ATDTDA (3) Dynamitic mania, 80-86

[robinlandseadel at comcast.net]

Sorry about the double post, but I wanted this to have
the right header (and I managed to fix a few typos).

Here's the scene that demonstrates Frenesi's attraction to 
a kind of sexual "Political Inversion":

                      Believing that the rays coming out of the TV
                 screen would act as a broom to sweep the room 
                 clear of all spirits, Frenesi now popped the Tube 
                 on and checked the listings. There was a rerun of 
                 the perennial motorcycle-cop favorite "CHiPs" on 
                 in a little while. She felt a rising of blood, a 
                 premonitory dampness. Let the grim feminist rave, 
                 Frenesi knew there were living women, down in the 
                 world, who happened, like herself, to be crazy about 
                 uniforms on men, entertained fantasies while on the 
                 freeway about the Highway Patrol, and even, as she 
                 was planning to do now, enjoyed masturbating to 
                 Ponch and Jon reruns on the Tube, and so what? 
                 Sasha believed her daughter had "gotten" this uniform 
                 fetish from her. It was a strange idea even coming 
                 from Sasha, but since her very first Rose Parade up 
                 until the present she'd felt in herself a fatality, a 
                 helpless turn toward images of authority, especially 
                 uniformed men, whether they were athletes live or on 
                 the Tube, actors in movies of war through the ages, or 
                 maitre d's in restaurants, not to mention waiters and 
                 busboys, and she further believed that it could be 
                 passed on, as if some Cosmic Fascist had spliced in a 
                 DNA sequence requiring this form of seduction and 
                 initiation into the dark joys of social control. Long 
                 before any friend or enemy had needed to point it 
                 out to her, Sasha on her own had arrived at, and 
                 been obliged to face, the dismal possibility that all 
                 her oppositions, however just and good, to forms of 
                 power were really acts of denying that dangerous 
                 swoon that came creeping at the edges of her optic 
                 lobes every time the troops came marching by, that 
                 wetness of attention and perhaps ancestral curse. 
                 Vineland , pg 83


Cosmically enough, my I-Tunes playlist slid into "Pictures of Lily" 
just as I started typing "Crazy about uniforms"