sapfromtheseal:

"body/Horror:Yours/mine" by Lyric Seal

soundscape by BED DEATH

video documentation by kbytes

The Center for Sex and Culture 2014

Transcript:

body/Horror: Yours/mine

Let me tell you something. I didn’t mean to be like this. I meant to grow up. Before I had ever given head or kissed horizontal under leaves or even touched my own lips- lips face or down down down, scalpels had made new orifices in me. Before I could say yes or no or know that yes or no could be mine to give, surgeons and nurses slipped fingers and tubes and titanium spores into my tiny body and said,

Here is what we’ve got for you now live if you can.

There is a difference between agency and consent. One I have, the other I do not have. In surgery, art, and sex, much of the consent is implied. This surgery, this last one, was the only elective surgery I have ever gotten. I have choices, not consent. My body’s trauma and recovery has no awareness of what I did and did not choose. The temporary psychosis that is produced by seeing your own flesh turned purple and green, loosening not only at the edges, bleeding from what might be pores, or new ports, is not alleviated by the words,

You asked for this.

The narrative you’re looking for is illusive/elusive. You can search anyway, you will not be alone. Every self-assured man I have had will be right there with you. He felt entitled to who he is, but now he is worried about his body. He keeps looking for the story, the reason for his shape in the canals and caves of me.

This is a love story, but there is no triumph. It is a ghost story, but the ghosts are tangible bodies that have entered mine.

There is this: the queer problem. I did not grow up. I keep coming undone! It’s possible that I grow, but laterally, and snaking. This piece is a hole you can look into. It is a wet chunk of me. I will flay it out to you. I am not sure what will stick, but, open your skin, open your mouth, swallow, rub it in. I prefer to tend to myself, after.

This takes place after I became myself: a wet,

wounded,

steaming beast.

that this body

mine,

it deserves pain or love or any sensation at all.

I wait in the cave of

myself. I look and feel

around for all the years.

I recoil from texture, a presence, a lack.

I cannot recoil. I am already inside the body I fear. I am in that flat little bed with its funny architectural embellishments. The black, curved, almost corkscrewed guard rails. Clever design. This is the day of every surgery. This is every threshold. We are living in the future. My cyborg body has fallen away from linear restrictions. Consent to incisions never existed for me. I am totally autonomous, in control of myself, and this control leads me to what is good for me.

Here: obedient to knife love.

Someone who might be my lover is here. He has touched parts of me which will be altered today. I wanted him to. Blood and milk and hope can come out of the things he touched. Does this make him my lover? My mother is here. I am followed around always by how boy lovers can and cannot see my body, how they can and cannot touch it. By doctors. How they can and cannot and see my body. How they can and cannot touch it. How they will anyway. By my mother. What she has loved of me. All of me. Muddy broken parts too. What she has witnessed that I wished she did not have to. The humiliation I felt in her seeing me not know myself while the others touched on. What she has worried I would never alter. I ask them all to fuck off. I ask them all to tell me that I am alive and that I am okay. I ask them, but my mouth tastes like anesthesia and vomit and silent clouds and, the nurse asks,

Any other surgeries? This is a list.

Four others yes…

Are you different now?

I’m different, yeah, I’m different.

And are you whole? Any other lovers before this? Any other wounds? Can you still feel where they entered you? And how long did it take for them to close up? Do you have any[metal][thing] left inside of you?

The night before this surgery- I cry like I’m dying. Like I will never be empty. This lover who is not my lover- he spoons me like there is no spoon and we are just a line on a curve. When I don’t stop him, he holds tighter, breathes on my neck. I soften, my sobs quiet a little. Then his hands are my ribs, I remember my ribs. Then his hands are my breasts, I remember he will be the last to touch them as they are. Even though there are new kinds of breath with my crying, I am still crying. He rubs and pulls on my nipples, and I dip into this. He has calloused hands and stark blue eyes which make orbs of an earnestness I don’t know how to fake, so I believe it, and am grateful.

I think it’s gonna be okay…he calls into the mouth of my cave.

Surgery always reminds me of surgery. Sex always reminds me of sex. Surgery also reminds me of sex. It feels like being fucked, not consensually. Not nonconsensually either. I am reminded, I am reminded, and yet each time it is horribly new. I asked for this. I wanted this. And yes I even want it as it is happening but parts of me are asleep, and in the room with us are all the other things that have happened and other others too. I know horror and ecstasy all at once and yet I do not know them.

There is this: a dangerous hope as the digits descend. There is this: a hole, a cave, a cut, and a wave bringing those digits home to wherever home may be. There is this: a great risk. A great longing. A great chance that everything will get wet and stay wet and never be dry again. There is this: a gasping as sleeping parts of me awake. And after: I am altared in this permanent and important way. I have tasted bliss and come or anesthesia and experienced a loss. I have waned.

Let me tell you something, I didn’t mean it to be like this. I meant to be whole. I meant to fix myself. Grow. Up. I melt out and down. I roll. I erode. I am penetrable. The tape, the sealing peels back, I see myself, undead, and I scream.

Every time I have sex I remember what I am afraid of. This one, he had freckles on his shoulders. Like a snicker doodle. Every time he kissed me he punctuated it with a moan like I was this real hot thing. He fucked with his mouth open the whole time like awe and crying. Afterwards, I showed him my scars and asked, Do they look crazy?

I mean yeah, they look kinda crazy…

Sex with someone who doesn’t understand or even completely want me is so normal it’s reassuring. I have loved to let cis-boys fuck me. Pastries I craved but feel unsure about, after. Sweet ones that don’t want to feel vulnerable but believe that they are very sensitive. I can avoid myself this way: my body and what it wants

to receive, to give.

My very real attraction to

holes. This is a kind of inertia.

I sit naked in the cradle of my recoiling from myself. I cannot bear to look and I count on my lover not to see. It is alarming to be sought, and it is so scary to want. There are haunted swamps hiding in my holes. Even if you think you want me. You might regret it. You’ll find secrets I haven’t touched in years.

Sometimes he does not touch the scary parts that I tell him are okay to touch if he wants to. Because he does not want to. He does not want to touch those parts of me. When he wants to I am also burning. It is like being burned a little. I show him the places that used to have ripe chunks missing the places that were green for a time the places I thought I would lose forever, if they were ever mine. He looks. Like a scientist. Or an artist. Runs his fingers down the short curve of my torso so that in my head I might be an oil painting. He doesn’t think I’m dry yet. He kisses my mouth and smirks.

After this beautiful boy fucked me I tried to scrub my skin off. Every one of my pores looked filled with some thing. I turned the shower up as hot as it could go, and hoped I would pass out. I only hyperventilated. I asked my friend to examine the angry red skin of every nook, cranny, and hole as I turned for her, a modern dance. Is this scabies? Is this scabies? Is this? What is wrong with me?

You have hysterical scabies. They’re honestly just as bad.

Having consensual sex is not supposed to make you feel horrible a day later, the sex posi kids tell me. Do you ever look down at yourself and remember that you are at sea? What sort of material do you wish you were made of? What sort of vehicle, vessel, are you? When I fuck I remember the endless wound of me.

After they make the wounds to remove the weight in my chest that I did not want, I wait. For the feelings. It is not that I am entirely lacking now in feelings and sensations in the land called my chest but they are harder to identify than they were. I cannot feel much on the outside surface of ⅔ of my breasts and yet I feel more inside expelling itself like shrapnel and shit and vomit and declarations of love than I ever have. I always imagined the root of my wings to be in front, not back. There’s this stirring there, a vibration. A solidifying of sound. And memory. My blood falling down. My nerves wandering, lost.

In order to enjoy body horror, one must be able to relish the adrenaline rush to be found in a brief loss of control. Enjoying a horror movie is like playing dress up as a child. Imagining a love affair between you, sweaty, young, pulling the straps of your tank top down in the back seat, and Death. But you are a tween, and you do not imagine what a love affair with Death would really be like, so you make it up. And it is very scary, and a little dangerous, and pretty messy, and also pretty nice. You see everything slowed down as the instrument descends. You can freeze that moment forever, if you want. You can replay it. You can screen capture. That is why indulging in horror is like a love affair with Death.

The first time I really looked, looked at, looked into, looked up and down and checked out what terrified me, I registered arousal. I think they were the red soles of a strange boy’s feet. Or my own strange curves. Or zombies, lips a tapestry of welts, falling a part. It is a manic sort of arousal, a hyperventilation. So much hot air along with my wetness. How do I calm down? Where do I become whole? Where, not when, it must be, since being queer means that I forfeited time a long time ago.

I did not mean to be like this, I said, to my own shaking and pooling. These vibrations are where sound becomes solid, body becomes leak, and my sense of my own proper place becomes taffied.

The potential for transformation is in our own squeamishness. Our own bravery, compassion. When you watch a horror movie, or indulge in looking at the horror that is the healing process of your body or your lover’s body, do not think that becoming desensitized means that you are brave. Compassion is the really tough stuff. To squeam is to return. A boomerang, yet a destabilization. To squeam is to occupy uncomfortably, and with difficult joy, a place of living death. To squeam is to reanimate. You zombie. You sexy thing. With this type of squirming there is the potential to deepen your relationship with your own holes. With your lover’s holes. Forget about light. Forget about surfacing for air. Forget about Demeter for a minute. To squeam is to look into your lack, in relation to a normative standard of wholeness, and to say, “Yes” to that horror. And “yes” to the possibility that you do not need or desire to be sealed up. Squeamishness is a moving shape in a static space. A different kind of dance. You are committing to the body you occupy, or the body you have given your attention. Allowing it to turn you, turn your stomach, turn you on. Move you around. Pull you down. Pull you in. Deeper. Make you come when called.

Let me tell you something, you don’t know how to worship me.

You don’t even know how to want me. Each time I become altered, I also become altared, a new landscape for you to reckon with. You can place consent on me somewhere, tell me to look to back at it. It disappears. There are foreign objects held in these holes. Ghosts of doctors, digits, desire, men. People with phobias of being penetrated and who cut me open easily. I’m not saying that you know how to worship yourself either. It is a mobile act.

We meant to grow up. That’s not how bodies grow.

Reblogged from Sap from every hole.
theblackcreative:

soulbrotherv2:

Sexual Relations Between Elite White Women and Enslaved Men in the Antebellum South: A Socio-Historical Analysis

By Jacqueline M. Allain
Sexual Agency, Power, and Consent
According to one historian, “few scholars… have viewed the relationships of enslaved men and free white women through the lens of sexual abuse in part because of gendered assumptions about sexual power” (Foster, p. 459). This is in keeping with both the standard feminist conceptualization of rape as a tool of patriarchal oppression3 as well as the traditional (un-feminist) notion of women as too weak, emotionally and physically, to commit serious crimes, let alone sexual abuse, and the idea that men cannot be raped (Bourke, 2007, pp. 219, 328). However, it is becoming increasingly clear that women, too, are capable of committing sexual offenses and using sex as a means of domination and control (Bourke, pp. 209-248).

[Continue reading at Student Pulse:  The International Student Journal.]

Excellent read

theblackcreative:

soulbrotherv2:

Sexual Relations Between Elite White Women and Enslaved Men in the Antebellum South: A Socio-Historical Analysis

By Jacqueline M. Allain

Sexual Agency, Power, and Consent

According to one historian, “few scholars… have viewed the relationships of enslaved men and free white women through the lens of sexual abuse in part because of gendered assumptions about sexual power” (Foster, p. 459). This is in keeping with both the standard feminist conceptualization of rape as a tool of patriarchal oppression3 as well as the traditional (un-feminist) notion of women as too weak, emotionally and physically, to commit serious crimes, let alone sexual abuse, and the idea that men cannot be raped (Bourke, 2007, pp. 219, 328). However, it is becoming increasingly clear that women, too, are capable of committing sexual offenses and using sex as a means of domination and control (Bourke, pp. 209-248).

[Continue reading at Student Pulse:  The International Student Journal.]

Excellent read

Reblogged from .
Young men need to be socialized in such a way that rape is as unthinkable to them as cannibalism.

Mary Pipher, Clinical Psychologist and Author, Reviving Ophelia (via sunshine-machine)

this should have been reblogged a million times already.

(via sukedada)

And remember, they are socialized to accept rape culture as “masculinity” and “normal.” This isn’t inherent biology. So they can be socialized away from it. This quote = everything.

(via babyperez)
Reblogged from .

destroy false accusations against trans women 2014

eldritchnightmarefuel:

eldritchnightmarefuel:

the “rapist as default” meme needs to die in a fucking fire

reblog this goddamnit

Reblogged from WITCH VANGUARD

siddharthasmama:

2damnfeisty:

thoughtsofablackgirl:

Victims of sexual assault expect privacy. But 16-year-old Jada was violated all over again once explicit images from her rape surfaced on Twitter. So Jada decided to take her story public.

“There’s no point in hiding,” the Houston teen tells KHOU. “Everybody has already seen my face and my body, but that’s not what I am and who I am.”

I’m sharing this because certain people on twitter  NEEDS TO BE STOP! Specially the ignorant side of black twitter! Every time something bad happen to a young black women or black girl twitter is quickly to explode it into something bigger! And Jada story is one of them! She’s a 16 yearls high school student she could be your sister,cousin, neighbor, or classmate! This tragic thing happened to her and these ignorant people on twitter looking for followers exploit this to point where the disgusting hashtag was created #jadapose. People tweeting pictures of themselves in the pose in which Jada was found! What I find even worse about this its that a lot of the people doing these poses are young black men and women. Something like this happen to someone who could possibly be your sister and instead of asking for justice you rather create a new meme? And some of them even argue “oh how do you know she got rape?” Does it matter? a picture of an underage girl laying on the floor looking like she’s passed out is not something be laughed at EVER! Like ”A rape victim’s trauma is not grounds for a new internet meme. Pls do not partake in such ignorance. Report pictures.”

I’m happy and proud of Jada for speaking and not letting this disgusting thing becoming any bigger

Which brings me to what I’m trying to ask or say here when will sexual assault towards black girls and young black women will be taking serious by young black people?

i truly don’t understand what kind of world we live in.

This is absolutely horrific and abhorrent. Look at how few notes this has. Now watch as the so-called feminists and defenders of women on this site stay silent. The black woman’s body has no value to this society except for how it can be exploited and dehumanized. This is straight up misogynoir. This is an egregious act. This shows how sick our culture is. Rape culture is so pervasive and normalized that many will see nothing wrong with this new meme, much like as was the case with ‘Trayvoning’ (though that was white and non-Black POC racialized violence). This is also why I stay off of twitter.
Reblogged from la chingada enfadada

GAY PRIDE™ IS…

commiepinkofag:

Gay Pride™ is subordination to the State and Empire. 
Gay Pride™ is homage to capitalism, patriarchy, and white supremacy. 
Gay Pride™ is co‐optation of queer radicalism by liberals, Democrats, academics, hipsters, and NGOs. 
Gay Pride™ is the eradication of trans bodies and narratives, and queer militancies. 
Gay Pride™ is gala events for the elite. 
Gay Pride™ is walking past homeless queer youth. 
Gay Pride™ is assimilation into straight society. 
Gay Pride™ is corporate. 
Gay Pride™ is destruction of queer histories of mutual‐aid, resistance, shame, promiscuity, creativity, humor, love, community, brutality, poverty, and disease. 
Gay Pride™ is “we’re just like you”. 
Gay Pride™ is safe, privileged, accommodationist, vanilla, temporary, and very boring. 
Gay Pride™ is to ignore trans women of color being beat by police and murdered by street bigots. 
Gay Pride™ is to achieve equality and sameness, to settle and be conditional, to compromise. Nothing more. Always less. 
Gay Pride™ is forgetting about those affected by HIV/AIDS. 
Gay Pride™ is “straight‐acting”, “masc only”, “promise I’m not that gay tho”, “sry no effeminate guys”, “not into Asians”, “prefer white guys”, “no fatties or trannies”. 
Gay Pride™ is gender binary. 
Gay Pride™ is on the sidewalk, obeying the police when they say the party is over. 
Gay Pride™ is neglecting all of the queer and trans prisoners held captive by the State. 
Gay Pride™ is marriage and military. 
Gay Pride™ is poor people of color being pushed out of their neighborhoods by a white gay gentry. 
Gay Pride™ is refusing to avenge religious fundamentalists who cause young queers to commit suicide. 
Gay Pride™ is “things aren’t that bad in Russia.” 
Gay Pride™ is being able to participate in the military‐industrial complex, kill and rape people in other countries in the name of “freedom”, yet be fired from a minimum wagejob in the US because of your sexuality and/or gender identity. 
Gay Pride™ is giving a shit about corporate media and entertainment. 
Gay Pride™ is pretending electoral politics will bring about social change. 
Gay Pride™ is a rearranging of the existing social order only to accommodate a few, as opposed to collective liberation and dismantling of oppressive systems. 
Gay Pride™ is nationalism. 
Gay Pride™ is to water down and tranquilize ‐ to make “normal”. 
Gay Pride™ is men and women who arm themselves to kill people who are deemed criminals, deviants, and terrorists by the State. 
Gay Pride™ is business casual or muscle tees. 
Gay Pride™ is the invisibilization of people of color. 
Gay Pride™ is to dismiss queer Palestinians being murdered by the Israeli apartheid state. 
Gay Pride™ is gay men being misogynist pigs and committing verbal, physical, and sexual violence against women and it being “okay” since they’re gay. 
Gay Pride™ is obscuring histories of Western colonialism and silencing Indigenous voices. 
Gay Pride™ is “speak English or go back to your country”.
Gay Pride™ is a mythology and an opiate.

William Lukas, Artist

Reblogged from

disabledgirlism:

it’s pretty common for people discussing rape culture within feminist discourse to conveniently leave out disabled girls, but this is just a casual reminder that disabled women are far more likely to be sexually assaulted, abused or raped than able-bodied women. on top of that, 50% of deaf girls and 54% of deaf boys have been sexually abused or assaulted. so please stop leaving us out of your discussion about rape culture.

Tags: rape ablism

NOT SO FUN FACT

hairypitsandtits:

puta-bacan:

As recently as 1991, police in a southern California community closed all rape reports made by prostitutes and addicts, placing them in a file stamped “NHI.” The letters stand for the words “No Human Involved.” (Linda Fairstein, Sexual Violence: Our War Against Rape, 1993, New York, William Morrow.)

Reblogged from DYSAETHESIA AETHIOPICA

Things I forget outside of tumblr.

jayjsupremacy:

  • Most people are straight.
  • Nobody knows what “cis”/”cisgender” is.
  • Sexism/Misogyny is a joke.
  • If one black person does bad or “bad” thing all black people are judged for it.
  • Racism isnt a big deal unless the victim dies and if they do then they probably did something to deserve it because 2 sides to every story!!1 rite??
  • Criticizing/reacting to racism is just as bad as racism.
  • There are people more concerned with weed and guns than whether or not all humans receive the same basic freedoms.
  • Transgender people are murdered for existing. 
  • People legitimately believe rape can be the victim’s fault. 
  • What women can do with their bodies is actually a debatable topic.
  • Separation of Church & State literally does not matter. At all. 
  • I’m not allowed to mention anything on this list without “overreacting.”

ok no. the only folks who “forget” shit like this goes on are folks who don’t have to deal with it in the first place.

Reblogged from Fatanarchy
the-fly-on-fire:

hi-ghdaze:

splintercellconviction:

wingedpanther:

Matthew Barnett admitted to raping a 14-year-old girl.
Matthew Barnett admitted to raping a 14-year-old girl.
Matthew Barnett admitted to raping a 14-year-old girl. 
He admitted to it. On fucking camera. He and another boy recorded the rape and that of a 13-year-old girl.
Why aren’t they in prison for sexual exploitation of a minor and production/possession of child pornography?
Oh, right, because they’re popular football players and Matthew Barnett is related to a politician! Therefore, nothing they can do is wrong or bad and they should never face punishment and should instead be rewarded for raping young teenage girls and filming their assaults.

I just looked this up; it gets worse.

raise awareness to this shit and change something about it. 

#justice4daisy

the-fly-on-fire:

hi-ghdaze:

splintercellconviction:

wingedpanther:

Matthew Barnett admitted to raping a 14-year-old girl.

Matthew Barnett admitted to raping a 14-year-old girl.

Matthew Barnett admitted to raping a 14-year-old girl.

He admitted to it. On fucking camera. He and another boy recorded the rape and that of a 13-year-old girl.

Why aren’t they in prison for sexual exploitation of a minor and production/possession of child pornography?

Oh, right, because they’re popular football players and Matthew Barnett is related to a politician! Therefore, nothing they can do is wrong or bad and they should never face punishment and should instead be rewarded for raping young teenage girls and filming their assaults.

I just looked this up; it gets worse.

raise awareness to this shit and change something about it. 

#justice4daisy

bansheeandahunter:

False rape accusations are an anomaly.

True rape accusations are a norm.

You’re, quite literally, more likely to be killed by a comet than falsely accused of rape.

Tags: rape
bisexual-community:

bialogue-group:

hobbitfeminism:

I don’t even care about credit I just want people to stop saying this shit plz repost this if it will get people to stop sexualizing us

Just a few references on this extremely unfortunate subject:
Infographic from BiRadical: "Did you know?” Nearly HALF of all bisexual women are survivors of rape. By contrast, 13% of lesbians and 17% of straight women are rape survivors.”
BiNet USA: “2013 Bisexual Fact Sheet”
Blog posts by EvenAud (no off switch):
“Drown Them in a Sea of Noise Part 1: Bisexuality, and My Rape”
“Gasping for Air: Biphobia, Suicide and Me.”

Slut Shaming particularly of Feminine/Female-Presenting Bisexual People, based on their (presumed or actual) Dating + Relationship History is a form of Identity Policing. It is Biphobic/Sapphobic and frequently Transphobic and Misogynistic too.Being bisexual is just a thing that some people are, no different or more meaningful than being tall or short. However being a nosy, ignorant, insecure, jealous, mean-spirited, inconsiderate and unsympathetic bigot are negative character traits that most normal people work hard to avoid. Something to Strongly Consider if you or someone you know thinks making "jokes" like this about bisexual people is ok.

bisexual-community:

bialogue-group:

hobbitfeminism:

I don’t even care about credit I just want people to stop saying this shit plz repost this if it will get people to stop sexualizing us

Just a few references on this extremely unfortunate subject:

  1. Drown Them in a Sea of Noise Part 1: Bisexuality, and My Rape
  2. Gasping for Air: Biphobia, Suicide and Me.

Slut Shaming particularly of Feminine/Female-Presenting Bisexual People, based on their (presumed or actual) Dating + Relationship History is a form of Identity Policing. It is Biphobic/Sapphobic and frequently Transphobic and Misogynistic too.

Being bisexual is just a thing that some people are, no different or more meaningful than being tall or short. However being a nosy, ignorant, insecure, jealous, mean-spirited, inconsiderate and unsympathetic bigot are negative character traits that most normal people work hard to avoid. Something to Strongly Consider if you or someone you know thinks making "jokes" like this about bisexual people is ok.

faunafl0ra:

Educate yourselves and the people around you. Take rape seriously. Listen to people. I think a big part of why rape culture even exists is because slut shaming exists. Don’t take part in either one. 
Amanda, Sex Ed Intern

faunafl0ra:

Educate yourselves and the people around you. Take rape seriously. Listen to people. I think a big part of why rape culture even exists is because slut shaming exists. Don’t take part in either one. 

Amanda, Sex Ed Intern

Reblogged from Sex Advocate
modalitout:

notanothersonglyric:

ruinedxfate:

ruinedxfate:

ham-safar:

Rayhaneh Jabbari is sentenced to hang for killing her rapist in self defense in Iran. She is now 26 years old and has been in Tehran’s dreaded Evin prison since 2007. The petition for her release can be found here: http://bit.ly/1h7EP4D

UNBELIEVABLE

EVERYBODY SIGN THIS PETITION

It needs 100,000, and only has 8,000 as it stands. 

SIGNAL BOOST THE FUCK OUT OF THIS GUYS

modalitout:

notanothersonglyric:

ruinedxfate:

ruinedxfate:

ham-safar:

Rayhaneh Jabbari is sentenced to hang for killing her rapist in self defense in Iran. She is now 26 years old and has been in Tehran’s dreaded Evin prison since 2007. The petition for her release can be found here: http://bit.ly/1h7EP4D

UNBELIEVABLE

EVERYBODY SIGN THIS PETITION

It needs 100,000, and only has 8,000 as it stands. 

SIGNAL BOOST THE FUCK OUT OF THIS GUYS

Tags: rape

antisexgirl:

I know I’ll probably get a lot of hate for this but,

David Bowie is a rapist.

Reblogged from Gay Sogh