All of Vladimir Nabokov's novels exude delight in the beauty of the perverse. It is no wonder then that he had so many hang-ups.
Nabokov notoriously hated Freudian psychoanalysis ('all my books should be stamped, Freudians keep out'). (Bend Sinister, xviii) He regarded it as a medieval throwback to a dark prerational world inhabited by subterranean monsters and nightmares. And he also detested psychology in general. His was an aesthetic world. Where structure, metaphor and the art of the novel were the thing. And the symbolic a trap for pedants, know-it-alls and grad students.
Non-structural elements in general were out in interpretations of his work. In the introduction to Bend Sinister, he is quite clear that any 'political' interpretation of his novel has completely missed the point. As Nabokov says, the tale is neither Kafkaesque or Orwellian: 'The story in Bend Sinister is not really about life and death in a grotesque police state. My characters are not "types," not carriers of this or that "idea." (Bend Sinister, xiii). No, they dwell on a magical metaphysical level: 'all of them are only absurd mirages, illusions oppressive to Krug [the main character] during his brief spell of being, but harmlessly fading away when I dismiss the cast (xiv).'
And it is the participatory presence of Nabokov that possesses the narration like a tongue-in-cheek deus ex machina. He refers to himself as 'an anthropomorphic deity impersonated by me (xviii).' One who actively interferes in his stories and helps the characters understand that everything is fictional: 'Krug, in a sudden moonburst of madness, understands that he is in good hands: nothing on earth really matters, there is nothing to fear, and death is but a question of style, a mere literary device, a musical resolution (xviii-xix).' Thus the novel ends in nonchalant digression: 'Krug ran towards him, and just a fraction of an instant before another and better bullet hit him, he shouted again: You, you--and the wall vanished, like a rapidly withdrawn slide, and I stretched myself and got up from among the chaos of written and rewritten pages, to investigate the sudden twang that something had made in striking the wire netting of my window (240).' It is all so sudden. Unresolved. Interrupted. Arrested...Magical...
Speaking of the 'arrested development' of Nabokov means speaking thematically, not psychologically. Whatever psychic dynamics motivated Nabokov, his novels revolved around a mythic sense that either came out in the language, the plot, the themes or the characters--or all together in complex combinations and modulations. Like Poe, a kind of eerie and sublime innocence inundates the tales and connects the parts with the whole.
And no story is more full of Poe then Nabokov's most in/famous. Lolita. Despite constant misinterpretations to the contrary, Lolita was not a novel reveling in pedophilia. Nearly asexual himself, Nabokov took great pleasure in mind-fucking the pervs and rubes. The eponymous nymphet was in the story for aesthetic reasons alone. If anything, Nabokov took monkish pleasure in the revulsion he felt while writing the prepubescent sex scenes.
But Poe is always present. Hovering and fumbling and fluttering about like a funny uncle pretending to misplace his hands and pseudo-absent-mindedly standing too close. The rumours of his attraction to tweens is existential foreshadowing like deja vu and astral projection and dreams of falling falling falling down. The rabbit hole. Another Nabokovian fellow emerges. Another supposed pedophile. Mr. Lewis Carroll. He likes the little girls to sit on his lap and nuzzles and coos while his fingers find the wrong pressure points. And the sitter is left unsettled. Like something important just happened fleetingly beyond the edge of sight...
Lolita is largely a tale of arrested development. Hence the haunting fidgeting figures of the man-children Poe and Carroll. Nabokov's own childhood was also unresolved but interrupted differently by the Russian Revolution and the sacrificial assassination of his beloved father. These twin traumas left Nabokov living a phantom half-life which he reworked and remade in his novels constantly.
Like a human child caught in the land of the fae, Nabokov could never leave the dreamworld nor did he really want to abandon its fraught delights. If the obsession with nymphets means anything it is as 'the return of the repressed'. Of this childhood interrupted. Invested and embodied with the mighty magic of all the could-have-beens submerged within Nabokov's personal tragedies.
Don't worry Vlad. None of that dismisses or psychologizes away the artistic glory of your novels. It only provides the necessary condition for the pseudo-real sense of the almost-was atmosphere that hums a half-world into existence in Lolita, Bend Sinister, The Gift, Pale Fire, etc. etc.
It is this once-upon-a-time-ness that makes a fairy tale. The sinister beauty of lost innocence. Longed for from beyond the interrupting eruption that is puberty and adulthood. Children live in their imaginations in a way that adults just don't no matter how imaginative they are. And it is that imaginary world that haunts the remainder of our lives. And gives us our few and far-between epiphanies.
Nabokov's novels are full of those sublime moments. Even in their most poignantly absurd scenes. Like virtually every line of Pnin. Or the climactic anti-climax of The Real Life of Sebastian Knight:
(forgive the lengthy quotation) She lit a small blue-shaded lamp and left me alone. I had a stupid impulse to draw a cigarette case out of my pocket. My hands still shook, but I felt happy. He was alive. He was peacefully asleep. So it was his heart--was it?--that had let him down...The same as his mother. He was better, there was hope. I would get all the heart specialists in the world to have him saved. His presence in the next room, the faint sound of his breathing, gave me a sense of security, of peace, of wonderful relaxation. And as I sat there and listened, and clasped my hands, I thought of all the years that had passed, of our short, rare meetings and I knew that now, as soon as he could listen to me, I should tell him that whether he liked it or not I would never be far from him any more...Oh, I would tell him thousands of things--I would talk to him about The Prismatic Bezel and Success, and The Funny Mountain, and Albinos in Black, and The Back of the Moon, and Lost Property, and The Doubtful Asphodel,--all these books that I knew as well as if I had written them myself. And he would talk, too. How little I knew of his life! But now I was learning something every instant. That door standing slightly ajar was the best link imaginable. That gentle breathing was telling me more of Sebastian than I had ever known before...
Presently I got up and tiptoed out into the corridor.
"I hope," the nurse said, "you did not disturb hi? It is good that he sleeps."
"Tell me," I asked, "when does Doctor Starov come?"
"Doctor who?" she said. "Oh, the Russian doctor. Non, c'est le docteur Guinet qui le soigne. You'll find him here tomorrow morning."
"You see," I said, "I'd like to spend the night somewhere here. Do you think that perhaps..."
"You could see Doctor Guinet even now," continued the nurse in her quiet pleasant voice. "He lives next door. So you are the brother, are you? And to-morrow his mother is coming from England, n'est-ce pas?"
"Oh, no," I said, "his mother died years ago. And tell me, how is he during the day, does he talk? does he suffer?"
She frowned and looked at me queerly.
"But..." she said. "I don't understand...What is your name, please?"
"Right," I said. "I haven't explained. We are half-brothers, really. My name is [I mentioned my name]."
"Oh-la-la!" she exclaimed getting very red in the face. "Mon Dieu! The Russian gentleman died yesterday, and you've been visiting Monsieur Kegan..." (202-204)
But even this tragicomic scene is still enchanted. The unnamed narrator concludes:
So I did not see Sebastian after all, or at least I did not see him alive. But those few minutes I spent listening to what I thought was his breathing changed my life as completely as it would have been changed, had Sebastian spoken to me before dying. Whatever his secret was, I have learnt one secret too, and namely: that the soul is but a manner of being--not a constant state--that any soul may be yours, if you find and follow its undulations. The hereafter may be the full ability of consciously living in any chosen soul, in any number of souls, all of them unconscious of their interchangeable burden(204-205).
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
Gothing the rural lifestyle: rubber boots
In which the Author predicts the insect apocalypse and advises on the most appropriate rainboots to wade through said disaster
What is the primary Goth fashion dilemma in the spring? How to stay dark and dry--specifically, how to keep your feet dark and dry and delighted--during the monsoons and the accompanying mosquito infestation/invasion. Yes, spring is not just about rain rain rain. Spring is also the season of insects ascendant. From the huge black beetles scuttling and scurrying in the freshly turned soil to the gorgeous Swallowtails waiting hungrily for the lilacs to bloom (tip to Walt Whitman) to the ladybugs like medieval engines of war (tip to Leonardo da Vinci) lurking about the underbelly of the vegetable world to the various shades of grey winged vampires...
Ever since reading The Scar my opinion of mosquitoes and insects in general has gone up. I've become convinced by certain entomological heresies and eschatologies of the superiority of insects. Cockroaches, among others, will survive the apocalypse like bleak and implacable hoplites of the left behind. Come famine, war, pestilence and death. Insects will inherit the earth. They have exoskeletons! Oh how I adore chitin! And probosces! What's not to love!
China Mieville is the prophet of breaking down barriers between the species. First he did it in the Perdito Street Station with his scarab-headed khepri. Who didn't find the artist Lin fascinating, talented and beautiful?
And then you read The Scar and you encounter the anophelii. Scientist/pacifist sphincter-mouthed males and brilliant females tragically mad with blood lust. So poignant. But I digress.
It is the time of mosquitoes. Not the end times. Even though with the rain rain rain, you might worry you've entered the postapocalyptic world of The Road. But anyway how do you keep your feet spooky but not sopping in the spring? Well, if you're feminine there are no end of options. Masculine...you may have to improvise and compromise.
Goth punk purveyors of whimsical doom and gloom Iron Fist have conjured up some delightfully witchy wet wear. Since San Diego's rainy season is around Xmas, none of these boots are currently in stock at the Iron Fist website. You'll have to search the web for them. Good luck! But here are a few seductive samples...Shoe fetish alert! For real!!!
You could go Old School Goth with skull glam Ruff Rider Rainboots:
Or doll up in these Lolita-esque "Society Cropped" ones:
Or go all Deathrock/Gothabilly in these Zombie Stompers:
Just gory-geous!!!
Aside from Iron Fist, the wild web is full of rubber/rain boots for the feminine-inclined. Among others, Chookaboot has a boot for every style...
From plain old Goth black:
To hardcore dark elegance:
To cybersnakeskin decadence:
With Gothy gear like these, rainboots may no longer be just for rainy days!
Now for the masculine...hmmm...you will have to look for the weird in the everyday...
Tretorn has some passable rubber boots. Of the understated dark gentleman kind:
Columbia Sportswear has some warmer, wilder boots that would compliment a dark faery or black forest mori or even steampunk look:
And finally, Muckboots has rain/work boots that might go with a dark cyber-style:
So good luck and stay dark, dry and delightful this spring, my pretties!
What is the primary Goth fashion dilemma in the spring? How to stay dark and dry--specifically, how to keep your feet dark and dry and delighted--during the monsoons and the accompanying mosquito infestation/invasion. Yes, spring is not just about rain rain rain. Spring is also the season of insects ascendant. From the huge black beetles scuttling and scurrying in the freshly turned soil to the gorgeous Swallowtails waiting hungrily for the lilacs to bloom (tip to Walt Whitman) to the ladybugs like medieval engines of war (tip to Leonardo da Vinci) lurking about the underbelly of the vegetable world to the various shades of grey winged vampires...
Ever since reading The Scar my opinion of mosquitoes and insects in general has gone up. I've become convinced by certain entomological heresies and eschatologies of the superiority of insects. Cockroaches, among others, will survive the apocalypse like bleak and implacable hoplites of the left behind. Come famine, war, pestilence and death. Insects will inherit the earth. They have exoskeletons! Oh how I adore chitin! And probosces! What's not to love!
China Mieville is the prophet of breaking down barriers between the species. First he did it in the Perdito Street Station with his scarab-headed khepri. Who didn't find the artist Lin fascinating, talented and beautiful?
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| Source: Justin Oakford |
And then you read The Scar and you encounter the anophelii. Scientist/pacifist sphincter-mouthed males and brilliant females tragically mad with blood lust. So poignant. But I digress.
 |
| Source: Haberdashery |
It is the time of mosquitoes. Not the end times. Even though with the rain rain rain, you might worry you've entered the postapocalyptic world of The Road. But anyway how do you keep your feet spooky but not sopping in the spring? Well, if you're feminine there are no end of options. Masculine...you may have to improvise and compromise.
Goth punk purveyors of whimsical doom and gloom Iron Fist have conjured up some delightfully witchy wet wear. Since San Diego's rainy season is around Xmas, none of these boots are currently in stock at the Iron Fist website. You'll have to search the web for them. Good luck! But here are a few seductive samples...Shoe fetish alert! For real!!!
You could go Old School Goth with skull glam Ruff Rider Rainboots:
 |
| Source: brokencherry.com |
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| Source: amazon.co.uk |
 |
| Source: Kaboodle |
Aside from Iron Fist, the wild web is full of rubber/rain boots for the feminine-inclined. Among others, Chookaboot has a boot for every style...
From plain old Goth black:
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| Source: chookaboot |
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| Source: chookaboot |
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| Source: chookaboot |
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| Source: chookaboot |
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| Source: chookaboot |
Now for the masculine...hmmm...you will have to look for the weird in the everyday...
Tretorn has some passable rubber boots. Of the understated dark gentleman kind:
 |
| Source: Tretorn |
 |
| Source: Tretorn |
 |
| Source: Columbia |
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| The Muckmaster Source: muckboots4sale |
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| Hoser Classic Source: muckboots4sale |
Friday, June 8, 2012
Subverting the femme fatale
So was that the last word on the femme fatale? Is she--can she be--nothing more than a tool of male dominance? Well...there's no such thing as last words now is there...?
The femme fatale is ultrawoman in patriarchal ideology. She is 'woman as sex' laid bare in minimalist style. Worse, she is 'woman' completely objectified. Without identity. A zombie predator intent on consuming men. Her sex nothing but a lure like the bright, shiny knob of flesh dangling from an angler fish.
If that's true, then how could the femme fatale be recycled and mobilized against her makers? Against male dominance. If she is ultrawoman is there any way the hyperfeminine can be occupied and used by women? Or is she hopelessly compromised? Any female appropriation a delusion? A visual and sexual gift to male supremacy...?
In Goth Culture, Dunja Brill relates this anecdote:
Leipzig, June 2003, the annual Wave-Gotik-Treffen festival...I am on my way to the tram station
to travel to the Agra, the main festival site, when a group of scantily clad girls catches my eye. All
of them are wearing skimpy black PVC skirts or hot pants, with one even dressed in nothing but a
skin-tight PVC bodice, torn mesh stockings and extreme high heels. Obviously I am not the only
one to notice these women; their charms seem anything but lost on the group of male youths
standing at the tram station, whose outfits mark them out a what Goths tend to call 'townies'. I
overhear how one of them, a tall guy with a white baseball cap and baggy jeans, tries to talk the
others into chatting up the girls. They ogle the one in the PVC bodice, making saucy comments
about her body and dress. Prompted by their obstrusive stares and sexual banter, all of a sudden
she walks up to them and starts eying the tall guy in a confident, almost aggressive way. I think I
can even see a slight smile around her eyes. The boys instantly stop their boastful banter and fall
silent, seeming rather uncomfortable with the situation. The tall one tries hard to avoid the
woman's gaze and obviously does not feel like showing any more interest in the ample cleavage
displayed right in front of him. As she walks back to her friends, her subdued smile turns into a
broad grin--a contagious grin, it seems, as I still have it on my face when the tram finally comes
(p. 59)
So when the female 'object' becomes an 'actor', the male viewer is no longer in possession of the view. And that inverts the object-objectifier relation. What does that have to do with the hyperfeminine? Or the femme fatale?
In many ways, the hyperfeminine turns the femme fatale on its head. It is a self-reflexive 'masquerade' of the most extreme signs of femininity turned against male-imposed stereotypes. As Brill writes, the 'feminine masquerade...stresses the subversive, disruptive potential of women who reappropriate traditionally feminine clothes with an ironic twist (p. 60).' As the anecdote above illustrates, '[f]launted as a masquerade, such a parodic excess of femininity can work to disrupt the male-defined scopic regimes of voyeuristic and fetishistic looking at women so deeply ingrained in our visual culture...This line of argument suggests that hyperfemininity can be a form of resistance, a strategy for deconstructing the patriarchal ideal of femininity from within rather than from an impossible position outside gender discourse (p. 60).'
As an ironic masquerade, the hyperfeminine walks a fine line between parody and parade. Porn and the male gaze can colonize anything. Feminine goth style can easily degenerate into mere stroke material. The ambiguous nature of the hyperfeminine is pretty clear. So while Joshua Gunn writes, 'gothic women deliberately warp dominant images of the female sex-object as a strategy of empowerment. As the goth female confronts women's traditional role as an object of male fantasy, the subculture helps her to devise ways to gain more control. As the most conspicuous example of resistant femininity found in the goth scene...the female dominatrix takes charge of her objectification by turning the sadistic gaze back upon itself, averaging voyeurism with (consensual) teasing and abuse (p. 52).' Dunja Brill reminds us that goth women self-report that the main reason they choose to dress in hyperfeminine styles is to 'look pretty' (Brill, p. 60). And that in itself could mean many things, some rather positive. Some male-centred and negative. But then that is what ambiguity means.
These very ambiguities, however, can be explored and exploited in a particularly subversive, brilliant and uncanny way by a skilled artist like, say, Emilie Autumn. If the hyperfeminine turns the stereotype of the femme fatale on its head, then Miss Autumn takes on both and twists their heads right off! Her campy eroticism is so ironically aggressive that it is disturbingly antisexual. She takes a stereotype and she takes it just a little too far beyond the sexy. Like a doll doing a lap dance.
For example, she dresses like a deconstructed Victorian school girl in ragged overly skimpy outfits that underline the pedophilia theme behind this whole 'fetish'. The thick clownish-girlish makeup has the same kind of innocence a zombie has when it feasts on its prey. The overall effect is not sexy because it identifies every 'normal' trait of sexiness--revealing clothing, bare skin, come-hither posturing, exaggerrated makeup--and vamps it up so the erotic gloss is ripped off . And 'nudity' becomes true nakedness. Something just a little too real for comfort. Or patriarchal re-appropriation.
Miss Autumn does much the same with other iconic male chauvinist tropes and stereotypes. Each one equally broken down to the leering mocking mask that conceals nothing for desire to latch onto. And thereby defies and confounds the consuming/objectifying lust of the male viewer. There is no understood game here between the audience and the actor. The rules that normally let a man act out his fantasy are not followed. The puppet has cut its strings. And nothing is more terrifying and discomfitting than an autonomous automaton...which Miss Autumn pretty much represents in this image:
And as for tearing up iconic images, here is Miss Autumn's demented take on the showgirl:
And her subversive verion of the sexy woman in an animal costume writhing around as a rat:
Or the sexy woman with an animal burlesque routine...repeated with that mostest sexy animal, the rat!
And from here to the just-not-right scene at the little girl's tea party:
Oh, and what about the innocent girl playing with her dolls in her toy room?
Or that same innocent girl now trapped in a madhouse?
Or that most sacred stock character of male romance--the damsel-in-distress?
I could continue and show you more and more icons cut up and rewired but the above twists and turns demolish heteronormative sexiness. The semi-nudity is not titillating but aggressive. And anti-sexual. Beyond the sexual. Outside sex. However you want to describe a body that doesn't conform to the dictates of 'sexuality' as we know it.
Common criticisms of burlesque performance do not work here. While it is often true that one person's irony is another's pornography. Miss Autumn's appropriation of male supremacist stereotypes works because her versions are sarcastic, mocking and sardonic takes on the standard pin-up cliches. She demon sings of how she wants her innocence back. Not like a victim. But like a monster avenger. For contained within each of her versions of these sexist cliches is this wicked Joker smile:
Miss Autumn's performance is about taking back power for women. Power to define their own feminine symbols. Power to present their own aesthetic, social and political agenda. Power to control their own bodies and what they do with them.
And she defines her goal in as Gothy a way as possible. Speaking of women in general, Miss Autumn says in an interview with Curve magazine: 'we can't just sit and wait for our freedom and our right to live without fear to be handed to us by anyone. We need to demand it, and we need to be prepared to fight.
'We need to get scary.'
The femme fatale is ultrawoman in patriarchal ideology. She is 'woman as sex' laid bare in minimalist style. Worse, she is 'woman' completely objectified. Without identity. A zombie predator intent on consuming men. Her sex nothing but a lure like the bright, shiny knob of flesh dangling from an angler fish.
If that's true, then how could the femme fatale be recycled and mobilized against her makers? Against male dominance. If she is ultrawoman is there any way the hyperfeminine can be occupied and used by women? Or is she hopelessly compromised? Any female appropriation a delusion? A visual and sexual gift to male supremacy...?
In Goth Culture, Dunja Brill relates this anecdote:
Leipzig, June 2003, the annual Wave-Gotik-Treffen festival...I am on my way to the tram station
to travel to the Agra, the main festival site, when a group of scantily clad girls catches my eye. All
of them are wearing skimpy black PVC skirts or hot pants, with one even dressed in nothing but a
skin-tight PVC bodice, torn mesh stockings and extreme high heels. Obviously I am not the only
one to notice these women; their charms seem anything but lost on the group of male youths
standing at the tram station, whose outfits mark them out a what Goths tend to call 'townies'. I
overhear how one of them, a tall guy with a white baseball cap and baggy jeans, tries to talk the
others into chatting up the girls. They ogle the one in the PVC bodice, making saucy comments
about her body and dress. Prompted by their obstrusive stares and sexual banter, all of a sudden
she walks up to them and starts eying the tall guy in a confident, almost aggressive way. I think I
can even see a slight smile around her eyes. The boys instantly stop their boastful banter and fall
silent, seeming rather uncomfortable with the situation. The tall one tries hard to avoid the
woman's gaze and obviously does not feel like showing any more interest in the ample cleavage
displayed right in front of him. As she walks back to her friends, her subdued smile turns into a
broad grin--a contagious grin, it seems, as I still have it on my face when the tram finally comes
(p. 59)
So when the female 'object' becomes an 'actor', the male viewer is no longer in possession of the view. And that inverts the object-objectifier relation. What does that have to do with the hyperfeminine? Or the femme fatale?
In many ways, the hyperfeminine turns the femme fatale on its head. It is a self-reflexive 'masquerade' of the most extreme signs of femininity turned against male-imposed stereotypes. As Brill writes, the 'feminine masquerade...stresses the subversive, disruptive potential of women who reappropriate traditionally feminine clothes with an ironic twist (p. 60).' As the anecdote above illustrates, '[f]launted as a masquerade, such a parodic excess of femininity can work to disrupt the male-defined scopic regimes of voyeuristic and fetishistic looking at women so deeply ingrained in our visual culture...This line of argument suggests that hyperfemininity can be a form of resistance, a strategy for deconstructing the patriarchal ideal of femininity from within rather than from an impossible position outside gender discourse (p. 60).'
As an ironic masquerade, the hyperfeminine walks a fine line between parody and parade. Porn and the male gaze can colonize anything. Feminine goth style can easily degenerate into mere stroke material. The ambiguous nature of the hyperfeminine is pretty clear. So while Joshua Gunn writes, 'gothic women deliberately warp dominant images of the female sex-object as a strategy of empowerment. As the goth female confronts women's traditional role as an object of male fantasy, the subculture helps her to devise ways to gain more control. As the most conspicuous example of resistant femininity found in the goth scene...the female dominatrix takes charge of her objectification by turning the sadistic gaze back upon itself, averaging voyeurism with (consensual) teasing and abuse (p. 52).' Dunja Brill reminds us that goth women self-report that the main reason they choose to dress in hyperfeminine styles is to 'look pretty' (Brill, p. 60). And that in itself could mean many things, some rather positive. Some male-centred and negative. But then that is what ambiguity means.
These very ambiguities, however, can be explored and exploited in a particularly subversive, brilliant and uncanny way by a skilled artist like, say, Emilie Autumn. If the hyperfeminine turns the stereotype of the femme fatale on its head, then Miss Autumn takes on both and twists their heads right off! Her campy eroticism is so ironically aggressive that it is disturbingly antisexual. She takes a stereotype and she takes it just a little too far beyond the sexy. Like a doll doing a lap dance.
For example, she dresses like a deconstructed Victorian school girl in ragged overly skimpy outfits that underline the pedophilia theme behind this whole 'fetish'. The thick clownish-girlish makeup has the same kind of innocence a zombie has when it feasts on its prey. The overall effect is not sexy because it identifies every 'normal' trait of sexiness--revealing clothing, bare skin, come-hither posturing, exaggerrated makeup--and vamps it up so the erotic gloss is ripped off . And 'nudity' becomes true nakedness. Something just a little too real for comfort. Or patriarchal re-appropriation.
 |
| Source: Battered Rose |
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| Source: Battered Rose |
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| Source: Battered Rose |
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| Source: Battered Rose |
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| Source: Kerrang |
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| Source: Battered Rose |
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| Source: Battered Rose |
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| Source: Bizarre Magazine |
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| Source: Bizarre Magazine |
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| Source: Battered Rose |
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| Source: Battered Rose |
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| Source: Battered Rose |
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| Source: Battered Rose |
Common criticisms of burlesque performance do not work here. While it is often true that one person's irony is another's pornography. Miss Autumn's appropriation of male supremacist stereotypes works because her versions are sarcastic, mocking and sardonic takes on the standard pin-up cliches. She demon sings of how she wants her innocence back. Not like a victim. But like a monster avenger. For contained within each of her versions of these sexist cliches is this wicked Joker smile:
 |
| Source: Battered Rose |
Miss Autumn's performance is about taking back power for women. Power to define their own feminine symbols. Power to present their own aesthetic, social and political agenda. Power to control their own bodies and what they do with them.
And she defines her goal in as Gothy a way as possible. Speaking of women in general, Miss Autumn says in an interview with Curve magazine: 'we can't just sit and wait for our freedom and our right to live without fear to be handed to us by anyone. We need to demand it, and we need to be prepared to fight.
'We need to get scary.'
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Vive le Quebec libre!
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| Soure: Molly Crabapple |
Yes, yes, yes. Dark comrades! Quebec is on fire!!! Les Quebecois are at the barricades wielding the pots and pans of liberte, egalite, solidarite!!! Against austerity, autocracy and neocon double standards of corporate/bourgeois subsidization at the cost of emiseration for the rest of us.
We have paid for the greed, venality and incompetence of the 1% long enough. Demand the impossible! Support les Quebecois! Down with Charest! Down with Harper! Down with global austerity!!!
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
the queen of diamonds
Liza Windsor is currently celebrating her diamond jubilee which is, unsurprisingly, based upon austerity and class oppression for the rest of us. Liza is the time-serving mediocrity better known by her pompous title: Queen Elizabeth the Second of too many places to really take seriously. She is still the Defender of the Faith in some!!! Unfortunately, one of those places includes my country, Canada. So the Queen of Canada lives in London, Great Britain. And she has ruled Canada for 60 years as our constitutional monarch and head of state.
All I can say is--it's the 21st century. Why the fuck do we still put up with this anachronistic shit?!!! Why do we tolerate an unelected and hereditary monarch as our head of state? And why, for fuck's sake, do we not only tolerate it but perform ecstatic analingus on Her Majesty in tribute to the beauty and glory of this ancien regime? Are we serfs?
Last year, we celebrated Bill and Kate's contract for the use of each other's genitals (that's Immanuel Kant's definition, not mine, but I ask--what else is this marriage thang all about but fucking with formal state approval?), as if it was leading up to the orgasm of the millenia. And now the diamond jubilee. So once again we all become pro-imperialist monarchists joyfully applauding monocle-and-crinoline fascism and white supremacy under the disavowing guise of tea, crumpets and Little Englandism.
And it isn't just harmless fun and bloodless nostalgia. And I'm not just engaging in radical party-poopery. This isn't a cute little anachronism like outdated weights and measures or steak-and-kidney pie. No, the Queen is an evil relic of the revolution/interrupted stasis that is Great Britain and its Commonwealth spawn.
Because of the Queen and her foul brood, the UK retains an outrageously unequal class system. The monarchy is crucial to the existence of that inequality. A system where large landowners are routinely delegated state authority such as the responsibility to manage wild pigs and badgers. Indeed, where the aristocracy appears to be back in charge of the countryside in total--and the public fucking subsidizes these entitled assholes!
Meanwhile, in the city some extraparliamentary outfit called 'The City' rules a tiny geographical but huge regulatory expanse like some medieval guild. Actually, it is partially composed of medieval guilds. And it is be based on massive financial inequality, in addition to being secretive and anti-democratic. It may even be largely responsible for the financial meltdown because of its 'liberalised' regulatory policies.
This is the hideous patchwork and reactionary constitutional system Her Royal Highness represents and maintains. What else does a monarchy do but keep back revolution (minor land reform and redistribution) and protect and preserve unearned privilege?
But that's indirect you say. Not her fault. Well, what about the 'effective veto' Chuckie has over some legislation? Makes you wonder what kinda veto Liza has...? I'm sure I could come up with more examples of royal perfidy. Like how much she actually costs Commonwealth taxpayers. Like how how many unearned perqs she and her ilk enjoy. Like the time she tried to get a subsidy meant for the poor to heat her many mansions!!! But I'm going to end up with an esoteric structural and constitutional issue that constitutional monarchy leads to...one that effectively ended up in a coup d'etat in Canada back in 2008...and one that doesn't require the Queen to be personally responsible. No, it isn't her. It's the system she helps keep going!!!
Now let's go back to that benighted time. The Great American Bank Meltdown had already happened and the Great American Recession was well underway. But in Canada, according to Prime Minister Stephen Harper, all was fine and any problems could be resolved by ending pay equity, the public sector's right to strike and public subsidy for federal political parties. But hey, seriously guys, everything is aok.
Well, the opposition parties disagreed and since it was a minority government their disagreement was a big deal. But Harper had played this game of brinkmanship manfully many a time already: 'You have no choice but to support even my worst legislation because otherwise you're responsible for an election. So I dare you. I freaking double dog dare you! Have a vote of non-confidence. See how the public likes that!!!'
Then the opposition did something unheard of. They threatened to form a coalition government!!! Oh the horrors! Harper had been outmanouevred. He hadn't expected that. So he cried foul. He cried French separatism. He cried all the way to Queenie's representative in Ottawa. Michaelle Jean. And he said that he needed to progrogue parliament and call the very election he had held over the heads of the opposition for almost a year.
For those unfamiliar with proroguing. When parliament has completed all its scheduled events ahead of schedule. It prorogues--or ends the session early. It is a technicality that is commonly used because parliament really doesn't do enough to occupy the third of the year it is in session.
What was unusual about Harper's use of proroguing was the simple fact that it was unnecessary. Unethical. Unconstitutional. Undemocratic. (Their was a Liberal-NDP coalition government with a majority of seats and a majority of the popular vote waiting to assume leadership once Harper and his Cons had lost a vote of non-confidence.) He asked Her Majesty's representative if she would kindly save his ass from being handed to him gilded on a platter by the opposition. So rather than face the fact that he was a fucking jackass, he decided to circumvent the technical rules of parliamentary procedure and shut down the normal process of government--that is, when a minority government does something so stupid that it must step aside for another government who can maintain the confidence of the House. And Michaelle Jean did as she was asked. And shut down parliament and held an unnecessary, unethical, unconstitutional and undemocratic election. All to save Harper's worthless government.
So what does that have to do with the Queen. Well, she is the head of state of our constitutional monarchy. And one of her duties is calling elections. Usually, that means nothing beyond yadda-yadda ceremonial banter. But every once in a while, it involves a constitutional crisis. And when that happens--do you really want an unelected and hereditary placeholder or the placeholder's placeholding representative to be making such a significant decision?
And it is her fault. She could abdicate. She could do the decent thing in a democratic age and fucking abdicate.
So Liza, as you reflect on your diamond jubilee please decide that it is time for you to become the normal person you are in title as well as flesh and join the rest of us by renouncing your positions and privileges and suggesting to the British PM that he do the same in perpetuity. Now that is the kinda constitutional crisis I can sink my fangs into!!!
And if she doesn't do that unlikely deed then let the rest of us end our serfdom--and get rid of her!!! Republic now!!!
Down with the queen and her fascist regime, my dark comrades!!!
All I can say is--it's the 21st century. Why the fuck do we still put up with this anachronistic shit?!!! Why do we tolerate an unelected and hereditary monarch as our head of state? And why, for fuck's sake, do we not only tolerate it but perform ecstatic analingus on Her Majesty in tribute to the beauty and glory of this ancien regime? Are we serfs?
Last year, we celebrated Bill and Kate's contract for the use of each other's genitals (that's Immanuel Kant's definition, not mine, but I ask--what else is this marriage thang all about but fucking with formal state approval?), as if it was leading up to the orgasm of the millenia. And now the diamond jubilee. So once again we all become pro-imperialist monarchists joyfully applauding monocle-and-crinoline fascism and white supremacy under the disavowing guise of tea, crumpets and Little Englandism.
And it isn't just harmless fun and bloodless nostalgia. And I'm not just engaging in radical party-poopery. This isn't a cute little anachronism like outdated weights and measures or steak-and-kidney pie. No, the Queen is an evil relic of the revolution/interrupted stasis that is Great Britain and its Commonwealth spawn.
Because of the Queen and her foul brood, the UK retains an outrageously unequal class system. The monarchy is crucial to the existence of that inequality. A system where large landowners are routinely delegated state authority such as the responsibility to manage wild pigs and badgers. Indeed, where the aristocracy appears to be back in charge of the countryside in total--and the public fucking subsidizes these entitled assholes!
Meanwhile, in the city some extraparliamentary outfit called 'The City' rules a tiny geographical but huge regulatory expanse like some medieval guild. Actually, it is partially composed of medieval guilds. And it is be based on massive financial inequality, in addition to being secretive and anti-democratic. It may even be largely responsible for the financial meltdown because of its 'liberalised' regulatory policies.
This is the hideous patchwork and reactionary constitutional system Her Royal Highness represents and maintains. What else does a monarchy do but keep back revolution (minor land reform and redistribution) and protect and preserve unearned privilege?
But that's indirect you say. Not her fault. Well, what about the 'effective veto' Chuckie has over some legislation? Makes you wonder what kinda veto Liza has...? I'm sure I could come up with more examples of royal perfidy. Like how much she actually costs Commonwealth taxpayers. Like how how many unearned perqs she and her ilk enjoy. Like the time she tried to get a subsidy meant for the poor to heat her many mansions!!! But I'm going to end up with an esoteric structural and constitutional issue that constitutional monarchy leads to...one that effectively ended up in a coup d'etat in Canada back in 2008...and one that doesn't require the Queen to be personally responsible. No, it isn't her. It's the system she helps keep going!!!
Now let's go back to that benighted time. The Great American Bank Meltdown had already happened and the Great American Recession was well underway. But in Canada, according to Prime Minister Stephen Harper, all was fine and any problems could be resolved by ending pay equity, the public sector's right to strike and public subsidy for federal political parties. But hey, seriously guys, everything is aok.
Well, the opposition parties disagreed and since it was a minority government their disagreement was a big deal. But Harper had played this game of brinkmanship manfully many a time already: 'You have no choice but to support even my worst legislation because otherwise you're responsible for an election. So I dare you. I freaking double dog dare you! Have a vote of non-confidence. See how the public likes that!!!'
Then the opposition did something unheard of. They threatened to form a coalition government!!! Oh the horrors! Harper had been outmanouevred. He hadn't expected that. So he cried foul. He cried French separatism. He cried all the way to Queenie's representative in Ottawa. Michaelle Jean. And he said that he needed to progrogue parliament and call the very election he had held over the heads of the opposition for almost a year.
For those unfamiliar with proroguing. When parliament has completed all its scheduled events ahead of schedule. It prorogues--or ends the session early. It is a technicality that is commonly used because parliament really doesn't do enough to occupy the third of the year it is in session.
What was unusual about Harper's use of proroguing was the simple fact that it was unnecessary. Unethical. Unconstitutional. Undemocratic. (Their was a Liberal-NDP coalition government with a majority of seats and a majority of the popular vote waiting to assume leadership once Harper and his Cons had lost a vote of non-confidence.) He asked Her Majesty's representative if she would kindly save his ass from being handed to him gilded on a platter by the opposition. So rather than face the fact that he was a fucking jackass, he decided to circumvent the technical rules of parliamentary procedure and shut down the normal process of government--that is, when a minority government does something so stupid that it must step aside for another government who can maintain the confidence of the House. And Michaelle Jean did as she was asked. And shut down parliament and held an unnecessary, unethical, unconstitutional and undemocratic election. All to save Harper's worthless government.
So what does that have to do with the Queen. Well, she is the head of state of our constitutional monarchy. And one of her duties is calling elections. Usually, that means nothing beyond yadda-yadda ceremonial banter. But every once in a while, it involves a constitutional crisis. And when that happens--do you really want an unelected and hereditary placeholder or the placeholder's placeholding representative to be making such a significant decision?
And it is her fault. She could abdicate. She could do the decent thing in a democratic age and fucking abdicate.
So Liza, as you reflect on your diamond jubilee please decide that it is time for you to become the normal person you are in title as well as flesh and join the rest of us by renouncing your positions and privileges and suggesting to the British PM that he do the same in perpetuity. Now that is the kinda constitutional crisis I can sink my fangs into!!!
And if she doesn't do that unlikely deed then let the rest of us end our serfdom--and get rid of her!!! Republic now!!!
Down with the queen and her fascist regime, my dark comrades!!!
Monday, June 4, 2012
Blackout in Canada
Technicalities! Technicalities! Everyone hates technicalities. The supposed joy of pedants and bureaucrats and bane of all right-thinking freedom-loving folk everywhere. Red tape strangles commerce and justice alike. We all know that!!!
Except...technicalities exist for a reason. Oh how I hate writing that! But technicalities are about more than dotting i's and crossing t's and filling out form after form after form...Yes, technicalities protect justice and freedom and democracy.
What keeps the police in check? Technicalities. What enforces our rights? Technicalities. What ensures the people have a voice in government? Technicalities.
But technicalities make the perfect arch-demon. Because those who would abuse the system know we all loathe it. They can introduce injustice and tyranny bit-by-bit simply by streamlining and reforming away all those pesky technicalities that give formless power its democratic form.
And the Stephen Harper government is the dungeon master of dismising technicalities while introducing counter-revolution. They've done it before. They came as close as possible to committing a coup d'etat without actually eliminating democracy when they ignored the technicalities around proroguing parliament and ended a session and called an election all to avoid a vote of non-confidence on their brutal, dishonest and disastrous budget in November of 2008. And, let's not forget, to also avoid a Liberal-NDP coalition government.
Right now, they're about to do it again. But this time with a majority government. The Harper government is introducing massive reforms of Canada's environmental laws in its spring budget. In a budget! Oh the technicalities!!! So many will not care. So many will not do a thing to save our precious techicalities.
So for good measure. Here is the reason why you should care. Rather than debating huge changes to Canada's environmental laws and various regulations, the Harper government will simply sneak a whole new regime through the budget backdoor. Because we all hate technicalities like parliamentary debate, full and open reviews, public participation and, well, democracy. It's all so messy and inefficient and gets in the way of letting multinational corporations make a profit while they destroy the planet and the economy.
If you want more information and/or want to do something, please visit: http://www.blackoutspeakout.ca/. Help stop Harper's creepy creeping tyranny...
Except...technicalities exist for a reason. Oh how I hate writing that! But technicalities are about more than dotting i's and crossing t's and filling out form after form after form...Yes, technicalities protect justice and freedom and democracy.
What keeps the police in check? Technicalities. What enforces our rights? Technicalities. What ensures the people have a voice in government? Technicalities.
But technicalities make the perfect arch-demon. Because those who would abuse the system know we all loathe it. They can introduce injustice and tyranny bit-by-bit simply by streamlining and reforming away all those pesky technicalities that give formless power its democratic form.
And the Stephen Harper government is the dungeon master of dismising technicalities while introducing counter-revolution. They've done it before. They came as close as possible to committing a coup d'etat without actually eliminating democracy when they ignored the technicalities around proroguing parliament and ended a session and called an election all to avoid a vote of non-confidence on their brutal, dishonest and disastrous budget in November of 2008. And, let's not forget, to also avoid a Liberal-NDP coalition government.
Right now, they're about to do it again. But this time with a majority government. The Harper government is introducing massive reforms of Canada's environmental laws in its spring budget. In a budget! Oh the technicalities!!! So many will not care. So many will not do a thing to save our precious techicalities.
So for good measure. Here is the reason why you should care. Rather than debating huge changes to Canada's environmental laws and various regulations, the Harper government will simply sneak a whole new regime through the budget backdoor. Because we all hate technicalities like parliamentary debate, full and open reviews, public participation and, well, democracy. It's all so messy and inefficient and gets in the way of letting multinational corporations make a profit while they destroy the planet and the economy.
If you want more information and/or want to do something, please visit: http://www.blackoutspeakout.ca/. Help stop Harper's creepy creeping tyranny...
Cthulhu Barbie: expanding women's rights...?
It's always fun to Goth the talk and walk the Goth...so when horror and politics meet, we need to spread the dark glamour of spooky subversion...
Yes! You can make your own Cthulhu Barbie. Introverted Wife has step-by-step destructions to show you how to cow, terrify and drive the rest of your dark doll collection insane. Move over Monster High, Barbie's inner beast goddess is coming to claim the chaos back as her own
...and maybe take back the night, too...? Is there, perhaps, a deeper message than just the black abyss in cult-crazed Cthulhu Barbie? Is it more than a maddening joke/gimmick?
That's exactly what Introverted Wife says:
"I would offer up some commentary on how this isn't born from the old hat idea of "ooh isn't it funny making Barbie ugly" but more a plea to all those costume makers who think women's only worth is looking hot at all times.
A woman can never be scary, or terrifying, or even truly ugly even if that is the homage she wishes to make. She must at all times be in a state of giving men boners.
So...Cthulhu Barbie. If she disturbs you, I've done my job. Also, I love any excuse to play with latex."
As women's bodies and women's minds get ever more constricted and constrained by the head-to-toe veil of corporate Kultur in its ever-expanding war on the female gender, spreading alternative images is more than just culture jamming. Everywhere, women must be skinny but full-breasted sexy but clean and fresh-smelling flirty but any carnal intent must be disavowed and covered up under powder and push-up bras and perfume. No stain, no scent, no bulge of the real body can be allowed. Only the illusion of the ideal of womanhood.
And what does Cthulhu Barbie have to say to this sterilized and sanitized version of womanhood? What does representing images of women as scary and ugly have to do with gender equality? Well, the ties that bind women to the beauty myth need to be cut. Ugly, scary representations of the feminine are part of the rupture.
Representing scary images of women can help make women scary. Powerful. In a way that isn't sexualized like the femme fatale. In a way that doesn't titillate and tease the male gaze. But rather terrifies it. Like the Furies. Like Medusa and the Gorgons. Like all the female spirits of vengeance and death and destruction that kept the male gaze in check, if only in a small way. We can bring them back. We can recreate them.
So go out and deconstruct Barbie and spread a little black magic, my pretties
 |
| Source: Introverted Wife |
 |
| Source: Introverted Wife |
That's exactly what Introverted Wife says:
 |
| Source: Introverted Wife |
A woman can never be scary, or terrifying, or even truly ugly even if that is the homage she wishes to make. She must at all times be in a state of giving men boners.
So...Cthulhu Barbie. If she disturbs you, I've done my job. Also, I love any excuse to play with latex."
As women's bodies and women's minds get ever more constricted and constrained by the head-to-toe veil of corporate Kultur in its ever-expanding war on the female gender, spreading alternative images is more than just culture jamming. Everywhere, women must be skinny but full-breasted sexy but clean and fresh-smelling flirty but any carnal intent must be disavowed and covered up under powder and push-up bras and perfume. No stain, no scent, no bulge of the real body can be allowed. Only the illusion of the ideal of womanhood.
And what does Cthulhu Barbie have to say to this sterilized and sanitized version of womanhood? What does representing images of women as scary and ugly have to do with gender equality? Well, the ties that bind women to the beauty myth need to be cut. Ugly, scary representations of the feminine are part of the rupture.
Representing scary images of women can help make women scary. Powerful. In a way that isn't sexualized like the femme fatale. In a way that doesn't titillate and tease the male gaze. But rather terrifies it. Like the Furies. Like Medusa and the Gorgons. Like all the female spirits of vengeance and death and destruction that kept the male gaze in check, if only in a small way. We can bring them back. We can recreate them.
So go out and deconstruct Barbie and spread a little black magic, my pretties
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