What are the philosophical underpinnings of traditional concepts of the gendered subject

and how might queer notions of subjectivity pervert and transform this inherited history?


Hahahaha oh :(.


It's not gonna happen. Not within the next hour and a half. I'm exhausted and a somewhat more of a failure than I was prepared to deal with when I was on a caffeine high last night under the delusion that I would get this beast done. Oh well. I'm gonna go have a cigarette and read Krafft-Ebing.

krafft-ebing, jeffreys, and heidegger, oh my!

So, after reading Krafft-Ebing's brilliant account of sadomasochism and writing a ridiculously not-so-veiled response on Blackboard, I decided a good way to explore my masochistic tendencies would be to lie back on my bed with the lovely Sheila Jeffreys and let her mindfuck me for the half hour I had left before philosophy class. Bad, bad idea. The very first page is now scrawled with my sarcastic, pissed-off comments. I need to get past my emotional response but it's so hard cos most of what she's doing is so motherfucking polemical. I swear to g-d, she opens the book with a discussion of packing, a topic near and dear to my, erm, heart. She totally ignores any history to do with this fine practice and instead locates it solely as an attempt on the part of 90s dykes to valorize maleness and take on male privilege, like those outdated butches used to do back in the day. So I made the mistake of looking up "butch" in the index and was subsequently treated to some very careful, finetoothed scholarship as to how butchness in general and stone butchness more particularly ought to be surmounted in favor of letting your lover touch yr breasts, which you should not disavow because as a butch you are, after all, a woman. Whereas in the 70s, thanks to the saving grace of a surprisingly paternalistic feminism, butches were saved from their masculinity by loving their female bodies in rather conventional ways, the recent queer approach has been for butches to cut up our bodies. I paraphrase, but not much.

In short, this woman makes me want to curl up in a ball and die.

But then I had philosophy class and I got to talk about Heidegger and I think I actually understood some of it, because Borradori assigned me and another jovial lad to present on what we covered in class tomorrow. So, I get to talk about the distinctions between the ontic and the ontological at 10:30 in the a.m. Still, I love philosophy. Philo-sophia, word.

I have a great sense of work now, of purpose. Like, I am now writing and living in opposition to certain 'feminist' understandings of my fucking being, and I am now writing and working and living in the service of certain other feminist understandings of possible ways of being.

I hope that wasn't too obnoxious of a statement. I really feel it. It's great, this purpose.

(no subject)

I am taking a much-needed, if not well-deserved, break from work for the evening. I'm tired. I need a huge glass of water. After my liason with Jeffreys all I wanna read tonight is Michelle Tea's, erm, graphicnovel. So I think I'm hanging out with Matt, TA51, Kaeden and Ryan, and TA9 tonight. If I end up at the Mug it's going to be sad, in that way when the music's lame and you don't dance anyway, but not in the *actually* sad way where you check out a hot queer boy and then get thisclose to a panic attack while walking home. All in all, I forsee a good night.

Plus, I look really fucken cute. I'm sorry, it's true. White t-shirt with suspenders, blue cords, and red boots, plus an off-white scarf. What really ties it together is the poofy-militant black jacket, which accents the suspenders.

Okay so I'm ridiculous. But man.

I miss my red scarf. I think I lost it in TX. Also, I'm on the prowl for a crimson v-neck sweater that doesn't grab strangely at my chest but isn't too baggy. So, you know, if you're cleaning out yr closet and have something, I can trade you...I dunno, something.