Do Honey Bunnies Have to Wear Fuzzy Tails to Be Sexy?

Is this video about me or about you? Through my own shame and fear of being outwardly sexy with my body and music, I begin to understand that the behavioral limits we place on one another—as cultural psyches dotted across the planet—determine our relationships with sex.

Years before I made this video I wrote the lyrics and laid them atop an instrumental called Protostomp, produced by Desmond Hollins for a project he completed in 2012. Vocal sultriness immediately came out of my mouth when I started recording, invoking natural, human tendencies toward sexuality. And although the final version of the song didn’t make the cut for the producer’s project, I was given permission to reproduce the song for my own purposes.

Fast-forward five years to 2017, and Hugh Hefner’s death brought the song to the forefront of my mind, causing me to contemplate personal convictions about sexual imagery, external criticism, sexual expectations, and the multitude of outward personas that we deem acceptable in the gray area of American society.

In the multiverse of parallel realities that immediately followed Hefner’s death, my mind generated an alternative where Playboy Enterprises became a worker cooperative: playmates assumed professional control over their bodies and decision-making—even if the ethics surrounding said control would continue to be debated by portions of society.

In our reality, female sexuality has been appropriated by nearly every cultural psyche on the planet; appropriated by societies in direct response to seemingly involuntary reflexes that ultimately manifest sexual objectification—objects then become seen, touched, sensed and experienced in only the physical. Objects are owned.

Humanity en masse has expanded the simplicity of what was once bestial, reproductive sex and stretched it to the outermost reaches of defilement to the furthermost edges of sacred intimacy. Sex has become tainted, toxic, horrifying and dangerous, while simultaneously loving, grounded, and most of all, life-sustaining. Smack-dab between the outlying atrocities and the simplicity of nature’s intent, lay the undulations of our arguments that sway for and against outward forms of sexuality.

To lay down one’s heavily-cultured, myopic lens and fathom an object—independent from the senses you use to understand your physical world—is to connect with what up to this point you have been unable to comprehend. Any object that invokes any type of response from you is nothing more than a mirror—a reflection of your life stories, your opinions, your limitations and your expectations that culture has helped guide you toward in your present mental state. It is a reflection of what you have yet to learn.

I didn’t know how to share this song or create its video, at first. I just knew I was more than the reflexes that the words and imagery might evoke over the course of two minutes. What I surmised is that we are fools. Fools to think that a glance upon the outermost layer of a woman defines her. Fools to think that what she chooses to reveal will reveal nothing of ourselves—that a reflection has only one side. That an utterance exposes only one truth.

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