my menstrual blood does not “run”.
it’s too viscous.
it builds up behind the bottleneck of my cervix until the weight of
sloughed-off lining gets too heavy to contain,
then it blurts out
in thick, slimy strands of not-baby,
a cosmic disappointment
smelling of fresh death.
sometimes crimson, still almost fecund,
sometimes older and blacker, a nauseating cousin of bile,
blended with albumen, like broken egg white, like frogspawn frustrated.
inside my insides,
god’s scraping a blunt teaspoon round and round,
clearing the walls of my womb for another hit-and-miss next month.
on a heavy day,
pulling out an incontinent tampon,
i sit there on the loo,
toilet paper wrapped round my fingers,
trying to abbreviate the sentence of clots
my lips are drooling into the toilet bowl water.
it’s not a lake, it’s a suspension,
a hanging paragraph of placental full-stops that goes on and on,
and i wipe and shove in another wad of cotton to staunch the ooze for
another few hours of outer peace.
one day, sometime in my forties or fifties
i’ll be paroled,
retired from service.
god will give up on my body
and that will be the end of that.
it’s irrelevant what anyone else wants.
my cunt is me, but it’s also beyond me,
ordained for a purpose beyond my control,
just like your cock is you, but it’s also beyond you,
ordained for a purpose beyond your control.
mostly we are blasphemous.
the obsession with looking into cunts, like the obsession with hard cocks,
is an ontological obsession with discovering and controlling our cosmic origins,
an expression of our raging, impossible desire for omnipotence.
and indeed pornographic images ARE redundant in that they hold no
physical power to alter the workings of sex
those closeups of fucking are nothing more than flat reproductions of
ten centimetres of Life’s copy machine –
mostly they are over-man-ipulated and bear little resemblance to real
porn is the simulacral fantasy of ruling the universe.
I wrote this in 2009 as a comment on this piece:
A META-NOTE: THIS IS REALLY UNCANNY:
Out of interest, right now, I was just looking up a bit more about Hans Bellmer, whose picture accompanies the piece of writing I was responding to when I wrote the piece above in 2009, and I found the following quotes on http://siglioblog.com/2012/05/22/two-halves-unica-zurn/
I knew absolutely nothing about Bellmer when I wrote my piece, and definitely not about his use of the “sentence” as a metaphor for the female body! Yet it’s like I had read it before and was responding to Bellmer as well as Kaganof’s writing.
HANS BELLMER: “The female body…is like an endless sentence that invites us to rearrange it, so that its real meaning becomes clear through a series of endless anagrams.”
UNICA ZÜRN: “If woman is to put into form the ‘ule’ [Greek: matter] that she is, she must not cut herself off from it nor leave it to maternity, but succeed in creating with that primary material that she is […] Otherwise, she risks using or reusing what man has already put into forms, especially about her, risks remaking what has already been made, and losing herself in that labyrinth.”
Beautiful piece. My own experiences have taught me that spiritually, porn is perhaps one of the biggest tragedies ever invented by man.
For men as well as women.
both genders are easily fooled
But generally men seem to think that porn hurts only women, not themselves.