abstracts from the Harper Valley PTA conference on violation of totemic items

[Mittelwerk at aol.com]

this is the problem with you liberalz . . . you're torn apart, you're
investing in international mutual funds, you're squabbling over cultural
viscera like weasels in a hole . . . 

culture, to quote brecht, smells like shit, and so doesn't like to be
reminded of where it came from.  the picture of Wendy's spread sex-organs
(Swank, Oct.94 ish) cancels out Remembrance of Things Past--in the way of a
child who is able to understand algebra by visualizing how much he would like
to get into Debbie-Lou's Garanimals.  High culture prides itself on how it
can swerve and snake--the pornographies of flight, of which GR is one--to
avoid reification, by burrowing deeper and deeper into meaning--which it
reifies in the process.  "andrew" hit on this when he mentioned the
'brutality' word:  just like the Holocaust occured so that Spielberg could
rediscover his Jewishness (from the standpoint of benevolent German), 'Art'
is the illusory compensation you get for making the aesthetic realm
autonymous--and allowing the erotic realm to consume itself in isolation.
 What hungers for itself (the meaning of eros) more than kapital? . . . . 

Pornography is sex as it exists.  Hustler is 'sex', not pornography.  it has
every right to call itself normative cultural material.  the typical mating
ritual--two monads drinking cosmopolitans while veering tighter around each
other through pre-emptive rationalization, till they stumble the into
meaning-less garden of 'fuck'--this 'pornographic' (in the true sense of the
word) act is also merely Sex.  Real Sex (and you have to be naive to even say
it) is the true Porno--the violence of realizing that sex offers no more than
it does, that I, or you, can never exceed this repetitive act and pass into
the otherside.  That there is nothing there underneath the names, and who's
fault is that but mine.  

I noticed that dyb0001 shudders when she reads Henry Miller.  Of course.  She
mistakenly thinks his vitriol is directed at her--and not the compulsion of
sex.   Typical.  Sorry to say, but you are not the object of sex.  You are an
object for sex, like Henry Miller.  the only difference between the two of
you is that whereas one looks at objectification and finds pleasure, the
other finds only pain--and pain is what unites the chronic wanker to the
repressed academician of sex.