There is something telling about the congealed residue of hyper masculine absence on thousands of young faces and perky tits that waits, wrapped in compressed codecs, for seeking eyes and sallow hanging wangs across miles of draping cable. It is misdirected to make generalizations about porn. Pornography encompasses a wide range of possibilities from the tender to the violent but one domain of porn that sticks out --or at least sticks-- is that of the 'the huge load' 'excessive cum' 'slime drenched slut' verity. At the extreme, like some ハイパー bukkake, the cum bath prizes itself in impossibility. Girls literally coated in slime as if the monster of patriarchy himself unloaded thousands of years of pent up symbolic gender violence at once. There has been a lot of good work by feminists on complex effects of porn and the objectification women but in my experience there is little dialogue on how porn constructs the male on both sides of the screen. In screen the man is absent, indexed only by what is presumably his vitality -- that milky viscose ooze. On the one hand, the fountain cum asserts the male presence, but on the other hand, it denies it. A seemingly infinite stream of man juice functions as both a claim to unbounded masculine domination and the negation of the possibility that masculinity is even within the realm of the actual. If masculinity only cums in bucketfulls then no man himself is sexuality capable of being male. Rather, only the conglomerate, the 'gang' of the gang bang reaches any sort of approximation of the hyper male Spector that coats the pornographic image. The millions of male masturbators detached from the particularities of space and time as a single hyperobject, like global warming or the market economy, an overwhelming force that follows indirect paths of action. Every ejaculation going unnoticed. a drop in the bucket, dissipates into tissues, toilets, bed sheets, cleaning solution etc. yet by dimly lit sorcery re-aggregates in the form of an opaque monster.