D. H. Lawrence and the Wandervögel

Wandervögel [1] by H. M.Brock [2]

 

"And they tramped off to the forests with sturdy youths bearing guitars, twang-twang! They sang the Wandervogel songs, and they were free. Free! That was the great word. Out in the open world, out in the forests of the morning, with lusty and splendid throated young fellows, free to do as they liked, and, above all, to say what they liked." - D. H. Lawrence [3]

 

 

In his 1924 'Letter from Germany', D. H. Lawrence briefly mentions the queer gangs of youths and maidens carrying rucksacks, he has observed in Heidelberg. They strike him as strange and somewhat primitive; "like loose roving gangs of broken, scattered tribes" [4], full of a new kind of faith born of the silent forest and the unalterable German soul.

 

Later, whilst in flowery Tuscany in the spring of 1927, Lawrence is stirred to comment on two German youths striding purposively southwards toward the sun. And this time he even names them for what they are:

 

"Yesterday, in the flood of sunshine on the Arno at evening, I saw two German boys [...] They were dark-haired, not blondes, but otherwise the true Wandervogel type, in shirts and short trousers and thick boots, hatless, coat slung in the rucksack, shirt-sleeves rolled back, above the brown muscular arms, shirt-breast open from the brown, scorched breast and the face and the neck glowing sun-darkened as they strode into the flood of evening sunshine, out of the narrow street. They were talking loudly to one another in German, as if oblivious of their surroundings [...] And they strode with strong strides, heedless, marching past the Italians as if the Italians were but shadows." [5]  

 

Emphasising the uncanny, almost inhuman, but nontheless wonderful aspect of their presence, Lawrence continues:

 

"In spite of the fact that one is used to these German youths, in Florence especially, in summer, still the mind calls a halt, each time they appear and pass by. If swans, or wild geese flew honking, low over the Arno in the evening light [...] they would create the same impression on one. They would bring that sense of remote, far-off lands which these Germans bring, and that sense of mysterious, unfathomable purpose."  [6] 

 

For whatever strange reason, the Wandervögel "make a startling impression" [7] on Lawrence in a way that other youths tramping about - including the English - do not. Watching them, transports him back in time and "Germany becomes again to me what it was to the Romans: the mysterious, half-dark land of the north, bristling with gloomy forests, resounding to the cry of wild geese and of swans, the land of the stork and the bear and the Drachen and the Greifen" [8]. 

 

There's nothing ridiculous about the Wandervögel: they are simply extraordinary and one is left not quite knowing what to think or feel about them; genuinely other, they seem to belong to an unknown race and far-off land. 

 

Perhaps that's why having been sent to Dresden as teenagers in order to complete their education, both Hilda and Constance Reid gave the "gift of themselves" [9] to sturdy German youths with whom they talked, and sang, and camped under the trees; for there's nothing as exciting as loving "creatures from the beyond, presaging another world" [10].

 

Notes

 

[1] The Wandervögel were members of a bourgeois anti-bourgeois youth movement or subsculture that existed in Germany between the years 1896 and 1933 and who subscribed to an eco-völkisch philosophy that rejected many aspects of modern urban-industrial civilisation. 

      Mostly, they went hiking in the woods, sang songs, sunbathed, and dreamed about reviving old Teutonic pagan values. They might be thought of as a more radical version of the Boy Scouts, although some commentators, such as Gordon Kennedy, prefer to regard them as proto-hippies. At its peak, the movement - which was divided into three main national groups - had up to 80,000 members. When the Nazis came to power in 1933, the movement was outlawed and members were absorbed into the Hitler Youth or, if female, into the League of German Girls.      

 

[2] Henry Matthew Brock (1875 - 1960) was a British illustrator. Many works of Victorian and Edwardian fiction contained his drawings. 

 

[3] D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover, ed. Michael Squires (Cambridge University Press, 1993), pp. 6-7.

 

[4] D. H. Lawrence, 'Letter from Germany', in Mornings in Mexico and Other Essays, ed. Virginia Crosswhite Hyde (Cambridge University Press, 2009), p. 151. 

[5] D. H. Lawrence, 'Flowery Tuscany', in Sketches of Etruscan Places and Other Italian Essays, ed. Smonetta de Filippis (Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 239.

 

[6] Ibid.

 

[7] Ibid., p. 240.  

[8] Ibid. 

[9] D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover ... p. 7.

 

[10] D. H. Lawrence, 'Flowery Tuscany', in Sketches of Etruscan Places and Other Italian Essays, p. 241. 

 

 

Eye of the Tiger

Thou hast no speculation in those eyes ...[1]

 

 

It's disconcerting enough when Phoevos the cat sits and stares at me, particulary if naked like Derrida [2], so it must be almost unimaginably awkward (and significantly more frightening) to be caught in the gaze of a tiger ...

 

I'm told that thanks to a mirror-like structure behind the retina called the tapetum lucidum their night vision is far superior to ours, but that they don't see such a wide range of colours. It's movement that catches their attention and shape that they focus on; not hues, tints, and tones. But then, tigers are primarly concerned with stalking prey, not admiring the chromatic splendour of their environment. 

 

According to D. H. Lawrence, who knows a good few things on the subject of animal vision, the tiger is, in a sense, almost blind to the rest of the world, absorbed as it is in its own fullness of being:

 

"The eyes of the tiger cannot see, except with the light from within itself, by the light of its own desire. Its own white, cold light is so fierce that the other warm light of the day is outshone, it is not, it does not exist. So the white eyes of the tiger gleam to a point of concentrated vision, upon that which does not exist. Hence its terrifying sightlessness." [3]   

 

The tiger, inasmuch as it sees us at all, sees nothing but a rather insubstantial meal. The superior being which we like to think we are, is rendered null and void; we are almost hollow in his eyes, like animated scarecrows, or, at best, creatures that have lost their healthy animal reason [4]:

"It can only see of me that which it knows I am, a scent, a resistance, a voluptuous solid, a struggling warm violence that it holds overcome, a running of hot blood between its teeth, a delicious pang of live flesh in the mouth. This it sees. The rest is not." [5]

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 3, scene 4, line 94.

 

[2] See Jacques Derrida, The Animal That Therefore I Am, trans. David Wills (Fordham University Press, 2008). 

      In this work, Derrida discusses his experience of being stared at by his cat, Logos, whilst undressed. He describes a sense of discomfort - even shame - of being gazed upon in his all too human nakedness and all too naked humanity. 

      See also the post on TTA dated 5 Jan 2018 entitled 'When I Play With My Cat ... (Notes Towards a Feline Philosophy)': click here.  

[3] D. H. Lawrence, Twilight in Italy and Other Essays, ed. Paul Eggert (Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 118.

 

[4] I'm thinking here of a famous section in Nietzsche's, The Gay Science (III. 224), where he writes: 

      "I fear that the animals consider man as a being like themselves that has lost in a most dangerous way its sound animal common sense; they consider him the insane animal, the laughing animal, the weeping animal, the miserable animal." 

      This is Walter Kaufmann's translation of the original German text (Vintage Books, 1974), p. 211. 

 

[5] D. H. Lawrence, Twilight in Italy ... p. 118.

      Readers interested in what else Lawrence writes about tigers, might like to see the post on TTA dated 4 Oct 2023: click here. Although not one of Lawrence's totemic animals, nevertheless the tiger often appears within his work and held an important place in his philosophical imagination as one of the great realities of reality; i.e., a living thing that has come into its own fullness of being.

Punk's Dead Knot: Reflections on an Essay by Ian Trowell - Part 2: On Big Flavour Wraps and Vicious Burgers

You pays your money and you takes your choice ...

 McDonald's Big Flavour Wraps (2016) [a]

Vs Jamie Reid's Vicious Burger (1979) [b]

 

 

I. 

 

In the second part of Ian Trowell's dead knot essay, he discusses a 2016 TV ad by the "multinational fast-food franchise" [c] McDonald's for a new summer range of Big Flavour Wraps:

 

"Whilst not all of my observations and suggestions will be intentional on the part of the creative teams associated with the instigation and production of the commercial, my own intentions are to examine the ubiquitous, neutralized and atemporal representations of punk that resonate within the images and actions." [189]

 

Having established that, let's go ...

 

 

II. 

 

Via a detailed, imaginative, and theoretically-informed analysis of each scene, Trowell is very good at relaying the anachronistic tension present in an ad that seems designed to appeal to old punks on the one hand and disorientate them on the other: 

 

"How are we meant to feel, how did we used to feel, what has changed?" [190] 

 

Of course, the assimilation of punk began a long, long time before 2016: what is The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (1980) if not a brutal exposure of the way in which big business indecently exploits young flesh and rapidly co-opts, commodifies, and mythologises groups like the Sex Pistols? 

 

Anyone who felt genuinely shocked and outraged by "such an unholy alliance between McDonald's and punk" [195] - or by Virgin Money's issuing of Never Mind the Bollocks and 'Anarchy in the UK' credit cards the year before [d] - clearly wasn't paying attention to what McLaren and Reid were warning about in the Swindle and clearly hadn't read their Guy Debord [e].

 

Punk - and the very word is already a misunderstanding - may have initially wished to "disrupt cultural, social and historical forms and habits through a multitude of methods" [195], but it didn't take long before the majority of punk performers were looking to build long-lasting careers in the music business. 

 

If rock 'n' roll died when Elvis joined the US Army in 1958, then perhaps we can say punk died when John Lydon decided to trust a hippie and sign an eight album deal with Virgin. McLaren and Reid fought a kind of resistance campaign operating behind enemy lines in those months following the breakup of the group - and, personally, I think the work produced in 1978-79 is some of the most provocative and amusing - but the game was basically up.         

Ultimately, no matter how much some of us wish it were otherwise, the majority of Brits like their Big Flavour Wraps [f]. And, as Trowell rightly notes, for all the faux outrage expressed from some quarters when the McDonald's 2016 campaign was launched, what we didn't hear were the voices of "disgruntled and disgusted [...] customers outraged at the linking of punk and the safe, normative environment of McDonald's" [195].

 

 

Notes

 

[a] The McDonald's Big Flavour Wraps campaign (2016) was devised by the American advertising company Leo Burnett - the home of so-called populist creativity. It featured ersatz punk imagery and also incorporated the Buzzcocks' 1978 single 'What Do I Get?', written by Pete Shelley, into a TV ad. Morrissey, like many other old punks, was not best pleased. 

      To watch the 30 second TV ad, dir. Jason Lowe, click here. For further details of the people who worked on the campaign, please click here. 

 

[b] Jamie Reid's promotional poster for the Sex Pistols' single 'C'mon Everybody', released from the soundtrack of The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (Virgin Records, 1979), featuring a photo of vocalist Sid Vicious by Bob Gruen. For more details see the V&A Jamie Reid Archive: click here. 

      The Vicious Burger was just one of many imaginary products featured in a fake cinema ad in The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (dir. Julien Temple, 1980): "Feeling uptight, violent, or tense? Why not take it out on a sizzling Vicious Burger; the gristle ball that gives as good as it gets!"

 

[c] Ian Trowell, 'Punk's dead knot: Constructing the temporal and spatial in commercial punk imagery', Punk & Post-Punk, Volume 5, Number 2 (2016), pp. 181-199. Page references given in the post refer to the essay as published here. 

 

[d] See the post of 12 June 2015: click here. 

[e] Debord used the term récupération to refer to a process by which politically radical ideas and subversive art works are defused, incorporated, and commodified within mainstream culture (usually with the full collaboration of the media). See the post of 26 June 2023, in which I discuss this idea: click here. 

 

[f] According to statista.com, 96% of Brits were aware of McDonald's as a brand in 2023 and 60% not only liked to eat there, but expressed loyalty to the company.

 

  

Musical bonus: Buzzcocks, 'What Do I Get?', (United Artists, 1978): click here for the remastered 2001 version that appears on Singles Going Steady (Domino Recording Co., 2003). And for the official video, which Trowell provides a nice reading of in his essay (pp. 191-92), click here.

To read part one of this post, click here. 

Punk's Dead Knot: Reflections on an Essay by Ian Trowell - Part 1: I Got You in My Camera ...

 

Sex Pistols on Carnaby Street 

Photo by Ray Stevenson (1976)

 

I. 

 

Ian Trowell's dead knot essay [a] provides a fascinating insight into how time and space are encoded in punk imagery and demonstrates how a photograph, for example, is not simply an objective or neutral representation of reality, but an artefact that is both constructed and constructive of the world as we know it.    

 

The essay analyses two visual artefacts: a photograph of the Sex Pistols from 1976 and a 30-second TV commercial for McDonald's from 2016. Here I shall reflect on the first of these, whilst in part two of this post I shall discuss the latter. 

 

 

II.

 

Ray Stevenson's famous photo of the Sex Pistols strolling along Carnaby Street in the spring of 1976 still makes smile almost fifty years later, due mostly to what Trowell terms the performative iconoclasm and punk theatricality that is here captured and preserved on film; a second of their lives ruined for life, as Rotten might say [b]. 

 

According to Trowell, whilst Paul Cook is perfectly content to eat his grapes purchased from Berwick Street Market and remain not only partially obscured but as anonymous as the brown paper bag containing his fruit - and whilst Steve Jones and Johnny Rotten are both happy to clown and pose for the camera - Glen Matlock looks uncomfortable and out of place:

 

"His comportment is akin to Wittgenstein's multi-stable rabbitduck illusion in that he is both relaxed and not relaxed at the same time. He has taken the relaxed pose of a pop star going through the motions of a publicity photograph but it clearly seems that he is out of step with the posed anti-comportment of the rest of the band." [183]

 

Matlock, with his buttoned-up jacket and persona, doesn't quite fit in with a band safety-pinned together or with the wider punk aesthetic and ethos; he's just a little too smart and sensible; the slightly nervous observer of the scene, always hanging back and looking on: 

 

"It is a disorienting picture since he appears to know his time is running out, but at the same time he gives the impression of lingering with admiration and anticipation, an adumbration of what is to come evidently with or without him." [184]

 

If, due to Rotten's "hogging of the frame" [185], locating the picture's true point of magic is made difficult, neverthless, for Trowell, it's not Rotten's ugly mug but the fastened button on Matlock's jacket that forms the pictures punctum - i.e., that troubling detail that disturbs and distracts from the more general field of interest (the photo's studium); that which pricks our attention and often moves us with a certain poignant delight [c]. 

 

 

III. 

 

Glen Matlock's button and Wittgenstein's duckrabbit aside, Trowell gives us many other interesting ideas to consider; about Carnaby Street as a subcultural epicentre; about the staging of photography; and about Rotten's performance for the camera.

 

He suggests, for example, that "Stevenson's photograph bears an uncanny resemblance to Roger Fenton's 1855 photograph Valley of the Shadow of Death" [184]. I don't quite see it myself, however, and might just as easily imagine the Sex Pistols "photoshopped into the immediate foreground" [184] of many an image containing a tapering path. 

 

For instance, here's Jones and Rotten following the yellow brick road:

 

 

 

I wasn't entirely convinced either by Trowell's suggestion that we might consider Stevenson's photograph as "a precisely posed document with the four punk musicians reminiscent of the generic crouched figures of Captain Kirk and his original Star Trek crew materializing on a hostile, alien planet with their phasers at the ready to deal with the subcultural detritus that might turn on them at any moment" [186], although it's certainly an original reading.  

 

These things aside, for the most part one agrees with Trowell's interpretations and marvels at his insights. Rotten's captioning of Stevenson's photo as forced fun at Malcolm's behest is pithy, but one needs Trowell's essay to provide the theoretical and cultural context without which it's just another snap. 

 

The band may never have had much clue as to what was going on or what was at stake, but Malcolm knew exactly what he wanted to do and how he wanted the band to look: "The photograph tries to set out McLaren's deliberate positioning of punk as against the process of accumulation of all music genres and stylistic connotations and manifestations that have gone before." [188]

Obviously, in due course every image loses its power and becomes just another stock photo filed away in an archive: cultural fodder, as Trowell puts it. Some truly great pictures, however, retain their abilty to shock or seduce or to scandalise for decades; others, like this one, now mostly rely on Matlock's button to provide a point of interest.

 

Ultimately, argues Trowell, even the Sex Pistols "cannot escape time and space" [188] just as punk cannot escape being co-opted and commercialised by the forces of capital, as McLaren and Reid conceded in The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (1980).

   

 

Notes

 

[a] Ian Trowell, 'Punk's dead knot: Constructing the temporal and spatial in commercial punk imagery', Punk & Post-Punk, Volume 5, Number 2 (2016), pp. 181-199. Page references given in the post refer to the essay as published here.  

[b] Somewhat surprisingly, Trowell doesn't refer us to the following lines in the Sex Pistols' song 'I Wanna Be Me': 'I got you in my camera / a second of your life, ruined for life'.

      He does, however, refer us to John Berger who argues that the true content of a photograph is invisible as it "derves from a play not with form, but with time ... it isolates, preserves and presents a moment taken from a continuum". See Understanding a Photograph (Penguin, 2013), p. 20. 

[c] Barthes's concept of the punctum raises a problem discussed by commentators such as Michael Fried and James Elkins; if it calls forth a highly idiosyncratic response on behalf of an individual viewer, then how can that experience ever be communicated and theorised? In other words, can Matlock's button ever intensely move anyone other than Trowell himself? I might understand what he says and appreciate what he writes, but is his experience of pleasure (as of pain) not uniquely his own?  

 

 

Musical bonus: Sex Pistols, 'I Wanna Be Me', b-side to 'Anarachy in the UK' (EMI, 1976): click here.  

 

Part two of this post can be read by clicking here. 

 

 

Why I Don't Believe in the Ruins

Buenaventura Durruti (1896-1936)

 

 

Whilst, philosophically, I am opposed to ideas of Wholeness or those structures - be they narratives, cathedrals, or classic rock albums - which would enframe us within the Absolute, as a political thinker I have never believed in the ruins with the same degree of fervour as the Spanish anarchist Buenaventura Durruti who famously declared in an interview:

 

"We are not in the least afraid of ruins. We are going to inherit the earth and we carry a new world here, in our hearts." [1]

 

Such idealism - based on the Christian-moral conviction that one day the powerless shall triumph [2] and the utopian dream of a better future - always seems to end in a good deal of misery and suffering for those it promised to liberate, precisely because it's always easier to smash the old world and remain living among the ruins than it is to build up new habitats.  

 

Thus, whether it's the Khmer Rouge calling for Year Zero in Cambodia in the 1970s, or Keir Starmer's mission-driven Labour government presently promoting Net Zero here in the UK, I do not trust the zealotry that lies behind such thinking and suspect that A believer in the ruins is happy to pull the house down providing he can rule over the rubble ... [3]   

 

 

Notes

 

[1] It now seems certain that the interview with the Dutch-Canadian journalist Pierre van Paassen in which Durruti is reported as having said this - published in the Toronoto Star on 18 August 1936 - never took place and that Van Paassen either imagined it entirely, or drew upon remarks made to other reporters and published in other articles.

       Thus, amusingly, the most famous utterance of Spain's most famous anarchist is a romantic fiction. Nevertheless, as one commentator says, "it has resonated across the decades as a summation of revolutionary anarchist politics, a poetic and highly quotable paraphrasing of Bakunin, which was presumably Van Paassen's source material when formulating his most celebrated passage". 

      See Danny Evans, 'A Pile of Ruins? Pierre van Paassen and the Mythical Durruti' (12 Oct 2022) on theanarchistlibrary.org - click here.  

 

[2] See Matthew 5:5. I am aware that the Greek term πραεῖς [praus] which appears in the New Testament is usually translated as 'meek' in English, but I'm happy to go along with scholars, such as John Nolland, who argue that powerless is a more accurate interpretation. 

 

[3] According to the fact checking site truthorfiction.com, the line that I paraphrase here - 'An evil man will burn his own nation to the ground to rule over the ashes' - is misattributed to the Chinese philosopher and military strategist Sun Tzu. Nevertheless, that hasn't prevented it from being widely shared on social media during the last four years. 

 

     

Deadnaming (With Reference to the Case of Mara in the Book of Ruth)

Don't Deadname (after William Blake) 

Stephen Alexander (2024) [1]

 

 

I. 

 

Perhaps because I have myself used and been known by several aliases, I'm somewhat sympathetic to those (often transgender or non-binary) individuals who object to what is termed deadnaming ...

 

That is to say, the sometimes unintentional, sometimes deliberate act of referring to a person by a name they no longer identify with or wish to be called, even if that name is the one that appears on their birth certificate and other official documentation and is deemed to be not only their legal name, but their real name referring to their true self (an assumed alias is invariably seen as suspicious; an attempt to conceal or deceive). 

 

Although the verb deadnaming is of recent origin - the OED dates it to 2013 - the insistence by others on calling an individual by an old name is not without historical - and indeed biblical - precedent ...

 

 

II. 

 

Readers with knowledge of the Old Testament will be familiar with the Book of Ruth and the story of how Naomi, having been forced by circumstances to leave Bethlehem and live in the land of Moab, has the tragic misfortune of losing her husband and both sons. 

 

Grief-stricken and near destitute, she decides to return to her homeland and is accompanied by her daughter-in-law, Ruth, at the latter's insistence; the Book of Ruth essentially describing the struggles of the two women to survive in a patriarchal society and in the face of much hardship. 

Of most interest to me, however, is the fact that when Naomi returns and is greeted by those who remember her, she tells them: "Do not call me Naomi; call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt very bitterly with me".

 

Obviously, she refers at one level to the fact that God has left her bereft and in poverty. But her remark also indictes that the bitterness she is experiencing is so profound that it is transitional if not indeed transformational: she no longer feels herself to be the same woman upon her return to Bethlehem as the woman who left ten years earlier. 

 

If this is for the most part a psychological change, we can probably assume that she has also been physically aged by time and sorrow. Thus, it's perfectly understandable, I think, that she would wish to be known by a new name; a name more indicative of the woman she now recognises herself to be; i.e., one born of and shaped by bitterness. 

 

For whereas her old name, Naomi, means sweet-natured and pleasant of disposition, her new self-chosen name of Mara means bitter (although it might be noted that this name in Hebrew also implies strength; for just as hatred can itself become creative, so too can bitterness harden and make stronger).

 

The point is this: we all, like Mara, have the right to become-other and not to be deadnamed by those who value fixity over fluidity and would forever tie us to the past.   

 

 

Notes

[1] This image is based on Blake's print 'Naomi entreating Ruth and Orpah to return to the land of Moab' (1795), full details of which can be found on the V&A website: click here.  

It is But Death Who Comes at Last

Keith Haring Untitled (For James Ensor) 1 (1989)

Acrylic on canvas (36 x 72 in)

The Keith Haring Foundation

 

Apparently, having penetrated the object of their desire, the average male lasts between four to eight minutes before ejaculating. Many men may like to believe they last longer - and many female partners may wish that were the case - but, according to those who have studied the matter, it simply isn't so.     

 

Of course, some men climax much more rapidly than four minutes; expelling semen and experiencing orgasm soon after initiating sexual activity and with minimal stimulation [2]. This is often characterised as a form of male sexual dysfunction, although there is no universally agreed definition amongst the experts about what constitutes ejaculatio praecox; some say anything under a minute is premature, whilst others don't think there's any real issue if the man can last over fifteen seconds before jizzing [3].

 

On the other hand, there are men who can last much longer than the average time; although for some delayed ejaculation is problematic rather than pleasurable and can also cause discomfort for their partners [4].     

 

Either way, and whatever the ejaculation latency time one averages out at, it's crucial to remember the following wise words of Sir Walter Scott: 

 

And come he slow, or come he fast, 

It is but Death who comes at last. [5]

 

I don't think even Bataille could have put it better ... [6]

 

Notes

 

[1] Shortly before his death in February 1990, Keith Haring produced a number of works with an erotico-thantological theme, including this work depicting a skeleton ejaculating on a flowerbed. It formed the first panel of a diptych (for James Ensor). In the second panel, thanks to the dead man's sperm, the flowers have grown and are in full bloom, much to the delight of the skeleton.

 

[2] The 1948 Kinsey Report suggests that three-quarters of men ejaculate within two minutes of penetration in over half of their sexual encounters.

 

[3] The belief that premature ejaculation should be considered a medical condition (or an indicator of neurosis) rather than a normal variation, has been disputed by some sex researchers, including Alfred Kinsey, who viewed it as a sign of masculine vigour and pointed to the fact that in the natural world male mammals often ejaculate rapidly during coition in order to increase their chances of passing on their genes. 

      It would seem to me that any coital imperative which posits an optimal-time to ejaculate, merely contributes to the pressure on men to perform like machines and furthers the pathologisation of male sexuality in the modern world.    

 

[4] Delayed ejaculation - which is far less common than premature ejaculation - refers to a man's persistent difficulty in coming, despite his wish to do so and even if he is sexually stimulated. Whilst, as we have discussed, most men reach orgasm within a few short minutes of active thrusting during intercourse, a man with delayed ejaculation either does not have orgasms at all or cannot have an orgasm until after a prolonged period of huffing and puffing.

 

[5] Sir Walter Scott, Marmion (1808), canto 2, st. 30, lines 567-568.

      This historical romance in verse consists of six cantos, each with an introductory epistle and extensive notes. It concludes with the Battle of Flodden (1513). Those who are interested can find the work on Project Gutenberg: click here.  

[6] Bataille famously explores the relationship between Eros and Thanatos in his work, demonstrating how the idea of orgasm as la petite mort is not merely metaphorical. As Nick Land notes: 

      "Orgasm provisionally substitutes for death, fending-off the impetus toward terminal oblivion, but only by infiltrating death into the silent core of vitality […] The little death is not merely a simulacrum or sublimation of a big one […] but a corruption that leaves the bilateral architecture of life and death in tatters, a communication and a slippage which violates the immaculate [otherness] of darkness." 

      In other words, when we come, we open ourselves onto this otherness and to the possibility of personal annihilation; losing identity in a spasm and an exchange of shared slime. It is, as Bataille argues, a betrayal of life as something individual and distinct.

      See Nick Land, The Thirst for Annihilation: Georges Bataille and Virulent Nihilism (Routledge, 1992), p. 136. And see also my post of 21 September 2016 on orgasm and the will to merger: click here. 

On Loverboy and the Politics of Queerness

LOVERBOY

 

 

I. 

 

Just a brief note of congratulations to Charles Jeffrey and his Loverboy label for notching up ten years in the world of fashion; a decade of "tartan, trash, animalism, anarchy, paganism and punk" as one appreciative critic wrote in a Guardian piece celebrating Jeffrey's achievement [1]. 

 

If almost inevitably one comes away from 'The Lore of LOVERBOY' exhibition at Somerset House [2] feeling that one's seen much of it before having grown up in the world of Westwood, Galliano, and McQueen, nevertheless one also comes away wishing that one was forty years younger and able to enter into Jeffrey's world unburdened by memory of the above.

 

And, to be fair, his aesthetic sensibility isn't simply a pale imitation of anyone else's; Jeffrey's designs do have something unique about them, even if they unfold within a certain tradition and fashion history. And I'm always going to love clothes that make smile like the outfits shown above ...  

 

 

II. 

 

However, if I were to be critical, then perhaps Jeffrey's work is just a little too much at times; too theatrical, too playful, too romantic, too rooted in a hedonistic club scene ...

 

For better or for worse, I belong to a generation that would rather see the word HATE than HOPE sloganised on a jumper and my politics do not exclusively revolve around questions of gender and sexuality.  

 

And as for the increasingly tired and tiresome concept of queerness - one which Jeffrey repeatedly refers us to - I'm almost tempted to echo what one (queer) writer says here: "Queerness does not ensure that we are more compassionate, more loving, or more fair, or that we are kinder, stronger, realer people." [3] 

 

That is to say, queerness doesn't make virtuous or morally superior - nor even more interesting, alas, when it has merely become another identity and commercial selling point. 

                 

 

Notes

 

[1] Ellie Violet Bramley, 'An absolute joy: 10 years of Charles Jeffrey's playful Loverboy', The Guardian (9 June 2024): click here.  

[2] For details of The Lore of LOVERBOY exhibition at Somerset House, click here. Thanks to Ian Trowell for bringing this retrospective to my attention. 

[3] See Queer is Boring, 'Why Queer is Boring: An Introduction' (21 Feb 2014), on medium.com: click here. 

Reflections on Stephen Alexander's 'I Want to Hold Your Hand' - A Guest Post by Sally Guaragna

Stephen Alexander:  

I Want to Hold Your Hand (2024)

 

Stephen Alexander's disturbing self-portrait accompanied by Myra Hindley is a stark reminder of the fact that evil lurks around every corner and that the radiant innocence of childhood offers no protection; as the parents of the young girls murdered in Stockport last month discovered to their horror [1].

 

It also reminds us of the fact that the Swinging Sixties began not only "Between the end of the 'Chatterley' ban / And the release of the Beatles' first LP" [2], but with the Moors murders - just as it ended in an equally brutal and depraved manner with the Tate-LaBianca murders carried out by the Manson Family in the summer of 1969. 

 

The fact that the photo of the artist as a child is for the most part entirely genuine - taken in 1966 at Southend-on-Sea - only adds to its power. The only change made (non-digitally) is the replacement of the head of Alexander's sister with that of a woman dubbed by the press as the most hated woman in Britain. 

 

Alexander explains: 

 

'I cut out the famous police photograph of Hindley taken shortly after her arrest in 1965 and pasted it by hand directly on to the photo of my sister. I wanted it to look like a mask being worn. A mask more terrible even than the one worn by Leatherface in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), because it depicted the face of a rather glamorous young woman who, with her peroxide blonde bouffant, reminded me of a much-loved aunty in the 1960s whose hand I would happily hold.'    

 

Alexander's is a great image; one that, in my view, deserves to be hung alongside Marcus Harvey's controversial 1995 painting made using casts of an infant's tiny hand to create a giant mosaic of Hindley:   

 

 

Marcus Harvey: Myra (1995) [3]

 

 

Notes

 

[1] On 29 July 2024, a mass stabbing occurred at a dance studio in Southport, Merseyside. Three children were killed, and ten other people - eight of whom were children - were injured, some of them critically. A 17-year-old male was arrested at the scene and charged with murder, attempted murder, and possession of a bladed weapon.

 

[2] Philip Larkin, 'Annus Mirabilis', first published in The London Magazine, Vol. 9, No.10, (January 1970): click here. 

 

[3] Marcus Harvey's 1995 painting Myra caused a lot of fuss when it was displayed at the Sensation exhibition of Young British Artists at the Royal Academy of Art in London from 8 September to 28 December 1997: four members of the RA resigned in protest at its inclusion; windows at Burlington House, where the Academy is based, were smashed; the painting was vandalised twice (by fellow artists); and a children's charity accused the RA of the 'sick exploitation of dead children'. Even Hindley wrote from prison to ask for her portrait to be removed from the exhibition.

 

 

To read another post by Sally Guaragna - reflections on my 'When the Moon Hits Your Eye' photo (5 May 2023) - please click here. 

Pagan Magazine Vs the Pagan Federation

Fig. 1: Pagan: The Magazine of Blood-Knowledge Issue XXVIII (Spring 1989)

Fig 2: Letter from Leonora James, President of the Pagan Federation (1 Nov 1989)

 

I. 

 

A reader writes:

As someone who is researching the history of paganism in the UK during the twentieth-century, I was naturally interested in a remark made in a recent post published on Torpedo the Ark [1] concerning some kind of dispute between yourself and the then President of the Pagan Federation, Leonora James, in the 1980s.

      

You allege that she threatened to report you to the police on the basis of some artwork sent to her, but provide no further details of this incident, nor any proof with which to back up this claim. If you could provide a little more information and any documentary evidence relating to this case that you may still have in your possession, I'd be most grateful.    

 

 

As I'm always happy to assist those doing research, here then are a few more details as requested, along with materials submitted in evidence ...

 

 

II. 

 

Issue XXVIII of Pagan Magazine was entitled 'Expressions' and was dated Spring 1989. 

 

It mostly consisted of a selection of poems written over the winter months and illustrated with some of my favourite works by several German Expressionists, including Ernst Ludwig Kirchner and Otto Mueller. 

 

Later that year, I decided to try and get some support from the Pagan Federation (PF) for what I was doing - not just the magazine, but also a line of Pagan T-shirts - and wrote to the then President, Leonora James, a high priestess in the Gardnerian tradition of modern pagan witchcraft. 

 

The PF had been founded in 1971 and aimed to protect the rights and raise the profile of all those who described themselves as pagan and to provide information on pagan beliefs and activities to the wider community and media. Vivianne Crowley, founder of the Wicca Study Group in 1988, was appointed Secretary of the PF in that same year.   

 

Just to be clear: I wasn't a member of the PF and didn't seek membership. I was simply looking for recognition and, perhaps, some financial assistance (though I had no idea of whether they provided such). 

 

Unfortunately, after a long wait to hear back from the PF, I received the following letter dated 1 November 1989:

 

 

Dear Stephen Alexander,

I am returning your paedophile mag unopened herewith. If it is a serious attempt at Pagan erotica, we suggest you leave Paganism and join the Church of England, where choirboys seem to be all the rage, according to the many documented criminal convictions in the last year. If it is an attempt by artists to interest Pagans in paedophilia, buzz off, we're not interested. If its lurid cover picture is intended to link Paganism with paedophilia in the public's mind, rest assured, we shall take any future issues straight to the police for investigation - of you. 

The neo-Nazi overtones of the picture's legend are unlikely to arouse much interest among Pagans of the Norse tradition. Asatru is concerned with building a free and honourable lifestyle for people of all ages, not with living out regressive fantasies about children. 

May the Gods guide you through your misconceptions, and don't bother us with this kind of rubbish again. 

 

Sincerely, 

 

Leonora James

President, Pagan Federation

III.    

 

I have to admit, I still find this frankly bizarre and ludicrous letter as astonishing today as I did when I first read it. My reply read as follows:

 

 

Dear Ms James,

                        

Your letter referring to Pagan Magazine (Issue XXVIII), leaves me absolutely astounded. You accuse me of paedophilia, eroticism, and neo-Nazism and base all three accusations purely on the cover alone! 

      

Of course, I strongly deny at least two of the above charges: Pagan Magazine is not a paedophile publication and nor does it have any neo-Nazi overtones, undertones, or sympathies. And if it sometimes features erotic art, it is hardly pornographic in character (nor a 'serious attempt' to be such).

      

I'm not quite sure what troubles me most about your letter: your ignorance and philistine stupidity; or your hysterical obsession with child-sex. The image you describe as 'lurid' is in fact a well-known work by the German Expressionist Ernst Ludwig Kirchner. 

      

As for the phrase blood-knowledge in the magazine's subtitle, please note this is taken from D. H. Lawrence and refers to a way of knowing that is intuitive and instinctive; i.e. pre-mental and non-headbound. It has nothing to do with the racial politics of the Third Reich. 

      

Returning to the erotic aspect of Pagan Magazine, if this worries you so much then I suggest you rename your church of the closed mind and unopened text the Puritan Federation! It's shocking that someone like you is a representative of the pagan community, as your letter clearly demonstrates you are unworthy of such a role. 

 

'May the gods guide you through your misconceptions ...'

 

Stephen Alexander Von Hell

PS: please note how, at no time, did I threaten to send a policeman after you ...!

 

PPS: I will one day expose your foolishness. 

 

 

Thirty-five years later and it seems that my second postscripted remark has finally come to pass  ... 

 

Image used on the Contents Page of  

Pagan Magazine XXVIII (1989)

 

Notes

 

[1] The post referred to - 'Pagan Magazine: Remembered and Reimagined' - was published on 1 August 2024 and can be accessed by clicking here. Another recent post in what might be thought of as the Pagan series can be read by clicking here.