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...over-educated and under-experienced, or so they say...

Friday, August 20, 2010

Lacan and The Junk Trunk

[Disclaimer: This has been a long time coming. And for the non-academic, I will not only do my best to break down the ludicrously complicated aspects of this subject matter into somewhat comprehensible terms, I will do my best to make it as entertaining as possible. And for the academics (particularly those still holding the torch for psychoanalytic theory), I really could care less if I offend you or if you want to correct me or if you think I take something out of context or what ever. At this point, this isn't about academic accuracy nor am I trying to impress you with my understanding of Freud and his stupid cohorts. The beauty of finally being outside of the academic world is that I finally get to say what I want, when I want, where I want, and how I want with no regard for impressing "the powers that be" and no concern for a letter grade or publication. Oh, and I should probably add, for those who may be "faint at heart" when it comes to speaking openly about certain body parts and their theoretical significance in the Psychoanalytic realm, as well as an aversion to the "F word" and perhaps a few "D words" and such, this post is most likely not for you at all.]

I threw Lacan in the junk trunk the other day. I have a book that I used in one of my graduate classes called _Feminine Sexuality_ by Jacques Lacan and I usually save all of my books (even though this one in particular is far from useful) just in case I may need or want to reference them at some random point in the future. (What a Land Agent may need Lacan for, I don't know, but this is how I roll.) Anyway, I was cleaning up and reorganizing a bit around here, and I found myself standing there with this stupid book in my hand. I stared at the cover for a minute and I felt myself hate the thing and I flipped it open to one of the sections that the broken binding indicates I spent much time reading, and I read, "There is no such thing as The woman since of her essence -- having already risked the term, why think twice about it? -- of her essence, she is not at all." At that point, I closed the book, walked over to what I currently refer to as the junk trunk, and I threw it in there. I then sent a text message to an old colleague of mine who knows my loathe for Lacan, and told her what I did. She responded with, "Good. And I anticipate a blog post on this action?"

Hell yes! You ready for this? Here we go:

Excuse me, Mr. Lacan, but I would like to say that my lack of a "phallus," as you like to politely refer to it, does not mean that I am lacking. I am inclined to say that I am The Woman, completely whole, in all that I think, say, write, and do spiritually, intellectually, physically, and sexually. I take serious issue with your claim that The Woman doesn't know what she's saying, "which is all the difference between [The Woman and you]" because your genitalia (symbolically or otherwise) happens to be all that and a bag of chips and The Woman gets to enjoy said chips as a "supplementary' as opposed to "complementary" component of your own or any man's physical existence. Are you fucking kidding me???

And you're damn right "there is a jouissance of being," you're damn right there is "a jouissance beyond the phallus," and you're damn right that "thought is jouissance." So here's a thought for you: the world does not revolve around the damn phallus. (and while I'm at it, stop referring to The Woman as "castrated" because castrated implies that The Woman had something to castrate in the first place, and the last time I checked, creationists and evolutionists alike would agree, The Woman has nothing, nor ever had anything, to castrate in the first place, you idiot. And I'm pretty sure all phallus bearing men in the real world cringe whenever you use that word anyway so... do us all a favor and just shut up on that one too.)

And if "truth" really is "the name of that ideal movement which discourse introduces into reality," then let's have a little bit of discourse about your statement that The Woman's "condition is fundamentally that of accepting herself as an object of desire for the man." First of all, the word "condition" implies that being the object of desire for the man is a disease or ailment that The Woman must bring to the attention of a physician and receive a prescription for an antibiotic of some kind. As far as The Woman is concerned, being the object of desire places the power of negotiation right in the palm of her manipulative hand. Additionally, The Woman is well aware that her curves are enticing, that she is lovely and quite often the object of lust and desire, but The Woman also knows that it doesn't matter if you're the big time executive upstairs or the crazy stalker from behind the counter at Walgreens, you aint gettin' any unless The Woman says so. And should you try to take it by force, at least This Woman will rip your trachea out and well... that's pretty much that. Furthermore, The Woman is well aware of the power of her appearance in the business world: her smile, the twinkle in her eye, her raised eyebrow, the placement of her hair, the hint of a form beneath her conservative business suit. But as The Woman sits in the conference room, sharing her thoughts and ideas on how things are and where they should go, the employer cares more about what The Woman brings to the table in a business sense than whether or not The Woman's appearance may or may not have invoked a fleeting moment of desire in their minds, because what The Woman brings with her mind is what makes everything financially and professionally lucrative for them, you idiot.

And finally, I would like to address the fact that you continually reference the male and his phallus as the subject, relegating The Woman to the object and ultimately defining the woman as The Other -- little more than a figment of the male imagination, your egotistical way of taking credit for thinking The Woman into existence. I am specifically talking about this notion that The Woman "[follows] from the deviation of man's needs by the fact that he speaks, in the sense that as long as his needs are subjected to demand they return to him alienated. This is not the effect of his real dependency but precisely of the putting into signifying form as such and of the fact that it is from the place of the Other that his message is emitted." Seriously? As far as This Woman is concerned, this translates to, "wow... she had a good idea there. Well, that wasn't really her own thought, that was mine. She's just here because I need her to be, because I imagined her into my own existence, and she's basically telling me my own thoughts and words anyway." Shut up, little French man. You are the epitome of what This Woman would call an egotistical prick with enough education and rhetoric behind him to make an average male's response sound intellectual. The "truth" is, as brought into reality by this discourse, you're no different than the guy in the white wife-beater shirt with a Paps beer in his hand sitting on the patio of his double-wide at the local trailer park. The Woman is her own id and ego and whatever the hell else your stupid mentor Freud called it. And if you imagined me into being at all, I guess I must be your worst nightmare because I'm pretty sure anything The Woman said here wasn't a part of the "message" you wanted "emitted."

So... my dear friend, it is finished. After I write out the pages of your work that I referenced, you're going back into the junk trunk and it's there you will stay until I decide to take you down to the used bookstore for someone else to fondle. Now put that in your fat phallic pipe and smoke it.

[for those of you who are interested, and for the sake of citing my source, I referenced _Feminine Sexuality_ by Jacques Lacan, Edited by Juliet Mitchell and Jacqueline Rose. The various quotations and references were taken from the following pages: 63; 68; 79-81; 83; 142; and 144-145]

1 comment:

  1. Just two words, Pandora, evocative, I would imagine, of both jouissance and plaisir: f*ck lacan.