Infant Universalism And Gendered Race: A Brief Study Of Sexual Difference

The call to abolish the police can be seen through the lens of … sexual difference. The feminine position is to abolish the police because they are a threat to the black body, which is inscribed with the signifier rather than holding it. There is no need to confirm this through logics or universals.

I have to admit, I often wish to be thought of as a neutral subjectivity despite my graduate school’s various lesbian professors’ excellent explanations about why that is bad. Infantilely I desire something with no race, no gender, no nothing! This is of course, always when it is most convenient to me. When talking with a black man about race, how nice would it be to not be in the position of the white man, history’s bad guy! This is the infantile wish. The vulgar notion. When talking to my girlfriend about gender, how I would love to be a chauvinist! This is in the same way, as I would love to eat an entire box of M&Ms nearly all the time. Ultimately, I would sicken myself, but I love a good sweet treat!

Don’t worry, this isn’t a weepy article about how you should treat all white men better (unless of course, you feel the need to treat me better specifically, which I am always in favor of). I have of course, black friends (dare I say, the cursed a-black-friend) who I am able to easily achieve this dream with. Race seems to be a total non-issue, and issues of psychology, philosophy, and politics are immediately seen as the pressing issue, and race/sexuality take the signifying position of the M&M.

But– this is infantile. This is to be treated by the world as if I am baby. Who am I? I am baby. White good. Man good. I’m baby. No need to do dishes, no need to sweep the floor, all I do is piss and roar!

On to sexual difference: When Lacan says “the woman does not ex-sist,” this can be immediately looked at as an infantile surplus. To read this in the common sense way, we can eat the M&M of chauvinism and declare, “women do not exist, I am man! I am rational! I am real! This is what Hegel said I am sure of it!”

My girlfriend does not want to read this, although she is very beautiful, she is a feminist artist who does not have the stomach to listen to these particular vulgarities. Make no mistake, they are vulgarities, but vulgarities are what crosses the line of what is and allows for new rationality.

In general, I love her because she seems to be overwhelmed by the world while I am underwhelmed by it. She declares the world to be a man’s world, and she will not submit herself to the oppression of it! I love this! And here I was, thinking the world was so trite, and so dull, now I hear that it is not only not nothing, but evil! Set up by man historically, and is this not simply the truth? And yet, I infantilely forget this.

Forget Knowledge is Power: Ignorance is Strength

In what way is ignorance is strength? Here I am vulgar again, since it is a specific kind of ignorance which is strength. The ignorance of the emotional impact of the symbolic order while still being able to traverse it smoothly is akin to strength within that order. The therapist knows this all to well, while the client on the verge of suicide is in front of the therapist, the amateur gets drawn into the emotion. The amateur leaves the office shaken, traumatized.

As a young therapist, many a nights I left the office feeling sick and feeling like my arms were dripping with blood, a vaguely psychotic phenomenon but none-the-less I stand by my conversion disorder here as nonetheless rational. “I was so much older than I’m younger than that now,” notes Bob Dylan. This points to a mastery of the symbolic order. No longer are the ills of the world hysterically pointed to as ills, but strength is given as the knowledge of the arbitrarinses of the symbolic order is fully grasped. A warning here, know that the symbolic order is not nothing. Man still functions as man, woman still functions as woman, and a white boy is still a white boy (sometimes).

America: A Symbolic Woman

What is America but the world’s biggest baby? America can grasp on to freedom and free speech, but it is harder for her to grab onto history. Of course the her of America can easily be taken up by men, as men who lack the signifying aspect of woman in their personal lives treat the country as a woman.

America is always protected from external threats, as some harm can come to her. Her flag is colorful and grasped by men with the same look in their eyes as a fat man with a wife that the less sublte might think is much too pretty for him. The fat man is stoic as he holds America by the waist, showing her off to the world. Look how good she is, look how she is the best.

America is number one, we are fucking the prettiest girl, are we not?

The patriot is a boozer, and will fight any man who talks bad on her with no inclination to the failures of his position which will undoubtedly creep up on him. Since he only has America, he is not America. He can never be America. Even when a man is a general he is a pitty excuse, he is a stoic or a puffed up fool, he is never America itself.

Miss America is the greatest Lacanian: she embodies the volksgeist and understands that America the self and her take on the same characteristic, the thing which the man has. Look how pretty she is. Do a turn. Drop a bomb, baby.

The patriot of any country grasps onto his woman in different ways. The general of a “failed state” has many such positions to it, as well as the general of a “first world” state. Yemen inspires immediate identification when the Real of it forces its citizens to know itself as citizens. The gunfire due to their citizenship becomes unavoidable. War genderizes. War tenderizes. War fragments.

Elemental Patriotism

Once the war becomes too much, a simple tendency towards identifying one’s self as having certain things becomes easier than to grasp at a flag. No soldier comes home fully identifying as a soldier, the death becomes too much. It is too much to try to be an American, at least, totally. One must be a certain kind of American.

Sarah Palin is a type of an American, and a woman. She is an Alaskan, and in the being, she is American. This is the feminine position. Or, less reactionarily, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez is a working class woman, in this sense, she is a Democratic Socialist. In the age where identity plays such a large role in the political sphere, in the rhetorical symbolic order, Zizek’s call for women as leaders is not simply a biological or symbolic notion (depending on a Freudian or Lacanian read, whichever you prefer).

What do we hold? To hold something trivial is the way to be accepted symbolically, this is clear. Who is going to smack your love of birdwatching out of your hand? You enjoyment of food? To be a chef is clearly a power play, to be a patriot is an idiots cause. To be an anti-patriot is an idiots cause. We should all be chefs if we don’t want to die, but of course we can’t help but to go to what has more fuel.

Black Lives Matter

Racial difference functions in the same symbolic manner as sexual difference. Blackness is inscribed onto a body, and one believes themselves to be black, and in this way, when one is made to be white, one is feminized. They are forced to inscribe the signifier on their body. The body becomes not simply an idea, but pulled by signifiers themselves. Integrated.

The call to abolish the police can be seen through the lens of … sexual difference. The feminine position is to abolish the police because they are a threat to the black body, which is inscribed with the signifier rather than holding it. There is no need to confirm this through logics or universals.

This is the case with nearly all activisms. There is always a contingent that pushes the demand through by demanding what may be in fact, impossible. This impossible demand is not merely something which is a failure. It is not simply a sign of a notion incomplete. The irrational is real, even if Hegel doesn’t want it to be.

Simping

Now that I have extensively covered Black Lives Matter, let’s take 1000 words here to talk about simping. The simp is the classic form of man, man has his items with which he simps with. He has knowledge, or he has his virtues.

Misogyny comes in the incel form when man does not know the true nature of his simping. To attract is obvious, but to simp is divine.

I am extraordinarily pro-simp. This is not to say I am not disgusted by simping or having to watch the simp, but I admire their genderfluidity. The simp, in his hysteria, and the simp is always male even when female, in the dream of being called daddy, offers his best of whatever he can find. The white knight is not simply an inconvenience, but something which represents the dream of mankind from time eternal.

Being is a simp-tom, Lacan knew this. I am starting to come to grips with Lacan’s ancient discovery. Some say Lacan was about linguistics, some say he was about Freud, but was he not ultimately, about the simp-tom? Simp-thomasaquinas, as outlines in Seminar 23, simped for the Catholic Church, and it was this simping which gave him his entire world. On his death bed, Thomas Aquinas was in despair. I like to think he lost his simp-tom, that he looked up, recognized his sophistry, his insistence on god, the pathetic organic nature of the men around him and himself as well, the futility of his efforts in the face of death, and croaked.

Although let’s be real, he could have just been tired. Dying is not always easy business.

Joyce was tangled, his symptom removed. Ulysses had lost his simp-tom in his wife’s betrayal, but then through the journey through Ireland, found another simp-tom entirely. His journey through Ireland, the endless navigating of the multiplicity of subjects, the tiresome vulgarity of it all, the stream of conscious, all grabbing on to the world.

Ulysseus, no longer able to simply simp his wife, went on to simp the world. Object appeared fragmented to him, and he simped those as well. Blocks on the road, lights appearing in high places, all things for him to simp with his gaze and of course, all things for Joyce to simp with his pen.

My girlfriend I am with now I simp very hard, but she is very different from my ex, who I simped in a very different manner. Being of two different minds, a normie mind, I could not connect with my ex and thus together, not being able to simp for eachother, we were forced outside, forced to simp for the world.

We simped for birds.

We simped for Star Trek.

We simped for Bernie.

I think this was good. But we both deserve a mutual simping. There is no escape from the simp-tom. It did not work, the world is not enough, in its multiplicity, Freud knows this points to the true castration of the situation. Only variations on the symptomatic, the automatic simping of existence.

The simptomat, where one goes to clean everything and present to the other, a laudrymat of simp-tom. For the new lover, the woman who I see now, I present my old signifiers differently. When they cross up, I become momentarily aware, knowing that it has to go through the simptomat. The old simping which was not good enough has to be cleaned, regenerated for the new order.

What do I make of feminism now? This requires simp-tom-metrics. I have no idea how to calibrate this. Nothing satisfies the new girl, and it shouldn’t. She is lovely, and she is well read. She sees through my sophistry, and I can not help but to see through it too. What do I know of feminisms? When did I even need feminisms except as simp-tom. Feminism, through the simptomat, becomes something new, something forbidden from me. This is good, the universal feminism which I was allowed to access, the Trudeau feminism, simply was not powerful enough to warrant a field with potential radicality.

I like forbidden section feminism. Not “TERF” dom or whatever, but that there are large intricate weaves of the past where my blundering around in them has dire consequences.

I simp the girl hard, all things will bow to the simptomat. When one has nothing left to shitpost and spit out, one must light themselves on fire. One must throw themselves into the simptomat, for the new era.

Solitude: What escapes simptometrics

I work out, I also contain my insecurities. These insecurities are mine. The self-doubt, the self-hatred, the self-resentment, given to me by my family, the world, and of course most powerfully myself.

As I work with clients, I am tempted constantly to destroy the simptomatic functions which appear to first counteract their desires. I try to “point the finger at your hole, if they are lucky you can get control.” (From an excellently titled indie rock song: “Fuck Lacan and Also Freud”) To say my profession is an exact science would have to be a lie, since I am constantly throwing the simp-taghetti at the wall, seeing what will stick and what will fall off. I just present these most sacred of artifacts to the client themselves, and they see what works and what does not.

The mask which one does not show the outside, even when they do show the outside, it may not be the most real, but it certainly has a sticky quality to it. When simp-thomasaquinas is lying on his death bed, that is what has escaped the simptomat. The simptomatical and the devastatingly material and multiple fight each other for control through the fourth dimension. Time passes and one does not know where one will be pulled. Rationality takes a hold for a while, and seems to win, but suddenly, the world appears as simp-tom.

Would you simp a rock?

I’ve seen a man simp a bug. Noted Horse Enthusiast and Music Professor Charles Rudig simps bugs and not horses.

A bug simper is cool, what can I simp?

I simp my girl, the standard format, but I stick by it.