My sore wrists (you know, from all that pole dancing serving the patriarachy researching grants and writing too much, not on a blog) have made me more-or-less blog-incommunicado for the last few weeks, which is maybe all for the best, as I missed much of the Great Prostitution Debate of August 2006 (a segue, perhaps, in the Long Blowjob Skirmish of July 2006?).
[If you missed this latest redux of the sex war, here's the Cliff Notes, by way of Bitch | Lab (It's real, but it's fantasy) and iamcuriousblue ("Strawfeminists vs Strawsexpozes").]
I should probably just say, do I sound bitter? I do. I am. I admit that I live in an arcane sexual fantasy land in which I pretend that the rest of the feminist universe has kissed and made up on this point (non-hierarchically, of course) and moved on to simpler endeavors like the war on the sick and underemployed, so when I encounter these debates once again, I get more than a shiver of deja vu, I get demanding.
What new scrap of information are we possibly going to get that our 70's foremothers didn't? Where's the new theoretical twists and turns? Will they be French, like last time? It's like the debate itself no longer even matters; it's the obsession with uncovering the "truth of sex" that is the mission, and that itself so often goes unquestioned. (With notable exceptions, like Bitch, who is one of the few feminist bloggers still in my feeds.)
So, as a meditation and battlefield strategy, I am going to try, just for a change, to not go looking for 'feminist acts'. Radical acts, romantic acts, yes -- but feminist acts? I think that's where things sex start to go all turning gyre on us. The gooey feminist sex center cannot hold.


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