wives in ‘Relate’, she wore already-superseded stockings and foundation garments. The charm of these women was that they were real, unglamorous — not the girl next door but the auntie next door. In her standing poses, she seemed almost about to take root in the ground. She exuded sexual confidence, and that came through as real attractiveness.

    The adoring compliments she received, in the ‘reader’s letters’, were expressed in terms which would have women today reaching for the bottle of suicidal sleeping pills or castrating razor blade. . . ‘My darling Mrs E.T., your latest photos sent me in ecstasies, as always. I especially loved the one which shows your superbly pendulous breasts, drooping almost to your navel. Oh, what I would do to straddle over you and take the weight of those glorious teats in my hands! I adore also the way your suspender belt is almost hidden in the fleshy folds of your tummy, not to mention your heavy thighs, which your hubby is fortunate enough to be able to go between nightly, entering your divine haven…Thank you, thank you, my dearest Mrs E.T.’

    She knew that ‘pendulous’, ‘drooping’, ‘fleshy folds’, ‘heavy thighs’ weren’t insults, they were expressing grateful respect and love. She always responded with reciprocal gratitude… ‘Dear Editor, I would like to thank W.H., Surrey, Jack and R.H., Herts. for their very kind letters in Vol. 5 no. 10, and I am very pleased that they get so much pleasure from my pictures. I enjoy very much displaying myself for all your male readers and will be happy to do so as long as they find my photos exciting. I enclose a rear pose as requested by Mr G.M., and hope he continues to enjoy himself with my pictures…A special thank you to you Editor, for publishing my photos and readers letters, as I was wondering whether my time had run out.
    Yours gratefully & sincerely,
    Mrs E.T., London’

    Her time must have run out by now. She enjoyed it while she had it. ‘The grave’s a fine and private place, / But none I think do there embrace.’ Unless she’s incredibly old, Mrs E.T. has gone into the stockingless, ungirdled dark.

    Relate and its rather innocent brethren were swept away in the tide of hard, unemotional pornography. Swept away also was the male expression of an almost religious adoration of real unglamourised women. That adoration exists in plenty, as Nancy Friday found, rather to her surprise, when gathering male fantasies for her book Men in Love. But with feminism it went underground; the delicate courtesies of male-female discourse became as old hat as the trilby which Trevor Howard raised to Celia Johnson in Brief Encounter. One may imagine what Andrea Dworkin and Germaine Greer would have said to Mr C.H., Oxford, and Mr G.M., Lancs. As if in response, men created an infantilized image of woman, unthreatening and unreal: a Barbie Doll, thin, with huge undrooping breasts and (increasingly depilated) vulva gaping.

    Mrs E.T. and her admirers seem stranger now than Spielberg’s visitor from outer space. Women and men grew more alike — and more estranged. In the final words of Love’s Labour’s Lost : ‘You, that way; we, this way.’

  5. noochinator said,

    July 13, 2017 at 4:06 pm

    D.H. Lawrence in a rather anti-feminist mood, from his ‘Apocalypse’:

    “So the Logos came, at the beginning of our era, to give men another sort of splendour. And that same Logos today is the evil snake of the Laocoön which is the death of all of us. The Logos which was like the great green breath of spring-time is now the grey stinging of myriads of deadening little serpents. Now we have to conquer the Logos, that the new dragon gleaming green may lean down from among the stars and vivify us and make us great.

    “And no-one is coiled more bitterly in the folds of the old Logos than woman. It is always so. What was a breath of inspiration becomes in the end a fixed and evil form, which coils in round like mummy clothes. And then woman is more tightly coiled even than man. Today, the best part of womanhood is wrapped tight and tense in the folds of the Logos, she is bodiless, abstract, and driven by a self-determination terrible to behold. A strange ʻspiritualʼ creature is woman today, driven on and on by the evil demon of the old Logos, never for a moment allowed to escape and be herself. The evil Logos says she must be ʻsignificantʼ, she must ʻmake something worth whileʼ of her life. So on and on she goes, making something worth while, piling up the evil forms of our civilization higher and higher, and never for a second escaping to be wrapped in the brilliant fluid folds of the new green dragon. All our present life-forms are evil. But with a persistence that would be angelic if it were not devilish woman insists on the best in life, by which she means the best of our evil life-forms, unable to realise that the best of evil life-forms are the most evil.

    “So, tragic and tortured by all the grey little snakes of modern shame and pain, she struggles on, fighting for ‘the best’, which is, alas, the evil best. All women today have a large streak of the police-woman in them. Andromeda was chained naked to a rock, and the dragon of the old form fumed at her. But poor modern Andromeda, she is forced to patrol the streets more or less in police-woman’s uniform, with some sort of a banner and some sort of a bludgeon—or is it called a baton!—up her sleeve, and who is going to rescue her from this? Let her dress up fluffy as she likes, or white and virginal, still underneath it all you can see the stiff folds of the modern police-woman, doing her best, her level best.

    “Ah God, Andromeda at least had her nakedness, and it was beautiful, and Perseus wanted to fight for her. But our modern police-women have no nakedness, they have their uniforms. And who could want to fight the dragon of the old form, poisonous old Logos, for the sake of a police-woman’s uniform?

    “Ah, woman, you have known many bitter experiences. But never, never before have you been condemned by the old dragon to be a police-woman.”

  6. noochinator said,

    July 21, 2017 at 12:59 pm

    From D.H. Lawrence’s ‘Fantasia of the Unconscious’:

    “Biologically, it is true, the rudimentary formation of both sexes is found in every individual. That doesn’t mean that every individual is a bit of both, or either, ad lib. After a sufficient period of idealism, men become hopelessly self-conscious. That is, the great affective centers no longer act spontaneously, but always wait for control from the head. This always breeds a great fluster in the psyche, and the poor self-conscious individual cannot help posing and posturing. Our ideal has taught us to be gentle and wistful: rather girlish and yielding, and very yielding in our sympathies. In fact, many young men feel so very like what they imagine a girl must feel, that hence they draw the conclusion that they must have a large share of female sex inside them. False conclusion.

    “These girlish men have often, today, the finest maleness, once it is put to the test. How is it then that they feel, and look, so girlish? It is largely a question of the direction of the polarized flow. Our ideal has taught us to be so loving and so submissive and so yielding in our sympathy, that the mode has become automatic in many men. Now in what we will call the ‘natural’ mode, man has his positivity in the volitional centers, and women in the sympathetic. In fulfilling the Christian love ideal, however, men have reversed this. Man has assumed the gentle, all-sympathetic role, and woman has become the energetic party, with the authority in her hands. The male is the sensitive, sympathetic nature, the woman the active, effective, authoritative. So that the male acts as the passive, or recipient pole of attraction, the female as the active, positive, exertive pole, in human relations. Which is a reversal of the old flow. The woman is now the initiator, man the responder. They seem to play each other’s parts. But man is purely male, playing woman’s part, and woman is purely female, however manly. The gulf between Heliogabalus, or the most womanly man on earth, and the most manly woman, is just the same as ever: just the same old gulf between the sexes. The man is male, the woman is female. Only they are playing one another’s parts, as they must at certain periods. The dynamic polarity has swung around.

    “If we look a little closer, we can define this positive and negative business better. As a matter of fact, positive and negative, passive and active cuts both ways. If the man, as thinker and doer, is active, or positive, and the woman negative, then, on the other hand, as the initiator of emotion, of feeling, and of sympathetic understanding the woman is positive, the man negative. The man may be the initiator in action, but the woman is initiator in emotion. The man has the initiative as far as voluntary activity goes, and the woman the initiative as far as sympathetic activity goes. In love, it is the woman naturally who loves, the man who is loved. In love, woman is the positive, man the negative. It is woman who asks, in love, and man who answers. In life, the reverse is the case. In knowing and in doing, man is positive and woman negative: man initiates, and woman lives up to it.

    “Naturally this nicely arranged order of things may be reversed. Action and utterance, which are male, are polarized against feeling, emotion, which are female. And which is positive, which negative? Was man, the eternal protagonist, born of woman, from her womb of fathomless emotion? Or was woman, with her deep womb of emotion, born from the rib of active man, the first created? Man, the doer, the knower, the original in being, is he lord of life? Or is woman, the great Mother, who bore us from the womb of love, is she the supreme Goddess?

    “This is the question of all time. And as long as man and woman endure, so will the answer be given, first one way, then the other. Man, as the utterer, usually claims that Eve was created out of his spare rib: from the field of the creative, upper dynamic consciousness, that is. But woman, as soon as she gets a word in, points to the fact that man inevitably, poor darling, is the issue of his mother’s womb. So the battle rages.

    “But some men always agree with the woman. Some men always yield to woman the creative positivity. And in certain periods, such as the present, the majority of men concur in regarding woman as the source of life, the first term in creation: woman, the mother, the prime being.

    “And then, the whole polarity shifts over. Man still remains the doer and thinker. But he is so only in the service of emotional and procreative woman. His highest moment is now the emotional moment when he gives himself up to the woman, when he forms the perfect answer for her great emotional and procreative asking. All his thinking, all his activity in the world only contributes to this great moment, when he is fulfilled in the emotional passion of the woman, the birth of rebirth, as Whitman calls it. In his consummation in the emotional passion of a woman, man is reborn, which is quite true.

    “And there is the point at which we all now stick. Life, thought, and activity, all are devoted truly to the great end of Woman, wife and mother.

    “Man has now entered on to his negative mode. Now, his consummation is in feeling, not in action. Now, his activity is all of the domestic order and all his thought goes to proving that nothing matters except that birth shall continue and woman shall rock in the nest of this globe like a bird who covers her eggs in some tall tree. Man is the fetcher, the carrier, the sacrifice, the crucified, and the reborn of woman.

    “This being so, the whole tendency of his nature changes. Instead of being assertive and rather insentient, he becomes wavering and sensitive. He begins to have as many feelings—nay, more than a woman. His heroism is all in altruistic endurance. He worships pity and tenderness and weakness, even in himself. In short, he takes on very largely the original role of woman. Woman meanwhile becomes the fearless, inwardly relentless, determined positive party. She grips the responsibility. The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. Nay, she makes man discover that cradles should not be rocked, in order that her hands may be left free. She is now a queen of the earth, and inwardly a fearsome tyrant. She keeps pity and tenderness emblazoned on her banners. But God help the man whom she pities. Ultimately she tears him to bits.

    “Therefore we see the reversal of the old poles. Man becomes the emotional party, woman the positive and active. Man begins to show strong signs of the peculiarly strong passive sex desire, the desire to be taken, which is considered characteristic of woman. Man begins to have all the feelings of woman—or all the feelings which he attributed to woman. He becomes more feminine than woman ever was, and worships his own femininity, calling it the highest. In short, he begins to exhibit all signs of sexual complexity. He begins to imagine he really is half female. And certainly woman seems very male. So the hermaphrodite fallacy revives again.

    “But it is all a fallacy. Man, in the midst of all his effeminacy, is still male and nothing but male. And woman, though she harangue in Parliament or patrol the streets with a helmet on her head, is still completely female. They are only playing each other’s rôles, because the poles have swung into reversion. The compass is reversed. But that doesn’t mean that the north pole has become the south pole, or that each is a bit of both.

    “Of course a woman should stick to her own natural emotional positivity. But then man must stick to his own positivity of being, of action, disinterested, non-domestic, male action, which is not devoted to the increase of the female. Once man vacates his camp of sincere, passionate positivity in disinterested being, his supreme responsibility to fulfill his own profoundest impulses, with reference to none but God or his own soul, not taking woman into count at all, in this primary responsibility to his own deepest soul; once man vacates this strong citadel of his own genuine, not spurious, divinity; then in comes woman, picks up the scepter and begins to conduct a rag-time band.

    “Man remains man, however he may put on wistfulness and tenderness like petticoats, and sensibilities like pearl ornaments. Your sensitive little big-eyed boy, so much more gentle and loving than his harder sister, is male for all that, believe me. Perhaps evilly male, so mothers may learn to their cost: and wives still more.

    “Of course there should be a great balance between the sexes. Man, in the daytime, must follow his own soul’s greatest impulse, and give himself to life-work and risk himself to death. It is not woman who claims the highest in man. It is a man’s own religious soul that drives him on beyond woman, to his supreme activity. For his highest, man is responsible to God alone. He may not pause to remember that he has a life to lose, or a wife and children to leave. He must carry forward the banner of life, though seven worlds perish, with all the wives and mothers and children in them. Hence Jesus, ‘Woman, what have I to do with thee?’ Every man that lives has to say it again to his wife or mother, once he has any work or mission in hand, that comes from his soul.

    “But again, no man is a blooming marvel for twenty-four hours a day. Jesus or Napoleon or any other of them ought to have been man enough to be able to come home at tea-time and put his slippers on and sit under the spell of his wife. For there you are, the woman has her world, her positivity: the world of love, of emotion, of sympathy. And it behooves every man in his hour to take off his shoes and relax and give himself up to his woman and her world. Not to give up his purpose. But to give up himself for a time to her who is his mate. And so it is one detests the clockwork Kant, and the petit-bourgeois Napoleon divorcing his Josephine for a Hapsburg—or even Jesus, with his ‘Woman, what have I to do with thee?’ He might have added ‘just now.’ They were all failures.”


    • thomasbrady said,

      July 21, 2017 at 3:07 pm

      Lawrence: “Man, be a man, but do take time to have tea with the wife.”

      “Man can take the role of the woman, but is still a man,” says Lawrence. How so?

      Difficult to talk about the genders. Very difficult. Kind of makes fools of us all.

      • noochinator said,

        July 21, 2017 at 3:21 pm

        Lawrence would not accept the transgender madness of our day, the idea that one can change one’s biological sex. I suspect Ben Franklin would be more accepting of the idea, so long as there was money to be made from it—and boy (girl?), is there ever!

        • thomasbrady said,

          July 21, 2017 at 5:14 pm

          DH Lawrence sounding “old-fashioned” in that regard. Lawrence is Nietzchean: no celebration of modern confusion and weakness! Nature is true. People, not always.

        • Mr. Woo said,

          July 22, 2017 at 4:29 pm

          I don’t see trans people themselves as particularly mad; everything is natural, variance included. It’s these swarms of resentful SJW’s purporting to advocate for trans folk that really pisses me off, but this sort of thing is just so common.

          • Mr. Woo said,

            July 22, 2017 at 4:31 pm

            Gender was made up by white men to sell you Coke!

            • noochinator said,

              July 22, 2017 at 7:06 pm

              Yes, Coke and ersatz-vagina construction!

  7. thomasbrady said,

    July 22, 2017 at 5:36 pm

    The calm sea of gender change.

    • Desdi said,

      July 22, 2017 at 11:34 pm

      As my 6 year old daughter says:

      “Gender is gender… and you don’t MESS with it.”

      • July 23, 2017 at 12:26 am

        I’m not sure I understand this whole transgender issue. Maybe someone can explain it to me. When I was growing up (in the 50’s), we all knew about homosexuals (this was before the term ‘gay’ was coined). There were some homosexuals in my little town and nobody thought much about it. It was what it was.
        What we now call ‘transgender’ people we knew as sissies and tomboys. They were different but not necessarily homosexual.

        So what’s different now?

        • thomasbrady said,

          July 23, 2017 at 12:22 pm

          Left/protest posturing?

          Medical science cashing in on change?

          Women want bald spots?

          Men want periods?

          Good question, Gary.

          • Mr. Woo said,

            July 23, 2017 at 4:29 pm

            In the 50’s there wasn’t this entrenched post-modern ideology in the Left’s politics or in the universities that says that all categories are created solely to oppress gays/sissies/women/browns/blacks/muslims, you name it.

            The transgender issue is really a smoke screen, the topic du day. The real issue is the ideology that’s using the transgender card to further its power, and might I add making life far worse for trans-people who mostly just want to be left alone.

            Look up Bill C16, recently passed in Canada. Spooky stuff.

            • July 23, 2017 at 5:04 pm

              Interesting! You’re blaming the liberal left, but it’s the conservative right passing all the anti-transgender ‘bathroom’ bills against people who “just wasn’t to be left alone.”

              • July 23, 2017 at 5:11 pm

                WANT to be, that is. All those years learning how to type and now I’m back to one finger! Thanks a lot, Mr. Jobs! 😂

              • Mr. Woo said,

                July 23, 2017 at 6:49 pm


                Yes, I’m blaming the liberal left, for teaching young people to be as pathetic and dependent as possible. That, and their radicals just scare me far more than the right’s, at the moment. And again, trans people and their bathrooms isn’t the issue. I’m enrolled at an American college at the moment, and the thought police are out in full force.

                • thomasbrady said,

                  July 24, 2017 at 12:41 am

                  Gary, you asked a simple question. Are you seriously saying conservatives are to blame for what’s going on today, when in the 50s, as you described it, differences thrived and “nobody thought much about it”? I agree with your view. My aunt, a couple of generations ago, from the conservative Christian midwest, the daughter of my grandfather, a protestant minister, never married and lived with a woman, and no one cared, or thought anything about it.

                  • July 24, 2017 at 1:26 am

                    Tom: I agree that there has been an increase in ‘identity’ politics and a conservative backlash. I also believe that this is basic human nature, which is why there are tribes and nations. I hate to be a pessimist but I also believe there will ultimately be only one winner on this planet:


                    • noochinator said,

                      July 24, 2017 at 11:19 am

                      Yes, the future belongs to those who show up for it. Kudos to Tom and Desdi for creating descendants.

                    • July 24, 2017 at 1:55 pm

                      I meant post-human DNA (thank goodness).

        • Desdi said,

          July 24, 2017 at 6:40 pm

          I can explain it. There are only 2 genders possible. People are born with one of these two biological identities which most accept. But unstable people who defy God convince themselves otherwise and become delusional. Refusing to accept one’s biological gender is to defy God.

          • July 25, 2017 at 3:36 am


            So maybe God is a field,
            a wave particle field,
            a spacetime energy field,
            a field of consciousness expanding
            in all directions, growing rich with souls,
            extending in multiple dimensions
            with a host of ultimate goals.

            Proclaimed by many bells which rang,
            a multitude of faithful voices sang.
            But which came first, the consciousness
            or the Bang? Which came first, the field
            or the flowers in it?

          • noochinator said,

            July 26, 2017 at 4:27 pm

            I think it’s insulting to women to say
            That doctors can build female genitaliā—
            Surgeons, I’ve said, they think that they can cadge,
            But only hetero fucking can make a real vaj.

            • July 26, 2017 at 6:21 pm

              I believe you are confused. Transgender is not the same thing as trans-sexual or transvestite.

              Of course, if you weren’t ignorant or confused you wouldn’t be a Luddite. Oh, I meant Conservative. (Republican)?

              • July 26, 2017 at 6:36 pm

                Sorry. I get all those retro antique neanderthals mixed up.

              • noochinator said,

                July 26, 2017 at 10:34 pm

                So transgender’s when they wanna keep the dick,
                But be known as a lady? Sounds “Thick as a Brick”!*

                *Where’s Jethro Tull when you need ’em?

                • July 27, 2017 at 1:06 am

                  Okay, fair enough. I just looked up the definition and transgender is an umbrella term that includes trans-sexuals and transvestites.
                  I guess my question is if you are none of these things, why would you even care?

                  • July 27, 2017 at 1:09 am

                    You ARE none of these things, aren’t you, Nooch?

                    • noochinator said,

                      July 27, 2017 at 3:28 pm

                      Since you asked, my sexual Weltanschauung was best expressed by Woody Allen’s character Leonard Zelig: “I worked with Freud in Vienna. We broke over the concept of penis envy. Freud felt that it should be limited to women.”

                • noochinator said,

                  July 27, 2017 at 4:30 pm

                  I just learned there’s a “Thick as a Brick 2”!

              • noochinator said,

                July 27, 2017 at 3:17 pm

                If the Dems wanna put “Transgenderism!” on their banner,
                They may come off in 2018 like Santa Anna!

                • thomasbrady said,

                  July 27, 2017 at 9:10 pm

                  It seems to be getting worse and worse for the Democrats…

  8. noochinator said,

    July 22, 2017 at 7:12 pm

    From chapter 10 of ‘Fantasia of the Unconscious’ by D.H. Lawrence:

    “If you want to see the real desirable wife-spirit, look at a mother with her boy of eighteen. How she serves him, how she stimulates him, how her true female self is his, is wife-submissive to him as never, never it could be to a husband. This is the quiescent, flowering love of a mature woman. It is the very flower of a woman’s love: sexually asking nothing, asking nothing of the beloved, save that he shall be himself, and that for his living he shall accept the gift of her love. This is the perfect flower of married love, which a husband should put in his cap as he goes forward into the future in his supreme activity. For the husband, it is a great pledge, and a blossom. For the son also it seems wonderful. The woman now feels for the first time as a true wife might feel. And her feeling is towards her son.

    “Or, instead of mother and son, read father and daughter.

    “And then what? The son gets on swimmingly for a time, till he is faced with the actual fact of sex necessity. He gleefully inherits his adolescence and the world at large, without an obstacle in his way, mother-supported, mother-loved. Everything comes to him in glamour, he feels he sees wondrous much, understands a whole heaven, mother-stimulated. Think of the power which a mature woman thus infuses into her boy. He flares up like a flame in oxygen. No wonder they say geniuses mostly have great mothers. They mostly have sad fates.

    “And then?—and then, with this glamorous youth? What is he actually to do with his sensual, sexual self? Bury it? Or make an effort with a stranger? For he is taught, even by his mother, that his manhood must not forgo sex. Yet he is linked up in ideal love already, the best he will ever know.

    “No woman will give to a stranger that which she gives to her son, her father or her brother: that beautiful and glamorous submission which is truly the wife-submission. To a stranger, a husband, a woman insists on being queen, goddess, mistress, the positive, the adored, the first and foremost and the one and only. This she will not ask from her near blood-kin. Of her blood-kin, there is always one she will love devotedly.

    “And so, the charming young girl who adores her father, or one of her brothers, is sought in marriage by the attractive young man who loves his mother devotedly. And a pretty business the marriage is. We can’t think of it. Of course they may be good pals. It’s the only thing left.

    “And there we are. The game is spoilt before it is begun. Within the circle of the family, owing to our creed of insatiable love, intense adult sympathies are provoked in quite young children. In Italy, the Italian stimulates adult sex-consciousness and sex-sympathy in his child, almost deliberately. But with us, it is usually spiritual sympathy and spiritual criticism. The adult experiences are provoked, the adult devotional sympathies are linked up, prematurely, as far as the child is concerned. We have the heart-wringing spectacle of intense parent-child love, a love intense as the love of man and woman, but not sexual; or else the great brother-sister devotion. And thus, the great love-experience which should lie in the future is forestalled. Within the family, the love-bond forms quickly, without the shocks and ruptures inevitable between strangers. And so, it is easiest, intensest—and seems the best. It seems the highest. You will not easily get a man to believe that his carnal love for the woman he has made his wife is as high a love as that he felt for his mother or sister.

    “The cream is licked off from life before the boy or the girl is twenty. Afterwards—repetition, disillusion, and barrenness.

    “And the cause?—always the same. That parents will not make the great resolution to come to rest within themselves, to possess their own souls in quiet and fullness. The man has not the courage to withdraw at last into his own soul’s stillness and aloneness, and then, passionately and faithfully, to strive for the living future. The woman has not the courage to give up her hopeless insistence on love and her endless demand for love, demand of being loved. She has not the greatness of soul to relinquish her own self-assertion, and believe in the man who believes in himself and in his own soul’s efforts:—if there are any such men nowadays, which is very doubtful.

    “Alas, alas, the future! Your son, who has tasted the real beauty of wife-response in his mother or sister. Your daughter, who adores her brother, and who marries some woman’s son. They are so charming to look at, such a lovely couple. And at first it is all such a good game, such good sport. Then each one begins to fret for the beauty of the lost, non-sexual, partial relationship. The sexual part of marriage has proved so—so empty. While that other loveliest thing—the poignant touch of devotion felt for mother or father or brother—why, this is missing altogether. The best is missing. The rest isn’t worth much. Ah well, such is life. Settle down to it, and bring up the children carefully to more of the same.—The future! You’ve had all your good days by the time you’re twenty.

    “And, I ask you, what good will psychoanalysis do you in this state of affairs? Introduce an extra sex-motive to excite you for a bit and make you feel how thrillingly immoral things really are. And then—it all goes flat again. Father complex, mother complex, incest dreams: pah, when we’ve had the little excitement out of them we shall forget them as we have forgotten so many other catch-words. And we shall be just where we were before: unless we are worse, with more sex in the head, and more introversion, only more brazen.”

  9. noochinator said,

    July 23, 2017 at 8:37 pm

    From chapter 11 of ‘Fantasia of the Unconscious’ by D.H. Lawrence:

    “We have made a mistake, laying down love like the permanent way of a great emotional transport system. There we are, however, running on wheels on the lines of our love. And of course we have only two directions, forwards and backwards. ‘Onward, Christian soldiers, towards the great terminus where bottles of sterilized milk for the babies are delivered at the bedroom windows by noiseless aeroplanes each morn, where the science of dentistry is so perfect that teeth are planted in a man’s mouth without his knowing it, where twilight sleep is so delicious that every woman longs for her next confinement, and where nobody ever has to do anything except turn a handle now and then in a spirit of universal love—‘ That is the forward direction of the English-speaking race. The Germans unwisely backed their engine. ‘We have a city of light. But instead of lying ahead it lies direct behind us. So reverse engines. Reverse engines, and away, away to our city, where the sterilized milk is delivered by noiseless aeroplanes, at the very precise minute when our great doctors of the Fatherland have diagnosed that it is good for you : where the teeth are not only so painlessly planted that they grow like living rock, but where their composition is such that the friction of eating stimulates the cells of the jaw-bone and develops the superman strength of will which makes us gods : and where not only is twilight sleep serene, but into the sleeper are inculcated the most useful and instructive dreams, calculated to perfect the character of the young citizen at this crucial period, and to enlighten permanently the mind of the happy mother, with regard to her new duties towards her child and towards our great Fatherland—‘

    “Here you see we are, on the railway, with New Jerusalem ahead, and New Jerusalem away behind us. But of course it was very wrong of the Germans to reverse their engines, and cause one long collision all along the line. Why should we go their way to the New Jerusalem, when of course they might so easily have kept on going our way. And now there’s wreckage all along the line! But clear the way is our motto—or make the Germans clear it. Because get on we will.

    “Meanwhile we sit rather in the cold, waiting for the train to get a start. People keep on signaling with green lights and red lights. And it’s all very bewildering.

    “As for me, I’m off. I’m damned if I’ll be shunted along any more. And I’m thrice damned if I’ll go another yard towards that sterilized New Jerusalem, either forwards or backwards. New Jerusalem may rot, if it waits for me. I’m not going.

    “So good-by! There we leave humanity, encamped in an appalling mess beside the railway-smash of love, sitting down, however, and having not a bad time, some of ’em, feeding themselves fat on the plunder: others, further down the line, with mouths green from eating grass. But all grossly, stupidly, automatically gabbling about getting the love-service running again, the trains booked for the New Jerusalem well on the way once more. And occasionally a good engine gives a screech of love, and something seems to be about to happen. And sometimes there is enough steam to set the indignation-whistles whistling. But never any more will there be enough love-steam to get the system properly running. It is done.

    “Good-by, then! You may have laid your line from one end to the other of the infinite. But still there’s plenty of hinterland. I’ll go. Good-by. Ach, it will be so nice to be alone: not to hear you, not to see you, not to smell you, humanity. I wish you no ill, but wisdom. Good-by!”

  10. thomasbrady said,

    July 24, 2017 at 12:58 am

    Ah, DH Lawrence. Way too smart for the human race. He sounds like Huxley. That’s because they were friends. Vastly intelligent and highly opinionated. But a little too coldly analytical, the great sin of that beautiful, lurid nighmare, the 20th century!

  11. noochinator said,

    July 28, 2017 at 4:13 pm

    Although Lawrence is writing here of the components of a soul, it seems to apply also to a political system—“the pure sympathetic” vs. the “voluntary, objective, separatist”:

    “A soul cannot come into its own through that love alone which is unison. If it stress the one mode, the sympathetic mode, beyond a certain point, it breaks its own integrity, and corruption sets in in the living organism. On both planes of love, upper and lower, the two modes must act complementary to one another, the sympathetic and the separatist. It is the absolute failure to see this that has torn the modern world into two halves, the one half warring for the voluntary, objective, separatist control, the other for the pure sympathetic. The individual psyche divided against itself divides the world against itself, and an unthinkable progress of calamity ensues unless there be a reconciliation.” —from ‘Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious’ by D.H. Lawrence

    • thomasbrady said,

      July 30, 2017 at 3:36 pm

      “One half warring…” Insane intellectuals! D.H Lawrence, smart dude, wasn’t really about love, but war…

      • noochinator said,

        July 31, 2017 at 1:36 pm

        I think D.H. Lawrence hit the bullseye, knew the score—
        Check the headlines: sympatheticists & objectivists at war!

  12. noochinator said,

    July 30, 2017 at 11:21 am

    An excerpt from a poem by one Cass Clemmer, a biological female who identifies as male:

    Y’all know I’m trans and queer,
    And what that means for me all around,
    Is something that’s neither there nor here,
    It’s a happy, scary middle ground.

    So when I talk gender inclusion,
    And I wrote these rhymes to help you see,
    I’m not tryna bring up something shallow,
    Periods are honestly pretty traumatic for me.

    See my life is very clearly marked,
    Like a red border cut up a nation,
    A time before and a time beyond,
    The mark of my first menstruation.

    So let me take you back,
    To the details that I can still recall,
    Of the day I gained my first period,
    And the day that I lost it all.

    I was 15 and still happy,
    Running around, all chest bared and buck,
    Climbing trees, digging holes,
    And no one gave a single fuck.

    I mean I think my ma was worried,
    So I went and grew out my locks,
    A sign I was normal, still a girl,
    A painted neon sign for my gender box.

    So, the day I got my period,
    My god, a day so proud,
    This little andro fucked up kid,
    Had been bestowed the straight, cis shroud.

    The relief got all meshed up in my pain,
    In that moment, I sat down and cried,
    Just thanking god I was normal,
    While mourning the freedom that had died.

    Everyone told me my hips would grow,
    I looked at them and couldn’t stop crying,
    “What’s wrong with you? You’ll be a woman!”
    They kept celebrating a child dying.

    See my body had betrayed me,
    That red dot, the wax seal,
    On a contract left there broken,
    A gender identity that wasn’t real.

    Most people deal with blood and tissue,
    And yet my body forces me to surrender,
    Cause every time I get my cycle,
    Is another day I shed my gender.

    My boobs betray me first,
    I feel them stretching out my binder,
    I send up questions, “am I cursed?”
    And wish to god that she was kinder.

    The five days it flows, I try to breathe,
    I dissociate,
    While my body rips outs parts of me,
    Leaving nothing but a shell of hate.

    The blood drips from an open wound,
    Of a war waging deep inside my corpse,
    The battle between mind and body,
    Immovable object; unstoppable force.


    • thomasbrady said,

      July 30, 2017 at 3:40 pm


      My lovely childhood ended when I was a teen and I had to “get a job.” I’ve never recovered from that.

  13. noochinator said,

    July 30, 2017 at 9:14 pm

    Since this post started out about radical feminism, here’s some of James Huneker’s remarks on the women in the plays of G.B. Shaw:

    “His women! Recall [Robert Louis] Stevenson’s dismayed exclamation at the Shaw women! They are creatures who have read Ibsen; are, one is sure, dowdy; but they interest. While you wonder at the strength of their souls, you do not miss the size of their feet. Mr. Shaw refused to see woman as a heroine. She is sometimes a breeder of sinners, always a chronicler of the smallest kind of small beer, and for fear this sounds like an Iago estimate, he dowers her with an astounding intellectual equipment, and then lets the curious compound work out its own salvation.”

  14. noochinator said,

    August 1, 2017 at 12:48 pm

    David Cole writes:

    A tranny is someone who claims, “I was ‘assigned’ the wrong gender at birth, and I need to be the real me.” Okay, fine. Go be whatever the hell you want to be! Go be a chick with a dick, or a man with a cooter. It’s absolutely none of my business how any adult decides to express him/her/itself sexually. But the thing is, these days trannies are not content to just go be trannies; they insist that we become accomplices to their fantasy. We have to pretend to see what they see. We have to use pronouns that we know are misapplied. We have to allow dudes with dirlywangers to shower, change, and go to the bathroom alongside our daughters. We have to foot the bill for sex change surgeries. To even suggest that sex change operations are elective and not a “medical necessity” is to challenge the tranny illusion. This is at the heart of the controversy surrounding President Trump’s announcement that trans folk will no longer be allowed to serve in the military. Trannies, their leftist allies, and “moderate Republicans” think soldiers are as entitled to state-funded sex change operations as they are to first aid on the battlefront.


  15. noochinator said,

    August 2, 2017 at 6:22 pm

    My kind of feminist, Mary Woronov: painter, writer, actress, and former Warhol girl!

  16. noochinator said,

    September 3, 2017 at 11:38 am

    Jim Goad tells the tale of God-the-Daughter:


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