The Birth of Bitch King:

Zine of the Vulva-lution!

By Angela Asbell (Madame Chaos)

 

Angela Chaos = The Bitch King

I am the Bitch King, yet I am not.

I put on my mask, take the stage, and lose myself in the part I am playing.

And playing is fun. I am deliciously inconsistent, like children. I became who I am now by performing who I was not.

Who I am is a constant negotiation with the society in which I live. What others think of me is half of who I am. As a female, I have been taught to measure myself against others; I have been taught to think of others before myself. Conversely, most of the males I know have been socialized to wield individual autonomy and the power to name, so

I transgress when I define myself.

Naming is power and naming myself gives me power. When I define myself, I become the subject of this sentence.

Because the Bitch King does not negotiate.

Western culture perpetuates this myth that god gave Adam the power to name. He named Eve, along with the rest of the world. This story is a cultural symbol of gendered power relations. Man becomes the center of the universe. Woman becomes a part of the scenery.

For too long, women have been the objects of naming, labeled by males, defined by patriarchal standards.

I write my own history because the time for revolution is now.

By defining myself, I exert authority and agency. I reclaim what has been taken from me. I wanted to put more of “myself” in my art, so I created that “self.”

I started off playing with names and alter egos. The point was to lose myself, to overthrow my conceptions of identity.

My favorite identity was the fearless, arrogant, take-no-shit Madame Chaos. The title Madame evokes feminine/female authority and respect, with vague sexual overtones of dominance.

My given, “Christian” last name was replaced with the tradition I wished to affiliate myself with: questioning authority, deconstructing “common sense,” overthrowing tradition, evoking anarchy, dismantling the system, changing myself, changing the world.

Structure is immobility; change is chaos.

Queers like me create anarchy—what we seek to change changes everything.

I finally reclaimed the name “Angela” to acknowledge that I had finally started to recognize myself—the Angela I remember from my childhood. More importantly, I reclaim my family’s matriarchal lineage by reclaiming the name of the most powerful woman in my family—my grandmother.

The Bitch King is my surname, a doctoral degree in revolution, a suffix to make me confusing and yet perfectly understandable.

The bitch is always female. The king is always male.

The king makes the law.

The bitch transgresses.

Bitch King is to remind myself and others just who they’re dealing with. If I don’t remind myself, I tend to forget who I am. But more than anything, I have to remind the world:

Bitch is my word to describe myself. And the king can’t have it. And that also goes for dyke, cunt, slut, whore, and all the words used to silence women.

Just imagine the world if we all named ourselves.