My internalized misogyny is such that I have a dick. —Kum the Klown

Kum the Klown was born a girl clown, therefore born into a life of suffering unimaginable to boy clowns, even the saddest and most beleaguered!

The pain of being born dead–alive as a girl clown is such that self hate is guaranteed and love of pain is a default coping mechanism.

A femcel is anyone who has been brutalized, consumed, and destroyed by men.

By that definition, Kum the Klown is a femcel many times over!

The way women have bought into fear of male impotence is clowning, like the “child’s scary drawing” of tits we have become. We have become sex clowns.

Maybe it turns you on, like how clowns make you laugh, but it’s also vaguely frightening, like how clowns are scary!

Kum the Klown dons the clown makeup in solidarity with all women who have been forced into sex clowning by the impotent Dick Inside.

All femcels have “honorary” dicks.

[Putrefacto 10/07/25]

…not only was he weird about kissing me, but he didn’t show me physical affection of any kind. I tried to hold his hand in the movie—no dice. He claimed he’s not into PDA, but this was still a thing behind closed doors.

I felt like he was weirdly not even there with me, despite the fact that we played every pinball machine together. It’s a bizarre thing to try to describe. Like someone who keeps you at such an emotional distance that you feel alone with them, even when their cock is inside you.

I can’t say I’ve ever experienced this with anyone else, and I’ve been with lots of intimacy-phobes. Sadly, they are usually “my type.” But even the worst of them still acted like they wanted to be there during sex. F—’s vibe, at all times, was very “I’d rather be fishing.” When I asked him about it, he took it as an affront. “Now I feel like I did something wrong…”

Trash.

Interesting that his “favorite thing in life is fucking” (direct quote) when the whole time we’re doing it, it feels like he’d rather be doing literally anything else. The only sign of enjoyment is the hard dick itself. This extends to everything, really, even beyond sex. His whole vibe is “I’d rather be doing anything else.”

I felt like a human gloryhole, but I used him like a human dildo, so…it was weirdly empowering despite him completely dissociating during the most intimate experience human beings can possibly have together. It feels like I got above something I’ve felt beneath for the past year or more. I got on top, literally, and I think it ended my toxic crusade of needing to feel sexually desirable as an “aging” woman, to be able to have satisfying sex. All it takes is a dependably hard cock, which has been hard to find—all these dudes, especially younger ones, have blown their dicks out on porn.

TLDR:

Imagine fucking someone who doesn’t look at you, not even once.

Might as well be a gloryhole.

Presence only in total absence.

Nuclear winter of the heart.

Invocation: The divine masculine in radical presence. This is what the flowering Dick Inside looks like.

There is an underworld hiding in plain sight.

We live in it all the time.

“The Rape of Persephone” by Rupert Bunny

At the level of the collective, it is the divine feminine shadow:

• endemic self-hate learned by patriarchal rote
• the marriage-of-death drive that rapes and kills the feminine, trains women to find completeness in romantic partnerships
• projection of the divorced monstrous feminine onto other women in whom we unconsciously recognize ourselves and lash out against.
• the male gaze internalized, beauty and body standards we cannot (but still try to) live up to
• our ego defense narcissism
• our insecurities played out as competition with other women
• the study of our flaws in the reflection of those who hate women and themselves

It is internalized misogyny, The Dick Inside, the monstrous masculine ingrained in us that fucks us and keeps fucking us and, in so doing, we fuck ourselves.

What Is The Dick Inside?

The Dick Inside is internalized misogyny, internalized male gaze, internalized male impotence.

The Dick Inside is the thing that keeps fucking us after we’ve been fucked.

The Dick Inside Blue Velvet

Frank is a wilderness of feral instinct.

He is the monstrous masculine.

He is the underworld.

He is The Dick Inside.

Every been to pussy heaven? —Frank Booth

In Pussy Heaven, everything is NOT fine.

And Pussy Heaven is a small group of homely women knitting and dumpy middle aged men sloppily eating (not pussy).

And in Pussy Heaven there is a flamboyantly gay dude lip syncing Roy Orbison.

Pussy Heaven is the “child’s drawing” of pussy. Impotence gets off on crudely-drawn sex, like the creepy kid art in horror movies, except those creepy kids are man-boys scribbling all over our pornographic imagination.

In Pussy Heaven, “pussy” is a child’s drawing of the goddess womb to which the monstrous masculine unconsciously wants to return but fears, infantilizes, and despises.

Pussy Heaven (This Is It) is a deeply closeted drama. It’s everything that has been repressed. It has little/nothing to do with pussy, and despite all the talking about fucking, there is no fucking, and there is definitely no intimacy.

It’s not sex. It’s a child’s drawing of sex.

Frank wants to return to the Great Mommy Cum Cow but is emotionally infantile, intimacy-phobic, narcissistically insecure and self-loathing.

He covers it up with an extreme version of toxic masculinity. a wilderness of feral instinct denied by the ego and therefore fortified as pure ego.

He has the Charlie Sheen Complex.

He needs a tank of amyl nitrate and a comical level of machismo to allow himself to become soft and vulnerable enough to approach the Great Mother; he tries to return to her via monstrous masculine perversion, within a monstrous masculine framework.

He becomes a cartoon character—honking tits, humping fully clothed, toasting to fucking—proclaims he will fuck anything that moves, yet is terrified of intimacy and love.

“I’ll tell you what a love letter is: it’s a bullet from a fucking gun, fucker.”

Mommy…baby wants to fuck! —Frank Booth

Frank Booth’s erotics are: emotional infantilism, intimacy phobia, and fear of love.

Mommy Issues: the Great Mother Wound (the Fall of the divine feminine) becomes a Great Mommy Kink. He can’t return without looking at the thing he doesn’t want to look at…the erotic shadow in the “deep river.”

i.e., Boss Baby can only get off if sex feels like absolute conquest and intimacy feels like being absolutely alone.

He needs to feel alone to be able to cum (“now it’s dark”; “don’t you fuckin’ look at me”; getting high as balls).

Frank is an infantile fascist:

“The triumph of the will recreates as its Utopia the world of early childhood, and that is a world of nightmare, impotence, and fear in which the child fantasizes, out of its own powerlessness, an absolute supremacy” (Angela Carter, The Sadeian Woman).

“Why are there people like Frank? Why is there so much trouble in this world?”

—Jeffrey Beaumont

“There is trouble until the robins come.” —Sandy

There is trouble until fear is released and love is properly understood, until love is not feared, until the feminine is not feared and therefore mastered, domesticated, controlled, effaced, consumed, and destroyed.

“I have your disease in me now.” —Dorothy Vallens

She has The Dick Inside in her now, having been consumed and destroyed by the monstrous masculine, having coped with abuse by eroticizing it—having internalized misogyny.

The Dick Inside is what fucks us and keeps fucking us after we’ve been fucked.

We fuck ourselves with The Dick Inside: when “baby wants to fuck,” we spread ‘em wide and say “mommy loves you.”

It’s time for that to STOP.

Femcel: TFW No Gaze Ever

Whereas men enjoy the happiness they feel, women can only enjoy the happiness they give. —Dangerous Liaisons

We cum last.

This is why we have no gaze.

We internalize and assume the male gaze. We watch male gaze porn and get off on it. We turn our pussies into bakeries, accommodating the male gaze, trying to live up to its contradictory, impossible standards in lieu of ever knowing what we really want, who we really are, what we would want and who we would be if men weren’t looking or we weren’t always looking at ourselves through their eyes.

We are always looked at, never looking. In our pornful and pornless realms of pure fantasy, we are both fucker and fucked.

Fucked, always fucked, I am the one who fucks. I am the one who spreads it wide, and I am the one who cums all over it.

I enjoy it vicariously through male enjoyment; only then can I enjoy it first-hand.

The only men who like child’s-scary-drawing-level great big cum cow tits are pubescent boys or grown men having a closet drama. Like Charlie Sheen, star of Two and a Half Men, the half a man being Charlie Sheen.

Ineffectual males with erectile dysfunction and intimacy phobia are what mass shooters and serial killers are made from. It’s what Frank Booth and Bobby Peru are made from. It’s what Jeffrey Epstein was made from.

To be attracted to men is to have a rape fantasy and a death wish, to unconsciously accept a form of abstract masochism as a way of life and villainize other women in pursuit of satisfying the insatiable, impotent, involuntarily celibate Dick Inside. We are masochist–villains. We are sadist–victims.

All heterosexual women are technically incels (femcels) because we fuck and fantasize according to a gaze that is not our own.

The sex we have is sex-negating because we live in an erotic world that was not made for us, that we ourselves did not create; therefore, we are “quite intact”—virgins repeatedly raped, like Persephone, queen of our underworld.

Femcel: tfw no gaze ever.

Externalizing The Dick Inside

I can’t be expected to overcome internalized misogyny without externalizing it.

I can’t be expected to suck my own dick if I can’t give myself license to remove my Adam ribs and ouroborate myself.

To Awaken to The Dick Inside means doing cognitive dissonance on cognitive dissonance. Our double bind means double the dissonance.

To integrate the divine feminine shadow is to make a playground for The Dick Inside while also exorcising it.

The resurrected Kore is a Kore who cannot be abducted by Hades. —Neumann, The Great Mother

If there is no way out of the underworld, then we must imagine Persephone happy. The key to imagining ourselves happy is to become conscious of The Dick Inside.

Like the orgy scene in The Devils: the Ursuline nuns are nude in the cathedral maniacally humping everyone and everything in sight, with the fabulous king of France present.

Except, in my imagination, it’s not demonic possession or ergomania or even egomania expressed as sexual prowess and conquest.

It is deep erotic love and conscious enjoyment of the collective shadow cast by the monstrous masculine. It is deep divine love of the monstrous masculine that has painted our pornographic imaginations as underworld waste places.

It is The Dick Inside breaking its own firmament, from the underground up, ejaculating milky, motherly, dairy-dreamy celestial cum all over the world.

It is the Cum Punk Way. Celestial Cum Cow Punk.

“The Return of Persephone” by Frederic Leighton

Lately I’ve been having thoughts
of castrating older men.
Not all of them.
Just the ones who mistake
a poetry reading
for a dating service.

The ones who stand by the sign-up sheet
complimenting a twenty-three-year-old’s work
with their eyes fixed somewhere else.
The ones who own the venue,
host the event,
run the workshop,
and think every “no”
is a public humiliation.

I’ve watched it happen
for twenty years.
A woman reads three poems.
The room leans forward.
After the show,
some guy old enough to know better
decides her presence
is an invitation.
A week later
her name isn’t on the list.
A month later
she stops answering messages.
Another voice disappears.

That’s the part that gets me.
Not the rejection.
Not the bruised ego.
The waste.
All those poems
that might never get written.
All those years
someone could have spent
becoming an artist
spent wondering instead
whether every room
comes with a cost.

The men I’m talking about
always have explanations.
Misunderstanding.
Mixed signals.
Bad timing.
Excuses so thin
light passes through them.

The people who taught me better
never made it complicated.
Respect people.
Take no for an answer.
Leave the room better
than you found it.

And when you inherit a community,
you don’t treat newcomers
like prey.
You make space.
You remember someone
made space for you.
And if people are coming up behind you,
you hold the door open.
You don’t stand in it.

It really isn’t difficult
to not be an asshole.
It really isn’t.

Just act with forethought,
empathy,
consideration.

Remind yourself
you aren’t entitled to anything.

And when the kids have to be
the grown-ups in the room,
maybe it’s time to ask
how you got here.

Fiery Femcel Fury

Co-Edited by
Madison Murray & Kum V

Femcel collage by Madison Murray

Our SCUMtributors:

Kyle Bertone is a photographer and mixed media artist. Born and raised in Salem, Massachusetts; he lives in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. He is the Visual Arts chair for the Harrisburg Fringe Festival and serves on the board of 717 Arts, a non-profit dedicated to supporting artists throughout central Pennsylvania.

Blush Bullseye is an erotica writer, performer and painter who loves doing readings. She has zine books of her erotica called Privacy Part and Small Talk and runs/hosts an Erotica Nite of readings/performances in NYC.

Jerica Burgette

“A femcel is a female/femme who is frustrated by multiple failed romantic relationships and adjusts herself on a spectrum of anger that either turns inward as depression or outward as resistance, based on wanting or not wanting to rely on a partnership to define her self-worth. Either direction can freeze her into stillness or push her into movement — likewise, it can either hinder or help her grow into the stage of not needing a man to function daily. Acceptance can manifest as succumbing to either self-criticism or self-love, therefore remaining single indefinitely.” —Jerica Burgette

Karina Bush is an Irish/Roman poet, playwright and video artist. She has authored five books, including Rotten Milk from Tangerine Press, and her work has been featured in 90+ publications, including POSTPOSTPOST, International Poetry Studies Institute, Akashic Books, Deleuzine, Chiron Review, Hurricane Review, Expat Press and LA Review of Books. 

“A femcel is a romantically amputated woman. Numbers increasing with technological development.” —Karina Bush

Elwin Cotman is a storyteller from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He is the author of five books: the poetry collection The Wizard’s Homecoming, and the short story collections The Jack Daniels Sessions EP, Hard Times Blues, Dance on Saturday, and Weird Black Girls. His debut novel The Age of Ignorance will be published by Scribner in 2027.

Katie Haley is a writer from California with work in/on Hobart, Somewords, Vlad Mag and elsewhere. She believes in writing that’s abrasive and hardy. Her vices include but aren’t limited to cumming then crying, cheap tequila, and gossiping.

Avelynne Kang is a writer and soon to be therapist from Toronto. Her work has been published in Maudlin House, Expat Press, Ghost City Press, and others. She hosts a podcast called Courtesy Flush on YouTube. She is a libra sun, gemini moon, and gemini rising and thanks you for reading. <3

“What is a femcel? A slight departure from incels, as incels emphasize the involuntary aspect of their celibacy and (real or imagined) lack of sexual desirability. Femcels to me are women who lack sexual or romantic desirability and struggle to socialize with women due to perceived competition or tend to aggressively self-isolate. Sylvia Plath’s protagonist in The Bell Jar is an OG example, but more contemporary femcels include Mia Goth’s portrayal of Pearl or comedian/actress Ivy Wolk.” —Avelynne Kang

Mr. Omar King resides in Gardena, California. You’ve seen him as a regular guest on Soft White Underbelly. You’ve read his schizo short fictions on Cream Scene Carnival, Cum Punk, Honk Magazine, 100 Subtexts Magazine, and Elizabeth Ellen’s Hobart Pulp Magazine. Instagram: @ahsintheblacklodge Twitter/X: @omarking0924 Substack: MR. OMAR KING’S SUBS-TIC-TAC

Lotte Latham is a professional hedonist with an untidy mind. Author of chapbooks Maternal Potential (Carrion Press ‘25) and Dear Mr Andrews (Guts Publishing ‘23). When she’s not writing, you’ll find her fucking bottles under the alias: My Babyallgone. Wanna watch?

Julia Laxer is a poet, writer, performance artist and editor at Hobart Pulp, where she curates a column, THE COST OF LIVING. She has danced, on-and-off, since 2002. Julia is a proud former San Francisco LUSTY LADY and currently entertains onstage in Portland, Oregon at Mary’s Club.

Tim Livingston is a poet + proud Pennsylvanian. They live with their cat Mamma Mia!

“A femcel is someone who would prefer to long for a gentler authority than to submit to a carnival mirror. I’ve located myself in this identity in an effort to shift the tonal center of my sexuality.” —Tim Livingston

Tara McGowan-Ross is an ethnically ambiguous brunette protagonist and happily married femcel. Her poetry has been anthologized in Best Canadian Poetry. She is the author of poetry collections GIRTH and SCORPION SEASON, as well as the Weston Prize finalist memoir NOTHING WILL BE DIFFERENT. Follow her @girthgirl and on Substack.

“For me, it’s a set of philosophical and aesthetic principles that invert the standard expectations of the feminine under patriarchy: under patriarchy, the female must exist for others. She must be yielding, sweet, supportive, self-denying, nurturing, ‘good’ to a standard of goodness which is inhumane, and only in possession of a service-oriented sexuality under specific pre-approved circumstances. So much of the way the world works is organized around the assumed inherent desirability of being this way, and the consequences of straying from it are massive. Instead, the femcel is angry, perverted, aggressive, and aesthetically man-repelling.” —Tara McGowan-Ross

Bob McNeil is a writer, editor, cartoonist, and spoken word artist.  Flexible Press published his book composed of essays, illustrations, poems, and stories titled Compositions on Compassion and Other Emotions. Proceeds from this work fund the National Alliance to End Homelessness.

Madison Murray is a New England-based writer, artist, editor, and performer. She is the author of My Gaping Masshole, a cult collection of erotica, poetry, and NSFW art about the north shore region of Massachusetts. Her work has appeared in Playboy, Hobart, The Blood Pudding, Quiet Lightning, dream boy book club, BULLSHIT Lit, Dirt Child, Spectra Poets, and Cum Punk Magazine, among others.

“Femcel (noun) – a person who experiences difficulty forming or maintaining intimate relationships with men. I’m a femcel bc I am traumatized. My brain is fully developed. I live with my mom. I have to write. I fuck for love. I love no one.” —Madison Murray

Zofia Provizer

Nora Rawn is terminally single and writes poetry while working in publishing and living in Brooklyn. We all die alone anyway.

CUMstopher Soredick is a professional game programmer and unprofessional word deviant who runs (the decidedly tamer) Artemisia Press out of a triangle-shaped house in the woods of central Ontario.

Kum V (fka Kim Vodicka) is a 24/7 sapiosexual femcel. She invented Cum Punk, where she is founder and editor-in-mischief. She daylights as a free-range dairy farmer of the Bovine Divine, and she moonlights as Kum the Klown, Cock E. Cuntsmart, and The Dick Inside, 

“Femcel (noun) – she who chooses herself by any means necessary, who abstains from intimacy with men when it means loss of power and/or self. I’m a femcel bc I resist psychic death. I don’t hate men. I just hate that society has failed men and therefore everyone else.” —Kum V

Dan Wright is a writer and poet from St.Louis, Missouri, where he hosts two regular poetry series, runs event programming for beloved St. Louis independent bookshop Dunaway Books, and is cofounder of Back of the Class Press.