Let me start by saying that patriarchy is a disgusting kind of absurd freedom. This does not even need to be said, but I want to let it be known before I begin to make statements that might offend some. It is ridiculous and silly for an entire gender to be marginalized. But, with that said, I would also like to say that today's feminist has become the champion of many a fallacy. The feminist of today is not the Virginia Woolf feminist who knows that her fair share is due to her and argues in favor of what can be done with it instead of lamenting its absence or trying to win it. The modern feminist is Claude Rains' Louis Renault from Casablanca; one who vacillates between simpering apologetics, defeatist political shrugging and impassioned bluster. Louis is not an ill-intentioned character. He wants to help Rick out, he doesn't like Nazis and he fondly remembers a France that once was, but Louis still goes about his days letting good-natured casual debauchery be the extent of his revolutionary leanings. In the end, it turns out Rick is a pretty good influence on this frustrated dissident manque. Louis' problem lies with the fact that freedom is to him something to be earned, not something that has been taken from him. It is the Nazis that are the absurd ones, not Rick or Victor Laszlo or Elsa or anybody else. It is the Nazis who came in and revoked the freedoms that are implied, the rights that are intrinsically human. When freedom is announced as an alternative, as something to be won instead of something native to our being it becomes a novelty. As a novelty, it becomes something difficult to grasp. Rick goes about running his cafe and living his life as if there were no Nazis, because on some level he understands that freedom is something we all have whether than something we must take, earn, beg or borrow from others.
The contemporary stripper feminist, your Diablo Cody or Elizabeth Wurtzel type,  while a sexy and exciting alternative to conventional feminists, is still a true Claude Rains, a failed and impotent Captain Renault. She apologizes for her actions in faux scandalous tomes that fill the shelves at Borders and continues to argue that they are not aberrant. The Captain Renaults need a book to justify the possession of their own bodies. Is this not kowtowing to patriarchy? It passive-aggressively insists that men, the Nazis have possession of that very body and she has gotten permission to utilize it. It is true that a woman's body and image are her own, so why, then should they not choose to be Rick? Not stripping is one way to show that your body is your own, but people want to strip and people want to watch stripping, so the alternative is to use the freedom and skip the apologies. One who uses freedoms in spite of oppression is far freer than one who simply pines away for these freedoms.
This is what true erotica would be, and I will go further and say this is what makes all great art. Good art assumes freedoms and behaves by its own laws. In doing so, these freedoms are created. Is it good to have social consent when this happens? Oh, definitely. This makes society into a willing accomplice. At best, this is not a pandering but a seduction, like the Grand Guignol and the Burlesque. Apologist violence and apologist pornography fall flat. The ideal effect of a good, transgressive piece of art is like that of taking your mother's favorite lipstick and writing a symphony on her bedroom wall. Society will want to scold the transgressor, but will instead be seduced by the work. Society is the one apologizing to William Burroughs, James Joyce, Bettie Page and Josephine Baker alike by immortalizing them, by lining up and begging for these transgressions. Thus, one must ask oneself, "am I producing apologist art?" or "am I producing apologist erotica?" or producing a kind of milquetoast consensual erotica. Erotica done with society's full consent is like a handjob from your pediatrician; it's okay for this person to touch your penis, but he's the wrong one to do it and his hands are like ice.
Thereby, artists must in the creation of new art, new violence and new pornography not use the freedoms we are granted but the ones we have and wish to have. We have the freedom to use our bodies, our minds and our souls to our own device and we have the freedom to not be called "whore", "hack", "camgirl" or some other horrendous insult. Here is what I propose: be brazen in your presentation, understand that it is your right, actively seek to seduce and then to transgress. Make somebody think something about the id, about the world, about God and man and the working of God's art. The body is after all, god's art, sometimes flashy,sometimes overstuffed and sometimes sublime, but it is the departure point and not the point of arrival. A naked woman will never be without its natural excitement and the same is true of a stabbing or a dirty limerick, but that isn't the end of their potency. All three can protest a war, say I love you or encourage the understanding of what the body means. Jack the Ripper combined the three forms into a disgusting, amoral, but undeniably effective means of protest. The Whitechapel murders were in the end an amped up Alice in Wonderland, the exhibits of a society put on trial. Writers and filmmakers can do this without being psychotic, knife wielding misogynists (unless you're Dario Argento, who does it like nobody else and leaves us screaming for more). Am I saying that there is no room for non-allegorical acts of sex and violence in the media? No. Are sex and violence innately allegorical? No shit, Sherlock. Let erotica, violence, profanity and political dissidence be a true mirror of our inner worlds, the passions and the freedoms of the person using them. The people want it. Just let them know they do. Look at your inner Rick, a free man in occupied turf. Embrace the possibilities. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.