Posted on September 17, 2005 at 22:59:49.
In Reply to: |Depeupleur: She-It| posted by RN
Girl3, or the self-fucked man (a response to IT)
By M Satai
Girl3, or The self-fucked man
There are several inroads to “penetrating” the idea of the transexual and every single one of them doesn’t touch it, doesn’t lead to a definitive orgasm. The transexual is, in essence, unfuckable. The subject demands an unstructured seduction--it prefers an unfocussed foreplay full of misdirection, changes of pace, and erotic invention: and virtually all of this strategy is an exercise in a narcissistic onanism that seeks as release a suicidal apocalypse of sex, survival, and selfhood. It is an abandonment: of everything.
I hadn’t made the connection of the transgender/transexual issue directly to Schwarzenegger’s Terminator but it’s curious to see that in Terminator 3, Schwarzenegger’s nemesis is a female Terminator--and she is actually a refinement of his technology. She is what Schwarzenegger’s robot is “becoming” if technological advance is seen as a metaphor for evolution. This new femme Terminator is every bit as self-contained, unisexual, invulnerable, non-generative as the original. She’s every bit as “masculine” and yet indisputably “over-feminine.” She’s a death-machine in drag.
Whether building an irresistibly sexy female killer robot or applying beard concealer and false tits for a night at a transvestite bar, one is constructing a hyper-femininity that is more powerful than femininity. The fake, as Baudrillard says, is more real than the real because the fake adopts only the elements symbolic of whatever it’s representing. The guy in drag exaggerates his dress, his look, his “femininity”--he is sexier than any woman by the strategic annihilation of all masculinity. A fake girl has to be more girl than any girl to overcome not being a girl at all. As a result, h/she transcends becoming a girl altogether.
H/she truly achieves a trans-gender. H/she’s like no other creature that exists *naturally.* H/she is It: a nuclear holocaust in the field of gender.
That the figure of the transexual is a psychological projection of an impossibly undiluted femininity onto a void which is then worn, literally and metaphorically, in the form of sexy underwear and high heels is irrelevant. What the transexual becomes, even in spite of himself, is a new kind of creature, neither female, nor male. Nor is it a matter, as many she-males, transsexuals and transvestites might like to have it, that they are females trapped in a masculine body, or “male lesbians.” What becomes obvious with any contact with these curious, alien creatures is that they have dissolved the gender differential ties within themselves to form a true chaos of undifferentiated potentiality that is virtually self-fertilized. They have achieved not just an effective androgyny--but a solipsistic, self-referential, circular completion that is impregnated with a meaning which is never quite delivered. They truly are not-of-this-earth.
What can be more “anti-survival,” sexually speaking, than intercourse with a transexual--or a she-male transvesite? More poignantly than ordinary gay sex, transsexual sex is a pestilential parody of biologically survival-appropriate sexual relations: it’s a perversion to the nth degree. It’s a willful flaunt in the face of the nature of things. It is a scorn. Note the ridicule that transsexuals and, especially, transvestites and she-males almost invariably receive socially--while, by comparison, homosexuals have for years achieved widespread legal protection and social acceptance. The transgendered person represents the ultimate threat to survival--and the ultimate promise of an attitude beyond survival. It’s an ironic, anarchic--even nihilistic--attitude: it’s a suicidal strategy. From the times of the cross-dressed shaman, the castrated priests of the ancient earth goddesses--the transgendered It has been a taboo: both sacred and disgusting, fascinating and loathed.
The transsexual proves the line of ascendance of the masculine to be the relevant line of “evolution,” or de-evolution, as the case may be, not because it moves towards the feminine, but precisely because it moves beyond the feminine, beyond both, to It. The “feminine” proves to be a projection conveniently projected upon an “unnecessary” sex--the biological female--to be re-integrated after being gestated (carried) by the biological female, but this is an inflammatory and, on the surface, seemingly reactionary and patriarchal viewpoint, that I’d prefer not to follow at this point. Suffice to say, that female to male transgender is “neutered” and carries very little seductive charge or outrage factor. The transgendered services death and the end of history: it is an unpopulated landscape.
Marco Vassi, the erotic philosopher, noted that there is nothing sexier than a woman with an erect penis. Can that be doubted? A male-turned-female is a suicide--a suicide of the power and privilege of patriarchal inheritance to acquire a helplessness that is far more helpless than that of any biological female--because of all that is voluntarily lost--and thus ever-more powerful. Who--in a sexual situation--can be more potently vulnerable than a man exposed in a dress, hobbled by high heels, decorated with nail polish and make-up? A man, let’s note, who is bending over or kneeling to offer not just his open ass and mouth for penetration--but his “prettied-up” ass and mouth, psuedo-cunts, for unproductive “defilement.” A man, let’s not forget, who is voluntarily “castrating” himself either surgically, chemically, or metaphorically, giving up his propensity to penetration for surface crawl, his urge to depth for superficiality, his natural verticality for horizontality? What sexual creature can possibly so *compromised*, so willfully deconstructed, so “suicidal“? And, in being so compromised, so abandoned, and so dis-played, what sexual creature can be so perverse, so untouchable--so desirable? A woman with an erect penis is the universe ready to fuck you: it’s a suicide by injection of the cosmos, a semen-stream of stars. A woman with an erect penis has the potentiality to make a receptive vessel out of anyone, including any man: It has the power to perforate masculinity, to poke a hole in fixed identity, and open a way for the inchoate, for the complete disorganization of everything, to enter. The she-male fertilizes the world with the alien: it carries the seed of the after human.
Although never quite achieving female “perfection,” although always situated firmly in the realm of “illusion,” although seldom ever acquiring the much-sought-after goal of “passing,” the fake girl is nevertheless always a “success” on some level insofar as It is never actually expected to achieve a complete likeness anyway, and is therefore often credited with looking “even as much as a woman” as It does--even if that’s not much at all. “What pretty legs he has for a man,” is representative of the kind of comments you often hear. The fake girl, paradoxically, doesn’t have to be as pretty as a real girl--the perversion factor, the voluntarily disadvantageous position the fake girl puts Itself in makes up the difference between illusion and reality in sheer sexiness: the illusion *is* more powerful than the reality. Looking through the transsexual and she-male ads at the back of a free weekly newspaper available on virtually every other street corner in New York City, one can’t help but take a double and triple take: Is that really a guy?, one continually asks. What escapes one while asking such a question is that the answer, of course, is “No.” But if one were to ask, “Is it a girl?”, one would equally be forced to answer, “No.” What is it then but It? What is It then but something we want to touch but can’t, unless we become It, and lose everything we are--becoming something we are not. Becoming something self-born. Something which, by our usual reckoning, we would correctly--and inaccurately--term a “dead-end.”
Becoming something…Else.
--MS