TFP (tradition, family, property): nAtuRaL bOrn sPeRm kiLLeRs

"I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.”
-- Luke 14:20

“Chastity—the most unnatural of the sexual perversions.”
-- Aldous Huxley

“The zipless fuck is absolutely pure…and it is rarer than the unicorn.”
-- Erica Jong, “Fear of Flying,” 1973

“Sex is one of the nine reasons for re-incarnation….The other eight are unimportant.”
-- Henry Miller, “Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymous Bosch,” 1957

“I’ve tried several varieties of sex. The conventional position makes me claustrophobic. And the others either give me a stiff neck or lockjaw.”
-- Tallulah Bankhead

Dear Readers:

As I was passing by the Planned Parenthood Clinic on Stadium Boulevard in Ann Arbor, I noticed a small group of Pro-Life protestors holding chartreuse signs that read, “The Pill Kills.” Being a veteran boulevardier and amateur photographer, I went back and snapped some pics over the course of the day. Embedded here is a photo collage, as well as what I consider to be some interesting readings regarding the abortion issue.

Best - RT

By MANOHLA DARGIS
Published: October 3, 2007

The first thing you should know about the documentary “Lake of Fire” — an unblinking look at the violent fight over abortion in the United States, including those homegrown religious fundamentalists who kill in the name of God — is that it was made in black and white. This is critical. Because the other thing you should know about this fascinating, discomfiting, at times unpleasant, confused and confusing film is that it sets off extremely graphic images of actual abortions against a notorious photograph of a woman who died after an illegal motel room abortion, visuals that are inflammatory if, for the most part, also germane.

Not everyone will agree about the abortion visuals, including, perhaps, those who worry that such explicit imagery can speak louder than any pro-abortion-rights argument. It’s an understandable concern. Because they are filmed (the dead woman is immortalized in a still photograph), the abortions are unnerving, which is why I suggest that the faint of heart skip the rest of this paragraph. After the first operation, a second-trimester abortion, the doctor sorts through a tray of fetal parts, including a perfect-looking tiny hand and a foot, to make sure that nothing has been left inside the patient, which might lead to poisoning or even death. The doctor then holds up the severed fetal head. One eerily bulging eye looks as if it’s staring into the camera and somehow at us.

My initial and admittedly angry first thought about these images was that the director, Tony Kaye, was just resorting to shock tactics. The film doesn’t employ narration or on-screen texts that reveal his views on abortion; instead, there are 152 minutes of talking-head testimonials, on-the-street interviews and archival and new visuals. This means that you have to pay extra-special attention to his filmmaking choices, to the way he juxtaposes sights and sounds and who gets to speak and when.

His choices can be baffling. The ludicrous opening credits (anguished music, candles shaped like praying hands) could be straight out of a cheap horror flick, though the later presence of heavyweights like Noam Chomsky points to more sober ambitions.

From The New York Times 10/3/07

To some degree, the anti-abortion jihad has been sublimated into George W. Bush’s war. But this frontline report of combat in the culture zone provides a vivid and, in a sense, prophetic flashback to the Clinton era. Early on, Kaye (who is never seen and hardly ever heard) visits a pro-life demonstration, for which the organizers have filled the Washington mall with a forest of little crosses meant to represent “the children of Hillary’s village.” It’s a powerful image that Kaye complicates with camera placement: The protesters appear to kneel before the looming Washington Monument, worshipping the ultimate metaphor for patriarchal authority. (Throughout, right-to-life advocates have a propensity for casting fathers as victims.)

Not everything in Lake of Fire is symbolic, however. Kaye is unflinching in showing an abortion’s gruesome fetal remains, as well as graphic images of women who died during self-induced abortions. And nothing appears out of context: In the movie’s final section, a battered woman named Stacy and the lumpen-looking guy who impregnated her go for an abortion in an empty downtown moonscape. Surveillance cameras track the couple as they enter the building. Stacy is extensively prepped, as are we; the procedure is then documented to its end.Lake of Fire may be a mirror for the viewer’s particular burning convictions, but it has no brief for total certainty. “I know I made the right decision, but it’s still not easy,” Stacy cries after her abortion. For a movie that shows the unshowable and might well induce a migraine given the pounding conviction with which God’s will is invoked, Kaye’s jeremiad is remarkably nonjudgmental. The movie is shot in black and white, but projects as shades of gray.

LAKE OF FIRE Written, produced and directed by TONY KAYE Released by THINKFilm Sunset 5

-- J. Hoberman “LA WEEKLY” 2007

“Venereal afflictions may incidentally have been reduced by the growing adoption of a contraceptive device, which in the early 18th century the son of the bishop of Peterborough satirized in a poem called “Armour.” Whatever its origin, the sheath mode of silk or linen got its English name from a Colonel Cundum, of the Guards (The name is possibly the anglicized form of ‘Condom,’ a cathedral town and county seat in southwestern France. A trio of rakehell poets headed by the Earl of Rochester at once praised the invention. In time, international courtesy required that the English should call it a French letter and the French an English cloak (capote anglaise). Mme. de Sevigne passed severe judgment upon it in writing to her daughter: “an armor against enjoyment and a spider web against danger” (330,“From Dawn to Decadence,” Jacques Barzun, 2000).

A Panegyrick upon Cundums (18th Century)

O all ye Nymphs, in lawless Love's Disport
Assiduous! whose ever open Arms

Both Day and Night stand ready to receive
The fierce Assaults of Britain's am'rous Sons!
Whether with Golden Watch, or stiff Brocade
You shine in Playhouse or the Drawing-room.
Whores thrice magnificent! Delight of Kings,
And Lords of goodliest Note; or in mean Stuffs
Ply ev'ry Evening near St. Clement's Pile,
Or Church of fam'd St. Dunstan, or in Lane,
Or Alley's dark Recess, or open Street,
Known by white Apron, bart'ring Love with Cit,
Or strolling Lawyer's Clerk at cheapest Rate;
Whether of Needham's or of Jordan's Train,
Hear, and attend: In Cundum's mighty Praise
I sing, for sure 'tis worthy of a Song.
Venus, assist my Lays, thou who presid'st
In City Ball or Courtly Masquerade,
Goddess supreme! sole Authoress of our Loves
Pure and impure! whose Province 'tis to rule
Not only o'er the chaster Marriage Bed,
But filthiest Stews, and Houses of kept Dames!
To thee I call, and with a friendly Voice,
Cundum I sing -- by Cundum now I cure
Boldly the willing Maid, by Fear a while
Kept virtuous, owns thy Pow'r, and takes thy Joys
Tumultuous; Joys untasted but by them.
Unknown big Belly, and squawling Brat,
Best Guard of Modesty! She riots now
Thy Vo'try, in the Fulness of thy Bliss.

"Happy the Man, who in his Pocket keeps,
Whether with green or scarlet Ribband bound,
A well made Cundum -- He, nor dreads the Ills
Of Shankers or Cordee, or Bubos dire!"
Thrice happy he -- (for when in lewd Embrace
Of Transport-feigning Whore, Creature obscene!
The cold insipid Purchase of a Crown!
Bless'd Chance! Sight seldom seen! and mostly given
By Templar or Oxonian -- Best Support
Of Drury and her starv'd Inhabitants;)
With Cundum arm'd he wagest am'rous Fight
Fearless, secure; norThought of future Pains,
Resembling Prick of Pins and Needle's Point,
E'er checks his Raptures, or disturbs his Joys!
So Ajax, Grecian Chief, with Seven-fold Shield,
Enormous! brav'd the Trojan's fiercest Rage;
While the hot daring Youth, whose giddy Lust
Or Taste too exquisite, in Danger's Spite
Resolves upon Fruition, unimpair'd
By intervening Armour, Cundum hight!
Scarce three Days past, bewails the dear-bought Bliss!
For now tormenting Sore with scalding Heat
Of Urine, dread Fore-runner of a Clap!
With Eye repentant, he surveys his Shirt,
Diversify'd with Spots of yellow Hue,
Sad Symptom of ten thousand Woes to come!
Now no Relief but from the Surgeon's Hand,
Or Pill-prescribing Leach, tremendous Sight
To Youth diseas'd! In Garret high he moans
His wretched Fate, where vex'd with nauseous Draughts
And more afflicting bolus, he, in Pangs
Unfelt before, curses the dire Results
Of lawless Revelling; from Morn to Eve
By never-casing keen Emeticks urg'd;
Nor slights he now his Grannum's sage Advice:
Nor feels he only but in megrim'd Head,
Head frought with Horror -- Child of sallow Spleen,
Millions of idle Whims and Fancies dance
Alternate, and perplex his labouring Mind.
What erst he has been told of sad Mischance,
Either in Pox or Clap, of falling Nose,
Scrap'd Shins, and Buboes' Pains of vile Effect!
All feels the Youth, or fancies that he feels,
Nay, be it but a Gleet, or gentlest Clap,
His ill forboding Fears deny him Rest,
And fancied Poxes vex his tortur'd Bones;
Too late convinc'd of Cundum's sov'reign Use,
Hail Manes of Love-propagating Pimp!
Long since deceas'd, and long by me ador'd;
From whose prolific Brain, by lucky Hit,
Or Inspiration from all gracious Heaven,
First sprang the mighty Secret; Secret to guard
From Poison virulent of unsound Dame.
Hail, happy Albion, in whose fruitful Land
The wond'rous Pimp arose, from whose strange Skill
In inmost Nature thou hast reap'd more Fame,
More solid Glory, than from Newton's Toil;
Newton who next is England's noblest Boast:
If aught I can presage, as Smyrna once,
Chios and Colophon, and Rhodian Isle,
Famous for vast Colosos; and Argos fair
And Salamis, well known for Grecian Flight
With mighty Xerxes; and the Source of Arts,
High Athens! long contended for the Praise
Of Homer's Birth-place, egregious Bard!
In after Times so shall with warm Dispute
Europa's rival Cities proudly strive,
Ambitious each of being deem'd the Seat
Where Cundums first drew vital Air,
Too cruel Fate -- Partial to human Race --
To us propitious -- But O hard Decree!
Why, why so long in darksome Womb of Night
Dwelt the profound Arcanum, late reveal'd;
Say I not rather why, ye niggard Stars,
Are not your Blessings given unpall'd with Ill,
And Love, your greatest Blessing, free from Curse,
Curse of Disease! How many gallant Youths
Have fallen by the Iron Hand of Death
Untimely, immature: As if, to Love,
Your everlasting Purpose, were a Crime.
But, O ye Youths, born under happier Stars,
Britainnia's chiefest Hope! upon whose Cheeks
Gay Health sits smiling, and whose nervous Limbs
Sweet Ease, her Offspring fair! invigorates,
Unbrac'd as yet by foul Contagion,
Fav'rites of Fortune! let th' unhappy Lot
Of others teach you timely to beware;
That when replete with Love, and spur'd by Lust,
You seek the Fair-one in her Cobweb Haunts,
Or when allur'd by Touch of passing Wench,
Or caught by Smile insidious of the Nymph
Who in Green Box at Playhouse nightly flaunts,
And fondly calls thee to Love's luscious Feast,
Be cautious, stay a while 'till fitly arm'd
With Cundum Shield, at Rummer best supply'd,
Or never-failing Rose; so you may thrum
Th' ecstatic Harlot, and each joyous Night
Crown with fresh Raptures; 'till at least unhurt,
And sated with the Banquet, you retire.
By me forwarn'd thus may you ever treat
Love's pleasing Paths in blest Security.