Parasites Blog, Number....some number: Vagina Dentata

Well, not so much Vagina Dentata; I think that my second favorite Dread Cephalopod will have written quite enough about that by the time this is read. Instead, I want to talk about the phallic mirror to Vagina Dentata (that is, having teeth in your vagina). I was pleasantly surprised to find that it's a largely untouched subject, but I'm also hoping that it's a subject that is worth touching:

So

For me, Vagina Dentata is symbolically important due to the mythology surrounding it: Kai touches on this here It is also fascinating when you begin to look at real life mirrors of the concept of teeth, consumption, castration. So what of penises? What concept might match the castration fear of men, in women? Rape seems a very likely candidate, where men lose their ability to procreate, to parasite, to vamp, rape costs women their choice of mate (biologically of great significance), and, although more briefly, women their ability to procreate (for procreation has been forced and cannot be held simultaneously). I feel like castration is feared more, taboo'd further, but I'll leave that for Kai to talk about. For my interests, rape and castration will be drawn parallel.
I jokingly considered a toothed penis, or a penis endowed with some other sense, when starting to think about this topic. This was the wrong approach. The phallus is already fanged, it needs no second row of teeth. The penetrative symbolism of the penis mirrors the vampires bite perfectly- a necessary connection in trying to understand the inherant sexuality of vampires. The penis infests, parasites; like the fang that turns a vampires victim, like the mosquito's needle which spreads malaria, men must infect others to prolong their survival (genetic). This simple fact is displayed brilliantly in numerous species, the most appropriate being that of the flatworm. Certain species of hermaphroditic flatworms compete in penis fencing, the loser is penetrated and forced to bear the child. In a sense, the loser is both made female and raped simultaneously, the victor becomes the father. I say the "loser" because child-bearing is a remarkable strain on the body, and requires a great deal of resources- the parasitism of a child on any body is harsh. As much as all men may subconsciously fear Vagina Dentata, of castration amidst ecstasy (natures cruelest switcheroo?), all women may just as easily fear the fanged touch of the phallic, perhaps should. Then, like men, women have cause to fear what we most desire, in fact, far MORE justification. In my experience, this is true.

/Main idea

So it comes to a wash. The fear goes both ways.

In that sense we (men) are all parasites- castration is our greatest fear because it robs us of our sole PURPOSE. But one other possibility has occurred to me as far as phobias so I want to start a thread: not to be crude, but things should leave the penis, not the other way around. The reverse is uncanny.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Candiru

Non-Parasite Divergance two: What a nice day for a depressing poem

We are fragments of a shattered mirror
Rusted too long in a walled off room
We are the screws that hold the creaking floorboards
This house is our body, and we have become it's veins

Youth can only be seen from the corner of your eye
In dusty plastics and awful flower patterns
With sepia-drenched smiles, the frozen look out through a pinhole.
I find myself wistful of the days of simple blurs and vibrant colors
When I was so eager. to. be. and existence! was limitless
But now it seems to me that this is only an imitation
A wooden mask of some great hero, where only flecks of paint retain their splendor
As the crescent mouth creaks, years to scream, smiles perfectly.
Maybe I was just unlucky. Maybe other children knew to stay.
But there are no heroes here, no glory, significance, or reason
Only absurdity, and well-hid hints of inspiration.
How is it that I, who was never old, feel so removed from my youth?
Longing to forget all the causes that led to fights, to battle, to war
Wonder and abandon worn down by relentless clarity-
and heavy-ing step as the world comes into focus, dulled by itself
And with only itself to blame.
The dead stare off into a dark room with only questions
Always dieing, never reborn the same, they wake and never mourn themselves
Always dieing, and reborn
never themselves.