Decorum of the House

“House Republicans prohibited state Rep. Lisa Brown from speaking on the floor Thursday (6/14/12) after she ended a speech Wednesday against a bill restricting abortions by referencing her female anatomy… ‘Finally, Mr. Speaker, I’m flattered that you’re all so interested in my vagina, but no means no,’ Brown said Wednesday. Brown’s comment prompted a rebuke Thursday by House Republicans, who wouldn’t allow her to voice her opinion on a school employee retirement bill. ‘What she said was offensive,’ said Rep. Mike Callton, R-Nashville. ‘It was so offensive, I don’t even want to say it in front of women. I would not say that in mixed company.’ … Majority Floor Leader Jim Stamas, R-Midland, determined Brown’s comments violated the decorum of the House, said Ari Adler, spokesman for the Republican majority.”Read the whole article.

Behind every dumb-ass Congressional jerk-off is an idea of God
in which God is a mystery His eyes filled with roses.
God’s mind a halo of fur. Menstrual orgasm. I’m told
that it’s beyond vogue to trim one’s pubes, regular guys
at Harvard were already doing it for Naked Ecstasy
Parties like 10 years ago. Must be beyond offensive—juicy clit-tickling
—to the average asshole to find himself faced with an untrimmed
pussywillow, especially one lacquered bloody brown, or tangled
with yeast or who knows what kind of repellent
natural waste product. (The dumb-asses themselves are
such a product, you could say. Mucous discharge. You and I
could also say that not all assholes are men[‘s], just as
not all cocksuckers are women.) Not everything feminine
possesses a vagina—feminine rhyme, for example (vagina/carolina
as opposed to the masculine cock/frock). “Feminine quantity” describes
the mathematics symbol for subtraction, a negative sign.
Subtraction happens, in a way, during childbirth, an event
designed to occur—douchebag—by way of the filthy cunt.
Ina May Gaskin, in Spiritual Midwifery, advises, “Don’t
let the head suddenly explode from the mother’s vagina…
It helps the mother relax around her vagina if you massage her
there—her vagina will become more pliant and stretchy.”
3 inches is the length of the average woman’s vagina, but
“the vagina is exceedingly elastic.” To have an abortion (subtraction)
in Michigan, you must hurl the word vagina back and forth
without breaking it; or it might work to invite
a batallion of hagfish into your hellhole. In Heaven,
in other words, there are only roses and fur, and feel free
while you’re there to use Bitch instead of Nature. The word
“Freedom” is so offensive I don’t even want to say it in front
of the Greek army’s Trojan horse. The word vagina often colloquially
refers to the vulva or the female genitals generally—so do whisker
, gutted hamster, bearded clam, etc. There’s the idea called
“Vagina Dentata,” which invokes sharks, and the fact that shark
livers and vaginas both naturally produce squalene. This rare
organic compound incidentally entered the biochemistry
of U.S. Soldiers vaccinated for anthrax during the Gulf
War. Squalene, it’s been reported, caused the Gulf War
Syndrome. Vagina comes (in 1680) from the Latin for “sheath”
or “scabbard,” derived from Proto-Indo-European wag-ina,
“cover of a hollow thing.” Do you trim your pubes?
Does Michigan Republican Majority Floor Leader
Jim Stamas, who was vagina-violated? Because I certainly feel
it would violate the decorum of the house if he wagged
an unkempt headship in mixed company. Contrary
to popular imagination, a vagina isn’t furry and it’s unlikely
most people have ever really seen a vagina—rancid succubus.
The vagina is an internal organ that functions as a fibro-
muscular tubular tract. Until penetrated by a boy’s finger
at a high school make-out party circa 1984, I failed
to fully conceptualize the basic architecture of my own vagina,
I hadn’t yet quite grasped how it could be such a hole
that a cock could go into or a baby come out of.
In 5th grade I had a dream about my brother having sex
with a girl named Kris, who lived down the street.
Her brother played football for the Green Bay Packers.
In my dream, Kris’s creampuff looked like an elephant’s
trunk into which my brother’s penis perfectly fit. Kris and I
went to the same camp, and that summer I caught a glimpse
of her branching pubescence, dark decorous scrolls I intensely loathed,
and coveted. If you Google “vaginectomy,” you’ll find
that the vagina, when exteriorized (via surgery or, sometimes,
just gravity), really kind of does look like an elephant’s trunk
or a hagfish or a tornado. Regardless of what my Auntie
Velma looks like, I believe it’s rather special. You would
never guess how many little creatures have been touched by it,
nor how many substances natural or otherwise have violated
its entrance or employed its exit. My Virgoan Vessel, my Princess
Abandoned, my Wounded Centaur. My Venus, full of roses.

Front page image by CedarBendDrive

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Sarah Fox

About the Author

Sarah Fox lives in Northeast Minneapolis where she co-directs, with John Colburn, the Center for Visionary Poetics. Coffee House Press published her book Because Why in 2006, and will release The First Flag in Spring 2013. She teaches writing and poetics, contributes to the multi-author arts and culture blog Montevidayo, and also serves as a doula. Recent work appears, or soon will, in Conduit, Action, Yes, Fence, We Are So Happy To Know Something, Poetry City USA Vol. 2, Spout, Altered Scale, Rain Taxi, LUNGFULL!, and others. She performs poetry rituals and other intersubjective actions in public and private spaces around the Twin Cities and beyond.
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