Solidly-mediocre purveyor of Normative Pap, Hollywood asset Matt Damon, recently took the risky step of addressing the hot topic of sexual servitude in Hollywood with what he obviously thought was a carefully-calibrated non-statement that nobody could reasonably take exception to. However, an article at The Guardian (and what exactly are they guarding, I’ve often wondered, beyond the obvious?) now  informs us:

Damon said there was “a difference between patting someone on the butt and rape or child molestation. Both of those behaviours need to be confronted and eradicated without question, but they shouldn’t be conflated.”

He added that society was in a “watershed moment” and said it was “wonderful that women are feeling empowered to tell their stories and it’s totally necessary”. But he said: “We live in this culture of outrage and injury, that we’re going to have to correct enough to kind of go, ‘Wait a minute. None of us came here perfect.’”

It wasn’t long, as The Guardian goes on to state, before newly-deputized Nanny Fascist, Minnie Driver, leapt into the spotlight on one of the Nanny Fascist hive-mind weapons of choice, Twitter, with:

 “God God, seriously?

“Gosh it’s so interesting (profoundly unsurprising) how men with all these opinions about women’s differentiation between sexual misconduct, assault and rape reveal themselves to be utterly tone deaf and as a result, systemically part of the problem.”

Thanks to Harvey Weinstein, of course, Driver didn’t feel compelled to explain the reasoning behind her reaction. All she had to do, as she knew, was wait for fellow newly-deputized, freshly energized  Nanny Fascists to chime in; the more people “like” or “share,” or, in whatever way, agree with your tweeted position, the less likely it is that you will be called on to justify the tweeted position with Facts & Logic.

This is another way of saying that “Truth” is now, more than ever before, a matter of Consensus because the tendrils of the Consensus Machine are more existence-saturating than ever. Not necessarily “consensus” in the sense of raw numbers: what “Truth” now requires is not a majority of people in agreement but an overwhelming uniformity of opinion among those who matter.  Those Who Matter are to be determined, these days (thanks to Harvey Weinstein and Co) … obviously… by the Nanny Fascists (nb: the sound you just heard was the neatly-satisfying “pop!” of the open ends of an unsupported premise sealing shut with the circular logic of its own pretensions). So:

Driver’s response to Damon was shared widely on social media, alongside that of the actor Alyssa Milano, who said: “There are different stages of cancer. Some more treatable than others. But it’s still cancer.”

Therefore, a “pat on the butt” of any woman, under any circumstance, is now determined to be different only by degrees, and not by category, from child-rape. Could any mental condition more useful than Hysteria be responsible for such a patently False Assertion or Belief System? Goody Proctor is laughing her wimpled ass off in Eternity’s Green Room.


On Saturday, Driver told the Guardian: “I felt I desperately needed to say something. I’ve realised that most men, good men, the men that I love, there is a cut-off. They simply cannot understand what abuse is like on a daily level.

“I honestly think that until we get on the same page, you can’t tell a woman about their abuse. A man cannot do that. No one can. It is so individual and so personal, it’s galling when a powerful man steps up and starts dictating the terms, whether he intends it or not.”

“I felt I desperately needed to say something.”

Why? To prevent another consensus-violating example of Free Speech from leaking out?

But, no. Sure: now that the genuinely brave victims have stuck their necks out regarding Weinstein-and-Co, going public when it was unprecedented (and therefore highly dangerous) to do so, we’re getting the third-and-fourth wavers who aren’t, in fact,  relating first-person victim narratives at all… they’re hawking uselessly broad commentary on… Men. Who, as an Abstraction, as we know, can only Abuse and never suffer Abuse. It’s not exactly Collective Punishment but it’s certainly a key preliminary phase before it.

“I felt I desperately needed to say something and by saying something grab some limelight and raise my profile before the topic is too passé,” is more like it.

[sidebar: Driver and Damon once “dated” which means “fucked” and it wouldn’t be absolutely nuts to suppose that Driver fired a shot across Damon’s bow knowing that she has something on him; perhaps he coerced her into threesomes or was into bondage or initiated anal without checking, first, twenty years ago; if Damon forgets this, and fires back, perhaps Driver will escalate, using Polaroids or embarrassing G-chat texts to buy herself a place in the trendy ranks of Active Victims of Famous Heterosexual Male Sex Drives… possibly a career godsend?]

Has newly-deputized Nanny Fascist Minnie Driver ever commented on Racism? If so, we hope a newly-deputized Nanny Fascist of Color was right there, quick as you please, to remind Driver that not only was her opinion not required (for structural reasons) but, worse, unwelcome and even, possibly, part of the problem.

When newly-deputized Nanny Fascist Minnie Driver tweeted an attack on Hollywood asset (and ex-lover) Matt Damon’s right to express an opinion (that differs in any way on the Agreed Upon Position), writing “I honestly think that until we get on the same page, you can’t tell a woman about their abuse. A man cannot do that. No one can,” was she including herself in that “no one can”… ? And, if so, does that contradict her apparent  implied position that while Matt Damon isn’t allowed to express an opinion even referencing the very different experiences and circumstances of millions of people… She, newly-deputized Nanny Fascist Minnie Driver, is allowed (nay, obliged)  to speak for the disparate millions because… vagina?

Weinstein-and-Co’s gross power to override fairness, logic, decency, facts and freedom of speech has now, in a coup, been passed from Weinstein-and-Co to the Nanny Fascists lighting up the Media Bandwagon to exploit the moment for personal power. Well, that’s how these things work. Weinstein-and-Co used their droit-du-seigneur to abuse women they wouldn’t, naturally, have been able to come within twenty meters of… and in the changing of hands this power itself changes, diffusing among a much larger number of people whose desires/ methods/ agendas are not what Weinstein-and-Co’s were. Everyone uses the magic wand of Corrupting Power differently when it falls into their nervous mitts. In the hands of the newly-deputized Nanny Fascists, the power is no longer as concentrated and personally destructive as it was when it was held by a few rich old men, but it is still quite destructive. To borrow a metaphor: it may not be cancer of the cock any more, but it’s still a cancer. Of the… ass? Of the pointing finger? Of the Culture?

Still: I won’t be fully engaged in this largely-disingenuous and savagely-policed “debate” until David Bowie, the Bushes, the Clintons, at least half of The Rolling Stones (Saint Bowie merely fucked thirteen-and-fourteen year olds; Billy Wyman married one), a Bill Gates or Steve Jobs type and at least one very high functionary in the Military Branch of the Military/Industrial/Entertainment complex, are put on trial for the same range of offenses that Weinstein-and-Co committed.

Otherwise: what’s really going on here? The Eternal Question.

But this overall Issue isn’t about “MEN (eye-roll)™”…   it’s all about Power and mostly about Psychos.  Less Twitter-Sexism and greater Focus would help.


PS: [and here’s the perfect Jungian punchline to this essay: after finishing writing it, I was reading an unrelated article about rather intriguing Science-y stuff and came to this passage, the absurdity of which… do they really use the word “assault”?… floored me (emphasis mine):

While sexual interactions between closely related species have been seen for all manner of animals, from various species of fish to species of baboon, such liaisons are rare, with the sexual assault of king penguins by Antarctic fur seals the only other known example between distant species.

PPS: Actual Tweet (reTweeted 15k times):

ash @theclassprez Dec 14
If he can’t understand that “men are trash” is an anti-patriarchal movement that has to do with oppressive systems rather than each man personally he’s not the one for you






In three days I’ve read (among other things) material on Jordan Peele’s Get Out, singer Charles Bradley’s Life and Death and a short story by ever-game Zadie Smith that attempts (wince-inducingly) to inhabit the consciousness of Billie Holiday (one is somewhat surprised to read Lady Day exhibiting strongly British cadences in her idle thoughts). This reading material was not lined up according to a theme or agenda (and was interspersed with material as unrelated as 19th-century newspaper articles about burial mounds packed with 9-foot- skeletons, an uncannily widely-reported phenom in the USA’s early days) but one phrase that kept popping up, and irritating the fuck out of me, as I read, was “The Black Experience”. Whose? Which Blacks are we talking about?

Parents, 1950s

I may well be the book-mad Logopath that I am today because my maternal grandmother’s house was full of books (she wrote weekly book-reviews for pocket money and before that published short stories, which were usually about the romantic lives of young, “high yellow” bourgeois Blacks of the ’30s and ’40s)  when I was growing up. I was out there at grandma’s place most every weekend. It was a strange, quasi-suburban, pseudo-middle class neighborhood built up by a few generations of Black postal and railroad workers. My grandfather collected rent on several properties and did his books every night wearing a classic accountant’s visor at his rolltop desk. Rock Island & Pacific Railroad tracks were twenty five seconds away by bike and I loved the long tails of the mournful howls of the locomotive whistles at night. Quite literally and figuratively, on the other side of these tracks, was a White Golf Course the errant balls from which we prized and collected like Faberge eggs on the tracks.

My grandmother’s house featured very large front, side and back yards, surrounded front and side by a hedge,  full of trees: one apple, one cherry tree and half-a-dozen others on the property (thunderstorms could be terrifying: direct strikes and fried squirrels were common). There were two grape arbors (big fat juicy blue-black grapes and smaller waxy green grapes) and my grandfather fed us with tomatoes and sweet corn growing on stalks that towered over me whenever I dashed around the corner of the house, into the blinding hot sun, with a water pistol or a rubber band-powered airplane or pursued by hornets real and imagined.

vintage Fam-maternal
Vintage Fam-Maternal, ’20s, ’30s, ’40s

When I wasn’t digging deep holes in the mud or putting grasshoppers in jars or eating Dreamsicles with feet a-dangle on the front porch glider, I was looking for forbidden books on one of the many book cases in my grandmother’s front room or living room. Some of the shelves of the book cases, I had discovered, featured two rows of books and it was among the books in the hidden rows that I found, in roughly this order, books by Taylor Caldwell, Chaim Potok, Henry Miller, Norman Mailer and D.H. Lawrence which each featured racy stuff. The books were largely incomprehensible to a gradeschool kid, but I was literate enough to sprout embarrassing erections while reading these books in my “secret spot” under the front stairs; the irony being that Miller’s Tropic of Cancer (by far the most obscene of the bunch) was so padded with sesquipedalian detours that I never actually found the juicy bits in it… I always assumed it was something about the South Seas in the manner of a book by James Michener. This would have been during the 1960s: me under the front stairs of my grandmother’s house with a thermos of lemonade and Portnoy’s Complaint.

I’m Black and those were some of my experiences. Do they qualify as “The Black Experience?”



When I was in my early 20s, I believed in the “Seth” books. Yes, it’s hard to believe (either that I was once that young or once that Stupid). “Seth” is a supposed hyper-dimensional being who is pretty high up in the ranks of hyper-dimensional beings, and who was, supposedly, famously, channeled by an unpublished writer with supernaturally-bad teeth, in order to bring humans advice regarding the actual meanings and mechanisms of this, and various other, Cosmoses. Jane “Tomb Teeth” Roberts, the unpublished writer (and possible psychotic: horrific childhood), soon had a respectable publishing Empire on her hands and seems to have single-handedly kicked off the New Age Channeling craze (which is as robust as ever), along with collateral hokum like “energized crystals” and so forth. Based on what evidence? Because she said so.

People are so desperate to Believe. The Bigger the Lie (eg The Virgin Birth,  Guardian Angels, the Anthropomorphic Cosmos, the Magic Bullet, NAZA’s Cold War “Miracle” of the Apollo Project, Xenu, Moroni, the Super Arabs of 9/11, and now… holy fuck… Flat Earth) the harder they cling. Can we seriously think that Ms. Roberts and her co-conspiring hubbie were the first to discover how gullible the average (even well-educated) person can be and to turn this open secret to nefarious advantage? Surely, every big Government and/ or Religion on Earth got there first: the most striking evidence of which being that the record-breakingly preposterous Jesus Story (which makes the Santa Story look like Newtonian physics in comparison)  isn’t even the first Tall Tale that pops into the average Western Mind when the topic comes up, if it does at all. Oh, sure: Bronze-Age rabbi… virgin birth,  never excreted, Son of God, rose again. Yep….

Look upon this video, linked below, of a roomful of very-probably-college-educated New Agers listening to a lady with mind-blowing dentition claim to channel the Intelligent (and rather verbose) Spirit of a Hyper-Dimensional Being with the goofiest accent I have ever, ever, heard:

(To be fair to my 20-something idiot of a Self: I read the books but I never saw this hilariously preposterous video; a commenter in the thread attached to the video writes: “The thing about the Seth material is, even if it WERE a fraud (which I don’t think it is), the literature would STILL be very powerful and useful and memorable,” and got a heart-like from the channel owner. Says it all, no?)




  1. hey, get this – I have a friend that grew up in Elmira
    I e-asked friend “do you know about this Jane Roberts?”, forwarding a link to the vid (on Youtube, not The Imp – boundaries, boundaries)

    friend asked mother, who answered friend “Yes, indeed we do know (of) her – she lived in the same building as great-auntie T_______. I don’t know how well they knew each other, but they were neighbors – I wonder if [great-auntie T______ ] ever went to any readings?!”

    : b


    1. Boundaries are the soul of discretion, Mlle Mimi! Meanwhile: amazing intervention by the ghost of Jung, here! I’d love to hear a first person account of one of those hyper-dimensional hootenannies (sp?) and what, exactly, everyone thought was happening in that room while Jane R. was getting blitzed in a rocking chair and speaking in the weirdest theatrical accent on Earth (cue: theremin)…!


    1. Yeah, people have these treasured stereotypes they don’t easily give up! But I know the populist fantasies aren’t always (or even often) true. My family is a weird case… both maternal and paternal sides had wealth and poverty and I walked between these realms!


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