Biting The Lotus

The look's a dead giveaway. You just can't wait to bite into that lotus.

Mrs Madrigal to Maryanne Singleton

- Armistead Maupin
'Tales of The City'

I met a girl last night who reminded me of me ten years ago in some ways*. Long hair. Sort of 'alternative looking' as my Mum would say. Smiles a lot. In love. Inquisitive. Fresh-faced and wide-eyed. Optimistic. A girl who just can't wait to bite into that lotus...

And the more she spoke the more I missed being the girl I used to be. The one I was before the piercings and the fistings and the floggings and the Daddies, before the dyke bars and the trannyboys and the butches and the femmes, before I knew what girls and Wet Stuff and amyl tasted like, before the drug-fucked orgies and the the poly relationships, before I came out as bi/dyke/queer/leather/kinky, before the strutting about and the slutting about, when I didn't know the hanky code or that Crisco had any use other than cooking, before the metal and the ink. Before most of the scars. When I still wore a bra and would never pee in front of anyone else or go naked for any longer than was necessary. When I was still capable of blushing. When all I needed to be happy was my boy, my liquid eyeliner and a custard tart from the pie shop in Cronulla.

Lately I have been finding it hard to get really excited about much at all. I mean, my heart still skips a beat to see the Gentleman Caller, and my face lights up when A Certain Boy is around. I danced joyous laps of the studio after my face cutting, and was all dizzy and ecstatic after the suspension show last Saturday. And I confess to doing a childish leap into the air when I first spotted a house with its Christmas lights on the other week. The Shadowers film left me in a state of delirious awe. There are moments of ecstasy still, true, those dazzling moments that cut straight through the muck that covers my rose-coloured glasses. But they don't seem as frequent, or as bright or... its hard to describe it exactly. Maybe its depression, maybe its exhaustion, maybe its grief, maybe its just that I am turning into a jaded old creature. Blah. Bah humbug!

But Christmas falls late now
Flatter and colder
And never as bright as when we used to fall
And even if we drink
I don't think we would kiss
In the way that we did
When the woman was only a girl

- The Cure
'Last Dance'

I just wish I could remember where I put that lotus.


* This is not meant to be an accurate depiction of her as such, just what she was to me at that moment. I don't know her very well at all, and obviously we see things as we are and not are they are anyway!

Got Freud?

This is from a very odd piece called Got Freud? by Burke Burkean, in which he discusses the Got Milk? advertising campaign:

The so-called "milk mustache" easily demonstrates the desire for milk drinkers to embody an adult male persona for sexual gratification of the female (consider the popularity of male stars of adult films during the 1970s. A full and prominent mustache means a large, powerful, and satiating penis). In this book both men and women are photographed with milk mustaches. The milk mustache which adorns a woman's upper lip is an oral stage exemplum of penis envy. Dialectically, they desire milk and are satiated by milk (evidenced by the self-satisfied and smug look on their faces after having engaged in the subliminal act of nursing). On the other hand, there is the more overt penis envy demonstrated by the parallel of the mark of oral sex. The "milkiness" of semen around the woman's mouth is very similar to that of the milk mustache. The smug look on the woman's face offers the sign that she is willing to perform oral sex and finds pleasure from it. Similarly, the male with a milk mustache presents, dialectically, the desire for both masculinity through the facsimile of facial hair, and the subliminal fear of having a small penis - thus, offering a display of willingness to take in a penis through the mechanism of the mouth.

Suspension of Belief

Saturday night was L'Erotica party at The Forum (Fox), and I was asked by the Queen of Organising The Shows, if I wanted to do a show with Lukas Zpira and his wife, Satomi. Yes please Mummy Laura!

Setting: Stage with giant metal rigging/pulley contraption. I come out on carrying gorgeous hemp ropes. Kneel down. Satomi, aka Tokyo Love Doll, follows me. Takes ropes, starts to slowly tie my hands behind my back, then makes a harness on the top half of my body. Stands me up and leads me to the side of the stage. Lukas walks on, harness around his chest and four hooks in the flesh of his back. Satomi attaches these hooks to the frame, and Lukas is slowly lifted into the air. Then I am lead over and somehow, not sure how exactly (pretty spacey by this stage), and one leg is tied up to my back and then I attached to ropes coming from L's harness and suspended beneath him in a kind of hog-tie position. S swings us, and we are just flying about the stage! By this stage Zoo is extremely blissed out, totally gone... Finally, S climbs on top of me, so that there are three of us suspended from the flesh in L's back. Spectacular!

Looking down from the stage and seeing so many of my friends grinning at me or just watching the whole process with a look of total awe was a real treat too. Thanks to the GC and NattieTheFlattie and Unwanted Faerie in particular :)

All of this has made me wonder what I am doing in The Academy somehow. Feel like I ought to be somewhere else, something else maybe? I want to be the one hanging from hooks for a living! Hmmm... having one of those days of wanting to run away and join the circus. Learn to breathe fire and spend my life covered in glitter and greasepaint, inked and modified, forever on flights of fancy.

Cut By The Hand Of God

Here is my Head Cutting. Unfortunately, my camera ran out of batteries so no shots yet of the actual bloody bit (though have video, and some taken on GC's phone).

Didn't hurt or bleed as much as I was expecting, more of an erotic tickle. I could have gone on with it for a long time... the sensation was delicious! I moaned, sighed and entertained Lukas and Satomi (more about them later in the L'Erotica post) muchly with my after-cutting euphoric giggly dance around the studio. *Sigh* It was all over very quickly though, and stopped hurting almost immediately. Now I just keep wanting to poke the wound and hit it and re-open and play with it so that I can feel it again. I'm hoping once I start on the lemon juice and sugar scrubs it should start to at least tingle. And I'm concerned that it won't scar as much as I would like, as doesn't seem very deep to me. Mind you, not sure how deep one can go on the side of one's face, and I alwas get paranoid that things won't scar right. Hmmm... was a fun (and expensive) adventure, but feeling a little flat about it now. Think I just wanted more pain?

Cheese Queen

I placed the milk in a bowl and when that was done the idea came to me to make a small homemade cheese out of it. The old man had given me some rennet and I stirred this into my milk and then let the mixture set. Afterwards I tied the mixture up in a small muslin bag over the sink and let it drip.

The cheese tasted mild and slightly watery. I spread it on some bread and sprinkled salt over it to bring out the flavour and when I had finished I lay down on the bed with the child beside me in her cot.

-Angelica Jacob
'Fermentaion'

A friend of a friend is apparently keen to make cheese out of human breastmilk. And I am most keen to do see what I taste like as boccocini or brie... This project would require a serious increase in production on my part though! Lately I have become lazy and only pumping once a day and taking a bare minimum of supplements- just keeping it going until I work out what to do next. Milk still there, enough to put in tea or serve in shot glasses and spray across the room at unsuspecting folk, but its more a matter of mouthfuls than cupfuls.

Strange, as I have been typing this I can feel my breast swelling and tingly and getting tighter. They say that many women experience this sensation when they hear a baby cry, but with me it seems to be either thinking of cheese (or thinking of eating myself as cheese?), that gets my breasts ready for production.

The Princess and The Frog

(This is very old, but when someone emailed it to me recently it still made me giggle)

Once upon a time, in a land far away
A beautiful, independent, self-assured princess
Happened upon a frog as she sat, contemplating ecological issues
On the shores of an unpolluted pond, in a verdant meadow near her castle.
The frog hopped into the princess' lap, and said:
" Elegant Lady, I was once a handsome prince,
Until an evil witch cast a spell upon me.
One kiss from you, however,
And I will turn back into the dapper, young prince that I am
And then, my sweet, we can marry
And set up housekeeping in your castle
With my mother, where you can prepare my meals
Clean my clothes, bear my children,
And forever feel grateful and happy doing so. "
That night , as the princess dined sumptuously
On lightly sauteed frog legs
Seasoned in a white wine& cream sauce,
She chuckled and thought to herself:
"I don't freakin think so."

Bygones Being Bygones

This is a thankyou I'm too shy to offer in person, to someone who's smile I had missed for a while now. You know who you are, and how much I appreciate it. So... ummm... thanks, yeah?

The Shadowers

Its time once again for the Anne Landa award at the AGNSW. As the folk at Saatchi describe it:
'Monica Tichacek won the award for her video and performaces that create emotive worlds of mutation and psychological danger. Last year she produced The Shadowers, a three-screen projection which traced a lush, slightly horrifying sequence of abstract and surreal interactions between a trio of characters. Monika Tichacek's body is the prime visual of her performances; however, unlike the live performance art of the '60s, Tichacek generally performs, films and edits her own work. Yet her performances are similarly explicit and graphic, wherein she sutures her skin and pierces her tongue, acts which complicate the stereotypical tropes of femininity and sexuality.'

The photo above is from the 'dance scene' in this piece. Went and saw this with the GC yesterday, and luckily there was nobody else there and we could sit on the floor in the middle of the screens as I don't think I could have coped had I been standing or having to behave in a civilised manner. I do believe that at several points I was squirming into the carpet, and most probably making 'cunt noises'... words totally fail/ed me, reduced to a series of primal grunts and vague sign language... sutures, jewels, flesh, saliva, tongue pierced into wood...

Its on until February 17, so plenty of time for you all to experience it for yourselves. I know I'll be back there.

Star Power

From FreeWillAstrology:
CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): "The problem, if you love it," said Jiddu Krishnamurti, "is as beautiful as the sunset." He did not mean this ironically, nor was he indulging in sentimental wish-fulfillment. He was one of the toughest-minded spiritual teachers ever born. As you slip into a phase when your problems are especially gorgeous and entertaining, Capricorn, I urge you to remind yourself of his wise thought at least five times a day. Here's a second nugget for you to chew on often. It's a lyrical, hard-assed Zen proverb: "The obstacle is the path."

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): Your assignment in the coming weeks, Aquarius, is to become a coordinator of synchronicity and director of synergy in all the environments where you hang out. To begin, remind yourself of what those terms mean. Synchronicity is the wonderfully spooky feeling that comes when two or more events occur in a way that might superficially seem to be mere coincidence, but that is actually a sign of a deeper underlying pattern that transcends rational understanding. Synergy is when two power sources collaborate on a surprisingly energetic creation in which the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. (For more ideas on synchronicity and synergy, go to tinyurl.com/d2jqb and tinyurl.com/mows3.)

Online Fun

* I shouldn't read articles like Spanker's Delight when I am at work. Blush!
* Products by everyone's favourite Wife are now available online at Neco, the eco superstore. Check out her baby bibs, cushions and greeting cards. Of course, you may still purchase her wares (and much other quirky recycled paraphenalia) at m.a.d on Enmore Rd. Time to start that Xmas shopping...
* Take a moment to add your name to a GetUp petition trying to stop greedy scum destroying rock carvings at Burrup Peninsula.

Brought to you by the letter T

I had a transboy friend tell me a while back that he 'wasn't really intersted in trans stuff anymore'. Somehow it didn't come as much of a surprise, but it did get me thinking about the differences between transition and transgression, the different desired outcomes of trans 'projects', transsexual in relation to transgender (I tend to see the former as transition and the latter as transgression)...

Volcano and Halberstam, in the Drag King Book, quote Hans that 'Transgender means that you can actually change secondary gender characteristics without fully changing from male to female' and then go on to comment on 'the essentially contradictory project of transgenderism. On the one hand, transgenderism expresses the detachment of sex from gender and signifies the production of new forms of embodiment; on the other hand, however, as many transgender men begin hormones and start to live as men, transgenderism seems to confirm the dominance of gender binarism' (1999:127-128)

A boy I know just had chest surgery, with two more scheduled for it in the next few months. A friend has just revealed that she now identifies as he, and yet another gorgeous butch is starting to question her female identity to me. Pronoun confusion and proper noun confusion everywhere!

Arses and Fists

Tshirthell are very bad folk. Misogynist, racist, and generally unkind to most minorities. I would never purchase their shirts and would suggest nobody else give $ to this bunch of rednecks either. All the same, these two shirt amused me greatly...

Of Cheshire Cats

“I wish you wouldn’t keep appearing and vanishing so suddenly; you make one quite giddy!”
“All right,” said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.

“Well! I’ve often seen a cat without a grin,” thought Alice; “but a grin without a cat! It’s the most curious thing I ever saw in all my life!

- Lewis Carroll
'Alice's Adventures In Wonderland'

I have known many Cheshire Cats. Those characters who disappear before your very eyes, until all you are left with is a smile. Sometimes they reappear just as mysteriously as they vanished... and if not, well, perhaps a smile is not such a bad thing to be left with?

SunKissed and Salty Sweet

When I left the house at 10am, my backpack rubbing deliciously against my sunkissed shoulders and neck, it was already 35degrees in the shade. I remember Marseilles in a heatwave a few years back. Staying in a small apartment with a beautiful French friend, sleeping pretty much au natural and waking up every morning with the sheets soaking wet. It was so hot that by the time we had made breakfast the sheets were bone dry again, with two salty outlines where we had sweated....

Phew!

Almost too exhausted and frantic to post the weekend's shenanigans. But here's a quick rundown for the curious:
* Friday went to Hellfire, and somehow lasted there until 4am without either a) drinking or b) being rude with anyone in the toilets. Quite a good effort I think!
* Saturday met with the boy who is designing my facial cutting, then toddled off to Sculptures By The Sea. As always, was brilliant. Slight sunburn, the smell of BBQs and sunscreen and the sea, and the sculptures... Just perfect! Selected highlights: barricades and tape that were wrapped around various points along the way and stated 'Free Art. Before Art Frees You', a metal man with wings and webbed feet reclining on a bench, giant red anemone scattered across the rocks and an icecream van melted into the sand at Tamarama with its music playing at half-speed. Came back to the ghetto, had a quick cranberry and lemonade with A Certain Boy at the Newtown (it appears we ruffled a few gayboy feathers by being too much of a 'straight couple' *heehee*), then met up with the Gentleman Caller. After some dindins and lazing about chatting GC and I headed down the road to Puppet's party. Where I was surrounded by yummy cuddly Bears *swoon*, and a few delicious girlyfriends. I was naughty though, and fell off the wagon. (Actually, was more like I wantonly and deliberately threw myself off with abandon than fell.) Very pissy and funny evening, lots of laughs and flirtations and nonsense conversation. Crawled out at silly o'clock and decided it would be good to have one for the road at the Sly, then somehow managed to stagger up the stairs to GCs.
* Then headed to the Glebe St Fair with GC and the Buxom Wench on Sunday afternoon. Was a nice wholeseome adventure involving a doll, a snowcone, frilly knickers, a sausage sandwich, more frilly knickers, a japanese pancake and distributing L'Erotica flyers. Afterwards found ourselves at the Fox, ran into a few friends, played lots of pool, drank some beer and then... well... being a Lady I won't go into all of the sordid details. Suffice to say that somehow GC, BW and I ended up having an utterly debauched evening in the Den of Iniquity. 'Twas full of delicious surprises and well worth the wait! (Heck, I even rediscovered my SwitchyBitch side. Think this means I am getting my confidence back somehow, as when I'm all insecure I tend to turn into a do-me queen.)
* UpAndComingAdventures:
L'Erotica on Saturday (25th)- if you are there, make sure to be watching the stage around 2am.
Conferencing- Will be away (in the 'Gong, and out Unholy Capital) from Thursday Nov 30-Friday Dec 8th presenting papers, listening to papers, watching circus acts, schmoozing with Academics and genereally being bewildered and wondering what I got myself into. Getting very scared about this as have only written one of the three papers so far *gulp*.
Cutting- only about a week to go before I get my new artwork. Yay!
Hellfire- Dec 15th. Looks like quite a crew will be going this time (including a strange assortment of Fox-related folk). And of course, I'll be doing a very naughty festive show with Modified Souls.

Crafty Bitches

A blowgun for the Menstrual Militia, Christmas angels, a menorah for Hannukah, bleeding heart earrings, a Valentines Day bouquet... finally I have a use for tampons! Thanks to the Mistress o'Mayhem for this TamponCrafts link.

Furry Piss Joy

From Whoretic:

In Polish, 'Siksa' means 'young girl who pisses her pants'.

Which reminds me somehow of one of my very favourite words in the world, from Hoare's Italian Dictionary:

Baffona, n: Woman with not unpleasing moustache

Mmmm... facial has been everywhere of late, tickling and taunting me. From a girl with curls around her top lip (swoon), a young boy of my acquaintance keen to cheekily tease me by showing off his lush new growth (shiver) and another furry faced boy bristling me with his beard (sigh)... ooohhh... sandpapery stubble scraped across soft skin, longer tendrils caught between one's teeth, a mouthful of furballs, licking backs and necks and chests sleek under a wet tongue...

As for me, I just twiddle my lip spikes like a goatee- its the closest I'll get! The spikes do get food caught in them, and scratch deliciously across flesh when I kiss, but that's about where the similarities end.

(Now, I must leave the office before I become Siksa Zoo. Actually, that ain't a bad stage name!)

Can You Read Me?

You had to sneak into my room
Just to read my diary
Its was just to see, just to see
All the things you knew
I'd written about you
Oh, so many illustrations...

- Morrissey
'Suedehead'

Mermaids and Mongolian Death Worms

From an article from The Village Voice on bizarre taxidermist folk:

Yamada's present-day cosmos includes several six-foot-long Mongolian death worms; a pair of Fiji mermaids; a two-headed baby; a hairy trout; a seven-fingered hand; fossilized fairies; jackalope stew; a five-foot-long bloodsucking chupacabra; a 16th-century homunculus; a legion of samurai warriors trapped in the bodies of horseshoe crabs; a tiny marsh dragon; a coven of freakishly large, nuclear-radiated stag beetles from Bikini Atoll; and a furry mer-bunny, all of which are brought to life using old bones, shells, resin, origami, and bits and pieces of refuse, both inorganic and fleshy.

"In the East, abnormalities are not seen as shocking," explains Yamada as he slogs through a deep, soggy thicket behind a baseball field. "The freakish is not a bad thing. It can represent the mystery of the universe. An expression of divinity. A blessing."

...Classic crypto- taxidermy such as the wolperding—the German predecessor of the jackalope, made by combining a black pheasant and a rabbit with horns—stood alongside Nate Hill's disturbing "puppy-fish-snake" chimera and A.V. Jones's sidesplitting crash test pigeon on a plaque. Still, Yamada stood out—and not solely because his mer-bunny, a seafaring rabbit-seal puppet, started sniffing women inappropriately

Ah, that has brightened up my whole day. I am tired, with much work to be done still, sinuses so painful I feel like my head will explode, but somewhere out there people are creating jackalope stew and fossilised fairies! Yay!

LiveBootSexOnStage

Ah, those quiet nights never do turn out to be so quiet do they? Was planning on spending the evening working away at Uni, until some unexpected free tickets to see the Francois Ozon film Time To Leave at the Verona turned up. It tells the story of Romain, a gay 31 year old fashion photographer diagnosed with pretty much incurable cancer. Not being big on 'terminal illness films', I was a little hesitant about the content, but was most pleasantly surprised. The lead character reminded me of a long-forgotten fetish for French gayboys, and a lot of the plot resonated with my own recent experiences...

Had a mind to head home after this adventure, until NeverTooOld pointed out that Bridgett was doing shows at The Sly. Despite minor exhaustion and a strong yearning for beddy-byes there was no way I was missing out on seeing her perform, so after tea and fruit toast at NTO's we drove over for a look. And in doing so, I somehow ended up being the 'audience participation plant' for B's second act. This entailed being dragged out of my seat, blindfolded with her necktie, arms restrained by a convenient piece of rope she keeps in her boot kit, then sat down on a chair while she polished and licked my boots. Did I mention before just what having my boots done does to me? Swoon... I was completely out of it, and trying not to too obviously be getting off as she massaged the polish into the leather, around my instep and up my calves and... ooooh, the smell! Was shaking so hard when the show ended I could barely hold my cigarette, and when the blindfold was removed I realised that B had somehow gotten her shirt off (just leaving the gaffa tape saying 'boot' and 'slut' in her nipples) and her mouth and tits and torso were covered in polish, as were my thighs and... that was enough to send me swooning all over again...

Cute bar boy came up to me afterwards to say how much he enjoyed the show, and somehow we got discussing hanky codes (am I that old? what DO they teach kiddies in gay school these days?). Gave him that basics, and went looking to find him a good guide on the net. In doing so, I came across my old fave: The Goth Hanky Code. And found this rather comprehensive list that includes 'Holstein' for lactation fetish. For the curious, Holstein is a type of cow it seems. Well, I guess I ain't called MooZoo for nothing! But can I wear cow-print with camos? Or maybe dye some cow-print Hunter green and flag for a lactoDaddy?

Rest of night was rather entertaining, entailing a hyped-up GC and friends putting on quite a floor show for (and at times involving) me. Dancing, frotting, snogging, butch on femme, butch on boy, butch on everyone at once. And as I wasn't drinking alcohol at all, just full of sugar and fizz, it was even more amusing watching the exquisately intoxicated shenanigans. Eventually dragged GC to bed, but daresay I'm probably more exhausted than before I did!

Like A Virgin

Its often a complete surprise to lovers that I can be shy and vulnerable when it comes to down to getting dirty. Yeah, I have had my fair share of play partners, in many configurations of sexuality, gender, perversion and proclivity. Boys, girls, bois, grrls, MTFs, FTMs, butches, femmes, faggots, Daddies and Dommes. I've been fisted, flogged, fucked, pierced, spanked, caned, cropped, tickled, cut, tied up, punched, face-slapped, suspended, mummified, electrified, boot-licked and boot-kicked and saline-infused, covered in candle wax and addled with amyl. Lubed up and pissed on, sodomised and catheterised. In a variety of setting from spas to pool tables to stages to slings to A-frames to beanbags. Sometimes even on a bed. And I've done a lot of these things to other bodies too.

Then sometimes I meet someone I really fall for and become too shy to suggest what I'm yearning for or too vulnerable to take the intensity and the intimacy. Maybe I'm scared that my heart will break with my flesh...

Growing Up Normal

I've often wondered whether the physical eccentricities of my family had anything to do with my academic and personal interests in both studying and creating bodies that exist outside the norm. Then I came across a paper on the 'the display of unusual anatmoies' by Alice Dreger, and read this. Seems I'm not the only one who has ever felt freakish for being too 'normal', but her collection beats mine hands down:

... I grew up in a family that gets stared at a lot. My sister looks almost exactly like me except for her full habit and the giant, wooden rosary that hangs from her belt down to her sensible shoes; my biolgical brother is a gangly hippy artist with a crooked nose once broken in a fight; by adopted brother is black with blue eyes and show-stopping dreadlocks as long as my sister's rosary; my father uses a wheelchair and is pushed around my my mother, who for her part uses wrap-around sunglasses that make her look like a geriatric Martian. But me- my family nickname is "the normal one". I've never been sure if it is a slur. Perhaps that explains my attraction to these issues.

Off The Beer Bus

Sometimes I think that beer is my best friend. And sometimes I think that beer is my worst enemy.

I'm not quite as sad or angry as I was even a few weeks ago, and can wake up most morning with no hyperventilating or tears. I can get some work done, and have started being creative again. Slowly I am getting my life and my self back together.

But I'm still haven't got it together enough to keep it together when I'm drunk. Yeah, I'm funny and I fraggle-dance and I laugh and I flirt and I play better pool when tipsy, and it makes me forget a lot of the bad stuff, but then the slightest hint of trouble or reminding of something horrible that happened and I'm out for blood or having a panic attack in a toilet. So...

No Beer For Zoo. In fact, No Booze For Zoo.

Not sure how long this will last. For a while I think. But I need the support of my friends to do it. If I say no when you offer me a pint, its a no. Please.

Away From The Safe Harbour

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did so. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.
- Mark Twain

At this very moment all I want to do is pack up my car and head North. Of course, I still have to buy the car (and get a licence), so its not about to happen just yet. Middle of next year I expect.
Of course, there are people in Sydney who are very dear to me, my family and mates and the Gentleman Caller and A Certain Boy. I don't want to leave them, but I do need to get away from this place- at least for a while. I don't feel safe in my safe harbour anymore.

There are too many ghosts in my ghetto. Every streets is paved with people I used to know and there is a cafe on every corner where so many hangovers were shared. Every bar is haunted with dead drunken affairs and every restaurant table is cluttered with unfinished wine and conversation. I walk around jumping at shadows, spooked and shaken, waiting for the bogeyman to hunt me down.

Ink My Words

I'm celebrating my love for you
With a pint of beer
And a new tattoo...

- Billy Bragg
'Greetings to a New Brunette'

Meet Michelle, the 'Pass Around Girl'. Her artwork makes my 'meat stamp' tatt and my proposed Cum Rag piece seem perfectly nice.

The Last Day of Summer

I think I was away the day when you said you were too smart to play
And you'd only beat me anyway
It's funny how I would have stayed
And you said you were a friend of mine
But that's not what I had in mind
I think I fell in love that time on the last day of summer
I tried to walk the line, hoped everything would turn out fine
But I lost the reasons and the rhymes on the last day...

- Kirsty Maccoll

LactoGrrl At The Carnival

LactoGrrl’s milk is the poison of Medusa’s snakes. She spits out Hera’s stars across a blank sky.
Explodes out of the Fat Lady’s engorged breasts. Lubricates her way out of the Strong Woman’s chains. Inscribes the Tattooed Lady in white ink. Fattens up the Starving Woman. Speaks magic with the Crone. Barters insanities with the Hysteric. And shares fluids with the Vampire.

Feasting On Flesh

Shaping up to be a very fleshy 24hours, though not in the way most of you might expect:

Got myself a freebie to see Feasting on Flesh at The Studio tonight. Had been thinking of going, hadn't got around to organising anyone to go with, then recieved a most wonderful email inviting me to 'A decadent and deranged degustation of perverse and provocative performance by proud purveyors of wanton weirdness!'. Sounds just like my cup of tea...

After a good two months of almost-vegaquarianism found myself consuming flesh, fowl and fish (well, octopus, or more like mocktopus since it came from a food court) since last night. Something just snapped when confronted by my mother's roast beef and chicken! Dang! Feeling a little naughty, especially when re-reading the mutton quote I posted yesterday. If its any consolation to any diehard vegie-vegan types reading, I did feel rather ill afterwards. Of course, the whitebread cheese sandwich, the six gingernut biscuits, the handful of milk arrowroot biscuits, the softdrink and the crackers I snacked on fore and aft my meaty feast may take some of the blame. Gluttony is a sin, I know, and my queasy little tummy attests to my wickedness. But sometimes a little pain is worth it for a lot of comfort!

Just met up with the wonderful artiste who took my Milk Shots, and had a look through the proofs. Some of them are sooooooooooooooo pretty! Think there are a few we can submit to SLIT once she's worked on them a bit, cropped them and tinted them and all that fancy business. Fairly simple, showing one breast with milk flowing from it all down my torso. Might write something to go alongside them, along the 'titties and tears' line. See if the Muse strikes me before they need to be submitted.

There is a chance I might be doing a show at December Hellfire (15th). Its Christmas, so quite likely it will contain something festive. Jinglebells? Reindeer? Cheeky elves? Santa Bears? Angelic carol-singers? Hmmm.... No exact details on what it contain yet, but you know the drill. Pointies and ouchies, possible gratutious nudity, ridiculous costumes, probable messiness. A little sexy, a little silly, a little squirmy. With a hint of mince pie and mistletoe!

A Favourite Lesson In Etiquette

There were three chairs at the head of the table: the Red and White Queens had already taken two of them, but the middle one was empty. Alice sat down in it, rather uncomfortable at the silence, and longing for some one to speak.

At last the Red Queen began. `You've missed the soup and fish,' she said. `Put on the joint!' And the waiters set a leg of mutton before Alice, who looked at it rather anxiously, as she had never had to carve a joint before.

`You look a little shy: let me introduce you to that leg of mutton,' said the Red Queen. `Alice--Mutton: Mutton--Alice.' The leg of mutton got up in the dish and made a little bow to Alice; and Alice returned the bow, not knowing whether to be frightened or amused.

`May I give you a slice?' she said, taking up the knife and fork, and looking from one Queen to the other.

`Certainly not,' the Red Queen said, very decidedly: `it isn't etiquette to cut anyone you've been introduced to. '

-Lewis Carroll
'Through The Looking Glass'
(For full text of both Alice books click here)

Going For The Grope

I like working in my office at Uni, surrounded by the other postgrad nerds and away from the endless distractions and possibilities of my house (bed, stereo, housemates, proximity to pub). It is cosy to sit in a corner with my papers piled around me, listening to whispered conversations from the kitchenette and the sound of fingers clicking on keyboards, wandering off to the library and getting coffee to take back to my desk and drink while I conjure up some sort of academic magic (or whatever it is I do here). The folk around here tend to keep to themselves, with chat limited to the printer room or whilst making cups of tea. This lack of attention suits me well...

For I have just realised that when I start typing about milk, especially when I haven't pumped for a while and am getting all tingly with anticipation, I have a tendency to absentmindedly have one hand fondling at my tits. Oops. Oh well, if I get any stares I'll just clutch at my chest while muttering something about my angina. That ought to stifle any suspicion of impropriety :)

DumDeDum

This photo is of my Carnival Kewpie Doll interpretation. Unfortunately when GC and I arrived at the shindig it was to find that only one other person had fancydressed up. Apparently there were two dress options: basic black and Halloween. And given that the guest list mostly consisted of aging leather faggots its not hard to guess which option most of them chose. Party was quite quiet and our driver was keen to move on, so we took ourselves and said outfit down to Goth night at The Sly. My attire was slightly more appropriate there (and rather widely appreciated), but I was still strangely self-conscious about not wearing much more than feathers and frills in what is essentially just a local pub. Also, negotiating toilet trips involving that many layers after that many beers was quite a task...

Rest of weekend most consisted of lying about watching odd movies and TV shows. Visited A Certain Boy (ACB) on Friday night and ended up watching much Will and Grace and SpongeBob SquarePants. Then Sunday consisted largely of GC and I staring at the small screen through V For Vendetta (on Guy Fawkes Day), Liberty in Restraint (to show her some of the Sydney kink scene, moi included) , Australian Idol and... gulp... the Da Vinci Code. The latter was not nearly as bad as the book (how could it be?), but then I did fall asleep for a good chunk of it and that may have heightened my enjoyment considerably.

Random Other Musings:

* Not entirely sure why, but decided that I do not wish to wear my collar at the moment. If anyone wants to cut off my breath or lead me astray they can do it with their bare hands.

* Have been thinking about my upcoming facial cutting. How it is taking things the whole body mod thing that one step further, making it even more difficult for me to run back to where I came from and blend in again. How I am feeling this very strong need to alter my body in a way which is both a bold statement of intent, and a preventative measure. I'm considering it somehow in the same way as different surgeries: cosmetic in that it is partly for the aesthetic (it will be pretty to me), reconstructive (to regain a lost function), elective (it has no 'medically sanctioned' reasoning). Something about creating outsides I believe will better match my insides, but also outsides that will alter my insides. What is it I am trying to achieve? Is it a cop-out to change my body to a point where it cannot be what it used to be and do what it used to do rather than trusting that it/I never would want to? Its a commitment, true, but to what? Sometimes I have a burning desire to keep pushing myself to the point of no return but I'm never sure if I can tell if I am already there or even if I am heading in the right direction... Ahh, 'tis late and has been a long day and I am too tired to think too deeply on such matters and more throwing it open for comment at this point in time. I just know that my face keeps telling me just where it needs to be cut, and I will get no rest from it until the blade has done its work.

* Appears the Goddess is smiling upon me today after all. Came home tonight, pulled out my keys and realised my wallet was nowhere to be found in my bag. And the zip was undone. Panicked, ran out of house to retrace steps, up past the pub and almost to the service station and there I found it lying untouched in the middle of the road. Thanks!

Dream Lover

Last night your shadow fell/Across my lonely room/I touched your golden hair/And tasted your perfume/ Your eyes were filled with love/The way they used to be/Your gentle hand reached out/To comfort me/Then came the dawn/And you were gone/You were gone, gone, gone
I had too much to dream last night/To much to dream/I'm not ready to face the light/I had too much to dream/Last night

- Electric Prunes 'Too Much To Dream'

House Call

I would love to go back to that house just one more time. To the couch where my boots took forever to unlace. To the upstairs room where my head banged against the wall. To the stairs I would trip down in the mornings, to the table where I would pour milk and brown sugar into my porridge. To the living room where many plans were made, to the bathroom where my spare toothbrush lived. To the backyard where I would empty coffee grounds into the garden, to the shower where I would be sure to drop the soap. To two dogs who welcomed me, to the clothes rack with the lace dress hanging between checked shirts. To the park across the road to sit in the sunshine, to the pub where it was still possible to kiss and make up. To the door I once had a key to, to the place where everything seemed magical again...

I don't even remember the last time I was there. I didn't know it was the last time, thought that I would be back again soon. But I remember the first time, and the good times, and the strange times. My bus drives straight past the motorbike cafe where we never did get lattes, past the camping store where we ran amuck. And I try not to look out the window. But I know that from time to time, when I walk the back way to Uni, I will still glance over to where it all began and hope to catch a shadow...

stars for the week

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Your theme in the coming days is "enchantment on demand." You're in an aggressively elegant grace period- a time when you have the right to insist on being delighted. It's as if you've been granted poetic license to ask for and receive not just any old mediocre pleasure, but rather intriguing, ennobling pleasure. So don't sit back and hope that sublime fun will accidentally come your way. Know that you have the authority to command its arrival front and center.

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): In American psychotherapy, the first question many practitioners ask their new clients is essentially "What did your parents do to you to mess you up so badly?" One of my Japanese friends tells me that in his country, a therapist is more likely to ask, "What did your parents do for you? How did they nurture and support you?" Without dismissing the possibility that your mom and dad did inflict damage on you, Aquarius, I'd like you to concentrate on the Japanese-style inquiry for now. While you're at it, meditate on these themes as well: What are the best things that happened to you when you were growing up? What did your extended family and community give you that you've never fully appreciated?

firstly, i think i am going to like my capricorn side a lot this week. i have permission to command enobling pleasure with authority!

and on the aquarius side of things, well, i have thought long and hard over the last few years about what my family has given me. so far the list includes unconditional love, an appreciation of eccentric and quirky, a healthy disrespect for the concept of 'normal', and a passion for old Kombis that smell like melted surfboard wax and fishing bait.

Summer Loving

Its not the heat, its the humidity. Woke up the last two mornings stuck to the sheets, hair damp and dreams clinging to me like seaweed. Summer is sticky, sweaty palms grasp dripping icecreams, grease from you fish and chips dribbling across mouth and hands, sunscreen and sand stuck to every inch of flesh. Then plunged into the ocean, wriggling under the freshwater shower by the beach, flopping about the kiddie pool in someone's backyard, running under the sprinklers, swimming through the late-afternoon storm that washes away all of summer's sins.

*Sculpture By The Sea is on NOW, until the 19th. Don't think I have missed on in the 10years or so it has been going. Wandering along the clifftops from Bondi, with a nice coffee and a gelato and a squillion other people checking out the art. Anyone for a trip down there in the near future?

* Summertime is Oz Rock time. In honour of this, the House of The Raw Prawn (ie, my place!) shall be holding a good old-fashioned piss-up on Friday 24th November. Oils, Gurus, Hunnas, Chisel, Church, Saints, Mentals, Birdman, Paul Kelly, Aus Crawl, Divinyls, INXS and a whole heap of beer. Call or email if you need any further details. Boardies and mullets optional, but a willingness to dance like Garret in 1982 pretty much compulsory. Might even see if we can get one of the BBQs up and running. All welcome.

* Tropical Fruits for NYE. I've just registered as a volunteer again (2 shifts= tix to all the parties I think) and got my shifts (27th and 28thm bump-in from 4pm). Is anyone else going? If so
a) How are you getting there? Driving? Flying? Am prepared to chip in petrol and car hire $, navigate (take your chances) and sing along loudly to local radio (if desired) if someone wants drive up. Would be wanting to leave Boxing Day I think, in order to get up there early enough for my vollie shifts.
b) Where are you staying? I LOVED camping out at the showgrounds last year, and would be most happy if others wanted to set up a tent city again. Give me a canvas house, a blow-up bed, an esky to keep my drinks cold, a gas stove, aerogard, sunscreen and a fold-up chair and I'm like a pig in shit. By the same token, I wouldn't say no to a cabin or caravan somewhere nearby. Or someone's house, but hey, I'll have my own place there by mid-2007 so plenty of time for sleeping indoors then! and
c) They still need more crew. If you are up for it contact Erif at fruits@tropicalfruits.org.au .

* Doof Doof Doof. Summer is Festival time too! If anyone be planning to head to any outdoor raves, doofs etc and don't mind a Zoo tagging along then let me know. Haven't been to one in at least a year, and have an urge to sparkle and jump about and stare transfixed at light shows in the middle of the bush with a bunch of other happy souls.

* For anyone who hasn't noticed the posters: Newtown Festival on Sunday 12th Nov. Think Glebe should be the week after? I should be bouncing around at both.

kewpie doll

the GC and I have a halloween party to attend this saturday. mulled over what to do in regards to costuming, and have (almost definately) decided to go as a Carnival Kewpie Doll. so far, this will consist of some strategically placed spirit-gummed-on feathers, my hair slicked into a little curl at the front, glitter on my tits, frilly knickers, fishnets, makeup, and my tiny little multicoloured tutu. oh, and i should really be on a stick i guess.

well I love that kewpie doll/but I could not make it stick/only she could save my soul/she put her hands inside of me/well I love that kewpie doll/dressed her in a cheap-red-cotton-dress/fished it out now spat it out now/spat it out in front of me/well I love that kewpie doll/but I could not make it stick - birthday party 'kewpie doll'

Gender MindBender

This Jake The Rake was too ridiculous to resist posting...

A Boy In The Bush Is Worth Two In The Hand *REVISED*

For reasons best kept to myself I have decided that the rest of this post should be taken down. One person injured, and another surely amused at my expense is enough damage methinks.

So, all I will say is:

This photo is of the Buxom Wench and I at Hunter's birthday drinks last week. Who could refuse, really *lol*?

Finding The Real You

Just remembered a comic someone once told me about. In it, a man is climbing a mountain looking for his 'real self' when he comes face to face with it- and it is an accountant in a suit. It is funny only in that I think it is what so many of us fear. What if we get to the end of the journey, put in the blood, sweat and tears and find out that who we really are is less than what we had bargained for?

Maybe I don't have a queer bone in my body. Maybe there is nothing interesting about me at all. Maybe it is all smoke and mirrors. Maybe I'm not quirky, I'm not left-of-centre, I'm not funny, I'm not at all unusual. Maybe I am the norm.

One of my friends gave her son a birthday card that said that 'Life is not about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself'. But what is it that I am creating? Do I have the right tools? The right materials? The knowledge? Can I buy an instruction kit, a masterplan? Is it always going to be trial and error, just bumbling along cluelessly going 'well, that was a disaster, what to try next?'. Deconstruct and reconstruct, melt it down and start again, scrape it down to the bare canvas and get my oils back out. Will anyone ever appreciate my masterpiece?