On Being Blue: A Philosophical Inquiry
nobler entry. 'Fuck a trucker' is equally sound (though it tails off doggily), but the command calls for courage and so scarcely carries the same disdain. In these days when letters to the editor may contain instructions on how to masturbate with a vacuum cleaner, cucumber, or cantaloupe, the directive,
    'fuck a fruit,' has become facetiously indeterminate. I happen to like 'fuck a lock,' nevertheless this phrase proves my point. One may admire its subtle comparison of 'pick' with 'prick,' or the happy resonance of 'lot' and 'lock,' or that humorous reference to the chastity belt, but successful swearing can afford to be bar-oquely outrageous only if it also remains as straightforwardly open and sharp and quick as a slap.
    In 'go to hell' and 'fuck you,' the words have been glued together by thoughtless use and mindless custom. We do not speak them the way we speak ordinary sentences. They are not said, but recited, like ave marias; so if I say 'damn you' and really mean you to be damned by a vengeful god at my behest, I have said 'damn you' the way I daily say 'let's eat,' and that is a way no one says 'damn you' any more, because curse-blue sentences are made of welded parts like the bumpers of automobiles, while with this revitalized 'damn you,' I have tried to make the phrase the way I once made ferris wheels and towers out of tinkertoy by following instructions.
    Swearing consists of a series of cultural quotations, and although others may have said 'let's eat' before me, and although I may have said 'let's eat' many times already myself, I am not reciting or quoting, repetition is no part of my intention, I am hungry again, that's all; while if I say, to the lady lying under me, 'hurry up, please, it's time,' I am quoting, and my fucking may be quoting, too, if it endeavors to recover another copulation and a previous joy by magical adherence to the past.
    Crude as it is, then, the case allows us to separate sentences and phrases which are truly created from those which are merely routine; and those which are squeezed out of daily life like the juice of a lime, however customary, from those which are tongued or sung or spelled or recited. The sentences of ordinary speech, of hunger and seduction, gossip and commerce, are sewn from patterns, put together according to blueprints and plans.
    We have been taught several simple ways to ask for water, grant physical favors, spare a dime. For water, 'water!' does very well, and anything much more complicated, anything original, discriminating, or interior, suggests that our thirst is not any deeper than the bottom of our throat.
    'Fuck you,' I mutter to the backside of the traffic cop. Fuckyous are in fact the principal item of macho exchange. Since I do not want to fuck the cop I must want someone else to, and since that ubiquitous 'you' is almost certainly another male (as it is in this instance), I can only desire your sodomization. To be entered as a woman is, to be so demeaned and reduced and degraded: for us gaucho machos, what could be worse? In a business deal, if you find you have been screwed, what should have been up theirs is disconcertingly up you. These aggressive wishes, expressed so fervently and often and in practiced ignorance of their meaning, reveal the depth of the desire for buggery among our bravos and our braves.
    So 'fuckyous' are welded and spelled rather than stitched or freely created. They say, 'fuck you,' but they mean, 'may you suffer a sex change.' They imply defiance, and reveal a desire for power. Furthermore, in the Freudian sense, they disguise certain sodomous inclinations. Fucked-up situations fuck us up. They make us ineffectual and passive. Since the power cursing requests is never forthcoming, one's actual impotence is hid by a small act of verbal defiance. 'Piss on you' is a relatively straightforward dominance claim. 'Shit on you' serves the same function.
    All these anal-sex-and-smear swears serve the same function, and are largely

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