from Barcelona! Where I am up late in my little room in
an ancient castle that, with its Catalonian tiles and threadbare
bedding, wreaks of local color. And piss. I am having a
wonderfully sensual time in the old world (it´s crumbling),
sucking down fruits of the sea, sweet Spanish wines, and
the strongest sludge-like coffee any midwesterner ever encountered.
I have seen the angry albino gorilla and Antonio Gaudì´s
truly awe-inspiring modernista architecture. Most importantly,
I am a long ways from that monkey-brained U.S. Supreme Court,
and so wish you were here!
does the Supreme Court think that naked ladies are threatening
our vastly varied and certainly amorphous moral nation?
Why does the highest law of the land insist, against all
reason and statistical evidence, that nude women have inimical
secondary effects on our violence-obsessed culture?
in Europe, sex is everywhere. It´s in advertisements
in the metro, snuggles up against 14th century walls, flaunts
itself on stages for tourist dollars, and, most plentifully,
it happens in the world´s finest art museums. Furthermore
(Surprise!), the Europeans don´t seem morally compromised
because of it.
Paris, at the Rodin Museum, one walks into a room and is
greeted immediately by the gaping cunt of Iris, Messagère
des Dieux. Children gurgle past her, unharmed by her
rawness. Goofy Asian men pose for snapshots with their hands
on her when the guards´ backs are turned.
Louvre is overflowing with sexual imagery from every culture.
Except ours. The only American painting I recall seeing
was Whistler´s Mother, which neatly summarizes
America´s puritanism with its gray, gloomy palette,
stark setting, and stern subject.
also boasts the morally-questionable cabaretwith its
naked ladies and ribald parlance. But its simply accepted
as the huge tourist draw that it is. Camera-toting masses
trek to Montmartre for two reasons: the lovely white church,
Sacre-Coeur, and the rusty red Moulin Rouge. Even retired
Americans seem to think sex is okay so far from home, and
pose for a photo or two beneath its red-lit awning.
Barcelona´s Picasso Museum, an entire floor is dedicated
to the man´s late-period etchingstwo hundred
virtually identical scribblings of cunt after cunt after
cunt. Some hairy, some smooth. Some gaping, some tiny specks.
And by that miracle of cubism, which deconstructs the 3-D
figure and allows every naughty part to be shown at once,
each slit is accompanied by a neat asshole, just like they
all really are! And the good Americans were noticeably uncomfortable.
well. I wouldn´t trade us for the world. I´ve
spent years mulling over what is so special about the American
conscience, which, for all its quirky hang-ups and desire
to be clean and regulated, still has an easy familiarity
with freedom that is not found in Europe. Trust me. If you
live with the Europeans (or watch their crappy TV) long
enough, it becomes apparent. This ineffable sense of freedom
resides deep in the American subconscious, stemming from
our historical freedom to tell our government to FUCK OFF!
And the more ridiculous that they, the government, get,
the more emboldened we are to do so. Land of the free, home
of the brave is like an equation. Less (sexually) free =
more brave. Or, as in Europe, more (sexually) free = less
brave. And America´s obsession with violence fits
neatly into this equation as well.
our new legislative obsession, where SEX is the greater
sin, things can only get weirder. What of the pigeons, swans,
and peacocks I saw copulating at the Paris Zoo? Or the simian
cunnilingus? What about all the pregnant women walking around,
shamelessly parading their sexual activity before God and
man (many of them not even married)? Henceforth, I shall
look at such women with horror, vehemently show my disgust,
and spit, You filthy rotten WHORE!! You dirty slut!
You´ve been having SEX, haven´t you?!¨
Well, America, how do you like me now?