This was one of the questions submitted to The Pop Oracle at The Radio8Ball Show on May 5^th, 2012 at The Capitol Theater in Olympia, Washington. It wasn’t chosen during the event but, seeing as it was a response to the question I asked to open the festivities, I figured I’d answer it here.

My question went as follows (from my notes)…

“Revolutions eat their children and I was born on the front line of the sexual revolution. My family pulled up to Olympia 1969. My father a founding faculty member at The Evergreen State College, my mother one of the first wave of Evergreen feminists who would be re-born two and a half decades later as the riot grrrls, who didn’t like me much. You can’t blame them but I did, and I made a lot of art about it, and a lot of noise about it, and then about two and a half years ago, in an alchemical ritual which I document in my book “Accidental Initiations: In The Kabbalistic Tree Of Olympia”, I married myself and all of a sudden all those qualities which I had previously thought of as my nasty masculine traits were shot through with what can only be described as a divine cuntish essence that made me realize that I was a male riot grrl. Now, if you are a riot grrl I’m not trying to co-opt your thing or join your club. I’m just coming out as what I am, which brings me to my question. It’s not whether a man can be a riot grrl. I know that one can, because I am. As that divine cuntish essence likes to say, “You don’t need a pussy to be a riot grrl anymore than you need a dick to do, well, anything.”  So my question isn’t, can a man be a riot grrl but can you, my fellow Olympians handle a man who’s a riot grrl?”

The answer was “Sugar Bank Hank” from Sandman: The Rappin’ Cowboy.

Sugar Bank Hank

Sugar Bank Hank she’s a real good gal
I’m her boo and she’s my pal
Leave a message on my phone
As you can tell I’m not at home

I’m with the Sugar Bank Hank
She’s my honey bee
We’re down at the swamp with the Spanish Moss
Wrapped around our knees

  Oh, let the barefoot trees come runnin’
Let the barefoot trees come runnin’
Let the barefoot trees come runnin’ back to me

Sugar Bank Hank she’s a real good friend
She’s gonna love me ’til the end
Have one baby, maybe ten

Go to heaven, start again
Oh, Sugar Bank Hank
She’s my honey bee

                We’re down at the swamp with the Spanish Moss
Wrapped around our knees
Oh, Sugar Bank Hank
Sweet as a honey bee

                We’re down at the swamp with the Spanish Moss
Wrapped around our knees
Let the barefoot trees come runnin’
Let the barefoot trees come runnin’
Let the barefoot trees come runnin’ back to me

I took this love song from Sandman to his wife to mean that; as long as the love my inner marriage generates in me is true, it doesn’t really matter what the neighbors think. It’s a bank of sweetness that I can draw on whenever I wish. I also liked the stuff about swamp and the Spanish moss. It made me think of the lotus flower; a symbol of enlightenment.

So, what does “cuntish” mean?

You know when a guy does something that betrays his sensitivity and a woman or another guy calls him a “pussy”? Well, it’s the opposite of that. Like if the guy who had been denigrated as a pussy rose up and cut the accuser to the quick with the withering authority of your grandmother taking you down a peg? That’s cuntish and strong, like that muscle membrane that catapults life into being. A pussy gets fucked. A cunt has been fucked and is ready for dinner. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a pussy. We all get fucked some time, but when you grow up and “own your lips, girl” it’s a cunt, full of power and blood. I suppose it’s similar to the difference between a dick and a cock, but the mystery is always so much more profound in the genital consciousness of others. Perhaps this is why focusing on the sacred other unlocks something in our own holy of holies. For me, at least today, it feels like I draw more vital energy from my inner (and possibly imagined) cunt than from my outer (and thoroughly real) cock. I wouldn’t trade either for a girlfriend or a million dollars.

So, when I speak of a divine cuntish essence I guess I’m talking about grandma energy, if grandma was an unbridled hellion wearing a man suit named Andras Jones.

(Check back for a full report on R8B at the Oly Music Awards soon. In short. It was awesome, magickal and Radio8Ball won an award.)