The Astrophysics of Dada (1973)

“I have forced myself to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own taste”

Marcel Duchamp

Perhaps nothing suggests the ultimate absurdity of our existence better than the postulated existence of the black hole. This extraordinary astronomical object is so densely compacted that it is invisible -- the sheer force of gravity prevents the escape of light. It is supposed that a black hole the size of a ping pong ball would weigh as much as the earth; in fact, a typical black hole was originally a star, somewhat larger than our sun, whose mass has collapsed into a volume with a radius of a few miles. Though their existence is itself a matter of conjecture, black hole theorists are in general agreement that such objects would have enormous reserves of energy, and some have suggested that the tremendous energy forces released from within a black hole when it collided with the earth were responsible for the strange explosion which devastated a remote region of Siberia in 1908.

According to the theory, black holes are “one way membranes” from which nothing can escape -- except, according to some theorists, into another universe. And they distort time and space through the exertion of their gravitational forces, so that as an object approaches a black hole and is drawn into it at an ever-accelerating rate, it appears to slow down and finally hover indefinitely at its point of entry into the black hole.

It was an Indian student, Subrahamnyan Chandrasekhar (also known as Chandra), who, before the black hole had been proposed as such, first realized what an awesome phenomenon could be created by the force of gravity within a burned out star, noting that, “for any star much larger than the sun, there was no known force that could halt the collapse.” As more astrophysicists studied the question, the black hole theories grew increasingly incredible, leading to the conclusion that “the ultimate destiny of such a black hole, derived from Einstein’s equations, would be infinitely powerful gravity concentrated in an infinitely dense, infinitely small spot where time and space have lost their meaning.” One further extension of the theory as it applies to the popularly accepted notion of a universe expanding to a certain limit states that “if the universe … confined by its own gravity [according to Einstein] is destined to fall back together again, then we are living inside an incipient black hole, from which, even now, no light can escape.”

One of the many curious characteristics of the black hole is that it is perceived only because of the aberrations that result from its influence. The implications and essence of the black hole border on the absurd, yet its existence is postulated on the basis of precise and careful and absolutely scientific – one might say absolutely logical -- calculations. Rationality and absurdity have become one, as have their opposites, in every possible combination.

It is here that the notion of Dada as a black hole can be introduced. For Dada was simultaneously the most logical and the least rational (with all permutations of those adjectives again permitted) movement in the history of art.

Dada represented a rebellion against a world given up to one of the cruelest absurdities witnessed in the history of civilization. It was 1916 and a European war was raging which seemed to the young artists who gathered together in Zurich to be “a war of false emotions and feeble justifications.” “None of us,” wrote Richard Huelsenbeck, “had much appreciation for the kind of courage it takes to get shot for the idea of a nation which is at best a cartel of pel merchants and profiteers in leather, at worst a cultural association of psychopaths ...” As artists, they rejected the superficial beauty of cubism and the glorification of machines inherent in futurism. They gave themselves up instead to the kinds of spontaneous actions and gratuitous gestures which became, in a fairly informal way, the essence of Dada. (Despite the multitude of manifestos issued in the name of Dada, there was never any clearly stated set of principles which defined Dada specifically; that would have been a rather unlikely contradiction in the fabric of a movement that was characterized by contradiction.)

Dada was (or is, for its self-proclaimed death in 1922 does not necessarily mark the actual termination of the Dada era) a movement of unpredictable chaos, spontaneity, and “anti-art” attitudes. It judged the world to be devoid of purpose and meaning, and completely absurd, thus justifying, in the name of Dada, any action, however bizarre or nonsensical. Tristan Tzara observed that, “measured by the scale of eternity, any activity is futile.” Heulsenbeck stated in his 1920 documentation of the early days of Dada that it had “no desire to be anything more than a mirror which one quickly passes by …” and quoted the early abstract painter Archipenko, who had said that “any imitation of nature, however concealed, is a lie.” Still, Hans Arp’s 1949 reflection on the movement should be considered for its simple and subtle emphaticism: “To speak of Dada’s confusing unreality and fail to penetrate its transcendent reality, is to render only a worthless fragment of Dada. Dada was not a farce.”

The nihilistic, negativistic attitudes of Dada were, however, largely responsible for the curious absence of tangible evidence of its existence. Dada was often its own principal subject; many of the writings and activities that were produced by the Dadaists were directed towards themselves, even as they were thrust upon the skeptical and often scandalized, occasionally amused public. Dada created actions, not objects, though of course there are some notable exceptions to this generalization, as there are to all observations concerning Dada. The ready-mades of Duchamp are perhaps the best example of Dada in its most physical manifestation, and it is significant that Duchamp himself said, “I was interested in the ideas, not merely visual products. I wanted to put painting at the service of the mind. “ He wished to produce “a wedding of mental and visual relations. “ But even in its most crazed, repulsive, perverted, and ludicrous moments (Tzara recalls a performance in 1921 when Georges Ribement-Demaignes was showered with tomatoes and beefsteaks), Dada was actually, doggedly, often unconsciously, and in the most absurd manner, pursuing the frightening truth about reality. It is because of this steadfast pursuit of truth, not as some idealistic fantasy, but as it actually was and is, that Dada might be viewed as the most “valid” movement in all of art. It was precisely because the Dadaists had given themselves up to the inevitable contradiction, that their validity was unshakable – in their bastardized child, Surrealism, a new and single-minded purpose produced some extraordinary works, but the work of the surrealists was always suspect because it was governed by the dogmatic pronouncements of Andre Breton.

For many, the invisibility of Dada, sixty years after its appearance, is taken as proof of its irrelevance. If there are more than a handful of texts and objects that have significance in modern society, they are being hidden away. So the critics claim -- and they are correct. “What’s the matter with everyone, wanting to make a museum piece out of Dada?” asked Max Ernst. “Dada was a bomb... can you imagine anyone, around a half century after a bomb explodes, wanting to collect the pieces, sticking it together and displaying it?”

Like the black hole, Dada has collapsed into itself, and its effect is a massive distortion of the outside world. Evidence of the actions of the early Dadaists vanished long ago, perhaps drawn into the metaphorical black hole. But in a very real sense, Dada is invisible -- a contradiction in the world of art as enigmatic as the phenomena of black holes is in the world of astrophysics. To most people, the obvious effect of either is negligible. Still, in a manner similar to the manner in which black holes subtly exert their influence upon the universe, Dada influences all art. But the analogy goes further: it can be argued that the black hole draws all matter towards its center, and so, in effect, controls the universe -- and perhaps the same can be said for Dada. The notion of the absurd cannot be escaped or denied. Its logic is irrefutable, since logic and absurdity become interchangeable. Denied a purpose, every action becomes absurd, and so no action is illogical.

With every painful twist of reasoning, we are drawn more rapidly into this abyss; we cannot escape it; the black hole becomes, symbolically, both the remnant and the precursor of Dada, absurd in its existence, invisible at any distance, devastating in its mysterious power, and destructively logical.

In the period since the supposed decline of the Dada movement, all of civilization and all of art have been drawn closer and closer to an abyss of absurdity. The fruitless search for meaning in our existence is itself a bit of Dada -- energy dissipated in the pursuit of a total impossibility. But it is not just on the abstract level of philosophical dilemma that Dada has appeared. In the holocaust of World War II, the advent of the atomic age, the confusion of good and evil, and the painful awareness of insurmountable obstacles which prevent our escape from futility, we embrace Dada as it exerts its force upon us more and more powerfully.

Once inside a black hole, it is unclear if the perception of reality is significantly altered. Only in relation to the external universe can one say definitively that the perception will be altered. The possibility -- or even the likelihood -- that our universe is itself a black hole, indicates to what extent we may remain ignorant of our own circumstances. It follows that our rapidly accelerating plunge into the black hole which is the absurd world of Dada may be just as invisible -- though an outsider might observe our disappearance as an agonizingly slow descent which is frozen at the exact point where we enter (or have already entered) into the inescapable force field.

The implication that our entrance into the realm of the absurd is invisible to the active participant suggests that we have, in fact, already become unconscious Dadaists. Ironically, logical attempts to prove or disprove that condition become more and more meaningless. For instance, if an observer points to this world of contradictions and boldly asserts, “This is the world of the absurd! We have arrived!” -- does that indicate that we have? Or does that consciousness contradict the thesis? If an artist mounts a bicycle wheel on a kitchen stool and displays the object, is the artist plagiarizing Marcel Duchamp’s 1913 “readymade”, or is this the most perfect Dada statement of our time? And even more perplexing is the question of unknowing plagiarism -- the repetition of a Dada exercise, without the prior knowledge of the original act. Such repetitions can either confirm one of the Dada axioms, that chance and gratuitous acts have intrinsic significance, or they suggest the banality of Dada actions, or they represent the logical extension of the original act. Finally, one ought to consider the link between the actions of Jacques Vaché, “who attended the premiere of Apollinaire’s Mamelles de Tiresias dressed as an English officer, and disrupted the intermission by threatening to ‘shoot up’ the audience,” and the pattern of contemporary terrorism (particularly the non-political variety) which might be considered the fulfillment of the Dada ideal of the gratuitous act.

It is, perhaps, inevitable that the reader will reject the logical conclusions of this entire line of reasoning. When Chandra presented his empirical findings that predicted the unlimited contraction of matter, a noted physicist, Sir Arthur Eddington, considered Chandra’s theory (perhaps even noting its apparent irrefutability) and then dismissed it as “almost a reductio ad absurdum”. But he too, might have, at that point, entered that other world, devoid of reason, having given in to this irrational desire for order, and thus relinquished his position in the ordered world. Wherever that threshold is, it would seem that l have also crossed it, my truths are now untrue, my lies impart wisdom, my arguments are both logical and irrational, and I am, in a disconcerting, if not entirely uncomfortable way, invisible.

Fleshdance

Jan. 29 – Feb. 4, 1988 – San Jose Metro

by Jim Wake

It’s a bright and clear Saturday afternoon, the kind of day to walk through the hills or visit the beach, not the kind of day to spend inside the cinderblock walls of the Bachelor Club. Just the same, five men have just paid $5 to get inside. I push my way past the curtain that blocks the sun from the interior of this little room on South First Street. A dozen small square tables are scattered about, with only a few more chairs than tables. A mirror ball sends shards of light throughout the darkened club. The low light, though, cannot conceal its shabbiness. None of the men sitting alone at the tables look particularly happy or well-adjusted. On a screen above a small stage, triple X-rated videos are shown. The sound has been turned off and the stereo blasts R&B and disco. V., an attractive black woman, slides from the dressing room near the stage and begins dancing.

She's down to the minimum -- the skimpiest of tops and a triangular patch of satin tied around her crotch. First she dances for a man near the stage. She passes by me and moves towards an awkward-looking man who has been sitting against the wall trying to look disinterested.

V. dances for him with labored enthusiasm. She leans over him so that if either moves, they will touch, and then she backs away. The man grins and slips a folded bill into her bra. She grabs a chair, raises a leg onto its seat and shakes her bottom within a few inches of the man`s nose. When she turns back, she is smiling at him. He folds another greenback and stuffs it into her G-string.

V. offers up a few pelvic thrusts, approaches the man one last time and leans over so that his face is between her breasts. She dances like this for perhaps ten seconds, then backs away. The customer grins a smug, lecherous smile as he slips one last bill into her bra.

Who is this man? What is he thinking and why is he here? Is he married? Does he have children? Can he possibly have a normal sex life and still find enjoyment in this strange game he plays with a nearly naked woman? These are some questions I don’t dare ask the patrons at the Bachelor Club.

And V.? She's articulate and bright-a 28-year-old mother of five, with three years of college and several years of experience in the health care field behind her. She's married to an unemployed welder, and the family has just recently moved from Los Angeles. They are completely broke and living in a shelter in Santa Clara. Working at the Bachelor Club provides quick cash.

But it’s not just the money; after all, she could always work as a waitress or in health care. And one need only talk with her for a minute to know that she's capable of holding a different job if she wants.

Before LA, where she danced topless, she performed naked in San Diego, in a booth with a glass divider to separate her from the patrons. The two sides were connected by a telephone, which the viewer would use to make his requests.

“That was the worst," says V. “l learned a lot about sex -- my own sexuality and what turns guys on. But it made sex seem disgusting. They would ask me to masturbate or stick things up my ass or act like a little girl."

Her voice fades off.

“Think about this," says Harriet Koskoff, who has spent much of the past five years studying the pornography issue and putting together a documentary film on the subject.

"What passes for entertainment in our society never ceases to fascinate me, This is legitimate entertainment.

"It intrigues me to no end that this goes on and you have all this tremendous eruption on all sides about whether or not it’s legitimate, whether it should be permitted, whether it's protected expression, whether we should condemn it."

It’s an issue that won't go away -- ever. Earlier in the century, there was Women in Love. And Tropic Of Cancer. Then Howl and Lolita. They were banned when they appeared, but are all available now and seem quite tame by today’s standards.

In the ’60s, there were topless bathing suits, topless waitresses and Carol Doda at the Condor.

Then came pubic hair, scratch and sniff and close-ups of aroused male and female genitalia. And in 1970 a Pornography Commission report virtually recommended against legal restrictions on pornographic materials (President Nixon rejected its recommendations).

In 1973, both the legality of pornography and the public's right to regulate it were affirmed in a Supreme Court decision that established the "community standards" rule. The “Miller Rule”, as it is called, specified three standards for determining when the censorship or regulation of obscene materials would be permitted: when a work depicts sexual conduct, specifically defined by state law, in 2 “patently offensive manner;" when a work lacks “serious literary, artistic, political or scientific value;" and when the work as a whole, applying “contemporary community standards. . .apeals to prurient interests."

Although this rather vague rule was intended to give communities the authority to exclude pornography it has, in effect, protected the porn industry from intrusive crusaders. If a community objects to pornography in its midst, it can take action, but if the community tolerates Debbie Does Dallas, that more or less establishes the community standard.

Now the controversy is once again becoming a public issue in San Jose. The city's low-key porn district is in danger of being zoned out of existence by an “Anti-Skid Row" measure backed by Mayor Tom McEnery and Councilwoman Susan Hammer. Meanwhile, another political drama is attracting attention and snickers from the press and the public.

Like many other downtown businesses, the Bachelor Club, two adult bookstores and the two adult movie houses clustered near the intersection South First Street and San Salvador have all suffered sharp drops in business along with the inevitable disruptions of a redeveloping downtown. So, when the city offered a rent subsidy program to downtown businesses to help them through lean times, the owners of the Pussycat Theater, the Pink Cat Theater and the Sex Shop Arcade figured that meant them, too. City leaders don't see it that way. "l don't care what kinds of books are being sold on the shelves of these stores," says Mayor McEnery “’‘m just concerned about the crime that results from these kinds of establishments when they are concentrated in one place. We’ve already seen what happens -- with crime and prostitution and drug use and all of that. We managed to clean it up with the help of the people in the neighborhood. So now we're dealing with it as a land use issue."

McEnery says that his position on the subsidy issue has been misinterpreted. "I'd like to see these businesses come forward,” he says with ample sarcasm. "Let them show us what good they are bringing to the downtown area. If they can demonstrate that they are serving the public, why we'll consider their applications like any other business."

Perhaps Councilwoman Lu Ryden has taken the most unusual position. "I'm a vocal opponent of subsidies," she says firmly “I'm not prepared to give them one red cent. lf it means that we have to go to court, and possibly lose, I have to leave that up to the council. These businesses pay taxes like other businesses, but the very prominent difference between them is the number of arrests.

“I talked with one police officer who has made over 200 arrests in one year. For lewd acts, indecent exposure, things that you don't mention in a family newspaper. Now, when that many arrests are made at a business, whether it's a pornographic bookstore or any other, I don't want to subsidize it.

“My main point in this is why, on the one hand, spend thousands of dollars in our police department enforcing the laws brought about by these businesses operating in the city, and then, on the other hand, give them money to operate? It doesn't make good fiscal sense.

“My personal opinion is that they don't belong in San Jose or any other town," says Ryden.

So Ryden must be supporting McEnery and Hammers drive to disperse the smut peddlers with a new city ordinance, right? Wrong.

"These are adult businesses -- they’re all going to stay in business. If they’re going to be anywhere, it should be downtown. I don't want them in the neighborhoods."

Stanley Fleischman, the Los Angeles lawyer representing the Pussycat Theater, promises a lawsuit if the city takes action against his client, or if his client’s request for a subsidy is denied.

“There are a lot of adult zoning ordinances around the country. Some of them have withstood constitutional attack and some have not," he explains. “But basically it’s my view that, unless they can prove that the people who attend our theater are anything other than the same kind of person who would attend the other theaters or attend a bar or anything else, it’s discriminatory and in violation of First Amendment rights to try and zone us out and not the others.

"lf they want to zone out all theaters, that's one thing. But to make a distinction between another theater and an adult theater, they have to demonstrate that there's something that goes on in the theater or out of the operation of the theater that creates a substantial problem -- that these are people who jam the street and keep traffic from flowing or whatever other zoning consideration you might have. I don't think they can do that. I think that it's all based on prejudice and dislike for the films, and not based on fact.”

As for the subsidies, Fleischman says, “lf the city is acknowledging that it is injuring businesses in the area and, in recognition of the injury, is making compensation, then it would obviously be in violation of equal protection to single out somebody they don’t like because of the content of the film."

The Pink Poodle is just outside the city limits of San Jose on Bascom Avenue, in the shadow of the huge Western Alliance sign on San Carlos. It costs $8 to get in the door. In comparison with the spartan Bachelor Club, this is a classy place. It's clean, and done up in red and black. A raised stage and a long runway are surrounded by a counter where men sit drinking coolers and near beer. State and county legislation has prevented the Poodle from mixing alcohol with nudity.

The men at the counter don't look especially demented -- just slightly so. They range in age from their early 20s to their mid-50s, but most are probably in their 30s. Many, probably are married. Most are well-dressed and well-groomed, and decidedly macho in their projected persona. Among the crowd are foreign faces; the faces of Middle Eastern students and Far Eastern businessmen. The counter and the stage are separated from each other by a Plexiglas barrier which extends to just a little above eye level. "

After a few minutes, the same large black man who has been working the door announces, “Please welcome back, the very bea-u-tiful … Tiffany!" Tiffany struts out onto the stage wearing only a flimsy unbuttoned top which she removes as she bumps and grinds and writhes and rolls her body around the stage and the runway Her act consists mostly of crawling up and down the runway, stopping in front of the men and spreading het legs as wide as she can manage so that she can best expose her crotch.

Some of the men crook their necks at odd angles to get a better look. At intervals, Tiffany cups one of her breasts, or touches herself and licks her finger. But she is not smiling and seems genuinely put off by the entire ritual. Despite the fact that she is manipulating her genitals, she seems detached and uninvolved in what is happening to her body When the song ends, the announcer calls out, “Let's hear it for … Tiffany!" She acknowledges the applause as she gathers in dollar bills offered by the patrons.

Tiffany departs, and a few minutes later the master of ceremonies is once again announcing, "Let's welcome back the very beautiful … Felicia!" Felicia is a slim Asian woman with engaging dark eyes. Her performance differs little from Tiffany's.

Later, when Felicia and Tiffany take a break, the show continues with the very beautiful Toni -- tall, young, slender and flirtatious -- and the very beautiful Natalie, the crowd favorite who dances to "California Girls" and has the kind of powerful, well-formed body that only comes from diligently pumping iron. These two women, at least, seem to be enjoying themselves.

"When you're hot, you're hot," says the announcer. “If you don't like that, we're all in trouble," he bellows like a broken record at the conclusion of each performance.

The spectacle is offensive to many women. “It’s worse than prostitution," remarks a friend when she hears a description. “At least there it's a contractual arrangement between one man and one woman. Whatever they agree to, they can do in private."

But when you talk to Pete Kuzinich, the Pink Poodle’s owner, he defends his right to run his club the way he wants. “Why shouldn't a man have the right to come in here and look at a pretty girl if he wants to? And if you talk about the exploitation of women -- it's all over the place. From the first soap opera on TV in the morning until Dynasty. It's hypocrisy for them to single out my club."

He also dismisses the common argument that pornography incites sexual violence. “It's not proven," he says. About that, Kuzinich is correct.

Once the Meese Commission's biased finding is dismissed, the research into a correlation between pornography and violence remains inconclusive.

Still, many would agree that most pornography degrades and objectifies women, and reduces the essence of a meaningful relationship between men and women to the act of anatomical union. That cannot have much of a positive impact on society. But are women the real victims? After all, they expose themselves to total strangers voluntarily.

Harriet Koskoff thinks the men suffer at least as much as the women.

"I’ve interviewed dozens of men who are self-described porno addicts," she says. “It's easy to see how it happens. But what's the end result of that?

“Does it really make them happier? We get into a very delicate issue here, because needs are being met. And yet I'll tell you what a surprising number have told me.

“It makes them more dissatisfied with what is actually available to them. It makes them more nervous about their own sexual performance. It makes them feel more inadequate about themselves and sexual activities. And they are frequently disappointed in their encounters with women because they’ve been masturbating -- conditioning themselves to an internalized movie of how it's going to be -- and it’s very rarely that way. So more attention should be paid perhaps to that than to whether or not it causes rape, or these other kinds of issues which you frequently hear from the more orthodox feminists."

At 15, C., like most normal, healthy teenaged boys, developed some of those prurient interests referred to by the Supreme Court.

"You had to be 18 to buy Hustler, but we got up the guts to do it and went in the store. My friend kept talking about college, so people would think we were older, and we picked up the magazine and then a bunch of other stuff -- orange soda and all -- so it wouldn’t be so obvious what we were doing.

“And then we're standing in line waiting to check out and I heard, ‘Hi son. What are you doing here?' coming from behind me, and turned around and it was my dad! Well, eventually we did get the magazine, and then the next week one of my friends offered me a gift, and after all that trouble that we had gone to, it turned out that he had got the very same issue of Hustler for me!"

Everybody has a story like this. I remember at age 13 or 14, when Bruce got a hold of his dad’s copy of Tropic of Cancer. We sat around on Saturday afternoons giggling as we leafed through the book trying to find the dirtiest parts. A woman friend confesses how, as a 20-year-old, she and her companions went to Manhattan’s 42nd Street after ingesting sufficient quantities of mind-altering chemicals. “I went into one of those booths with a nude woman -- on a dare -- but I just stared at her. I was too freaked out to pick up the phone and talk to her."

Pornography to be sure, is almost as firmly entrenched in society as is sexuality. It's an $8 billion a year industry -- larger than the legitimate film and record industries combined. Obviously people like it. And even though the First Amendment has been interpreted over the years to exclude protection from certain kinds of obscene expression, the controversy still rages.

Not even the shrewdest legal minds have succeeded in coming up with the kind of clear standard that could be used to pinpoint which kind of expression is clearly dangerous; no argument exists like the one restricting the right of an individual to yell "fire" in a crowded theater. And in trying to come up with 'some measure of the harm that accrues to pornography, comparisons are automatically invited.

What about Rambo? What about Friday the 13th? What about Wayne Newton or the CBS Evening News or the State of the Union address?

Everybody is offended by something; and anybody can point to the harm they've suffered as a result of someone else’s exercise of free speech.

But that’s a cop-out, too. Women are degraded in the Pink Poodle. Sexual violence is sometimes inspired by pornographic materials. Crime rates do rise in the combat zones of American cities.

Women walking alone on South First Street do get harassed and propositioned regularly by the men who are hanging out at the Sex Shop Arcade and the Bachelor Club.

In the books, magazines and films that objectify women and depict sexual activity as a contact sport devoid of emotion, dysfunctional and maladjusted men get distorted and unhealthy attitudes about sex, sexual roles and women. And that leads to -- and more significantly results from-very serious social and cultural problems.

You hear a lot about the evils of pornography. But you don't hear much from the anti-porn crusaders on any plan to address the social and cultural conditions that lead to a dependence on pornography as a sexual outlet for alienated men trying to grapple with their inability to interact “normally” with a woman.

“I think I’ll spend all day at the Sex Shop Arcade," says the cartoon balloon over the head of a leering cat painted on the tackiest exterior on South First Street. Inside, the light is harsh. Videos are displayed at the front counter, and most of the remaining walls are covered with glossy magazines more or less arranged by category: gorgeous young women, gang bangs, bondage, transvestites, S&M and gay.

There are racks filled with books, several displays of dildos and vibrators --some more comical than profane -- and other sexual aids ranging from blowup dolls with unconvincing orifices to creams and ointments to improve sexual performance. A large man with drooping eyelids is parked, as he has been parked for the past 15 years, on a chair behind a counter next to the cash register.

A white-haired man in a suit walks through the door and plunks down two dollars. “Eight quarters, please," he says with a hint of embarrassment. Then he walks past the book racks, past the magazines on the back wall, through the doorway to the arcade.

The arcade is lined with tiny doorless booths ("One to a customer" says a sign) where films and videos are shown on timers -- two minutes for a quarter. A prominent sign is planted squarely in the middle of the arcade:

Notice: Masturbation, touching the genitals of others, oral copulation and soliciting to engage in such conduct are PROHIBITED on these premises.

Violation under authority of California Penal Code 647(a) and 314.1 Please Obey! If caught you ... can and will be arrested by police for any lewd conduct. SJPD patrol this area on a regular basis. Thank you, Manager.

It's the ultimate irony. Lonely horny men spend their spare time slipping quarters into these thrill machines. A Woody Allen image comes to mind-of the 22^nd-century "orgasmatron" in Sleeper. But in the reality of the 1980s one has to wonder. What kind of gratification can these men get -- and what drives them to return again and again?

If they are functional, then they can feel a few minutes of physical arousal -- and leave with their loneliness intact and their needs unfulfilled. If they are dysfunctional, the awareness of it must be even more painful. These men are not so much loathsome as they are sad. And pornography, perhaps, is not so much the problem as it is a symptom of a kind of pervasive alienation that has proved too delicate and too difficult for either the politicians or the social scientists to handle.