Cunt (36 page)

Woodson, Jacqueline. I
Hadn’t Meant to Tell You This
. New York: Delacorte, 1994.

X, Malcolm and Haley, Alex.
The Autobiography of Malcolm X
. New York: Grove, 1965.

Yoshimoto, Banana.
Kitchen
. New York: Grove, 1993.

Zahavi, Helen.
The Weekend
. New York: Donald I. Fine, 1991.

Zinn, Howard.
A People’s History of the United States, 1492-Present
. New York: HarperPerennial, 1995.

EXCERPTS, AS SUBMITTED, from THE WOMAN’S ENCYCLOPEDIA OF MYTHS AND SECRETS by Barbara
G. Walker.

Copyright © 1983 by Barbara G. Walker. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins, Inc.

Selection from
Mutant Message Down Under
. Copyright © 1991. From Mutant Message Down Under by Marlo Morgan. Reproduced by
permission of M M Co.

Lyrics from “Buttons” by Kinnie Star. Copyright © 1996 by Kinnie Starr. Reprinted
by permission of Kinnie Starr.

Selection from
Immodest Acts: The Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy
. Copyright © 1986. From
Immodest Acts: The Life of
a
Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy
by Judith Brown. Reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press, Inc.

Selection from “She’s Gotta Have It: An Interview with Nina Hartley” by Marcelle Karp
(aka Betty Boop), co-editor,
BUST
magazine #10.

Selection from
“The Progressive
Interview: Desmond Tutu, February 1998.” Reprinted by permission of
The Progressive
. Selection printed as it appeared in the
Utne Reader,
May/June 1998.

Selection from the interview with Leslie Feinberg from the Copyright Workers World
Service. For more information contact WorkersWorld, 55 W. 17th Street, New York, NY
10011, [email protected]

Writers tend to put acknowledgment pages in their books because—unless authored by
the very vain or very hermetic-books do not come to fruition without the support and
love of many, many individuals.

In college, I learned the value of unqualified support from a single human being.
Dr. Leo Daugherty read my stories, poems, essays and interviews with a sensitivity
and insight I hadn’t experienced since elementary school, when Mrs. Lingle and Mrs.
House—my second and third grade teachers, respectively— prodded my imagination with
a gusto I was wholly unappreciative of at the time. I extend my deepest regards to
these three educators.

From the outset of this book, Holly Marie Morris was the single human being who believed
in me so much my heart
positively swells
. Trust and respect are huge gifts. I do not take lightly Holly’s inspiration for
bringing these gifts into my life.
Cunt
would never, ever, ever have been written if I hadn’t seen her that day in New York,
gliding ‘cross the room in her cream linen suit like grace was a word made ’specially
with her in mind. Holly, I love you dearly.

My mother was the first person to read an early draft of
Cunt
. Because her experiences are so integral to my writing, I hoped to procure her blessing
before venturing on to a rewrite. Not only is my mother from a different culture,
but many of my beliefs are difficult for someone of her generation to understand.
Regardless, she never paused in support of my words. She did not ask me to edit out
a single iota of her life experiences. Her courage overwhelms me. I am honored to
be her daughter.

I gave the final draft of
Cunt
to my brother, Joe B., and my sister, Elizabeth, for Christmas 1997. A man of few
words, my brother left a concise message on my voice mail two weeks later, “It’s killer,”
he said. “Goddamn, this is just killer.” My sister, a person I have aptly nicknamed
“Hard Customer,” called me at least twice a week for a month, gushing with excitement
and love.

Obviously, Joe B. and Liz are my siblings and lot of people might think, “
Of course
they had nice things to say,” but it is an absolute veracity that my brother and
sister would never say things to spare my feelings. If there’s shit to be talked,
rest assured, they are the first to talk it.

I don’t thank them solely for reading my book with such care and devotion, I thank
them for letting me know I am as precious to them as they are to me. It is extremely
painful that we learned the preciousness of life through the death of our brother,
but all the same, I am glad we learned this.

Jennie Goode and Faith Conlon. Goode and Faith, need I say more? Their Goode Faith
in
Cunt
deserves accolades of candy and champagne forever. I know it is considered a “risk”
to publish this book, and they, along with the entire staff of Seal Press—Lee Damsky,
Ingrid Emerick, Laura Gronewold, Kate Loeb, Lisa Okey and Lynn Siniscalchi—rose to
the occasion like prima ballerinas aloft. And don’t even get me started on Jennie
Goode’s paranormal levels of comprehension. Lordisa.

Likewise, many thanks to Leigh Feldman. Her belief in this project was—given the aforementioned
“risk” factor—astounding. I will never forget the day she told me she felt like standing
on the rooftop screaming “cunt” at the top of her lungs. Thank you. You rule.

Loraine Harkin, naturopathic physician, kindly read the manuscript and shared her
knowledge. Her input and support for
Cunt
were greatly appreciated.

When it was time to get jacket and press photos taken, I went with a gut feeling and
called Rebecca McBride. The resulting photographs freaked me out. It was as if she
prowled around in my dreamworld and somehow duplicated the precise images I could
conjure only nebulous words to describe. Rebecca is a genius.

Sybil, Paul, Memphis, Erin and Christopher were so kind to me during a very difficult
time. Ditto Peri Heydari Pakroo, Oh My!, Turtle, Parisha and Jason Speewhoreski.

Lisa Vogel and the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival inspired me and goaded me on in
ways I’m sure they are completely unaware of.

Whenever I feel like maybe there’s no magic in the world, maybe I’ve been wrong this
whole time, I just think of Panacea and Mr. Quintron, and I know there are always
spells to cast and pussycats to cavort with.

Om. Her voice, her love, her letters from Japan. How I love Om. Elizabeth Faye spoils
her women with laughter and massages. Gasperini sends her women skateboards in the
mail, which makes them have total spontaneous orgasms of joy. Dawn Kiss, the beautiful,
passionate snowboarding punk rock valkyrie ablaze.

Bridget Irish, 100 percent Irish, born on St. Patrick’s Day. Bridget tells me I can
do anything I want. When voices in my head say stuff like, “Inga, you
can’t
call him ‘Keith “Piece of Shit” Richards,’” Bridget’s face floats into my frontal
lobe, and I
know,
I can call him “Keith ‘Piece of Feral Dogshit Smeared on the Washington Monument’
Richards,” if I want.

I am intensely grateful for the support and love of dearest Kotexi, Bart, Mrs. L.
and Dr. Flusty.

If home is where the heart is, my heart is where Bambi, Shug, Sini and Alisun are.
All four of my housemates listened to me wrestle with various chapters, put up with
my freakish hours and respected the importance of bunny ears. My week
sucks
if Bambi and I don’t have our Sunday morning coffee ’n smokes session. Shug’s bright,
blazing smile is a pillar of our community. I could listen to Sini’s hilarious stories
for hours on end. Alisun’s logical mind has improved the quality of my life hundreds
of times. She never misses a
follicle
of inconsistency.

I love you all so very much.

And the genius filmmaker, Harperetta Carter. My heart
grieves
for those who underestimate her scathing perspective on life and society, which she
cleverly hides in her sweet, sweet smile and grandmother-spiced tenderness.

At three o’ clock in the morning, when I
hafta
share something, to cry or hear a beautiful story, I call Riz, my sunshine in the
dead of night. He never gets mad at me even if I wake him up. He is groggy for a few
minutes and then swings right into a tirade about love, Oprah, his Grandmother. If
I was stuck on my book, I always knew somehow or other Riz would unstick me.

The psycho-enchanting and beautiful Ali Ø. brought into my life—among many exemplary
things—the following sentence: “You don’t get what you deserve, you get what you negotiate.”
For that little gem alone, I am forever indebted to her.

Kinnie Starr, Toni Childs, Diamanda Galas, Me’Shell NdegéOcello, Sinéad O’Connor,
Tracy Chapman, the Immortal Caruso and Chet Baker: I wore out their CDs working on
my book. I wore out the repeat button on my CD player. I disgusted neighbors who wondered
what kind of freckin’ fruitcake would listen to the same goddamn CD for six hours
straight, night after night. I thank them for making music in the world. Diamanda,
especially, helped me with the chapter on rape. It was the most painful one for me
to write and without Diamanda’s presence in my kitchen, I don’t know how I could have
managed.

I extend my deepest gratitude to Dr. Daniel Schiff, but ask his forgiveness for not
including him in the acknowledgments last time around.

There are a number of other folks that I forgot to thank, chief among them, my Aunt
Genie. How I neglected to acknowledge her is a mystery to me. I also didn’t thank
my Grammy, who died in February 2001. Let it be known that both of these women have
served as role models to me my entire life and I would not know the first thing about
asserting myself had I not been blessed with the honor of experiencing them in action
since day one.

Jessica Roncker did a bunch of amazing work to update the “Cuntovin’ Guide to the
Universe” and I greatly appreciate her taking the time.

Many thanks to Zabrina for setting me straight.

I am filled with thanks to all of the people who’ve read
Cunt
. I’ve received many emails and letters from folks and I am very grateful that people
have taken time out of their lives to let me know my book has had a impact.

Locally-owned independent bookstores, newspapers, websites, zines and magazines have
been very kind to
Cunt,
and I thank them with all my heart.

Support your local bookstore.

Likewise, I’d like to thank the “mainstream” media for largely ignoring this book.
I am deeply honored to have not garnered much space in this forum, and I truly hope
the new edition reflects a continuation of this trend.

Lastly, I would like to thank all librarians, everywhere. My worship of librarians
dates back to the age of four. Since I have become a published author, my reverence
for librarians knows no bounds. Librarians are unheralded revolutionaries, and without
them, all semblances of “civilization” that this country still manages to muster from
time to time would be shot to shit.

Long live librarians!!!

Inga Muscio
is a public speaker and author, presently working on a new book,
Autobiograpy of a Blue-Eyed Devil
. She lives on the west coast. Website: ingalagringa.com.

Betty Dodson
went public with her love of sex in 1968 when she had the first one-woman exhibition
of erotic art in New York City. Whether she is drawing, painting, writing, teaching
or producing videos, sexuality has been the subject of her life’s work. Her first
book
Liberating Masturbation
was self-published in 1974 and became a feminist classic.
Sex for One: The Joy of Selfloving
published in 1987 and revised in 1996 became a bestselling Crown paperback. Her latest
book
Orgasms for Two: The Joy of Partnersex
will be available in the fall of 2002. She has a private practice in New York City
and maintains an active website:
www.bettydodson.com
.

Derrick Jensen
is the author of
A Language Older Than Words,
and most recently
The Culture of Make Believe
. His work has appeared in magazines as varied as
The New York Times Magazine, Audubon, The Sun, Green Anarchy
and
The Earth First! Journal
. The central question of his life and his work is: If the destruction of the natural
world and the immiseration of the majority of humans isn’t making us happy, why are
we doing it?

Listen Up: Voices from the Next Feminist Generation
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Sex and Single Girls: Straight and Queer Women on Sexuality
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Chelsea Whistle
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She’s A Rebel
by Gillian Garr. $19.95, 1-58005-078-6. The new and expanded edition of this breakthrough
history of women-in-rock.

Breeder: Real-Life Stories from the New Generation of Mothers
edited by Ariel Gore and Bee Lavender, foreword by Dan Savage. $16.00, 1-58005-051-4.
A hilarious and heartrending compilation from the editors of
Hip Mama
.

Body Outlaws: Young Women Write About Body Image and Identity
edited by Ophira Edut, foreword by Rebecca Walker. $14.95, 1-58005-043-3.

Seal Press publishes many books of fiction and nonfiction by women writers. Please
visit our Web site at
www.sealpress.com
.