joysette

Sunday, December 28, 2008

A Sociological Treatise on the Patriarchy of the Roman Catholic Church Or How My Faith Made Me a Masochist

There is no denying that the Catholic church is the most erotic, tempting, and succulent faith in the Western world. Saturated with eroticism and sadistic punishments through the centuries, the first time a woman gets down subserviently on her knees for a man, she is doing so within the walls of a Catholic church. Her eyes are emblazoned with the image of Christ nailed to the cross, on an impending crucifix that is the centerpiece of suffering at the Liturgy of the Eucharist. She drinks of the sacrificial blood given to her by a sinful man shrouded in pure white cloth, a man that she is told to call Father. The patriarchal organization treats her like a whore; images of Mary Magdalene, Delilah, Eve, are all flashed before her as Christian examples of womanhood. She is already the perpetual great sinner of the world because she has a cunt between her legs.

Without her knowledge, woman becomes the evil that cannot stop from happening. Every pleasurable thought, every sensual whisper, each caress of her delicate body is a reason for shame, guilt, and sadness. Guilt becomes like leather straps that mark and brand across her back and chest, sexual shame becomes the rocks hurled at her by the crowd that calls her slut, and she is bonded to her sins by the masochistic pleasure that she derives from her public humiliation for private trespasses.

For years, when she entered a mans place of worship, she had to cover her bare arms and her long hair, because it was tempting to the blameless men of the congregation. Long hair, a sign of sexual submission to a man, did not belong in the house of God but on her husbands chest when she lay on top of him at night. The wanton sinner could not flaunt her flaxen hair while kneeling in the pews, she might provoke a man out of his fake celibacy. Always, she is on her knees, feeling every lash of Christs punishment inside of her thighs.

Most of the sexually dominant men I have had interactions with are or were raised Catholic. All their lives, they have witnessed the men being the dominant rulers of society, and specifically of the One Holy Apostolic Church. They are just taking their leads from the Catholic men that are always on center stage, while the women sit in the back pews, cloaked in black and protected by their shame.

Submission grants women their salvation. It is Mary Magdalene that subserviently washes Jesus feet and dries them with her long, beautiful hair. It is only after her submission can we perceive her as a saved woman. We watch Veronica wipe the face of Jesus in the sixth station of the cross, she accepts his blood and tears in this cleansing, sometimes erotic gesture.

It is said, in traditional sadomasochistic theory, that it is really the submissive that is in control. It is of this writers opinion that this in invariably true. A wise older man once told me that it was women who held the church together through the millennia, though the priests stood on the altar with their sacrificial robes, the women of the cloth were the pillars on which the church stood. It is the female Catholic that is taught how to manipulate a man by her sexuality. From the time we are little girls in pure white dresses to the days we spent sneaking fleeting kisses behind the sacred tabernacle, we were taught that it was female sexuality that obtained the head of John the Baptist from an immoral man, female sexuality that took away Samsons impervious strength, innate female sexuality that tempted Adam into biting into the proverbial fruit of good and evil. Through Christian example, I have been taught that the way to get what I want from men comes from the heat radiating from my lustful womb.

As a Catholic woman, I was taught that every sin of the flesh was a reason to repent, to confess my sins to a man that knew nothing about the desires of a young, succulent woman. For every delicious orgasm that rocked through my body, another lash of fire was struck against my soul, preventing me from eternal salvation. However, it is through submission that free will temporarily becomes the responsibility of another, and guilt is erased. It is in the satin collar that wraps around ones neck that deliverance is guaranteed and a lustful appetite can be innocently satiated. As a masochistic Catholic, I have fused my faith with my sexuality, in the most sardonic victory of my soul.
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Friday, December 26, 2008

My review of 9 and 1/2 weeks or the time Mickey Rourke made me wet and Kim Basinger made me exclaim, "You stupid, ungrateful bitch!"

*Don't worry. This review does NOT contain spoilers*

Giving a movie an intriguing title is an exciting concept, if that intrigue leads to something. Midway through this movie, I thought to myself, "Do they call it 9 and 1/2 weeks because that's how long I feel I've been watching Kim Basinger's character pretend to have a giant piece of flat iron lodged up her ass?"

For a greater portion of my adult life, people have been pushing this movie on me like as if it was as good as Vanilla Almond Bark Tofutti. "You have to see it." "If you liked Secretary, you've gotta see this shit!" I think, in reality, these people were true sadists and enjoy the idea of my suffering.

Words can not describe how awful I thought this movie was. It was this story about this idiotic art gallery lady, Elizabeth (Basinger) who meets this delicious specimen of a man, John (Rourke) who lavishes her with attention and an excitement she's only previously achieved through selling worthless pieces of art, or whatever it is she does for a living. [This, by the way, was a stupid profession for her to have. They should have made her position something more appropriate to her obvious intelligence, like maybe elephant shit scraper.] Elizabeth proceeds, throughout the whole movie, to pretend not to like it when he asks her to do things like crawl on the floor, be blindfolded, or spread her legs at a department store.

My absolute favorite scene in the movie was when Elizabeth wouldn't put her hands up against the wall and lift her skirt for a spanking (she was *gasp* bad and looked through his closet). John bitch-slaps her, slams her against the table, and gives her some good lovin'. I was so excited when he slapped her that I could almost imagine the sting on my own hand. So first she's all huffy and puffy, ready to walk out the door because he wants to brighten her ungrateful ass cheeks with a warm hand. Now that she's been nice and fucked, she's moaning and gasping like the stupid whore that she obviously is.

This movie is barely sexy. Anything sexy that John attempts to initate is ruined by Elizabeth pretending she's some sort of blushing virgin and she's not allowed to be sexy. An agonizing ten minute scene in the movie includes her stupid ass doing this strip tease for him (by the way, all nude scenes were not Basinger, but a double) and what I've gathered from her display is that she was actually just spasming because that stick lodged up her ass was finally affecting her central nervous system.

In the end SHE LEAVES HIM. (Hahaha! Spoiler! Sorry.*) I still haven't figured out a reason why, other than the fact that she's a stupid, ungrateful whore.

The only thing that made this movie watchable was the adorable, suave character played by Mickey Rourke. But I just looked on IMDB and saw that he is, in fact, now ugly. This movie was a pathetic piece of shit, obviously written by a stupid coked-up team of dork-ass female writers wearing giant shoulder pads and Aquanet.

*Obviously, I am not sorry about the spoiler. You should worship me for saving you two hours of time out of your life that could be used for doing sexier things, like fly fishing.