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“Ranting about Marika Hackman’s Virginity on the Sabbath”

Marika Hackman is a virgin and says she will be her whole life and why not, I guess? In general, the birth rate is declining as some clear and present maladies surface on the level of future and current human existence. And in terms of the sex act itself, I think, there’s an impetus even within the act to procreate — to let loose your juice, if you’re the guys, and, I presume, to absorb said juice, if you’re the woman. 

Sex is a social construction. It’s not completely one, obviously, since it serves the purpose of spawning an embryo in the woman’s womb. But it is one, to an extent, and really, the pressure proffered unto people do have sex might have something to do with a motive to emaciate women’s self-esteem, peace of mind, self-respect… He**, everything that makes them who they are, really.

I have experienced firsthand the pratically unparalleled thrill of feeling a woman’s side rest against me when we’re both fully clothed. Hackman, most probably, has experienced this too. Actually, her last album, Any Human Friend (which puzzlingly has a picture of her with a giant snake on the cover), has at least one song about the stuff she does with her boyfriend, which is basically like repeated, elongated sessions of “messing around,” of foreplay, to never completely consummate. Insofar as these are obviously purposeful acts on their parts, in addition to having the calculated, sophisticated quality of continually avoiding the ultimate temptation, it stands to reason that Hackman is indeed able to love, and to feel affection, despite never maneuvering into complete, full sexual intercourse. You could certainly argue, then, that Hackman is living life to every bit the full degree that people who “do it” are, and maybe even to a fuller one, given that her exact practices in her own life represent a deviation from the norm, from the conventional sociological caterwaul that commands women to bare their bodies, to carnally provide for me and to basically whore themselves out, for the sake of the culture, or for the sake of selling birth control for corporations, selling mass-produced condoms, lambasting people’s morales to the point where they crave escapes such as liquor, drugs, trips to the Bahamas, pink Volkswagons, and the likes adjacent. Hackman hails from London, where it’s probably to a greater extent possible to grow up not attracting too much attention for your unorthodox sexual behavior, or lack thereof, in this case. She is half-naked on her album cover, apparently just to attract attention (though it happens to be a pretty solid electro-pop LP, in its own right), and apparently represents the new guard, anyway, in which that thunderous cackling in her ear to compromise her anatomy and her purity subsided to the point where she can start thinking rationally. 

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