The Black and White of Sex: The Evolution of My Own Sexual Morality Part I of ?

I've been thinking about sexual ethics and morality for some time now and cl posted some comments by Dan Savage on her blog and it prompted me to break out the keyboard and re-start my own string of posts where I can explore my own desire to develop a sexual ethic or morality. I noticed as I went back and looked at my blog, morality concerns were some of my first posts, dealing with Georgetown Law School's Moral Value Project, a case study in seduction, and my very first post on the morality of the treatment of two young women coming of age sexually.

Growing up Mormon created an ambiguous arena for determining appropriate sexual conduct. On one hand, the Puritanistic version of Mormon morality gave a simple letter of the law version of sexual morality that made up for what it was lacking in practicality (no necking?) by being extraordinarily clear. No sex before marriage. No extramarital sex. No masturbating. No petting. No necking. Completely impractical in light of most people's biological imperatives, but you always knew how you were sinning.

Most people and at the very least, me, are loathe to think that they are consistently sinners. I started to develop a complex that I was the most lacivious man on the planet and I found strange comfort in the more esoteric doctrine of the religion that had brought me to this spot. Something warps in the brain when you feel you are a sexual sinner, but that your religion offers you the promise of multiple sex partners -- at least at some point in eternity.

The first difficulty faced when abandoning an ethical code is the absence of an ethical code. The ethical and moral restraints are deemed invalid and chaos steps in to fill the gap. The choice I was faced with after abandoning the sexual morality of my youth was what type of behavior guidelines should I set for myself?

What did I personally believe is moral? What do I see as my own personal sexual ethics?

I essentially adopted a scientific approach in my efforts to establish a sexual ethic. (Yes, I know the labs have been hell, but you have to experiment if you are going to be a scientist.) I found out a couple of things fairly quickly, even when I was still attempting to be the quintessential Boy Scout.

The first realization I made as a young teenager was that sexual contact created expectations in other people -- and it didn't have to be much, holding hands could be a significant moral dilemna. The same contact (holding hands for this example) would create totally different expectations in me and in the girl whose hand I held. If she held my hand, I saw it as a signal that she liked me and maybe she would talk to me the next time I called her on the phone. If I held her hand, she would feel like I was crowding her space and she wanted me to get the hell away (or maybe that is just all women). The physical action was the same, the emotional expectations completely opposite. I began to see the hard fast rules as one way to force everyone into the same world vision.

This didn't last of course, because damn it, people wouldn't follow the rules. Fortunately, I did find one advantage to the well known and stringent Mormon morality that was obeyed more in its defiance than observance. It gave me a hell of a way to break up with girls I just wanted to make out with. You meet the girl at church or BYU. You make out for a couple of weeks until you get into the light petting and severe tonsil hockey. You don't call for a couple of days after a make out session. You meet her on a public bench somewhere and tell her that you have been wracked with guilt for violating the law of chastity with her. You are crazy about her, but you just know that if you spend any more time with her, you won't be able to restrain yourself any further, so continuing to see her is out of the question, because she is just so damn hot. And then I was free. Although I felt that somewhere in there, that in my obedience to the letter of the law I was violating its spirit.

Those are only some of the early seeds of my evolving sexual ethics and there is much more to follow, but I'm pushing that unseen blog word limit -- and my bed time (going there alone, thank you very much -- if I was getting laid do you think I'd have time to write about sexual morality?). Let me conclude with two salient features that I believe are essential to a legitimate sexual morality.

1. Compassion and empathy for the other person's expectations. (2nd Person Subjective)

2. An understanding of social and cultural context. (3rd Person Subjective)

If you base your own actions based on a clear understanding of both the other person (or people) involved and on the societal reaction, then you can at least begin to make decisions that border on the ethical.

I would love to hear your comments and thoughts on how you have dealt with sexual morality and ethical issues. Most productive philosophical discussions take place in the realm of dialogue.

Political Prosecutions

Certain things make me feel like I've got bugs crawling out of my eyes and one of those things is political prosecutions. Two headlines converged yesterday and I haven't seen any commentary that combined the two. First, the conviction of Scooter Libby for perjury and obstruction of justice lead the national news. I have to say that I was always opposed to the Iraq War and even the Afghanistan War before they ever even started and am completely disgusted with the Bush Administration's efforts to hornswaggle the U.S. into an Iraqi invasion. Yet, I feel for Scooter Libby, because he is caught in legal machinations that are far beyond anything he may have done. (You need to remember that he isn't charged with disclosing Valerie Plame's identity, but lying about who might have and that whoever did disclose has not been, nor will ever be prosecuted.)

The second news item was the testimony of four ousted U.S. Attorneys testifying before the Senate Judiciary Committee about being replaced because of their refusal to pursue political prosecutions. Kudos to the prosecutors who refused to succumb, but what about those who didn't?

The message of both of these stories is the same: Criminal prosecutions are a political tool. Prosecutors hold a quasi-judicial role, in which they should represent the interest of the people, not a political party or political position.

If anything, I'd want people to look with huge skepticism at prosecutions that could have a political motivation. This is the same skeptical approach to any exercise of group power. I have an on-going debate with my brother, who tilts heavily to the right, about what or who is to be most feared. I fear groups -- government, religion, and courts -- because their capacity to do harm unabated is far greater than any one lone crazy individual. He thinks the individual criminal/terrorist element is to be the most feared. Of course, his fear is misplaced.

The larger, the more organized the group, the greater the capacity to do harm to the individual. The last week I've watched footage from World War II Germany and have been reading the new book of George Weller's censored news accounts from Nagasaki one month after the atomic bomb went off, First Into Nagasaki. Our modern problems pale in comparison to the massive destruction inflicted in World War II by both sides. Our recent excursion into Iraq shows just how much damage the concerted effort of our country can inflict. The American capability to inflict violence makes the 9-11 terrorist efforts pale in comparison.

Humans seem destined to want to inflict pain and suffering on other humans. Groups most love to inflict pain on disaffected individuals or on other groups. The only check that we have on the use of violence by the group is a legal system or the rule of law. The perversion of the rule of law to point the guns specifically for the powerful is what makes the political prosecution so insidious.

Black Snake Moan: A Movie Review

I love movies. My taste in movies smacks occasionally of voyeurism. I'm am particularly grateful to Tipper Gore and those who think that they should assume a parental role in my life of video and music consumption, because I look for anything like this on my movies and music:

(I have no idea why this NC-17 sticker talks about losing your head, because I prefer NC-17 shows about giving, rather than losing head, but it was the only MPAA image I could find.)

I'm also grateful for the additional detail that they include with the ratings, so that I know if an R-rated movie has the added verbiage, "Strong Sexual Content" I won't be too disappointed.

This said I had seen the previews and I had to go see Black Snake Moan, starring Samuel Jackson and Christina Ricci. The previews show a particularly white trashy looking Ricci adorned in a half-T shirt, white panties and a chain, having been captured by Samuel Jackson's character.

From a purely guilty pleasure voyeuristic element, the $5.50 entrance price would have been worth it to watch Ricci play the white trash slut. The movie provided a lot more than that.

I've read a couple of different reviews in the local papers and nationally and the opinions about this movie range wildly, but I liked it a lot, mostly for how it played with conventional notions of sexuality, race and the effect of sex. The tease to get you into the theater is that Samuel Jackson plays a whacked out religious character who chains up a naked white girl to knock the devil slut out of her. All of the evil black man (coupled with the equally dangerous evil religious kook) taking sexual advantage of the poor white girl is raised in all its titillating glory. You just know from the previews that he is going to do her.

Well, as much fun as previews are, that is why you go to the movies, because they don't always turn out the way that you expect. The more I think about this movie and write about it, the more I like it, especially its positive treatment of sexuality. If you haven't seen the movie and don't want to spoil the plot, then stop reading now and come back after you've seen the show, because I'm going to reveal key plot points.

Ricci's character, Rae is a sexual mess. She is a nymphomaniac that screws everything that moves (including at one point in kind of a humorous scene an unsuspecting teenage boy). Her insatiable appetite is primarily designed to numb the pain she feels from the sexual abuse at the hands of one of her mom's boyfriends (and with her mother's knowledge).

Her captor and eventual savior is Samuel Jackson's Lazarus. Lazarus is toting his own sexual scars, including his wife leaving him for his brother and his wife aborting their child, which he desperately wanted. At times he conflates Rae with his wife and for a moment you feel that he has lost it and is simply exacting revenge on his ex-wife vicariously through Rae.

His efforts to help Rae (despite her attempts at seducing Lazarus) never turn sexual. He genuinely wants to help this girl and by the end of the movie as he gives her away as a bride, it is clear what he wanted -- he wanted a child, a daughter. He lost his child through his wife's abortion. He found a child, ironically a child whose mother pointedly says she didn't want, and adopts her emotionally. He treats her like a father.

One scene that some may feel is out of place with this analysis of the movie is when Lazarus decides to go back and play the Blues at the gin joint and drags Rae along so she can revel in the Bacchanalia. Yet, I liked this too, because it seemed to affirm the wild nature of sexuality and the need to acknowledge the wild side, even when you try and keep it grounded and focused to perform the magic it can on relationships. In fact, the movie ends with Rae using her sexuality to comfort and connect with her new husband, played by Justin Timberlake (who was the weakest link in this movie -- I just didn't buy his character).

The metaphor of the chain as a symbol of grounding and stability is a little bit outrageous, but hey, at least it is a metaphor in a movie. To top it all off, the movie has a nice blues soundtrack to add guitar licks and squeals to the story and visuals.

Great movie, story and message -- or I just really like looking at a white trash Christina Ricci.

Emotional Cover Up

Number 2 - Hands, originally uploaded by Tin Green.

I'm still adapting to the new the art style of blogging. Blogs are a conglomeration of so much that attempting to utilize the entire canvas of the blog can be overwhelming at times. At this point, I've observed or seen that blogs contain a mix 0f social interaction, journalism , Internet bravado, Internet Arcania, self-disclosure, self-obscurement, scholarly discourse, visual elements (of which I'm particularly fond), audio (a future goal of mine), prose forms, poetic forms, serialized fiction, non-fiction, diary/journal entries, humor, hate, compassion and on ad infinitum.

Each blog has its own personality and style that reflects its creator(s) creative vision. I definitely have a vision for where I want to go with my blog and the pressure I feel and the comments from the readers provide a fantastic impetus for propelling me forward in realizing something that fifteen years ago, I would have seen as a complete pipe dream. I am constantly concerned about the quality of my blog and have continued to add (particularly this last week) to posts saved as drafts that I am working on.

Today's post I'm writing without edit and in a stream of consciousness burst, mostly because I've felt like I've been silent too long. From my last post, I'm assuming that it is kind of obvious that I was feeling a little down and publishing to the blog during that time would have felt a little like exposing myself (thus the tenuous connection to the picture for this entry, which is a female and I justify that depression is a manifestation of my feminine side) and instead I decided to cover up in silence.

I know and am grateful for the readers I have accumulated so far. Besides exploring my own creativity, the blog provides me feedback on my ability to communicate and connect. Reviewing old posts and ideas, gives me a version of my creative self that I can continue to develop and explore. I blog for creative expression primarily. I blog some for social interaction and a some for dealing with personal issues that are close to me. The creative expression obviously includes aspects of the artist -- blogs are our digital shadows cast on the concrete of the Internet.

What does your shadow say about you?

Comfortably Numb: Sex and The Departed -- An Academy Award Special

I hadn't seen The Departed and went and rented it after the Academy Awards last night. Besides being numbingly violent, the violence was syncopated with a sex motif. The sex in the show is as callous and unfeeling as the ease with which the characters pull out guns and shoot each other.

During a climactic scene one of the characters says to the other, "Is that what this is all about --all that murderin' and fuckin' and no sons." The movie never lets us know what happened to the one son that is conceived -- or even who the father of that son is or if the child is yet another victim, another of the departed.

The sex is sterile.

The one sex scene in the show is serenaded by Van Morrison covering Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb. Being a child of the 70's I knew Comfortably Numb was a drug song, but I always loved the lyrics because numbness was and is an emotion I have aspired to. Life can be painful enough that if death isn't a consummation to be devoutly wished for, numbness is. Until tonight, I'd never tied that song's melancholy emotion to sex. Maybe for that insight alone, The Departed deserved the Oscar.

Hello.Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me.Is there anyone home?
Come on, now.I hear youre feeling down.
Well I can ease your pain,Get you on your feet again.
Relax.I need some information first.Just the basic facts:
Can you show me where it hurts?

There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ships smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I cant hear what youre sayin.

When I was a child I had a fever.
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I got that feeling once again.
I cant explain, you would not understand.
This is not how I am.I have become comfortably numb.

Ok.Just a little pinprick. [ping]Therell be no more --aaaaaahhhhh!
But you may feel a little sick.Can you stand up?
I do believe its working. good.
Thatll keep you going for the show.
Come on its time to go.

There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ships smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I cant hear what youre sayin.
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone.
I cannot put my finger on it now.
The child is grown, the dream is gone.
I have become comfortably numb.

My inner child is grown and gone. Sex more often than not becomes an escape from the twelve hour work days, the pressures of life. For a moment there is no pain. The dream may be gone, but for awhile, hard and inside her, I'm at last pleasantly and comfortably numb. Numb is good, because it hurts pretty much every fucking where.

WTF Friday Poetry: She -- Oral Sex and the Crucifixion

This week's poem addresses muses that crucifixion and oral sex are not necessarily antithetical. The lead photo is one that I purchased at the Salt Lake City Arts Festival many years ago. The side bar pictures came from here, don't think they'll mind my borrowing a few with a link.

Crown of thoughts
Pricking and drawing blood
From the brow
Furrowed in thought.

Daughter of God
The juice of life flows
From her lips
Suckling the universe --

She is of the flesh.
She is of the body.
She is spirit made.
She is to be sacrificed.

Making martyrs
Out of my women
Impaled on the cross
Of my desire

Blood drains out
Nailed and crucified
Phallic incisions
Crossways –

Sword enters her
Drawing water --
Euphrates, Tigris
Wellsprings of life
Kneeling at her feet

Head buried in worship
Searching for the spark
Of life.
The flesh twitches
In her death throes
The tongue tastes
Her baptismal water.

Born of the fire
Of passion
Reborn in the moisture
Slaking my praying tongue.
My voice hums
Out Hosanna
I kneel, I pray --
At birth’s door.

An Experiment In Internet Linkage Or My Blogs are Fucking

Today's post is a hyperlink footnote.