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People are always joking about sex, but are any of us actually in on the joke?
Last night, friends invited me to a sexy, amateur burlesque show. Both cast and audience were having a great time, and for the first fifteen minutes, I felt carried along by their high spirits. But as the show stretched on, I became arrogantly and contemptuously disdainful of these ever-more predictable sexy hijinks and frivolities. And now, after having a night and some dreams to reflect, I feel my scorn is both warranted and illustrative of key aspects of the human shadow.
The premise of the dream was that I was back in high school as a teacher and that students had just been touched by the death of some people close to them. In one scene, some young teachers are doing a supposedly funny, school-sanctioned skit about death in a public bathroom to diffuse the situation.
Then there was a staff meeting, and in my typically outspoken, confrontational way (witness this card), I objected that the way they were handling death was grossly superficial, trite, glib, and that, in general, it sucked in every possible way.
I woke up feeling indignation at giggly, trivializing attitudes toward subjects as profoundly significant as sex and death. These feelings quickly converted to a desire to write a scathing Zap Oracle card exposing aspects of the collective human shadow revealed by the sexy burlesque I had attended the night before.
The name of the burlesque show was "Pandora's Box," and it included performers dressed up as characters and archetypes from Greek mythology. As I watched, it quickly became apparent that the cast was trifling with archetypes that applied to them in deadly serious ways they didn't begin to understand.
Let's start with the archetype of Pandora's Box, the archetype the sexy burlesque chose as the name of their show. Indeed, sex is a Pandora's Box in very, very, VERY dangerous and potent ways. Sex can cause both life and death. In fact, the first of these annual sex burlesques began as a fundraiser for someone dying of AIDS.
From my point of view, the dumbest oxymoron of all time is "casual sex." How can a collision (or harmony) of the primal energies of two souls be casual? It's a biological fact that "casual sex" can create life or cause death. And news flash to the clueless—when you merge your primal energies with another being, neither is the same ever again. Promiscuous sex with strangers, unerotic sex on the level of the genitalia, soulless sex as a metaphor for power, and mundane sex based on availability rather than quality is not a cause for giggly celebration.
A disdain for the nearly universal tendency to endlessly joke about sex has characterized my entire adult life. The presumption behind all the sex jokes is that we're all sophisticated grown-ups in on the same joke.
But I'm not sure that anyone is actually in on this joke. A giant, irreducible factor called sex takes over the life of most of us and has us doing all sorts of things not necessarily to the benefit of ourselves or others. For example, homicide. There are whole bodies of law devoted to crimes of passion, and the most predictable local news headline of all time is a jealous boyfriend murdering one or more people.
So hilarious — this thing we joke about constantly without even beginning to understand what it is, even as it takes over our lives. Sure, procreative sex can be given a straightforward biological explanation. But this sexy burlesque was about every other form of sex than the procreative. It was a comic celebration of any sex thing thought to be kinky and transgressive.
Yes, if the burlesque were performed at the court of Queen Victoria, it would be transgressive. In its actual context, however, to an audience who also celebrates the anything-goes promiscuous norm of contemporary Western culture, it was not transgressive but in massive conformity to the expectations of peers in the audience. It was as norm-enforcing as a Presbyterian minister preaching to a congregation of Presbyterians. How daring and avant-garde to mimic the same forms of sexuality coming at us from every form of media during most of our waking moments.
No other animal is sexual in the way human beings are, nor are they sexually aroused all year round as so many humans are. As one psychiatrist put it, we know about as much about sex as stone-age folk did about fire. We know that we can create fire or sex by repetitiously rubbing two things together, but we know very little about why sex, to a degree unknown in the rest of the animal kingdom, dominates the lives of the planet's most evolved organic species.
Much of the burlesque consisted of one cast member after another lip-synching sexy, top-forty hits while dancing lasciviously. One such lip-synching, butt-twerking performance was done to the classic Eurythmics song, "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)," which includes the all-too-familiar lyrics, "Some of them want to abuse you/ Some of them want to be abused."
This lyric concisely describes a familiar aspect of human interaction going on in trailer parks, country clubs, and church picnics 24/7/365. Some people are abusers, some people are the victims of abuse, and some victims of abuse are masochistically addicted to being abused. Get it? What a rip-roaringly hilarious joke worthy of spastically erupting guffaws of laughter!
I didn't notice a single person pause in their hilarity to think about what those lyrics actually mean. What the song describes, with clinical starkness, is a vast reality of what sex is for a very substantial part of the human population.
Humor is often used to cope with sources of anxiety. For example, there are more political jokes in politically troubled countries. Since sex riddles people with multiple anxieties, it drives them to compulsively joke about it. Endlessly, they laugh at a joke they're not in on.
In the Pandora's Box burlesque show, people laughed at archetypes, like the fool who naively opens Pandora's Box, when they are themselves the fools laughing before the wide-open Pandora's Box of sex.
Archetypes you don't understand ain't laughing with you. They're laughing at you.
My advice: Don't keep laughing at the same-old, same-old sexy jokes when you're the butt of those jokes. Try to understand the joke, realizing there are extreme limits to your understanding.
And when you are part of a vast, collective joke you can't understand, here's some more advice — be very circumspect about your behavior. Be cautious about being an actor in the endless sexual burlesque of the human species when you didn't choose your role or the scripts that came with it. Closely examine what you are doing from an ethical perspective, and refrain from doing anything that violates universal ethics, such as acting out things with those not at an age, sobriety, or state of functioning to give rational consent.
Sex can also be loving, heartfelt, soulful, and transcendent. So here's some more advice:
Maybe have a little bit of caution before settling for, let alone celebrating with jokey hilarity, sex that is none of those things.
As users of this oracle are well aware, my advice with all significant choices is to ask yourself, "Will I remember this well on my deathbed?" How many of those supposedly hilarious sexual hijinks in bed stand up to that ultimate question?
I'm aware of the counterarguments to my highly polarizing perspective. A historian once described Puritanism as the "terrifying, paranoid fear that someone, somewhere, might be having a good time." But I don't have any Protestants or Catholics in my ancestry, nor am I a practicing member of any religion. Indeed, I am enthusiastically in favor of highly novel, life-affirming forms of sexuality and think sex can be at the cutting edge of evolution. I want people to have ecstatic, transcendent sex and to contribute spectacular, incandescent, polychromatic pansexual life-affirming orgasms into the collective cauldron of human energy. And in my experience, that can happen both in company and auto-erotically.
I'm not anti-sex. I'm just not in on the jokey celebration of promiscuous, pornographic sex merely on the level of the genitalia and of weak, mundane, mediocre sex borne of habit and addiction. Some people want to abuse, and some want to be abused, and these are the sweet dreams that so much of human psychology and practice are made of. But, sorry, I'm not in on that joke. I'm also not interested in being a school crossing guard stopping consenting adults from doing whatever with other consenting adults behind closed doors. But don't expect me to laugh along with you.
Also, there is nothing whatever empowering about the oft-repeated intention of the clueless that they want to "let go of all their inhibitions." I've heard well-educated people at Burning Man say they want to go to Jiffy-Lube Camp to "let go of all their inhibitions." Many key neurological functions are inhibitory. Letting go of all your inhibitions makes as much sense as wanting to drive a car with no brakes. Ask someone suffering from Tourette's Syndrome how empowered they feel by having an inhibition deficit.
Yes, you would be a rebellious maverick-renegade if you were performing your burlesque at a Baptist Bible-study summer camp or the court of Queen Victoria, but if instead, you are performing to an audience of other people who also worship in the common way at the altar of promiscuous sexual hijinks — there's not the slightest aspect of rebellion or daring in what you are doing. In fact, what you're celebrating is in perfect mechanical conformity with your peers and subculture, and that's why they are all laughing along with you right on cue. You're not a rebel but a puppet of forces beyond your control performing for the amusement of other puppets controlled by the same collective forces.
When laughter can be sustained without the slightest presence of novel humor, it means we're in the presence of puppet-to-puppet tragi-comedy. For example, this audience found the same oral-sex sight gag—cast members going down on a cardboard cut-out of a phallus hanging clumsily from the costume of another cast member as hilarious in its tenth instance as much as it was in its first.
Particularly grotesque in the Pandora's Box performance was a slightly obese late middle-aged woman in the cast who had chosen to personify Hades — a male god of death and the underworld as a hilarious and personally empowering archetype of you-go-girl uninhibited promiscuity. This mildly obese older woman was dressed all in red in the sort of skimpy one-piece outfit of the sort that would force a circa 1950s, twenty-one-year-old Las Vegas cocktail waitress to live on a diet of black coffee and cigarettes so she could fit into it without embarrassing herself.
This unflatteringly dressed Hades Lady kept singing in a tone of you-go-girl self-empowerment of her eternal willingness to have people sit on her face and act out every sort of adolescent sex fantasy she could think of, every one of which was a golden oldie in ancient Egypt. Another newsflash to the clueless: unless your sexual kink requires batteries, it is not new, daring, avant-garde, rebellious, shocking, or maverick-renegade sex pirate in any way, shape, or form. It's a golden oldie widely in practice thousands of years before you came on the scene.
One of the songs the Hades Lady sang in her you-go-girl exuberance of self-empowered acting out began with the line, "I was born standing up!" Note to Hades Lady: No, you weren't. You were born as a helpless, squirming infant driven by blind instinct. You're not standing proud, but still being mindlessly driven by adolescent obsessions in late middle age.
So, next time you find yourself laughing about sex, do a reality check to see if you're actually in on the joke. If you find, like I do, that this immense force contains mysteries we have yet to unravel, retreat from the hollow laughter of the collective burlesque and reflect on the role sex plays in your life. Will you remember what you are doing well on your deathbed?