AVENues Issue #14
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Carolyn Lamb
Jun 21, 2008, 4:42:07 PM6/21/08
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AVENues Issue #14 - Saturday, June 21, 2008 (text version posted to the AVENues Google group / RSS June 21, 2008)
The full PDF version of this newsletter can be found here: http://www.asexuality.org/avenues/2008_06_21.pdf
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Asexual: A person who does not experience sexual attraction. Unlike celibacy, which is a choice, asexuality is a sexual orientation.
AVEN: The Asexual Visibility and Education Network, an online community and resource archive striving to create open and honest discussion about asexuality among asexual and sexual people alike.
AVENues: A bimonthly publication available online, created by members of the AVEN community in order to showcase our thoughts and promote discussion by and about asexuals.
For more information, visit http://www.asexuality.org.
--
Contents:
1. Letter from the Editor
2. News from the Spring
3. "Aye, A Drink"
4. "Labeling: Descriptive vs. Prescriptive"
5. "Voice"
6. "A Chemist Shamed"
7. From the Forum
8. "Quietus Est"
9. "Literature Litter"
The PDF version of this newsletter also includes visual art that is not available in text-only form.
--
Letter from the Editor
A few months ago, when one of our regulars on AVEN posted suggesting that AVEN host a "poetry contest", I'll admit I was a little surprised. After all, there we were at the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network – it said so in the logo at the top. What in the blue blazes did poetry have to do with it? But then I thought about it some more.
One of the things we're always complaining about on AVEN is the overwhelming prevalence of sexuality in society. So it can be surprising for a newcomer to come in and look at the boards (or this newsletter) and see us talking about, well, sexuality. The discussion that asexuals are having about (a)sexuality is important, mind you. But there comes a time for all of us, in the 99% of our lives when we're not glued to the Asexual Musings and Rantings forum, when that discussion has to take a rest.
So what does a well-adjusted, free-thinking asexual do then? Well – in some cases – we write poetry.
Today's AVENues is proud to present the winners of the first-ever AVEN Literary Contest: not only poetry, but short stories, short essays, and visual art. Some of it's relatable to asexuality, but most of the stuff in this issue has nothing to do with it at all. Instead, we've got everything from tree-beings (on the cover) to a secretive British chemist to a man hearing voices to a drinking song, and more.
But don't worry – next issue AVENues will be roaring back, same as ever, with the latest news, theory, and serious discussion about asexuality. Stay tuned!
- Hallucigenia, AVENues Editor-In-Chief
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News from May and June
The big news this issue comes from AVEN's founder, David Jay, who has been in Washington DC talking to Mara Keisling, the Executive Director of the National Center for Transgender Equality. Along with doing a lot of awesome asexual networking, he has been learning a lot about the DSM V (the next upcoming version of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, which therapists in the United States and worldwide use to diagnose and categorize mental disorders). The current version of the DSM lists asexuality as a mental disorder (namely, generalized lifelong Hyposexual Desire Disorder, or HSDD), but the American Psychiatric Association – which creates the DSM – is required to seek advice from experts and community advocates before it makes the new volume. If we can mobilize and get together a group of scientists, grad students, and asexual activists, we may stand a good chance at removing or modifying the HSDD diagnosis, or at changing the APA's recommendations towards education and acceptance rather than automatically trying to make the person diagnosed with HSDD more sexual. At press time, this is very recent news still in development, but you can rest assured that AVENues will be following the story.
Meanwhile, other AVENites are keeping right on pursuing visibility through media and events. Most recently, we've gone to the European Conference of Sexology, the radio show RTR FM in Perth, Australia, the pages of the New Zealand Sunday Star Times, Christopher Street Day in Berlin, Aberpride at Aberystwyth University in Wales, the student newspaper at Aberdeen University in Scotland, and the street fair and youth dance at Pride Calgary in Canada. And even more reporters and researchers are wanting to talk to asexuals, including a writer for a popular Danish women's magazine, a documentary filmmaker in the United States, a master's student at the University of Paris-Diderot, and the largest newspaper in Sweden. We've also been mentioned in the advice columns "Savage Love" and "Annie's Mailbox".
Xaida, a moderator of German AVEN and our Featured AVENite last issue, is constructing a map showing the location of asexual-friendly health professionals and therapists – mostly in Germany, but also worldwide. You can see it here: http://userpages.fu-berlin.de/~xaida/professionals/map.html
The blog "Asexy Beast," written by the AVENite Ily, also gets a mention here for winning the Best of Blogs Award in the LGBT category.
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Aye, A Drink
by MIDWOKA
This poem won first place in the AVEN Literary Contest in the Poetry category.
There's something - one thing - in this world
That carries me along.
It's nothing instrumental
But it helps with every song.
As noble as it's lowly,
It brings the gift of cheer.
As devilish as holy...
...That one thing is a Beer!
(Oh...)
I drink my Port at starb'rd,
And I Wine, but don't complain.
I'm rarely short a Stout, out
Sherry-picking in the rain.
There's apples down be-Cider.
Aye, I only Rum when chased.
Whiskey. "Which key?" Any key
That'll get the Keg replaced.
(Y'see...)
The miners and the Lagers
Don't play hop-Scotch by the lake,
But with Cordial invitations
They would join for its own Sake.
(Er, "Sa-kay"... Whatever...)
(Oh...)
It's sure to fix what Ales you,
If you keep your Gin held high.
Just Liqueur glass 'till spotless
With a twinkle in your Rye!
(Oh...)
Without the Moonshine shining,
The sub-Bourbon life is rough.
Aye, the world's just Mead-iocre
With an Absinthe of the stuff.
(So, the question is...)
What's strong enough Tequila cat,
And Schnapps your mind in two?
What thing have I been singing 'bout...
...That's next round is on you? (Ha ha!)
--
Labeling: Descriptive vs. Prescriptive
By SHOCKWAVE
This article won first place in the AVEN Literary Contest in the Short Rhetorical category. It was originally a blog post on the author's Web site, smurfpants.blogspot.com.
Once upon a time I created a phpBB forum based around an anti-label viewpoint. It didn't last because I didn't feel like putting in the necessary effort for its continued growth.
Lately, however I have been thinking about this idea again. I had an experience recently that caused me to reconsider some of the labels I had been using to identify myself because I realized that I had been denying feelings I was having in order to fit into one of my labels.
While I have been musing on this anti-labeling idea over the last few days I have also been doing homework for my Deaf World Discourses class, in which we're studying sociolinguistic variation in American Sign Language. I came across two words that caught my attention and I realized that I now had a better way to discuss my views on labeling. The two words are descriptive and prescriptive.
For the purposes of this discussion descriptive means that a label is being used as an adjective. It describes the person in brief terms that other people can more quickly understand. Prescriptive, on the other hand means that the label is being used as a guideline. It prescribes a set of criteria that the individual must meet in order to use that label.
I am a longtime member of asexuality.org, which is a site for people who identify as asexual in terms of sexual orientation. On the front page of the forum, the definition of asexual is "a person who does not experience sexual attraction" (it is important to note there is no mention of hormones or sexual activity in that definition). I have identified as asexual for a long time because I don't feel sexually attracted to anyone. That doesn't mean I can't have sex though, I do frequently experience arousal and I'm capable of acting on it. I'm just not drawn to people in that way.
The mistake I was making (and that some others on the forum often make) was using the label prescriptively rather than descriptively. I was trying to fit some ideal definition of this label in order to feel like I belonged to the community that has developed around this forum. I realize now that this was not a healthy mindset and I should avoid doing this in the future. If by chance any other asexuals read this blog, learn from my mistake and only use the label descriptively. It's much less stressful that way.
--
Voice
by IAMAFISHFLOPFLOPFLOP
This story was tied for first place in the AVEN Literary Contest in the Short Stories category.
"So tell me about these voices," she said, in her irritatingly serene voice, with a slight scornful pause between 'these' and 'voices'.
"I'm not going mad, you know," I replied
"I never said that you were," she said, again in that voice, humouring me. "I merely asked you to tell me about them."
"Well" I sighed, and was about to continue when she interrupted.
"What do they say?"
"Nothing really, they just – "
"Do they tell you to do things?" she interrupted again.
"No" I said indignantly. "As I was saying, they don't really say anything."
"They don't say anything?" she said, with that subtle scorn creeping into her voice again.
"Well, yes, they say things, obviously. They wouldn't be voices otherwise." This woman was beginning to exasperate me; she didn't seem like a competent psychiatrist.
"Well then, what do they say?"
"They just – "
"Yes?" she encouraged. A little too eager to hear my answer if you ask me.
"Have conversations," I finished, rather poorly.
"With you?" she inquired, not put off in the slightest by my deflated answer.
"No. With each other"
"I see." She paused before continuing, during which I guessed that she was noting down what I had said, but I couldn't see, as she was seated behind me.
"And what do these conversations typically entail?"
I chuckled darkly. "There is nothing typical about these conversations, I can assure you of that."
"Nevertheless, if you could just answer the question." I furrowed my brow in confusion; surely that would have been a talking point? I shifted on the long couch to try and get a look at her. "Please," she said, "if you would kindly answer the question." I shifted back and made myself comfortable again.
"Well," I began, "they speak in hushed tones, so I can't really make out what they're saying."
"Then how do you know that you are hearing voices?"
"Because they laugh as well."
"Laugh?"
"Well, more of a giggle, really."
"I see." Another pause; more jotting. "How would you describe this giggling?" There was that scornful pause again, before "giggling."
"Well...it feels as though they're laughing at me."
"Laughing at you? How so?"
"Do you remember when you were at school? And other children would whisper incoherently, look at you, then giggle in a particular way? It's that giggle."
"Mmm" she said as though not paying attention. "And how does this mockery make you feel?" Mockery. I'd never really thought of it as that before.
"It makes me feel like it would make anyone feel."
"And how is that, then?"
"Well, a little bit anxious, to tell the truth."
"Right," she said, clearly expecting me to continue. I made to say something else when she jumped in. "And how long has this being going on?"
"Well..." I hesitated. Honestly, they'd been there for as long as I could remember. "A long time. Ten years or so." I waited to be reprimanded as to why I hadn't come to see someone about it earlier, but I wasn't.
"Just for the record" she said, whatever that was supposed to mean, "this laughter doesn't make you feel suicidal?" I was a little taken aback by this brusque question, but I supposed that it was her job.
"Uh, no"
"I see" she said, while jotting more notes down. It seemed that her tone had a slight disappointment to it. There was a long silence.
"So," I said, in an attempt to break it. "What's the verdict?" There was another silence. Then I heard the door handle turn and looked around. The chair where the psychiatrist had been sitting was empty, and an attractive, smartly dressed red-haired woman was entering the room. She smiled at me.
"Sorry I'm late – " she looked down at a clipboard she was holding, " – Alex. Traffic's hell this morning," she said amiably. I looked at her, bemused. "I'm Beth," she said, holding out her hand.
--
A Chemist Shamed
by RIX
This story was tied for first place in the AVEN Literary Contest in the Short Stories category.
"I'm afraid that I simply do not trust Dr Williams," commented Mrs. Temple.
"But whyever not?" asked her niece Julianne.
"Because," said her aunt, "he holds far more personal secrets than a man of his class should."
Now Mrs. Eleanor Temple was one of those women who, having retired from the stressful life in the city, had found herself in the country with very little in the way of distraction. However Mrs. Temple was a social creature and would not be put back by such inconveniences, she promptly cultivated herself a title in the quaint rural village as the sort of person who would manifest her presence at times when people would really prefer she didn't.
Recently Mrs. Temple's attention had become fixed upon the local figure of Dr Robert Williams, a noted chemist who decided that a commute of 30 minutes to London each day was an acceptable exchange for the quiet solitude and privacy of the country.
The women continued to chatter in the drawing room about the strange habits of the young Doctor when Mr. Temple made himself heard from his otherwise inconspicuous seat in the corner. "I seriously feel, my dear," he said with a long drawn out exasperation, "that you should perhaps leave this obsession you have with the young doctor be. I have personally spoken with him on many an occasion and I can honestly say that he is one of the most charming and engaging people I have ever met. I really wish you would stop seeding rumour about him."
"Well now, Richard," Mrs. Temple said with an obnoxiously patronizing and dismissive voice, "that is my point exactly. By all means he is the perfect example of a true man of British industry; he works every day with those strange concoctions and deadly agents and yet he still maintains such an air of civilisation about him. Now that in itself, in my humble opinion, warrants a good deal of scrutiny. After all, it is quite known for people who work in such stressfully dangerous lines to develop peculiarities of mentality, and then there is also the mystery of what he keeps in his cellar. I for one do not believe it to be wine. The man seldom drinks, and then there's his ferocious guarding of the place."
Richard Temple rolled his eyes in mild exasperation and returned his attention to the broadsheet which lay strewn across his lap.
"Anyway," continued Eleanor "I once quite accidentally made my way for the cellar thinking it was a cloak room. You should have seen his reaction. He instantly jumped in front of me and made sure the door was well closed, after which he seemed to go into a state of shock, as if from a near miss."
"What do you suppose is down there?" asked Julianne with an air of genuine interest.
"I don't suppose we shall ever know," said Eleanor "Although I'll hazard that it is some secret of deepest proportions. Something in connection with his sister, perhaps? She has been missing for some time now, has she not, Richard?"
Richard glanced over the top of his newspaper as he replied, "Yes, dear. She is in France, I believe, making her way through some of the daintier parts of Bordeaux."
"Of course such a journey is a wonderfully convenient excuse for her absence, and the man is after all a mixer of reagents, I shouldn't imagine it to be too far from his lines of expertise to concoct such wonderfully believable accounts," came Mrs. Temple's analysis of the story.
"Aunt, surely you do not imply that he has done some abominable deed to his sister!" came Julianne's hasty reply.
"Well of course by no means do I imply such notions, especially about such a wonderfully well cultured man as himself, but you must admit the whole business is rather suspicious."
At that moment the clock struck two.
"Oh is that the time already?" Eleanor asked rhetorically. "I say, Julianne, we must be going out now. I hear that Dr Williams is holding some form of social event. I heard that a reporter of the scientific circles is going to be there.
It all sounds rather exciting."
"I didn't realise we were invited to any engagements today, aunt," said Julianne.
"Well" said Mrs. Temple, "technically we are not invited, but the man has a good nature. I'm sure a drop in by a neighbour on a pleasant afternoon stroll shall not be rejected by him. Besides, when there are two of us in the house then he cannot keep track of both without appearing discourteous."
"You don't mean for me to slip into his cellar, do you!" asked the scandalised Julianne.
"Oh, quite the contrary," said her aunt "You are a pretty young thing. It is your job to distract him. I'm sure the task should not be too difficult"
So it came to be that they sat on the patio during a superbly catered lunch. Once the conversation had turned to a discussion of chemical theory between the Doctor and the science reporter, Eleanor Temple slid away almost unnoticed under the pretence of needing the lavatory. Julianne added further distraction by asking frivolous questions of the profession, which the two men answered with a joyous good humour.
Meanwhile Eleanor had reached the bottom of the narrow stairs which descended into the cellar. The room was a dark, stuffy little place. Against two walls stood large bookcases and in the middle stood a worn desk with a typewriter and stack of paper. It was apparently an office of sorts.
As the clock in the kitchen chimed, its tinkling melody informing the party of the hour, the Doctor's attention turned to the missing member of the table. "I say, dear old Mrs. Temple has been gone a while. I should better go check upon her. I dare say it's time to move indoors as it is."
Mrs Temple became aware of the shuffling footsteps up in the hall, and then of the horrified cries of Dr Williams. She turned to face the group consisting of him, her niece, and the science correspondent.
A week later, the clock chimed in the Temple household. Richard Temple looked up over his paper and spoke outright. "My dear you have truly uncovered a more shameful secret than any romantic story of smuggling or murder. Who would have known that such an eminent chemist would adopt a second life as an anonymous writer for a biology journal! For a man in his profession there is no more ruining scandal that I can imagine." He was, of course, absolutely right. Dr Williams promptly lost the respect of his colleagues. The biology journal, not wishing involvement, declined any further contract with him, and his post was soon filled by another talented young chemist.
Dr Williams himself, apparently, left England to join the French foreign legion under a newly assumed name.
--
From the Forum
A selection of posts from the discussion boards on the AVEN website
I've spent a lot of time having this argument with my grandmother in which she tells me that "there is a reason that life has a pattern." This debate is usually invoked when I've expressed an interest in going somewhere she doesn't want me to go, or doing something she doesn't want me to do. She goes back to the, "Everyone goes to college at eighteen!" or "You have to have a real job someday! How will you raise children in another country?" (She doesn't think "international development" qualifies as a job, since I won't make money, nor do other countries qualify as "a place to raise children," not that I've expressed the intention of having children.) There's an established order of things that she believes my life ought to fit up against in order to be fulfilling. I've consistently disappointed her, and been forced to reiterate endlessly that I'm "happy," something she refuses to believe-- how could I be happy in other countries, far away from my family? How could I be happy without a job that makes money? How could I be happy without a romantic relationship?
The fact that my grandmother funnels so much of herself into worrying about me is a valuable reminder a) that she loves me, perhaps more than is good for her, and b) there are a lot of constraints, a lot of definitions of happiness that I would have to concern myself with if I was her definition of "normal." I've been reflecting lately on the upswing of asexuality. I'm asexual, maybe aromantic? Rather than this realization being traumatic, it's actually been incredibly liberating for me. I'm not compelled to care about the things I never cared about anyway. I don't have the exhaustive romantic concerns that my friends do. And the huge, huge space that romantic love takes up in the lives of romantic and/or sexual people is mine to fill however I please. I was raised to think that that was essential, that a key purpose of living was to find a romantic partner-- the fact that it's not, for me, opens up this void of potential and makes me realize how many of the things deemed important are important not because of intrinsic worth, but because they're part of a pattern. Patterns matter, to an extent, it matters to think about commonalities of being human. But so many of the traditions we're raised with are not necessarily held in common, and the perception that they are creates a cycle of defining people as "normal" and "abnormal" in a way that's neither true nor healthy.
Existing outside of this chief concern of romantic love, outside of the "tradition" and "normalcy" that matters to my family, has made me realize my aloneness in a way that I wouldn't have otherwise. I don't think that this aloneness is unique to asexuality, or to any kind of minority status in general, but that it is less evident or less pressing to people living more mainstream lives. Commonalities are true for some people, some of the time, aloneness is true for everyone, all the time. And I like this. I'm not desperate for a relationship, a partnership, to feel like I "belong" to something or someone. I appreciate the opportunity to separate myself from the group mentality I was inundated with in childhood, to evaluate what matters and what doesn't on my own terms. I wouldn't necessarily be at this point without the self-reflection that identifying as asexual has caused me to engage in.
So for all the downsides, there's my upswing: I like the aloneness of asexuality. I like the independence of making my own value judgments, which need apply only to me. And the whole bewildering process of recognizing that I am/publicly identifying as asexual is one of the most liberating, thought-provoking, and valuable experiences I've ever had.
- rachel, Monday May 26, "The Upswing" in Asexual Musings and Rantings
I happened to be talking to a man from Latin America today and the topic of my asexuality happened to come up. (He had asked me for advice about safer sex brochures and I told him everything I said would have to be taken in the context of my being asexual, so it's an academic understanding rather than a practical one.) So we got talking about asexuality for a bit and once he understood what I was talking about, he shared with me his view on it which was totally unlike anything I had encountered before- namely that it is a blessing to be asexual. He immediately said his view that asexuality is something you have to be born with, like being sexual is something you have to be born with (which is generally my attitude about it as well), and blamed his mother for making him the way he is (meaning, his being born sexual, which he saw as a burden). He said he's asked priests in his country whether they desired sex or not, and they've said no, they have no desire for that. He said if he were blessed like me he would become a priest, but he can't because if he tried to be celibate, he would just be driven to want sex more.
Obviously he's just one person and his perspective can't be taken as representative of all people in his country. But still, it was very interesting for me to talk to someone from a culture where asexuality is seen as a blessing, where those who have it are seen to have been blessed with something holy that sets them apart from others who are motivated by, if not outright driven by, the desire for the flesh. It is something to be treasured and valued and enjoyed. I tried to talk to him about how people in our culture who are asexual often find themselves feeling alone, or "other", or unhappy, or frustrated because they are different and because of the social pressure to want and have sex. This was quite foreign to him, and he insisted that he envied my gift. I told him there are famous "sex therapists" in our country who insist that asexual people have something wrong with them and need to be given medications to make them "normal" and desire sex, and he was horrified.
I found our conversation fascinating. Does anyone else have experience with cultures like this? It reminds me, in a very face to face way, that what is scary and misunderstood and "other" to one culture can be holy and special to another. The more I think about it, the more I think my culture, unlike many throughout history, doesn't have any group of people who are special and apart and holy. "Special" and "apart" is scary and oppressed.
- dash, Friday June 6, "Asexuality As A Blessing" in Asexual Musings and Rantings
Hey, there. I've been in a relationship with my boyfriend for a several months now. During that time, he was going through a lot of changes, exploring himself, trying to figure out who he really was. I was wanting to be supportive every step of the way. One of the conclusions he came to was that he was asexual.
I was so confused by it. I have never even heard of the term "asexual" before, let alone able to understand how someone could be asexual. In all honesty, I thought it was something he made up. I feel so stupid now for being so ignorant on the topic. I then thought that he just didn't find me attractive. It really hurt me for a while. He didn't even feel comfortable kissing me.
After a long time, I finally understood that he really did love me, he just didn't want to have sex. It took a lot of communication and talking about the way we felt, which wasn't very easy for either one of us because we never really trusted anyone before enough to talk about such things.
Now, we have a successful relationship, very much in love, and we couldn't be happier.
As for the sexual aspect, we finds ways of getting around it by compromising and respecting how we both feel. He's ok with kissing me now, and I'm ok with whatever else he does or doesn't want to do. I just wanted to share this experience with people, just to show that a relationship between an asexual and a sexual person can work, if they care about each other enough to put in the effort.
- mellierae2002, June 11 2008, "A Relationship between a sexual and asexual, just telling my experience" in Asexual Relationships
AVEN posts belong to their respective authors and do not necessarily express the official views of the Asexual Visibility and Education Network.
--
Quietus Est
by ELIOT
This poem was an honorable mention in the AVEN Literary Contest in the Poetry category.
Along the twilit horizon
a saturated breeze tickles the tips
of verdant blades, disturbing
their quiescent innocence
in attempt to rouse the dawn
from its delirious dormancy.
The breeze, resolute, undulates
endlessly through unopened
spiral buds and buzzes up trunks
into the ears of sparrows;
a gentle suggestion that perhaps
now would be an appropriate time
for a dulcet melismal strain.
It traipses wistfully, ever onward,
permeating the half-parted lips
of the sole surveyor, enticing
the palate with the taste
of summer encapsulated
in the essence of squelching a taut,
green-skinned grape between
increasingly eager, torrid teeth.
The surveyor gazes past the horizon.
Past the tips, past the trunks;
the spirals, the sparrows--
gazes through the buoyant breeze,
tracing a phantom line, stopping only
to rest eyes on the sanguine:
the saviour
And this is sufficient for the surveyor:
to know without having known,
to have seen and not been. To yearn
without requisite. This is edification.
The surveyor turns away from the horizon,
content to continue, to sustain, to carry on.
--
Literature Litter
by GOONIE
This poem was an honorable mention in the AVEN Literary Contest in the Poetry category.
the words fall around me
I pick some up, read them and discard them
they are not meant for me
they are meant for someone else
someone of importance
someone of clout
I brush these words off my shoulder
As I continue on my way
--
Here's the deal:
AVENues is not written by high-faluting AVEN officials in a secret office somewhere. AVENues is written by you – by real live asexuals, demi-sexuals, not-sure-yet-sexuals, and their allies. That means that keeping things moving in here is up to you.
In every issue, we're going to need a ton of writing, and we're making it easy now by giving you a list of exactly what we want. Here is a list of what
AVENues is made of:
News: If you were at (or know of) an event that had something to do with asexuality, we'd like to hear about it!
Opinion and theory: about asexuality. 300-1500 words is the best length.
Media: Have you spotted something asexual in a movie, book, song, or TV show? How are we being represented?
Poems and short stories with asexual themes.
The best of the AVEN forums: If you're hanging out online and see a post that deserves publishing or a hardworking asexy warrior who deserves recognition, tell us about it!
Reader responses: We love getting letters, whether it's agreement with something, disagreement with something, questions, general comments, praise, curses, suggestions, or anything else you can throw at us!
Art and photography: We normally use photos from AVEN meetups, but anything visual with an asexual or AVEN theme is well worth including.
Fun: Comics, puzzles, recipes – give our inner child something to do!
Send it all to newsl...@asexuality.org, and remember, we'll write back to you within three business days.
The full PDF version of this newsletter can be found here: http://www.asexuality.org/avenues/2008_06_21.pdf
--
Asexual: A person who does not experience sexual attraction. Unlike celibacy, which is a choice, asexuality is a sexual orientation.
AVEN: The Asexual Visibility and Education Network, an online community and resource archive striving to create open and honest discussion about asexuality among asexual and sexual people alike.
AVENues: A bimonthly publication available online, created by members of the AVEN community in order to showcase our thoughts and promote discussion by and about asexuals.
For more information, visit http://www.asexuality.org.
--
Contents:
1. Letter from the Editor
2. News from the Spring
3. "Aye, A Drink"
4. "Labeling: Descriptive vs. Prescriptive"
5. "Voice"
6. "A Chemist Shamed"
7. From the Forum
8. "Quietus Est"
9. "Literature Litter"
The PDF version of this newsletter also includes visual art that is not available in text-only form.
--
Letter from the Editor
A few months ago, when one of our regulars on AVEN posted suggesting that AVEN host a "poetry contest", I'll admit I was a little surprised. After all, there we were at the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network – it said so in the logo at the top. What in the blue blazes did poetry have to do with it? But then I thought about it some more.
One of the things we're always complaining about on AVEN is the overwhelming prevalence of sexuality in society. So it can be surprising for a newcomer to come in and look at the boards (or this newsletter) and see us talking about, well, sexuality. The discussion that asexuals are having about (a)sexuality is important, mind you. But there comes a time for all of us, in the 99% of our lives when we're not glued to the Asexual Musings and Rantings forum, when that discussion has to take a rest.
So what does a well-adjusted, free-thinking asexual do then? Well – in some cases – we write poetry.
Today's AVENues is proud to present the winners of the first-ever AVEN Literary Contest: not only poetry, but short stories, short essays, and visual art. Some of it's relatable to asexuality, but most of the stuff in this issue has nothing to do with it at all. Instead, we've got everything from tree-beings (on the cover) to a secretive British chemist to a man hearing voices to a drinking song, and more.
But don't worry – next issue AVENues will be roaring back, same as ever, with the latest news, theory, and serious discussion about asexuality. Stay tuned!
- Hallucigenia, AVENues Editor-In-Chief
--
News from May and June
The big news this issue comes from AVEN's founder, David Jay, who has been in Washington DC talking to Mara Keisling, the Executive Director of the National Center for Transgender Equality. Along with doing a lot of awesome asexual networking, he has been learning a lot about the DSM V (the next upcoming version of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, which therapists in the United States and worldwide use to diagnose and categorize mental disorders). The current version of the DSM lists asexuality as a mental disorder (namely, generalized lifelong Hyposexual Desire Disorder, or HSDD), but the American Psychiatric Association – which creates the DSM – is required to seek advice from experts and community advocates before it makes the new volume. If we can mobilize and get together a group of scientists, grad students, and asexual activists, we may stand a good chance at removing or modifying the HSDD diagnosis, or at changing the APA's recommendations towards education and acceptance rather than automatically trying to make the person diagnosed with HSDD more sexual. At press time, this is very recent news still in development, but you can rest assured that AVENues will be following the story.
Meanwhile, other AVENites are keeping right on pursuing visibility through media and events. Most recently, we've gone to the European Conference of Sexology, the radio show RTR FM in Perth, Australia, the pages of the New Zealand Sunday Star Times, Christopher Street Day in Berlin, Aberpride at Aberystwyth University in Wales, the student newspaper at Aberdeen University in Scotland, and the street fair and youth dance at Pride Calgary in Canada. And even more reporters and researchers are wanting to talk to asexuals, including a writer for a popular Danish women's magazine, a documentary filmmaker in the United States, a master's student at the University of Paris-Diderot, and the largest newspaper in Sweden. We've also been mentioned in the advice columns "Savage Love" and "Annie's Mailbox".
Xaida, a moderator of German AVEN and our Featured AVENite last issue, is constructing a map showing the location of asexual-friendly health professionals and therapists – mostly in Germany, but also worldwide. You can see it here: http://userpages.fu-berlin.de/~xaida/professionals/map.html
The blog "Asexy Beast," written by the AVENite Ily, also gets a mention here for winning the Best of Blogs Award in the LGBT category.
--
Aye, A Drink
by MIDWOKA
This poem won first place in the AVEN Literary Contest in the Poetry category.
There's something - one thing - in this world
That carries me along.
It's nothing instrumental
But it helps with every song.
As noble as it's lowly,
It brings the gift of cheer.
As devilish as holy...
...That one thing is a Beer!
(Oh...)
I drink my Port at starb'rd,
And I Wine, but don't complain.
I'm rarely short a Stout, out
Sherry-picking in the rain.
There's apples down be-Cider.
Aye, I only Rum when chased.
Whiskey. "Which key?" Any key
That'll get the Keg replaced.
(Y'see...)
The miners and the Lagers
Don't play hop-Scotch by the lake,
But with Cordial invitations
They would join for its own Sake.
(Er, "Sa-kay"... Whatever...)
(Oh...)
It's sure to fix what Ales you,
If you keep your Gin held high.
Just Liqueur glass 'till spotless
With a twinkle in your Rye!
(Oh...)
Without the Moonshine shining,
The sub-Bourbon life is rough.
Aye, the world's just Mead-iocre
With an Absinthe of the stuff.
(So, the question is...)
What's strong enough Tequila cat,
And Schnapps your mind in two?
What thing have I been singing 'bout...
...That's next round is on you? (Ha ha!)
--
Labeling: Descriptive vs. Prescriptive
By SHOCKWAVE
This article won first place in the AVEN Literary Contest in the Short Rhetorical category. It was originally a blog post on the author's Web site, smurfpants.blogspot.com.
Once upon a time I created a phpBB forum based around an anti-label viewpoint. It didn't last because I didn't feel like putting in the necessary effort for its continued growth.
Lately, however I have been thinking about this idea again. I had an experience recently that caused me to reconsider some of the labels I had been using to identify myself because I realized that I had been denying feelings I was having in order to fit into one of my labels.
While I have been musing on this anti-labeling idea over the last few days I have also been doing homework for my Deaf World Discourses class, in which we're studying sociolinguistic variation in American Sign Language. I came across two words that caught my attention and I realized that I now had a better way to discuss my views on labeling. The two words are descriptive and prescriptive.
For the purposes of this discussion descriptive means that a label is being used as an adjective. It describes the person in brief terms that other people can more quickly understand. Prescriptive, on the other hand means that the label is being used as a guideline. It prescribes a set of criteria that the individual must meet in order to use that label.
I am a longtime member of asexuality.org, which is a site for people who identify as asexual in terms of sexual orientation. On the front page of the forum, the definition of asexual is "a person who does not experience sexual attraction" (it is important to note there is no mention of hormones or sexual activity in that definition). I have identified as asexual for a long time because I don't feel sexually attracted to anyone. That doesn't mean I can't have sex though, I do frequently experience arousal and I'm capable of acting on it. I'm just not drawn to people in that way.
The mistake I was making (and that some others on the forum often make) was using the label prescriptively rather than descriptively. I was trying to fit some ideal definition of this label in order to feel like I belonged to the community that has developed around this forum. I realize now that this was not a healthy mindset and I should avoid doing this in the future. If by chance any other asexuals read this blog, learn from my mistake and only use the label descriptively. It's much less stressful that way.
--
Voice
by IAMAFISHFLOPFLOPFLOP
This story was tied for first place in the AVEN Literary Contest in the Short Stories category.
"So tell me about these voices," she said, in her irritatingly serene voice, with a slight scornful pause between 'these' and 'voices'.
"I'm not going mad, you know," I replied
"I never said that you were," she said, again in that voice, humouring me. "I merely asked you to tell me about them."
"Well" I sighed, and was about to continue when she interrupted.
"What do they say?"
"Nothing really, they just – "
"Do they tell you to do things?" she interrupted again.
"No" I said indignantly. "As I was saying, they don't really say anything."
"They don't say anything?" she said, with that subtle scorn creeping into her voice again.
"Well, yes, they say things, obviously. They wouldn't be voices otherwise." This woman was beginning to exasperate me; she didn't seem like a competent psychiatrist.
"Well then, what do they say?"
"They just – "
"Yes?" she encouraged. A little too eager to hear my answer if you ask me.
"Have conversations," I finished, rather poorly.
"With you?" she inquired, not put off in the slightest by my deflated answer.
"No. With each other"
"I see." She paused before continuing, during which I guessed that she was noting down what I had said, but I couldn't see, as she was seated behind me.
"And what do these conversations typically entail?"
I chuckled darkly. "There is nothing typical about these conversations, I can assure you of that."
"Nevertheless, if you could just answer the question." I furrowed my brow in confusion; surely that would have been a talking point? I shifted on the long couch to try and get a look at her. "Please," she said, "if you would kindly answer the question." I shifted back and made myself comfortable again.
"Well," I began, "they speak in hushed tones, so I can't really make out what they're saying."
"Then how do you know that you are hearing voices?"
"Because they laugh as well."
"Laugh?"
"Well, more of a giggle, really."
"I see." Another pause; more jotting. "How would you describe this giggling?" There was that scornful pause again, before "giggling."
"Well...it feels as though they're laughing at me."
"Laughing at you? How so?"
"Do you remember when you were at school? And other children would whisper incoherently, look at you, then giggle in a particular way? It's that giggle."
"Mmm" she said as though not paying attention. "And how does this mockery make you feel?" Mockery. I'd never really thought of it as that before.
"It makes me feel like it would make anyone feel."
"And how is that, then?"
"Well, a little bit anxious, to tell the truth."
"Right," she said, clearly expecting me to continue. I made to say something else when she jumped in. "And how long has this being going on?"
"Well..." I hesitated. Honestly, they'd been there for as long as I could remember. "A long time. Ten years or so." I waited to be reprimanded as to why I hadn't come to see someone about it earlier, but I wasn't.
"Just for the record" she said, whatever that was supposed to mean, "this laughter doesn't make you feel suicidal?" I was a little taken aback by this brusque question, but I supposed that it was her job.
"Uh, no"
"I see" she said, while jotting more notes down. It seemed that her tone had a slight disappointment to it. There was a long silence.
"So," I said, in an attempt to break it. "What's the verdict?" There was another silence. Then I heard the door handle turn and looked around. The chair where the psychiatrist had been sitting was empty, and an attractive, smartly dressed red-haired woman was entering the room. She smiled at me.
"Sorry I'm late – " she looked down at a clipboard she was holding, " – Alex. Traffic's hell this morning," she said amiably. I looked at her, bemused. "I'm Beth," she said, holding out her hand.
--
A Chemist Shamed
by RIX
This story was tied for first place in the AVEN Literary Contest in the Short Stories category.
"I'm afraid that I simply do not trust Dr Williams," commented Mrs. Temple.
"But whyever not?" asked her niece Julianne.
"Because," said her aunt, "he holds far more personal secrets than a man of his class should."
Now Mrs. Eleanor Temple was one of those women who, having retired from the stressful life in the city, had found herself in the country with very little in the way of distraction. However Mrs. Temple was a social creature and would not be put back by such inconveniences, she promptly cultivated herself a title in the quaint rural village as the sort of person who would manifest her presence at times when people would really prefer she didn't.
Recently Mrs. Temple's attention had become fixed upon the local figure of Dr Robert Williams, a noted chemist who decided that a commute of 30 minutes to London each day was an acceptable exchange for the quiet solitude and privacy of the country.
The women continued to chatter in the drawing room about the strange habits of the young Doctor when Mr. Temple made himself heard from his otherwise inconspicuous seat in the corner. "I seriously feel, my dear," he said with a long drawn out exasperation, "that you should perhaps leave this obsession you have with the young doctor be. I have personally spoken with him on many an occasion and I can honestly say that he is one of the most charming and engaging people I have ever met. I really wish you would stop seeding rumour about him."
"Well now, Richard," Mrs. Temple said with an obnoxiously patronizing and dismissive voice, "that is my point exactly. By all means he is the perfect example of a true man of British industry; he works every day with those strange concoctions and deadly agents and yet he still maintains such an air of civilisation about him. Now that in itself, in my humble opinion, warrants a good deal of scrutiny. After all, it is quite known for people who work in such stressfully dangerous lines to develop peculiarities of mentality, and then there is also the mystery of what he keeps in his cellar. I for one do not believe it to be wine. The man seldom drinks, and then there's his ferocious guarding of the place."
Richard Temple rolled his eyes in mild exasperation and returned his attention to the broadsheet which lay strewn across his lap.
"Anyway," continued Eleanor "I once quite accidentally made my way for the cellar thinking it was a cloak room. You should have seen his reaction. He instantly jumped in front of me and made sure the door was well closed, after which he seemed to go into a state of shock, as if from a near miss."
"What do you suppose is down there?" asked Julianne with an air of genuine interest.
"I don't suppose we shall ever know," said Eleanor "Although I'll hazard that it is some secret of deepest proportions. Something in connection with his sister, perhaps? She has been missing for some time now, has she not, Richard?"
Richard glanced over the top of his newspaper as he replied, "Yes, dear. She is in France, I believe, making her way through some of the daintier parts of Bordeaux."
"Of course such a journey is a wonderfully convenient excuse for her absence, and the man is after all a mixer of reagents, I shouldn't imagine it to be too far from his lines of expertise to concoct such wonderfully believable accounts," came Mrs. Temple's analysis of the story.
"Aunt, surely you do not imply that he has done some abominable deed to his sister!" came Julianne's hasty reply.
"Well of course by no means do I imply such notions, especially about such a wonderfully well cultured man as himself, but you must admit the whole business is rather suspicious."
At that moment the clock struck two.
"Oh is that the time already?" Eleanor asked rhetorically. "I say, Julianne, we must be going out now. I hear that Dr Williams is holding some form of social event. I heard that a reporter of the scientific circles is going to be there.
It all sounds rather exciting."
"I didn't realise we were invited to any engagements today, aunt," said Julianne.
"Well" said Mrs. Temple, "technically we are not invited, but the man has a good nature. I'm sure a drop in by a neighbour on a pleasant afternoon stroll shall not be rejected by him. Besides, when there are two of us in the house then he cannot keep track of both without appearing discourteous."
"You don't mean for me to slip into his cellar, do you!" asked the scandalised Julianne.
"Oh, quite the contrary," said her aunt "You are a pretty young thing. It is your job to distract him. I'm sure the task should not be too difficult"
So it came to be that they sat on the patio during a superbly catered lunch. Once the conversation had turned to a discussion of chemical theory between the Doctor and the science reporter, Eleanor Temple slid away almost unnoticed under the pretence of needing the lavatory. Julianne added further distraction by asking frivolous questions of the profession, which the two men answered with a joyous good humour.
Meanwhile Eleanor had reached the bottom of the narrow stairs which descended into the cellar. The room was a dark, stuffy little place. Against two walls stood large bookcases and in the middle stood a worn desk with a typewriter and stack of paper. It was apparently an office of sorts.
As the clock in the kitchen chimed, its tinkling melody informing the party of the hour, the Doctor's attention turned to the missing member of the table. "I say, dear old Mrs. Temple has been gone a while. I should better go check upon her. I dare say it's time to move indoors as it is."
Mrs Temple became aware of the shuffling footsteps up in the hall, and then of the horrified cries of Dr Williams. She turned to face the group consisting of him, her niece, and the science correspondent.
A week later, the clock chimed in the Temple household. Richard Temple looked up over his paper and spoke outright. "My dear you have truly uncovered a more shameful secret than any romantic story of smuggling or murder. Who would have known that such an eminent chemist would adopt a second life as an anonymous writer for a biology journal! For a man in his profession there is no more ruining scandal that I can imagine." He was, of course, absolutely right. Dr Williams promptly lost the respect of his colleagues. The biology journal, not wishing involvement, declined any further contract with him, and his post was soon filled by another talented young chemist.
Dr Williams himself, apparently, left England to join the French foreign legion under a newly assumed name.
--
From the Forum
A selection of posts from the discussion boards on the AVEN website
I've spent a lot of time having this argument with my grandmother in which she tells me that "there is a reason that life has a pattern." This debate is usually invoked when I've expressed an interest in going somewhere she doesn't want me to go, or doing something she doesn't want me to do. She goes back to the, "Everyone goes to college at eighteen!" or "You have to have a real job someday! How will you raise children in another country?" (She doesn't think "international development" qualifies as a job, since I won't make money, nor do other countries qualify as "a place to raise children," not that I've expressed the intention of having children.) There's an established order of things that she believes my life ought to fit up against in order to be fulfilling. I've consistently disappointed her, and been forced to reiterate endlessly that I'm "happy," something she refuses to believe-- how could I be happy in other countries, far away from my family? How could I be happy without a job that makes money? How could I be happy without a romantic relationship?
The fact that my grandmother funnels so much of herself into worrying about me is a valuable reminder a) that she loves me, perhaps more than is good for her, and b) there are a lot of constraints, a lot of definitions of happiness that I would have to concern myself with if I was her definition of "normal." I've been reflecting lately on the upswing of asexuality. I'm asexual, maybe aromantic? Rather than this realization being traumatic, it's actually been incredibly liberating for me. I'm not compelled to care about the things I never cared about anyway. I don't have the exhaustive romantic concerns that my friends do. And the huge, huge space that romantic love takes up in the lives of romantic and/or sexual people is mine to fill however I please. I was raised to think that that was essential, that a key purpose of living was to find a romantic partner-- the fact that it's not, for me, opens up this void of potential and makes me realize how many of the things deemed important are important not because of intrinsic worth, but because they're part of a pattern. Patterns matter, to an extent, it matters to think about commonalities of being human. But so many of the traditions we're raised with are not necessarily held in common, and the perception that they are creates a cycle of defining people as "normal" and "abnormal" in a way that's neither true nor healthy.
Existing outside of this chief concern of romantic love, outside of the "tradition" and "normalcy" that matters to my family, has made me realize my aloneness in a way that I wouldn't have otherwise. I don't think that this aloneness is unique to asexuality, or to any kind of minority status in general, but that it is less evident or less pressing to people living more mainstream lives. Commonalities are true for some people, some of the time, aloneness is true for everyone, all the time. And I like this. I'm not desperate for a relationship, a partnership, to feel like I "belong" to something or someone. I appreciate the opportunity to separate myself from the group mentality I was inundated with in childhood, to evaluate what matters and what doesn't on my own terms. I wouldn't necessarily be at this point without the self-reflection that identifying as asexual has caused me to engage in.
So for all the downsides, there's my upswing: I like the aloneness of asexuality. I like the independence of making my own value judgments, which need apply only to me. And the whole bewildering process of recognizing that I am/publicly identifying as asexual is one of the most liberating, thought-provoking, and valuable experiences I've ever had.
- rachel, Monday May 26, "The Upswing" in Asexual Musings and Rantings
I happened to be talking to a man from Latin America today and the topic of my asexuality happened to come up. (He had asked me for advice about safer sex brochures and I told him everything I said would have to be taken in the context of my being asexual, so it's an academic understanding rather than a practical one.) So we got talking about asexuality for a bit and once he understood what I was talking about, he shared with me his view on it which was totally unlike anything I had encountered before- namely that it is a blessing to be asexual. He immediately said his view that asexuality is something you have to be born with, like being sexual is something you have to be born with (which is generally my attitude about it as well), and blamed his mother for making him the way he is (meaning, his being born sexual, which he saw as a burden). He said he's asked priests in his country whether they desired sex or not, and they've said no, they have no desire for that. He said if he were blessed like me he would become a priest, but he can't because if he tried to be celibate, he would just be driven to want sex more.
Obviously he's just one person and his perspective can't be taken as representative of all people in his country. But still, it was very interesting for me to talk to someone from a culture where asexuality is seen as a blessing, where those who have it are seen to have been blessed with something holy that sets them apart from others who are motivated by, if not outright driven by, the desire for the flesh. It is something to be treasured and valued and enjoyed. I tried to talk to him about how people in our culture who are asexual often find themselves feeling alone, or "other", or unhappy, or frustrated because they are different and because of the social pressure to want and have sex. This was quite foreign to him, and he insisted that he envied my gift. I told him there are famous "sex therapists" in our country who insist that asexual people have something wrong with them and need to be given medications to make them "normal" and desire sex, and he was horrified.
I found our conversation fascinating. Does anyone else have experience with cultures like this? It reminds me, in a very face to face way, that what is scary and misunderstood and "other" to one culture can be holy and special to another. The more I think about it, the more I think my culture, unlike many throughout history, doesn't have any group of people who are special and apart and holy. "Special" and "apart" is scary and oppressed.
- dash, Friday June 6, "Asexuality As A Blessing" in Asexual Musings and Rantings
Hey, there. I've been in a relationship with my boyfriend for a several months now. During that time, he was going through a lot of changes, exploring himself, trying to figure out who he really was. I was wanting to be supportive every step of the way. One of the conclusions he came to was that he was asexual.
I was so confused by it. I have never even heard of the term "asexual" before, let alone able to understand how someone could be asexual. In all honesty, I thought it was something he made up. I feel so stupid now for being so ignorant on the topic. I then thought that he just didn't find me attractive. It really hurt me for a while. He didn't even feel comfortable kissing me.
After a long time, I finally understood that he really did love me, he just didn't want to have sex. It took a lot of communication and talking about the way we felt, which wasn't very easy for either one of us because we never really trusted anyone before enough to talk about such things.
Now, we have a successful relationship, very much in love, and we couldn't be happier.
As for the sexual aspect, we finds ways of getting around it by compromising and respecting how we both feel. He's ok with kissing me now, and I'm ok with whatever else he does or doesn't want to do. I just wanted to share this experience with people, just to show that a relationship between an asexual and a sexual person can work, if they care about each other enough to put in the effort.
- mellierae2002, June 11 2008, "A Relationship between a sexual and asexual, just telling my experience" in Asexual Relationships
AVEN posts belong to their respective authors and do not necessarily express the official views of the Asexual Visibility and Education Network.
--
Quietus Est
by ELIOT
This poem was an honorable mention in the AVEN Literary Contest in the Poetry category.
Along the twilit horizon
a saturated breeze tickles the tips
of verdant blades, disturbing
their quiescent innocence
in attempt to rouse the dawn
from its delirious dormancy.
The breeze, resolute, undulates
endlessly through unopened
spiral buds and buzzes up trunks
into the ears of sparrows;
a gentle suggestion that perhaps
now would be an appropriate time
for a dulcet melismal strain.
It traipses wistfully, ever onward,
permeating the half-parted lips
of the sole surveyor, enticing
the palate with the taste
of summer encapsulated
in the essence of squelching a taut,
green-skinned grape between
increasingly eager, torrid teeth.
The surveyor gazes past the horizon.
Past the tips, past the trunks;
the spirals, the sparrows--
gazes through the buoyant breeze,
tracing a phantom line, stopping only
to rest eyes on the sanguine:
the saviour
And this is sufficient for the surveyor:
to know without having known,
to have seen and not been. To yearn
without requisite. This is edification.
The surveyor turns away from the horizon,
content to continue, to sustain, to carry on.
--
Literature Litter
by GOONIE
This poem was an honorable mention in the AVEN Literary Contest in the Poetry category.
the words fall around me
I pick some up, read them and discard them
they are not meant for me
they are meant for someone else
someone of importance
someone of clout
I brush these words off my shoulder
As I continue on my way
--
Here's the deal:
AVENues is not written by high-faluting AVEN officials in a secret office somewhere. AVENues is written by you – by real live asexuals, demi-sexuals, not-sure-yet-sexuals, and their allies. That means that keeping things moving in here is up to you.
In every issue, we're going to need a ton of writing, and we're making it easy now by giving you a list of exactly what we want. Here is a list of what
AVENues is made of:
News: If you were at (or know of) an event that had something to do with asexuality, we'd like to hear about it!
Opinion and theory: about asexuality. 300-1500 words is the best length.
Media: Have you spotted something asexual in a movie, book, song, or TV show? How are we being represented?
Poems and short stories with asexual themes.
The best of the AVEN forums: If you're hanging out online and see a post that deserves publishing or a hardworking asexy warrior who deserves recognition, tell us about it!
Reader responses: We love getting letters, whether it's agreement with something, disagreement with something, questions, general comments, praise, curses, suggestions, or anything else you can throw at us!
Art and photography: We normally use photos from AVEN meetups, but anything visual with an asexual or AVEN theme is well worth including.
Fun: Comics, puzzles, recipes – give our inner child something to do!
Send it all to newsl...@asexuality.org, and remember, we'll write back to you within three business days.
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