I. Mutiny of the Body: Constellations Towards a Radical Ecology of Care



He sent Maria a message two weeks prior requesting lots of wipes for “endless cum”. He asked her if she likes to wear pretty dresses, and he told her she had the perfect figure for it. He liked her tiny nipples. He liked her stockings and he liked her big Mexican brown eyes. Actually, he liked them too much. His hard-on became intimidated and for a minute he faltered. She gave him a foot job and he told her he wanted to cum on her stockings. He told her it felt cleaner but she thought it felt dirtier. On average one cum releases 90 million sperm cells. 90 million deaths all over Maria’s 6-pound stockings. A cheap burial but perhaps not a waste. The semen goop was shaped like a ram’s head. In the bible, a scapegoat is an animal that is ritually burdened with the sins of others and then driven away. The concept first appears in Leviticus, in which a goat is designated to be cast into the desert to carry away the sins of the community. A horned deity, or perhaps a spastic attempt by 90 million sperm to organize into one final arrangement that simultaneously speaks to their sacrifice and their burden of carrying the sins of a horny man who loves Mexican chicas.




“I’m cumming, I’m cumming I’M CUMMINGGAHHH!” He shot his load in her direction. Maria laid her head back and a nameless man-boy ejaculated a pearly Joshua tree at the nape of her belly button. She licked the pink fountainhead and told her skin to remember the outline of the Joshua tree shrub that landed on her in a clear liquid mass. The Joshua tree symbolizes the strength and beauty that can arise from dysfunctional desert flower—so to speak. It was undoubtedly an emblem for Maria, representative of survival. The surfaces of her skin remembered all of the dribble drawings that decorated her body. It reminded her of being a child and drawing designs in sunscreen. She remembered watching her skin drink the sun everywhere except for where she branded herself with a smiley face or a peace sign maybe. Maria recognized bodily ejaculation stains as a form of carromancy; divination by way of cum and the lost souls who resided in it. Her clients left her more than a stack of cash in an envelope. They left her an offering. A bodily offering of spontaneous eruption and an augary into the future unknown. Why ask for a pearl necklace when you could let chance deliver you a shape that simultaneously erupts as it reads your fortune, as a figuration of your past present and future.



Secretary ( 2002) is without question a cult classic—a requiem for healthy masochistic power dynamics in the workplace. There are many iconic scenes in this film that Maria liked to watch tri-annually, (a) to once again celebrate the unquestionable ferocity of submission performed by Maggie Gyllenhaal, and (b) to replay the most inglorious cum shot she had ever seen on mainstream cinema. The cum left by her master, her boss, dribbled in an unmistakable series of lines that came together at their base, outlining an octopus in reverse on Ms. Gyllenhaal’s partially clothed but now wet back. The scene is painful in some way, and in that sense, a complete success, but also sad in some way perhaps cued by the bunched up skirt and the sticky mess between rayon stockings and a polyester blouse that would prove to be a defeating cleanup in real life. The scene opens with a disgruntled Maggie Gyllenhaal, who, after weeks of repetitive and punitive typo training, has stopped making typos. But she lives for the unyielding punishment that her employer gives her. She is hungry for correction. She wants to be punished. She wanted to be reprimanded. She wants to evoke the tendrils of her master’s cruelty. She places a dead worm inside the folds of a drafted memo. Bossman circles the worm with his read pen a dozen times and then calls Gyllenhaal into the office where he instructs her to pull down her tights and her panties. Secretary thinks she is in for a world of spanking but instead she begins to realize that she has pushed him too far and alas he is rapidly jacking off into the image of her bare subordinate bottom. He cums on her back. Mortified and aroused, she pulls up her tights and walks into the bathroom stall where she tapes to the wall one of her drafts, bleeding with red pen. She masturbates to the thought of his glorious octopus cum. And we, the viewer, have but a few seconds to catch a glimpse of the erroneous octopus-shaped cum smashed between her polyester blouse and the nape of her lower back. Many cultures, from South America to the Pacific Northwest and the Polynesian Islands, revere octopuses to be divine protectors and spiritual guides. The Octopus on our Secretary’s back embodies the tendrils of control and power that ontologically guides her through her day.