Icons: 3. The Telephone Booth

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3. The Telephone Booth

What do you believe
sums up the 20th
century?
Why not email me
and tell me
what you think at
matt@interconnected.org With the gradual imprementation of the equality of the sexes and the rise of Feminism as a strong political force this century, the previous icons of our civilisation as symbols of dominant malehood have quite rightly been swept away.
What we have in its place is altogether more sinister, more cunning, more subliminal than what has come before, and shows to what a distance the gender war has yet to run.
     The battle has retreated underground, into the collective subconscious. Monumental glorifications of the penis - the great towers launching themselves of Mother Earth, penetrating the sky - have finally been vanquished. No longer can men wander around their cities and, upon seeing a new-fangled skyscraper or some Cleopatra's Needle, declare themselves Glad To Have a Willy.
     Over the past ninety or so years the man-made space around us has been defined by those protruding monoliths that speak to that which sees behind our eyes.
The best, most ubiquitous, of these is the Telephone Booth. Regarded by many as a true definition of British culture, how coincidental is it that it becomes the centre of our modern lives?
     This is a phallic symbol which we don't quite perceive: a cock in the corner of vision. A visual reminder that penis is still prevalent. And this impregnative imagery reminds us all, again and again, that to talk, listen, respond, understand, to live, to love - we have to use this very male of organs.
It needn't be morally correct, it needn't be acknowledged, but it's there, and this is the century that the sword of semen has pushed its way underground, into the deepest pits of our minds.

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	3. The Telephone Booth
What do you believe sums up the 20th century? Why not email me and tell me what you think at matt@interconnected.org	With the gradual imprementation of the equality of the sexes and the rise of Feminism as a strong political force this century, the previous icons of our civilisation as symbols of dominant malehood have quite rightly been swept away. What we have in its place is altogether more sinister, more cunning, more subliminal than what has come before, and shows to what a distance the gender war has yet to run. The battle has retreated underground, into the collective subconscious. Monumental glorifications of the penis - the great towers launching themselves of Mother Earth, penetrating the sky - have finally been vanquished. No longer can men wander around their cities and, upon seeing a new-fangled skyscraper or some Cleopatra's Needle, declare themselves Glad To Have a Willy. Over the past ninety or so years the man-made space around us has been defined by those protruding monoliths that speak to that which sees behind our eyes. The best, most ubiquitous, of these is the Telephone Booth. Regarded by many as a true definition of British culture, how coincidental is it that it becomes the centre of our modern lives? This is a phallic symbol which we don't quite perceive: a cock in the corner of vision. A visual reminder that penis is still prevalent. And this impregnative imagery reminds us all, again and again, that to talk, listen, respond, understand, to live, to love - we have to use this very male of organs. It needn't be morally correct, it needn't be acknowledged, but it's there, and this is the century that the sword of semen has pushed its way underground, into the deepest pits of our minds. Front page \| Exit