Archive for the ‘Guest writing’ Category

December 2nd, 2009

Cool Married Gay: Mark Allen

As some of you know, I often write for a site called Cool Married Guy. It’s run by a good friend of mine who advises today’s modern man on things like fashion, relationships, and respecting your partner. He does a great job at it, and it’s inspiring to see how excited he is to be around his wife, and how important he feels it is that you feel the same about whomever you make the move to be with.

In response, I decided to create a feature called “Cool Married Gay,” partially because I know marriage is a state of mind, not dependent on man/woman dynamics but rather on person/person, but also because deep down in my heart I sometimes wonder, would it be easier to get along with a guy for the rest of your life? Do same-sex couples have it better, in some way?

What follows is my interview with Mark Allen, the best friend I’ve ever had who I’ve never met in real life, nor even spoken with on the phone. We made our acquaintance nearly ten years ago, when we both had websites that were mildly exhibitionistic and totally full of young man’s enthusiasm. Mark’s a writer, artist, and professional badass weirdo, so I always held him close to my gay-loving heart. Let’s begin.

SAM: So, first off, are you married?

Not officially.

SAM: Is it legal where you live?

You know, I have no idea.

SAM: I’ve been trying to keep up with the national debate, but it seems to change all the time!

Ditto, hence my not even knowing what the legal status of it is in New York, this week.

SAM: How long have you been with Jim, anyway?

Eight years.

SAM: What does Jim do and what do you do?

When I first met Jim he played banjo and sang in a very successful bluegrass band, Jim & Jennie & the Pinetops, and also had an erotic cake business in Manhattan called Masturbakers. He had a criminally insane sense of humor and this killer smile. How could I possibly resist? I was a kind of post-nightclub casualty who had a show on WFMU, and wrote for The New York Times and NPR, but couldn’t pay his rent. We both had these kind of scrappy, inside/out relationships with mainstream culture…not to mention gay culture. That’s a real draw when you’re aligned between those stratums and you’re in your 30’s (we’re also less than a year apart in age). We just connected right away.

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While talking on our first date we realized we’d been right in front of each other once in the same room in ‘96, in a kind of ritualistic way. Before his bluegrass conversion Jim was in this bizarre art/punk band called Fagbash. They’d come to the club Squeezebox in NYC, from San Francisco (where he lived at the time) and I’d gone to see them. I stood right in front of the stage and watched their show—a blur of chaotic clatter—in total confusion, unaware my future husband was up there pounding the drums and screaming his head off. We’d meet for real about 8 years later.

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Sam…these two “EARLY YEARS” photos of us I thought could correspond to where I’m talking about before we knew each other. These are both us mid-90’s, and kind of represent us at the time. Living without being aware of one another. Hans Fahrmeyer is the photo credit for the photo of me.

Jim is now a celebrated artist—he’s part of an upcoming show at Tate Modern—and is still very much bluegrass & old tyme musician, and collects banjos. I’m still a published writer and sometimes still a radio guy. I just finished my first screenplay, and have recently climbed some other writing hurdles. We also both do handiwork where we currently live to supplement our income and help make ends meet. A few years ago, we left the city, adopted a cat named Noodles, and moved into this old house in upstate New York (where ex-NYC hippe/musician/actor/artist/ writer/club types go to die…and we’re not dead yet!)

We just found each other. We’re both life-long slobs and ex-hippies who were never really hippies. We help each other a lot. We change, but also don’t change. I can’t figure out which of each of our habits the other has enabled or helped break, but I don’t think I should bean-count that stuff after all this time. I’d had a lot of boyfriends in the years I’d lived in NYC up to the point I met Jim, several relationships, whatever, but none that lasted more than six months. After we’d gone out six months I was real cold and told Jim “Well, I think we should break up.” I think it was this internal clock thing going off in me. You know, this is how long a relationships is supposed to last for me. A habit. He was taken aback and alienated. But we remained friends. Then a few months later—he was very sly about this—he invited me to see his band perform at Mercury Lounge, which was right near where I lived in NYC. So I get there and I’m standing right at the front of the stage and suddenly he comes out on stage alone, before his band, and he’s holding his guitar and sipping a beer, and the stage lights go on behind him and he’s smiling this killer smile, and the crowd there starts chanting “Jim! Jim!” And I’m staring up at this gorgeous guy who has this God-like presence and I was thinking “Now, why did I kick this amazingly perfect entity out of my life?” And so, I went craaaawwling back to him. Then we went out longer, and longer. Before you know it’s eight years later and we’re living in a house upstate and I’m spending Saturdays weeding the pachysandras.
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SAM: Some gay guys (the artistic types, of which I’d count you) often are “against marriage” - I think the idea is that it will make gays as boring as the rest of us? Where do you stand on this?

I was a serious gay activist in my earliest years in New York City (in ACT UP and Queer Nation) so I obviously have a squirrelly, “arm chair-cynic” relationship with current day gay activists. A lot of my poo poo-ing of them, and the gay marriage fight, may be coming from, let’s face it: old age. But that cynicism also comes from a learned desire to see younger gay generations fighting back or rebelling at all in the world. There was such a famine of metal activity in the visible gay population during the period from the late 90’s to the mid 00’s, like a shallow black hole of celebrity culture worshiping, all that expensive fashion status-label worshiping, all those dumb GLAAD-drained zombie characters on sitcoms and stuff. It was really just the worst possible reality. And this was during the Bush years!

For me personally—and I’m sure this is different for everyone—the surprise turning point was all those protests that sprouted up all over the country during the first Proposition 8 thing. In 2008 I think? For me, that was the first time since the early 90’s that there seemed to be something very real coming out of these gay people, who were mostly young. Even if the demos were contextually disorganized and confusing, they seemed substantive…there were significantly large numbers, overnight. My point being: even if I’m rolling my eyes at the specific cause, I’m always supportive of gay activism in the larger sense, if it’s genuine. It’s like being supportive of troops.

You just don’t want to see your brothers and sisters end up like the Italian Jewish family in Giorgio Bassani’s The Garden of the Finzi-Continis…post-prosperity automatons acting all cordial and polite, afraid to make waves as the fascist right has slowly taken over and has come to collect them. You want to see some sort of reaction to being attacked, coming from internally.

Are we still talking about gay marriage? Haha…I guess my goal in pointing all this out is that some people (but not all) assume that all gay people are aligned on political issues. There’s a lot of difference of opinion there, a lot of point of view, and contrasting priorities.

The modern gay marriage fight in America is just something that’s never solidified in my mind. I can’t get past the stage of rolling my eyes and wanting to change the subject to something more interesting. It’s like trying to win over your great-grandparents. My bottom line: I like to live by my own rules, and I don’t want to fight for the opportunity to have to rely on more authority figures. The money spent on a ring is just wasted disposable income as far as I’m concerned. Of course, the pro-gay marriage side see it as the reverse of all of this, but there you go. My partner and I were born gay, but us being in a committed relationship is our choice. Jim actually lived in New Paltz, NY when the first inklings of the current gay marriage fight were happening with Mayor Jason West. Remember that? Around 2004? We drove by main street when the gay activists were having some massive ceremony by some church, all the media there filming them. And we were like “Eww, what NERDS!” Our feelings haven’t changed much.

SAM: Do you think sexual choice is necessarily political?

Like most people, I believe sexual orientation is a combination of nature and environment, with a very heavy emphasis on the former. And yes, it’s very politically charged, which is something gay people have to deal with their whole lives whether they want to or not.

SAM: Sometimes they say that Men are From Mars , Women are From Venus. Well, you and JIm are both from Mars - does that make things always easy?

Hmm, I think you’re onto something here, Sam.

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SAM: What are the things that you and Jim share and totally connect on?

Our outlook on the world. Our appreciation of culture. Our sense of humor, mostly, and lack of seriousness about most things. We never run out of things to talk about when it comes to the things that excite us or make us laugh. We talk to each other in “retarded” voices or “deaf people” voices, and are proud about how that horrifies certain people. We’re so lucky. We connect on things psychically without having to say anything to one another, which means we can coast along side each another without a lot of fuss or explanation. After we’d been together one year, on my birthday he surprised me with this hand made cake:

http://www.markallencam.com/poopybirthdaycake.jpg
The fact that he did something that hysterically crass without prompting from me, and presented it with a proud smile, knowing I’d love it and would burst out laughing, which I did, says it all. I knew we’d be together a long, long time.

Physically, he has this really handsome face that’s my achilees heel. A great profile, great nose and this killer smile that he kind of controls everyone with. Nobody can resisit it! I can’t stay mad at him, because he just walks into the room and smiles and your circuits just blow. A few weeks ago there was a tense moment where we’d just had a fight about something rediculous, and we both stormed away from each other. And he came in later holding a chicken pot pie for dinner (for one…none for me) and this adorably threatening “don’t talk to me” but also needly, helpless, unhappy look in his eyes. And no smile. And it’s like I started doing everything I could to get that smile back. Sacrifice, even! Because I couldn’t stand that I’d made it leave, and why. He needed me! I needed him! Something worked there.

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We counter each other in ways I don’t think we’re even aware of, perhaps even competitively. In the larger sense, I suppose gay male relationships are curious from a heterosexual male point of view. For example: for a gay man, when it comes to guys you’re interested in sexually only—which becomes a challenge, to win them over—you’re drawn to the persona that’s reflected in their appearance, which is a quick-fix perception by design. But with a guy who you’re looking at as a life partner, it’s obviously their whole package; their appearance, their thoughts, their reactions to things and motivations, the way they seem to impact the world and people around them, or seem to have the potential too. They earn your respect. You watch them interacting with the world when you know they don’t know they’re watching, and you’re impressed with thier ambition, plus the shape of the back of their neck. Stuff like that.

With men relating to men, in whatever context, there’s a kind of preternatural competitive element, a kind of admiration. I’d imagine that’s similar to how women look at men in heterosexual relationships, they might be looking for similar qualities, but those that they relate to being a good provider. And I know that probably most heterosexual men have these kinds of thoughts at one time in their life or another, about a male best friend they had or a male friend they’ve liked or admired, there’s this brief thought of “I could be this guy’s lover if I were gay.” but they aren’t wired that way so the sexual idea usually cancels it out. I’ve certainly thought that about a woman or two I’ve known in my life, but then the thought of her boobs and stuff makes it like “Eh, no thanks.” Homosexual relationships combine all these elements. I mean there’s some trade-off there, heterosexual romantic relationships offer profoundly rich qualities that same-sex couples will never experience. But it goes go both ways.

SAM: Alternately, what does Jim do that you find totally alien? What do you do that makes him retreat into the next room with a horrified look on his face?

I wish he was neater and more organized, and more on-the-ball and strategic in his day-to-day, sometimes. Just sometimes. He sees this as controlling, whereas I see it as simply logical. On the other hand, he wishes I would relax and not explode when little things don’t go my way, which I see as being lazy. He wishes I wasn’t so cold sometimes. He probably also wishes I’d socialize more and not be such a hermit, sometimes. Sometimes. I always find myself in these petty, negative mental, loop-de-loops whenever he does something that frustrates me. These kinds of things never really resolve themselves. People never really do change, when it comes to little things like that. But every once in a while you’ll somehow glimpse a larger perspective and, yeah, you realize we actually are kind of playing off each other’s strengths and weaknesses, a kind of double unit, a team. I think if each of your own personal pet peeves end up forming a kind of ying/yang, you’re very lucky.

Private space is very important for both us in different ways. I know I’ve seen Jim figure out how to respect this for me, which means the world. Playing banjos constantly is important to Jim, even though it’s ear-splitting and nerve-rattling (even though I do enjoy bluegrass) I allow him to do this all he likes and do everything I can think to stay out of his creative flow.
Trust is a big issue, that you kind of…work through. It’s multi-layered. It’s kind of this mobius-strip process you keep coming back to again and again. Jim is German/Dutch, and a big guy. He can be very possessive and jealous, or seem to be. It took us a while to get past this whole thing where he’d act like Dr. Freeze around my gay friends, giving people the hairy-eyeball and trying to figure out who I’d slept with in the past. In turn I had to learn not to be critical and condescending to his many female friends since, as a gay man, I’m a natural misogynist! Actually, those things only happened a time or two. The point is we caught ourselves doing these things, whether it was the other one pointing it out, or self-reflection, or whatnot, through that learning we eventually began to respect each other’s borders. Now, a cynical question is; was it that or did we figure out how to pull the wool over each other’s eyes? Who knows. But there you go…you learn to trust each other so you’re betting on that it’s the former, on the whole.

Now we’re to the point where we can admire other men openly, like movie stars or guys on the street. That was a big step, and was thin-ice territory for a long time. We can be like “Oh that guy is adorable” and “Oh no he’s not, the other one is” and actually have a healthy conversation about it (and I’m sure this is a FAR more complex and tangled hurdle for male/female couples). There are these college-age guys that ride ATVs in the woods behind our house without their shirts. We’re always ogling them and laughing about it, running out there to help them, tripping over our kimonos.

SAM: Now that you’re in a committed relationship, could you ever imagine being single again?

Constantly! I’m imagining right now! No, I joke…but when you’re in a relationship you’re always threatening yourself during moments of stress in the bond with “I gotta get out of this!” I think that kind of mental process is an important element in whatever mix it is that always makes you stay. I can’t put my finger on how or why. Being able to stay with Jim means I can laugh when I refer to him as “the ol’ ball-and-chain” or “the Big Lug.” It’s that sitcom cliche: I’ve been with you forever and you drag me down but I love you, so it’s warm and funny. It’s like the way Phyllis Diller always referred to her husband as “Fang” in her classic comedy routine. And we both love Phyllis Diller, so there you go.

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SAM: What’s the one thing about married life that you simply can’t get when you’re single?

Support. Reliable support. Also, instant back rubs or foot massages. Needless to say, the whole …ahem… “burning desire” thing does fade after time, in its own way. We started doing this thing last year where every other day we alternate giving the other a 90 minute foot massage. One day it’s his turn, then two days later it’s mine. It’s usually when we’re watching a DVD or something. Doing it that much, and going back and forth like that, you get really good and intuitive at it, very aware of each other physically. We love it. Sometimes it’s all I look forward to after a hard day. It’s like a whole new sex life! I think it’s probably good for our health. From crass birthday cakes, to support to foot massages. It’s a journey.

SAM: We hear great things in the media and on Six Feet Under about gay couples who are married or the next best thing, but they still occasionally bring home partners for a threesome, thus keeping the blood running hot in their own marriage. Does this apply to you and Jim at all? Or are you sort of traditionally monogamous?

Well, no it doesn’t, we’re monogamous. Are we traditional? Compared to what? There’s this weird thing being a gay guy in NYC, when you enter a long-term, committed relationship you suddenly feel like you’re cheating on every potential trick in the city. It’s like; “Goodbye all you beautiful whores, it’s not you, it me.” Sex-wise, a fag in NYC is like a special-needs child left unsupervised in a candy store; constantly, potentially disastrous. Edgy! Jim and I both had wild pasts. So a committed relationship was kind of like a roller coaster finally pulling into the station for each of us, if that analogy makes sense. It’s like you finally get off, and can think straight, and it feels good to get out and walk around on solid ground. But then of course you eventually get bored and want back on, so…maybe that’s not the best analogy. Eek!

SAM: You are a writer and therefore a solitary wretch by necessity (at least sometimes). Do you have a secret for finding a balance between your work and your partner?

Boy did you just open Pandora’s can of worms. Well, I always go back to that scene in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining, where Shelley Duvall wanders into that massive room Jack Nicholson is working in, and she’s like “Hi honey, how’s it goin’? Maybe you’ll let me read something sometime!” and then he bites her head off and is all “Whenever you come in here and interrupt me, you’re breaking my concentration. You’re distracting me.” and is a total cretin about it. That scene is OUR SCENE. We’ve lived this so many times. Of course, we all know how that movie ended.

But things I do drive Jim bananas, and I’ll be staring at him all doe-eyed like “What could possibly be wrong, honey?” as he’s biting his upper lip off in a rage. It’s difficult to put yourself in the shoes of someone who’s screaming at you for driving them crazy, without getting all shouty-crackers yourself. And also you realize as it goes on and on that maybe you’re using some of it as an excuse for your own inadequacies, which is a kind of peaceful turning point (that you of course never let the other one in on…shh!) But with repeated beat-downs we’ve learned when to leave each other well enough alone. Oh, by the way, I got these bruises falling down the stairs. Yeah, again, I know…I’m such a klutz.

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Photo: Amy Kellner

SAM: Like a lot of couples, do you go out on dates with other couples? Does this make you feel like a yuppie when it happens? Are you more likely to go out with other gay couples, or with a male-female couple?

Jim has more straight friends than I do. And oh yeah, going out with other couples straight or gay does feel so “adult.” I really don’t notice the difference between the straight and gay ones, it’s a blur. I’m still shocked by the casually accepting attitude towards gay couples that young people have today. They just don’t care, in the most literal sense.

SAM: What is the greatest thing about Jim, that you could never find with anyone else in the world?

Specifically? If I had to chose one trait I’d say his kindness. He’s the one person in the world who’s arms I can always run to. And I like to think I’m the same for him. Overall, he’s just a big lug that I love very much.

SAM: How about YOU: what’s beautiful about You?

Not my toes.


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October 14th, 2009

Jews in Arkansas, Organizing Unions and Sticking their Noses Where they Don’t Belong, Part Two

The second installment of my cousin Sam’s story of a summer spent in Arkansas, where he was basically hanging with the hippies and organizing unions. Go, Sammy. PS, when I was living in Portland, Sam was my only friend. Apart from our other cousin, Steve (also a Jew). Portland was not so good.

Hey Sam,

Tried to resume my letter earlier today at the Central Library but had difficulty finding a place to sit comfortably that didn’t put me in direct eye-line with a masturbating miscreant. Also attempted to go to the bathroom only two encounter two folks with very large backpacks copulating in the stall. My presence did not interrupt them, but theirs prevented me from urinating and ultimately writing.

Anyway, back to where I left off:

Spangles was the bane and delight of my time in Fayetteville. For the first few weeks every twelve to fifteen minutes she would find a way to mention her fiancé Chad. Alex, my buddy who brought me down to Arkansas, and I questioned the mental capacity of this Chad, as well as the validity of his existence. Spangles was in the process of converting to Judaism to marry Chad who had only recently discovered through an evening course in genealogy that he was really Jewish. Spangles took great joy in telling Alex and I, actual Jews, a wide array nonsensical half truths about Judaism. She met once a month with a Rabbi who traveled to Fayetteville from Tulsa to preach to Spangles, Chad, and 8 other Northwest Arkansas Jews. We immediately questioned this roving Rabbi’s teachings when Spangles corrected our pronunciation of the knotted bread served on the Sabbath (“No, no, no. It’s pronounced CH-allah,”).

Spangles, besides being an aspiring Jew and volunteer patriotic themed hospice clown was also compulsive chain smoker and Diet Coke drinker. She would waddle into the office in the morning, either in a denim skirt that regrettably came to where her knees presumably were (though no visual evidence could confirm there exact placement) or cargo capri pants and a shirt whose seem rested just below her belly button and a 2 liter bottle of Diet Coke wedged in each of her moist underarms. She would need to replenish by lunch. She smoked the American Spirits in a black box, which smelled terrible. But that wasn’t enough, because at some point going outside the office to smoke 20 to 40 times a work day became too much and so she purchased an electronic cigarette from the internet.

She would puff on this piece of plastic with an orange LED light at its tip maybe every two minutes and then exhale this white vapor. It was supposedly odorless, but alas it reeked of compulsive desperation, which smells faintly of sulfur and belly button lint.

I suppose that is enough about Spangles, for now. I shall conclude in my direct discussion of her by saying that I will always remember her as flatulent and racist. She didn’t dislike black people, she just didn’t want any near her cigarettes or purse. And just because she didn’t want Mexicans talking to her, or breathing the same air she weezed, didn’t mean she didn’t respect their proud cultural heritage. Oh, oh, oh, and she was the fattest vegetarian I had ever scene, one who I never saw eat a green vegetable. She was also an ardent Hillary Clinton supporter.

Alright, so what exactly was I doing working for the union in Fayetteville, Arkansas, where there are barely any organized labors (and zero SEIU members)? Well, it would seem I was initially part of a vanity project for the union to show Senator Blanche Lincoln (A Democrat who might as well be a Strom Thurmon Dixiecrat) that she should toe the party line a little more closely. The way the union was going to do that was to organize a grass roots campaign to get Arkansas (whose membership in organized labor is again, miniscule) to call her to support something called the Employee Free Choice Act. EFCA basically makes it easier for worksites to vote on the decision to unionize by allowing for something called a card check vote, which is like a absentee vote. It allows workers to vote from home. It also stiffens penalties for employers who fire employees for vocally supporting unionization or for voting to unionize ( a common practice). Word from the SEIU folks in DC was that the Senate would vote on this bill as soon as Al Franken was seated, which happened the first week I arrive in Arkansas.

With a 60 seat majority, EFCA was supposed to be a slam dunk. Alas, it soon became clear that it would have to follow health care, which no one really thought would take too long.

Unfortunately this is how the opposition explained the bill:

YouTube Preview Image

So Alex, Spangles, the guy who sucked, and I spent our days cold calling democrats, knocking on Obama supporters’ doors, and brining together a coalition of Fayetteville’s crackpot leftist fringe groups to get their weirdoes out supporting social justice for organized labor. What sort of “progressive” organizations did we work with on a daily basis? The Omni center, which was made of thirty octogenarians who believed world peace could be achieved with positive thinking right there in Fayetteville. These were the sorts who still had trouble understanding why they could not lift the Pentagon off the ground in the 1960s.

The other groups we worked with were Green Party of Northwest Arkansas, which was lead by an eccentric university staffer who took lunch every day at Pizza Hut, and had for 12 years. His group had considerable crossover with the city’s chapter of NORML, who would eventually become members of the Omni Center upon receiving their AARP cards. Spangles was in charge of campus outreach to the University, and all of its progressive organizations were pretty creaped out by her wide set eyes, flat nose, and thunderous smokers cough that set off a tsunami of jiggling flesh. Have I mentioned she smelled?

The weirdoes who worked with us were weird, but not half as weird as the groups that we encountered at the Fayetteville Market. A brief digression: why must we equate dirty with organic? Anyway, amongst the mumbo-jumbo peddlers who set up booths next to ours at the farmers market were the Scientologist of Arkansas, the guy who wants everyone to give him American currency in exchange for Fayetteville Bucks which are now redeemable at 17 local businesses, the Humane Society which has 15 year old junior varsity cheerleaders in uniform lead shelter dogs through the market collecting donations, a husband-wife reiki team, and an old hillbilly with a drawn-on sharpie mustache and two foot wide sombrero selling the world’s worst breakfast burritos. Nobody at the farmers’ market wore closed toed footwear but Alex and I. It was a parade of foot funguses and ingrown maladies. Dirty feet, smelly feet, diseased feet, all loose.

As for our office, old 66 Sunbridge, it had belonged to a family of Scandinavian chiropractors the month before. According to the guy who sucked, who had rented the office, the Chiroprators, had fled the country in the middle of night after a visit from the IRS. Their names Katinka, Rolf, and Belinda Vanhouvelle were still on the door, as was the marquee that read “We Sell Health.” The place was half painted a bland sand color by the leasing agency and an festive lime left by the Chiropractors. One could see where they had ripped the the x-ray machine right off the floor in one of the offices. My office had its own bathroom, but no windows. This seemed like a boon at the time, but proved to be a regrettable choice. That maxim about shitting were you eat holds true…

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October 13th, 2009

Jews in Arkansas, Organizing Unions and Sticking their Noses Where they Don’t Belong

Time for some guest writing. My cousin, who is also named Sam, just spent the summer as a union organizer in fucking Arkansas. Jews in Arkansas? Yeah, it had me scared, too. I begged him to tell me what he was up to, and the bastard totally ignores me for the whole summer. Then he sends me this genius treatise . . .

Sam Sam Sam,

Things this summer were a rodeo of ridiculousness: dangerous, smelling of animal feces and spat tobacco juice, and there was a general feeling that the people involved were less evolved than the animals. A buddy of mine from college gotta job working for SEIU, the largest union in America, with their political action committee called Change That Works. He had his choice of states between Indiana and Arkansas. He had suffered during the presidential election working for Obama in Indiana, and Arkansas paid better, so he chose the Natural State. After three weeks he quit, and then told he could hire who ever he wanted if he stayed, so after calling several of our more qualified friends he called me. I jumped at the chance to get out of portland, go to a place without hipsters and bacon maple donuts and young men with tattoos on thier necks bringing their skateboards and infants to the park on sunny afternoons. I wanted real conversation. I wanted authentic experience. I wanted America warts and all.

At first, me and my buddy were in Fayetteville. Our team consisted of a blow hard who claimed to have had sex with several state elected officials, he sucked, and an obese female who smoked three packs a day and who on weekends volunteered as a patriot themed clown named Spangles. Where did she volunteer you ask? Hospices. She was a hospice clown, and told of the great satisfaction of bringing a smile to the face of some one as they were expiring…

Ok sam, sorry for the intermission, but I am at the public library and a dude just produced a fog horn fart that has made this floor a biohazard…this guy must eat raccoons pickled in urine…i will continue my arkanstory soon.

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September 24th, 2009

Guest Writer: A Woman’s Take on the Neurology of Rough Sex

I enjoyed a long discussion with S. last week, a woman in her mid-thirties with a deep relationship with pornography as a viewer. She shared my interest in rough sex, but took issue with my desire to want to explain the interest via early trauma or familial upbringing, ie, the psychoanalytic approach. Some days after we spoke, she sent me this treatise, which was just too interesting not to publish:

last year, i read this quote from a 2008 article on scientific american, and its essence is the heart of sexual dynamics in women and men: “[Orgasm] requires a release of inhibitions engineered by shutdown of the brain’s center of vigilance in both sexes and a widespread neural power failure in females” (here’s the entire article). when i read “widespread neural power failure,” i think i gasped. that is exactly what happens in the female brain during sex. and that phenomenon is the thing i love and loathe best. this is a tough topic to tackle.

my main issue with your point of view re: rough sex is that it does not take neurological impulses into consideration. nurture plays a vital role in all mammalian development (all organisms, actually), but it is not the opposite as nature. nurture and nature, i’ve come to believe, are the same thing. evolution is not a reaction to environment. evolution isn’t even really evolution as we’ve been taught. it’s more of a continuous formula that never, ever hesitates or finds an end solution. “DNA is history, not fate” - picked that up somewhere, and even just looking at the basic structure of a helix, it makes so much sense.

as i’ve gone through the ridiculous and often pointless journey that is art skool, i’ve had too much solo time to think about my intentions, and to feed my brain audibooks on neuroscience and medicine, which have quickly become strong obsessions. i’ve got old sob stories and hence many experiences with psychology, analysis and various kinds of shrinks - i’ve literally exhausted psychiatric resources to help understand how to navigate the manic impulse that is my brain, an endeavor that has included much off-road shit like body work, psychics, soul workers, etc. - and although a few answers came about, nothing has made more sense than basic brain neurology. a lot of the art i’m making is saying, i think, that popular psychology and psychiatry and the entire mental health industry are almost entirely off point, and pretty much full of shit. DNA, heredity, genes, compound chemicals and everything else that makes up the still-budding science of neurology are slowly beating freud to death. it brings me great pleasure to watch him die (though i’ve always admired his own sexual obsessions).

how the fuck does this tie into human sexuality? i think my ever-growing theories on this are a little too left-field to be valid. of course i’ve spent more time examining my own sexuality because i have rarely met women who have the same sexual impulses that i have. as i get further into my 30’s, my sex drive just gets stronger. i’ve often wished i could take a pill to calm it down, because the eustress it brings is always overwhelmed by the distress. and it’s the distress that ties back to widespread neural power failure. men wish that women could fuck without emotional attachment; women believe that men cannot fuck without experiencing at least some degree of emotional attachment. the battle between the sexes goes on and on.

i’ll attempt to steer this into a smaller ring of thought. looking at marriage, which is where the majority of people my age end up, and its history is interesting. the notion of romantic love and marriage is a fairly recent phenomenon, and has been pretty good for the human population in terms of procreation. but it has also created a couple generations of emotional basket cases who believe that monogamy is the right, good path to a rewarding life, and a sign of robust mental health.

i had the benefit and disadvantage (same thing?) of coming from a totally broken home, one that was linked to many generations of unhappy unions, and was raised by religiously cynical people. from a very young age, i was discouraged to marry, and both told and shown that marriage destroys sexual health. my mother had and has a crippling, inhibited sexuality, though she did some exploring in her 50’s after she divorced my father. my dad, quite oppositely, has always been a ferociously sexual person, and his aggressiveness is something i believe i inherited. i’ve never been inclined towards shyness when approaching men, and my aggressive sexuality has been a very difficult thing to deal with - especially in the south, which is where i fled when i was 18.

several years ago, i had my blood tested for something - i don’t remember what. my testosterone levels were twice the normal rate in females my age at the time. over the years, i can actually feel my testosterone levels rise. i can identify the sensation of testosterone hitting my bloodstream and traveling to different areas in my brain. i have to shave my face and chest daily, lest i sport a fairly impressive chin and cleavage beard. one of my sisters has the same deal with the hairy factor. the real bitch - the crux of what i struggle with when it comes to sex - is that i also have regular/possibly abnormal levels of estrogen/adrenaline/other gonad hormones that, when combined with the high testosterone, create very intense emotional reactions to sexual behavior. i also can’t make it through the day without a good overdose of dopamine. i have tried for years to segment emotions, to redirect neuro pathways, to replace one activity with something less distressing, and art-making has been the one single thing that can harness this energy. but even as i’m obsessing with a project, my brain is still constantly bombarded with impulses for sex. i can go about 9 months without acting on them, and then i must. fuck. something. or. go. insane.

here’s the thing, though: khan tusion, who i believe shares similar sexual impulses - in that what he’s after is intensity - believes he is seeking an outlet for power, emotional domination, etc. i don’t want power. when i have that kind of power, it has little interest for me because the sport is gone. i want to give that power away and challenge myself or whomever i’m obsessing over at the time with getting it back in the form of obsession. i don’t want to drive a man to suicide, but i do want him to fall in lust with me to the point of breaking. i’ve broken a few in my day, and the subsequent shame is probably the same guilt khan deals with after his own breaking methods. the main difference, i think, is that i cannot prevent myself from breaking in this process. in order to break someone else, i have to let myself break first. this is one of the things i dislike most about being female. if i could enjoy sex without such intense emotional fixations, that would be great. i think. maybe it would suck. the ongoing game obviously has some appeal, because i’ve been playing it since i was a child.

so when i think about this these days, i try to figure out and locate the root of the why. one of my left-field theories is that, based on the intellectual and professional inclinations of my family and my ancestors, we have some serious warrior-DNA circulating through our systems. like, scottish serfdom battle axe grinding killer drinker fuckers. i think we were bred to live short and hard, which may explain my family’s fairly consistent themes of sex, addiction, anger, fighting, working hard and playing even harder. maybe we come from a peoples who were bred for war. there is a strong history of military connections in my family, and i have literally had to stop myself from joining the national guard on multiple occasions.

so - take the above wordiness into account, and then get old-fashioned and take some more popular items into account. i was molested at a young age, exposed to pornography at a young age. but i do not agree with the passiveness of those statements, because i sought them out. my molester was a family member, a good-looking teenaged boy whom i remember flirting with. i deliberately sought out porn magazines when i was like 8 or some shit. and i wanted to watch my first porn so intensely that porn itself has become completely entangled with how my brain handles sexual response. i will always love it. and like you, i want it dirty, honest and challenging.

i guess what i’m saying is that i don’t think i was molested because my molester was a pervert, or because my family life was fucked up, or because i was weak. i think i sought out sexual attention at the age of 5 because i am hardwired to be highly sexual. i understand how the environment in which i was raised affected this wiring, but i do think i could have been born into any caste system in any country and i still would’ve ended up with high levels of testosterone and a pretty ferocious sex drive because of it. i often think i would’ve ended up in porn or some kind of sex work if i’d chosen a large city to escape to, instead of the south. i often think i should do sex work for a living because i’d enjoy it and i’d be pretty good at it if i could train myself to control the estrogen/emotional side of sex. i’ve begun approaching sex as a physical sport, training my body and brain for different kinds of encounters on different levels of emotional attachment, and the results are interesting so far. training works.

this is where i get into judeo-christian cultures of sexuality, and how different cultures have approached sex as sport throughout history, and how sex serves many purposes instead of the most common romantic version we’re raised into in america. the internet’s impact on sexual culture is probably the thing that fascinates me most at the moment. i can’t wait to see how things change as the web becomes older.

i’m not crazy about using my own experiences as the primary demonstration for some of the theories i have, but it’s difficult to find discourse on this topic in this town. this is a difficult place to explore sex period, though it can be done. just lots of prying open minds :).

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