Porn is mediocre crap that exists to be used. But there is a porn that is more than used goods. There is a star that can infiltrate crap. In her study of the poles of being in pornography, Narcissister frees what has been submerged in cock-hardening crap.
There is a Self within the self
Eternally ensconced in the hearts of every living creature.
One should, with one’s intelligence, strip him out of one’s body.
One should know him as the shining, pure immortal one.
In this verse of the Katha Upanishad which I just read in some fucked-up memoir (1), a young boy asks the Lord of Death what happens to people when they die. Where do they go? What happens to their bodies? According to the Lord of Death, there is an immortal self that you can strip out of your physical self through correct techniques of attention and practice. In Man-Woman, the black porn star is this virtuoso Shining One. But she has been lodged up inside the white fan boy’s desire. Lord of Death, where does the white cock go when it expires? What does the white cock mean when the black pussy satisfies itself?
In Man-Woman, the stacked blonde black porn star peels off the white fan boy’s chest, then his scuffed boots and dirty jeans. When the stacked blonde black porn stars peels off his white turned-on dick, she sucks it and fucks it until it ceases to function. This dismemberment and transformation frenzy takes place to Def Leppard’s Photograph. The exact, heated moment of white-black-man-woman merging takes place as the song warps on its hardest rawest line: Put your hurt on me, if you dare.
This is my interpretation:
I’m a clown, the white boy knows about himself. I’ve got a dick, it’s an alright dick, and it might not be as big as you’re used to, Black Tail, but I want you to smother me, put your hurt on me, your ass on me, your open parts, your silent heart, smear your hurt, gimme some, blurred some, that’s a dare.
The white man is powerful in life and in song because he knows how to get a black woman to need him. If she puts her hurt/cunt on him, he will surprise her by understanding, maybe even submitting himself. And so he’ll become the one that she’ll love because he professes to understand all of her. Maybe he can understand her. Maybe, sometimes, he is also what she needs.
But Narcissister comes dancing and seditious out of the white boy. She jerks on him, parties on him, gags down his small dick. It’s a porn out-of-body dance, shedding decades of crap. Narcissister pushes the process of objectification into the realm of transubstantiation. She is the stacked black blonde porn star qua Saartjie Baartman qua Renee Cox as Hot-en-Tot who uses up and changes the white cock. In this act of judicial confrontation, Narcissister unveils the godly Self. The godly Self looks at itself. The godly Self masturbates; it rejects all untruths. Black Tail rejects the white self that professes to want her so bad that it would self-sacrifice.
Women are fucked-up by men in all kinds of ways. I think that one way is a significant lack of trust that men can truly handle their bodies. The vag is a dark, internal, oozy, bleeding, complexly-designed space of infinite possibility. (2) Maybe pornography speaks right to women because we get to see what we think men can’t truly handle. Porn is the well-lit, trans-substantial quest of the starlet, her cunt and the female audience.
“I wanted to be the most beautiful thing that ever fucked,” says a performer in another twisted memoir I just read (3). “In my head I was everywhere, the future, the present; I was getting fucked while smiling and trying to enjoy myself…”
When Narcissister puts a final, trembling, masturbatory finger on herself, she beats off to her own past, future, present image. She knows she’s been fucked. She shows us. She enjoys herself.
Narcissister as Black Tail is the pure immortal one because in Man-Woman, the image is being beaten.
- Tamara Faith Berger 2014
Hellbent, by Benjamin Lorr, 2012
A.K. Burns, interview in Little Joe, 2011
Girlvert, by Oriana Small, 2012
Thanks to “Pornography: A Black Feminist Woman Scholar’s Reconciliation” by Ariane Cruz, 2013
Tony Stamolis, 2009