Blue Moon

Blue Moon
You saw me standing alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own
Blue Moon
You know just what I was there for
You heard me saying a prayer for
Someone I really could care for

- Hart and Rodgers
'Blue Moon'

An overdose of blue moon, beer, bears, bites, bruises, bois and boys appears to have left me feeling flatter and more paranoid than I have been in quite a while. Went out last night with a couple of likely lads that I had promised to show the trashier parts of Sydney- Newtown, Bears at Flinders, Manacle. Drank a lot, schmoozed about with a squillion furry friends, waffled about piercings and pervy shows, smoked too many ciggies and then they toddled off into the night. Foolishly and drunkenly I stayed behind, hanging out with a naughty young boy and various leather folk and when Manacle closed we hit Stonewall and then The Oxford. Ended up draging the boy home and... which from my hazy memory was quite pleasant and probably quite neccessary. Woke up late and alone with the room in as much chaos as my mind and crawled to lunch with some buddies and just sat staring into space shivering next to the big gas heater and wondering what had hit me...

Of course, as my mayhemic mate pointed out much of my malaise may be to do with the grieving process and getting through the funeral and anniversary this week. But I really thought I was handling it all quite well? Maybe not. Also the house situation is freaking me out more than a little, with NattieTheFlattie going this weekend (she was one of my main sources of mutual cups of tea and sympathy) and I really don't know whether to stay or go and it all just seems like so much hassle. Need to organise washing machine and internet and phone and blah blah blah. Stompy grumpy Zoo.

Or maybe its more than that. Have obviously gotten myself back in the saddle of late (with a vengeance and 5 folk since last Saturday) and its possible I'm not quite ready to go riding again, or at least should be starting off with a trot rather than a gallop. I've spooked myself good and proper, and whilst it is DELIGHTFUL to be pierced and shagged and to hit cute bois with batons and let my fingers do some walking and be cuddled and kissed (oooh, those kisses!) and bitten and bruised I find it a really scary situation too in some ways. I'm not ready for a relationship I know, but this casual stuff can be so much harder! Constantly negotiating from scratch, constantly risking rejection, constantly having to work out how to read the other person, constantly wondering 'should I use 'Sir' or 'M'aam'?'. Its an exhausting and very risky business for a fragile Zoo to be venturing into. I think it is often assumed that because encounters are casual they are not emotionally or spiritually intimate, but sometimes a fling for a few moments or days can leave you reeling for a long time afterwards...

And there there is something about some playpartners in particular that also makes me want to hold hands and cuddle and spend hours slowly kissing and wander about museums and go for walks in the rain together and this is a much more tricky minefield to navigate. To be clear, its not a case of being all mushy and in lurve per se, as its not really directed at an individual person but more that spending time together doing some of the above has made me crave more intimacy in my life. A few nights spent sleeping wrapped up in someone else has reminded me how much I still miss having a partner, someone to keep me be warm and that regular skin-to-skin contact. You know, someone to share a life with, not just as mates but as the one you come home to every evening and the one who remembers your birthday and who's snoring drives you crazy and who buys you flowers when you are sad. It occurred to me at the funeral the other day that if I died right then I would leave no grieving widow, and even though that is hardly a measure of anything really I suppose somehow realising that made me feel... I don't know... unloved? Unspecial? Pathetic? Like a lonely old spinster?

Not quite sure how I am going to pull myself out of this one. I don't want to go home to the dirty sheets on the empty bed. Hmm. Lay off the booze for a bit again. Tidy my room. Buy a big warm blankie to snuggle up with. Spend time with friends. Work on shows. Blog. Wait patiently for it to pass. Go to Madam Phantasm's for pizza and heater and TV watching.

Performers Of Perverted Acts

Somehow I didn't realise that Modified Souls have a myspace. They/we do, so click here and have a looksy at what we got up to at LunaMorph. Oh, it makes me all quivery and damp just looking at those hooks!

Recipe For Zoo Meringue Pie

Marinate one hyperhorny Zoo in champagne, beer and a glass or two of very good red wine.
Truss with rope and handcuffs.
Stuff with a bar of chocolate, a fistful of fingers and various toys (into various orifices).
Glaze with a mixture of lube and amyl.
Squeeze any excess juice into a piss bucket and reserve for later use.
Garnish with a row of needles down the left shin.
Serve warm on a waterbed of steamed sheets.

Oh my, I don't know how it all came to pass really but there I was last night, all bedrunken and with the full effects of the combined anniversary/funeral day beginning to hit me hard, highly confused and worrying about a sad ex in need and wondering if I had just said something silly to a person I really like and seem to get all stupid around and whether I should have made a move on the very pervy boy I've been wanting to do rude things with for ages now and what I could possibly do to remove the small and highly touchyflirty baby dyke from my skirttails without being rude and then... all of a sudden I am in the backseat of a car being driven to an undisclosed destination to end the evening being topped, tortured and titillated by two very wicked women. No idea how I managed it, or if I even managed it at all, but floated home very frothy!

Bondage Boi

Binder just arrived from the US. As I imagined, I had to be wrangled into it by a housemate, and it needs some minor adjusting as its much too long and rolls up over girly-tummy and girly-hips (but seems okay if I double it over so it sits above my waist). Is not ideal, but reckon it will serve the purpose for a while. And...

The pressure is exquisite! My back is straight, chest is compressed, breathing pattern is altered- and my bits are all a-quiver. Don't know whether I am dizzy from lack of oxygen or an overload of emotion or being hit so hard between the legs by a wave of horniness that I am actually in physical pain. I just want to run out there into the ghetto and jump someone, NOW. Shirt on, fly undone, up against a wall with a boi on his knees and his mouth full. Or licking my boots. Or bent over a dumpster. This is intense.

(Somehow it seems ridiculous and cliched that the second I am even a little 'breastless' I should get all toppy, and it could well mean that I am playing out some sort of binary stupidity where I believe that I can only be the boss if I am some sort of (even mildly) masculine entity blah blah blah. But I couldn't give a damn really. Its yummy!)

Joys I Have Rediscovered Recently

Drinking cold beer in a hot spa. Clothespegs on my nipples. Being squished underneath cute people (but not too squished, just enough to make me aware of every breath*). Whacking consenting perverts with ouchy things. Flirting with cheeky bastards. The taste of Wet Stuff. The smack of medical gloves pulled on quickly over hands that are in a hurry to get to the point. Bootpolish on my hands. The tickle of facial hair against my cheek. Bitemarks. Long slow kisses. Being asked permission. Encounters that are all about the moment and not the future (and thus don't require an ending). Al fresco shenanigans. Sharing playthings with dear friends. Sleeping all sticky and tangled in warm limbs. Hair pulling.

A BIG thankyou to those of you who have helped me rediscover these and other pleasures- you know who you are *wink*.


* This particular liking can actually be traced back to when I read Sylvia Plath's 'The Bell Jar' at age 14 and was tantalised by Esther's relationship to the weight of her mattress- '"I crawled between the mattress and the padded bedstead and let the mattress fall across me like a tombstone."

In Memoriam

The memorial service for my friend who was killed last week is on Wednesday. This is also the first anniversay of another friend's death. Many of us knew both of them. Feeling a bit numb...

Orgy Guy

Channel-surfing and flicked through Seinfeld (The Switch) just as Jerry was rationalising his decision not to engage in a menage-a-trois:

"I'd have to become an orgy guy! I'm not an orgy guy! I'd have to grow a mustache, get shag carpeting and wierdo lighting. I'd have to get new friends, I'd have to get orgy friends! No, I can't do it."

Personally, I haven't found this to be the case. Although if I could grow a mo I would...

(Street art found in Brunswick, June 2007)

Got A House, Mate?

Well, NattieTheFlattie is moving out next weekend, meaning that three out of four of my housemates have left for one reason or another in the space of a week. This leaves me, Beanz and a couple of people I haven't met but are apparently moving in. Hmmm.

True, we may all get on really well and it may be fabulous but at this point I am really not that keen on staying there anymore. Its not the household I joined. So... Will put my name down at some co-ops and wait until something comes up I suppose. Still, if anyone knows of any households that are looking for someone please pass them my details. Main requirements: Queer, housetrained, sex-postive, no pets/pets that don't make the house STINK, understanding of PhD/academia/artsy-fartsy activities, not a 'non-stop party' house or drop-in-centre for the unwashed and unreciprical who will just turn up and drink beer and trash the place and then leave. Would prefer a small household, and a place not entirely run down. Just want a nice clean house with no dramas and friendly folk who put on the garbage and cook for each other sometimes.

Well Press My Udder!

A reader has written in to Column 8 in The SMH, to comment that:

'I had a Saturday job in the United Cattle Products tripe shop and snack bar in Stockport, Cheshire. I brewed large brown earthenware pots of tea, sliced into black pudding with gusto and made up sandwiches filled with elder or pickled tongue. Ah, happy days. So, what is elder? Do you really want to know? Shh … It's boiled pressed cow's udder, served cold and thinly sliced.'

MooZoo found zirself with arms suddenly crossed defensively in front of chest after reading that *shudder*.

Lady Shave

There are few joys that can even begin to compare to the bracing sensation of icy cold air on a freshly clippered scalp. Except for icy cold air on a freshly wet-shaved scalp! This always reminds me of Europe, especially Berlin. Ms Toronto shaving my head in Lund before I caught the overnight express train to Ostbahnhof. Mutual clippering sessions with my BearDaddy in Copenhagen before spending Christmas at Kit Kat and Darkside and Devotion. In the bathroom of SauerKraut's best friend in Glatzserstrasse (?), ridding ourselves of the Monchichi coiffures we had grown to please Bavarian parents before heading out to Berghain.

Walking out in the freezing winter evening after hours spent with Mistress O'Mayhem artfully wielding clippers and shaving foam and a pack of cheap razors yesterday was one of the most horny-making things I have encountered in a while (apart from earlier when we sat in front of the big gas heater, polishing boots and watching The Famous Five). Ooooerrrr....

Mixed Bag

My stars on the music morning music program yesterday said that Aquarians would have a day of surprises (or thereabouts), but that it wasn't some kind of weird warning. With this in mind, during the course of the day I found out:

* Two of my housemates are moving out, with each other (not like THAT, just share house). This is rather uncomfortable and odd for me, but predictable enough I suppose *shrug*.

* A very cheeky someone is coming to hang out with me and Mayhem in the Highlands for the weekend.

* A dear friend was killed in a traffic accident. It doesn't seem possible that someone so vibrant and fabulous could be gone so suddenly. Predictably, I am still in shock and even as I type this it seems that it might be something I imagined. The reality of the situation is gradually sinking in, but I have to keep rereading my email and checking with Mayhem to confirm that it actually happened. I'm wanting someone to tell me it didn't... Crying hard, but still optimistic and happy. What happened to my friend was horrific. The last time I spent proper time with her we were at Hellfire all sparkly and gorgeous and dancing and loving every minute of it, and that's how I keep thinking of her. Glass of wine in her hand and Mandy on the decks, beaming and trashy and vibrant and full of joy. Trite as it probably sounds, I am privileged to have been even a small part of her life.

The sky is blue, there is a big pile of buckwheat pancakes waiting for me, my favourite Kirsty MacColl album is playing and I have Mayhem to frolic with and cute doggies to walk and altogether it strikes me as a good time to count my blessings.

Madonna Of The Wasps

Lost Madonna of the Wasps
I wonder where we crossed
I wonder why she lost me

Lost Madonna of the Wasps
She's dying in the frost
I wonder what she cost me

Is this love?

Gone Madonna of the swans
She waves a magic wand
And then she settles on me

Wise Madonna of the flies,
I look into her eyes
And then she recognize me

Is this love?
Is this love?

- Robyn Hitchcock
'Madonna Of The Wasps'

Little Rays Of Sunshine

After forewarning Mistress O'Mayhem she should be sure to pack umbrellas, wellingtons, scuba gear, raincoats, anoraks, thermals, woollens, thick socks and a thermos of pea and ham soup with which to fortify herself against the relentless rains and bone-chilling cold the sky is blue and the air is warm and the puppies are busying themselves barking at the king parrots and rosellas on the lawn...

Don't Be A Scragg

But rather check out the latest from Schappylle Scragg of the Concerned Alert Citizens Australia (CACA). There's some astute commentary and really grouse happy snaps of Our Schappylle, and details of her upcoming performance. Phwoar! A sexy sheila with bewdiful politics- one day I'm gonna make an honest woman out of that Scragg...

Tusk And Venom-Bag

And all around her shapes, wizard and brute,
Laughing, and wailing, groveling, serpenting,
Shewing tooth, tusk, and venom-bag, and sting!
O such deformities!

- John Keats
'Endymion'

Just finished watching the Greenaway film A Zed And Two Noughts (ZOO), and somehow the lines about zebra centaur women and snails licking the sweat of bicycle seats made me think of these words from Keats. First came across them in the marvellous Marina Warner tome 'No Go The Bogeyman' and they have haunted me ever since! As no doubt that film will...

Damp Fur

Currently working on a piece for Sydney Uni's postgrad literary journal thingummy, under the theme of 'Bound'. Yes, I am writing about tit-binding *rolls eyes*. And when scouting about for stuff I had written on this topic I came across this snippet from earlier this year:

I imagine milky nipples covered in fur, lactating testosterone-fuelled mother's juice down pecs— or would they be breasts? Milk moisturising squishy girly tummy skin, nurturing lovers and babies or perhaps toughening up rippling six pack abs, sticking magazine pages together and curdling on cum rags. You want a pearl necklace? Here cums Mamma!

Nice Piece(s) Of Art

Amy Jenkins : 'Amy Jenkins’ newest installations combine image, sound, and sculpture to create narrative environments that explore universal human experiences, such as pregnancy, nurturing, sleep, and motherhood. '

Samantha Sweeting : 'Samantha likes to eat apples. She lives outdoors, foraging for food and scrumping in apple orchards. The process of eating becomes a process of familiarisation. Naked animal in the mud eating her hair. Tasting the land and marking her territory. She plays with farm animals and breastfeeds feral cats.'

Putting A Little Extra Fire Into HellFIRE

Zoo will be performing, with some Modified Souls, at Hellfire this coming August. Friday 17th, the late show of course- around 1:30am. Don't want to give too much away at this point, as a) its very much a work in progress and b) surprises are nice. But promise it involves something Zoo hasn't done on stage before.

Let simply say that this show will deliver a little bit additional... ummm... sizzle... and there's more than one way to scar a Zoo.

Promise you can all kiss me better afterwards

xxx

Made In Australia From Local And Imported Ingredients

With all my blathering on about old Blighty, one might be forgiven for thinking I had forgotten my first true love and mother-country, this Great Southern Land. But never fear, I still turn into a dancing laughing bubble of squishy-squirmy joy the second I spy the lyrebird on the National Park sign and smell the eucalypts and the honey flowers. I love this landscape, the spiky plants and spikier animals, the thorns and venom and dust and floodwaters.

Got up nice and early today, ate my porridge and stewed apples and drank my coffee, did some washing, performed my morning ablutions and walked the puppies halfway up the hill and back. Put on my camos, boots, t-shirt, Ben Sherman shirt, Bavarian hat with the feather in the band, anorak etc. Loaded up my backpack with goodies and headed off to Bundanoon in the cool morning drizzle. Quick stopover in Moss Vale, where I finally found a proper smoke shop and scored some pistachio pipe tobacco. Then on to to Morton NP, just a km walk from B station.

Old man banksias, mountain devils, grass-trees, scribbly gums, tea-trees, mountain ashes, a few rosellas (? have to check the bird book) and a waterfall were mine to savour before noon as I traipsed along the Erith Coal Mine Walk. Found the 'Mossy Tree Twat', a rather fortunately shaped gash in an big gum (NO pun/s intended) and another huge dead tree that looked just like a swamp-monster from a b-grade horror film emerging from the dirt. Examined big lumps of sandstone and scouted for tracks and scats (nothing! most odd) and fell in love with some spectacular pale green curly lichen... And the whole time I saw only 3 cars, and nobody walking at all, so could just sit and eat and meditate and sing to myself undisturbed. Did have a couple of those spooky moments that always happen in the bush, when you can hear the slightest rustling or catch the tiniest glimpse of a shadow crossing your path and know that you are not only the observer but the observed. Apparently there have been sightings of playtpus and koalas and kangaroos and possums and wombats and diamond pythons and bluetongues and something called a weasel shadeskink and an amazing array of other fauna so who knows what was checking me out... Got about half way along the track before having to stop as the water was so deep and fast at the crossing near the fall that I feared I'd be washed away- or at least my boots would get even wetter- so I didn't get to see the old mine. Blah! But never mind missing some man-made structure, I was captivated by the valley breathing mist into the grey sky, and the trees perspiring tiny beads of moisture across their clammy branches. (Lots of great pix, but don't have my card reader here so will have to wait until I get back to The Hill before I can post them).

Was getting pretty cold and damp and couldn't find the other short track so headed back to the village to catch the next bus. Which was two hours away. There is very little to do on a wet winter's Monday in Bundanoon, except to find a cosy cafe, order a soy latte and a toastie, and read a copy of Grass Roots (unfortunately by the time I toddled outside again and realised there was a big sprawling pub on the other side of the railway tracks it was too late to grab a beer). Came home via Mittagong and put myself to soak in the nice hot spa. Alone. Sweet, really really sweet. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.........

Rolling One's Wild Oats

Sound advice from The King Of Porridge:

'soak 1/4 cup of pearl barley for 5-10 minutes then put it on the stove for at least 5-10 minutes before you add your oats. then cook as normal. crunchy porridge!! and it keeps you full for ages.'

If it weren't colder than a witch's tit outside*, and not a twenty minute walk to the nearest barley-dispensary, that is what I would be having for dinner. ZooBear does like her porridge.

* Odd expression, that one. From my humble experience witch's tits, even supernumerary ones, are no colder than other tits...

Wherefore Art Thou?

Romeo...Cruises the streets at night

Under his feet lay the remains of all the cruisers

Before him

When out of the alley comes these green laser eyes

Saying come closer...come closer

Juliet!

He's still alone...

Oh Romeo...Roam Romeo...

Romeo roam...Yeah...Romeo...

Around the corner there's nothing there

Juliet!

Whoa!

Cause there's no Juliet!



- The Wipers

'Romeo'



What if I was Romeo in black jeans?

What if I was Heathcliff? It's no myth

Maybe she's just looking for

Someone to dance with



- Michael Penn

'No Myth'

Too Much Information

Laughing so hard I am crying after an email chat with Mistress O'Mayhem about the predisposition some folk have to wild and unseemly disclosure. To quote myself:

'um, yes. i have very blurry boundaries about what is appropriate to disclose and what isn't, so often end up meeting someone new, telling them all about my gender issues or desire to be a trough pig or weird family background or lactating through my binder and then go 'umm, was that too much info?'. never can quite tell whether people are interested or just staring wide-eyed because they can't believe that someone who is trying to pick them up/network/they just met at a conference is actually SAYING this stuff'

I try to tell myself that I am educating the masses by waffling about breastmilk at bus stops, or that Lloyd Cole was right when he sang 'She's inappropriate/But then she's much more fun', or that my overexcited revelations will be construed as vivacious and intriguing rather than the rantings of a fool with no sense of what should really remain 'inside voice'. Fingers crossed and tongues tied...

Its All In The Fist

It's no secret that a lot of lesbians have learnt a lot about sex from gay men. If sexual historians like Gayle Rubin are correct, fisting began as anal play in gay SM bars in the 1970s and only became a widespread lesbian practice, as vaginal fisting, afterwards. As David Halperin has argued, fist-fucking (with its extended temprality, its direction towards pleasure rather than orgasm) can be seen as a refusal of the assumption that "sexual pleasure is at the root of all our possible pleasures".

- Aren Z. Aizura
'More Masculinities, More of the Time'
(in Self-Organising Men ed Jay Sennett)

I can't quite seem to get the phrase 'towards pleasure rather than orgasm' out of my head. I'll cum for Daddy, sure, but not yet...

That Single Tuft Of Hair

But you are asking about men. I like all kinds of men. Dark is attractive. So are blue eyes. Slender and hard is lovely. So is muscular. Smooth is beautiful; so is clipped fur. I like guys who are sweet and smart and who have a solid understanding of their own personal power and life force. Brains are sexy. So is self-knowledge and spirit. I like men who take care of themselves and who have interesting lives and friends. I like complicated minds and simple hearts. Fearless eyes. Impeccable manners. Each individual man has small details that are nothing in and of themselves, but which acquire a poignant sharpness from their association with him. This one's mole, that one's scar, that single tuft of hair between his nipples, a streak of gold in a green eye, a regional accent: the heart-piercing specificities, his "puncta," to adopt a phrase from theories of photography. These are the objects of desire. Praxis? Vanilla with sprinkles to triple-ripple kink: delicious.

- Jordy Jones speaking in 'I'll Show You Mine'
Jordy Jones and Doran George
(in Self-Organising Men ed Jay Sennett)

Clown's Pockets and Crafty Butchers

C'or blimey Guv... Is it possible to exoticise the British? A childhood of Ronnie Barker comedies, books full of governesses and smugglers and gypsies and winter dinners of poached (as in the style of hunting, not cooking) venison with suet dumplings has left me with all manner of unusual proclivities and perversions rooted in the UK, not all of them along the corporal punishment line either. I do believe I confessed in a beersodden moment one night recently to having a fetish for double glazing and central heating...

From Wiktionary: Exoticize.Transitive verb. To exoticize. To make something banal seem to be exotic.

Chip butties. Brittania Waives The Rules. Blackpool rock. Councils flats in Salford. Short trousers. Sun Hill. Pretty Girls Make Graves. The Bromley Contingent. The seaside, with cockles and deckchairs and a ferris wheel. Bedlam. The Secret Diary Of Adrian Mole, aged 13 3/4. Page 3 girls. School dinners. Deepest darkest Manchester (City). Cheshire Cats. Canal Street. Skipping off school to see The Damned. Likely lads. Julian, Dick and Anne, George and Timmy The Dog. My old man. White cool cats in trilby hats. Marmite. Docs and braces. Charlotte Sometimes. Coming on Eileen. Snakebites in pint glasses. New Musical Express. Punch and Judy. Crisps. Bollocks. Football. Kenny Everett. Jubilee. Lager louts. Brer Rabbit in the Briar Patch. The Goodies. The trouble and strife. Yorkshire pudding. Scally boys. Rumpole. Tabloids. Old geezers what speak like me gran. Eton Rifles. Her indoors. A bit of how's your father. Neil, Rick, Mike and Vyvyan. HP Sauce. Early closing. A sniff of the barmaid's apron.

Not to mention my latest favourite pieces of limey slang:
Clown's Pocket- A large or spacious vagina.
Crafty Butcher- A homosexual male. From delivering meat via the 'backdoor'.

Bearded Bears, Bois and Beauties

Or, Depilation Is The 8th Deadly Sin.

Figured this might interest some of you. From the HCB newsletter (I have phone numbers too, ask if you want them). Emailed Brock and they are open to all gendered configurations- boys, bois, girls, ladies, transfolk etc- so long as you got facial hair happening. Its for charity, so you are doing it for the warm fuzzies/infamy and not the $$$, but that should be enough:

Brock & Sarah Thompson are still looking for interesting facial hair. Brock Elbank is working on a portrait book on facial hair. All proceeds are going to Alzeimers research, as her mother was diagnosed with it in 2004. The book’s premise is to photograph 200 subjects, all of whom have weird and wonderful facial hair of all shapes and sizes, the more visual, the better. Everyone photographed is asked to sign a release form giving permission for them to be photographed for this project and are photographed on their own against a wall. That way there is just them in the photograph, with no-one else in the background. After all, this project is about the beard/facial hair and we don't want anything distracting from that!

Contact: Brock and Sarah
Email: brock@pickle.net.au
Website: www.pickle.net.au

Pain Is The Solution

The main offender here is a totally fucked up creature I saw peform and hung out with for a bit at a tattoo fair in Malmo years ago. His company is called Pain Solution, I have a book and calendar of him/them somewhere and this is the website. Check out Performances, and the Gallery. Think this is what I want to be when I grow up, sort of...

Exciting Night In The Highlands

Quiet night watching Rocky Horror on cable and contemplating my latest craft project. Raining muchly. Light flickers. Plastic shade falls to the floor. Burning plastic smell. Melted plastic on light bulb. Water dripping steadily from light fitting. Hmm. Candle, umbrella, stumble outside and remove overhead light fuse. Takes a while. Miss large chunk of movie. Dogs freak. Give them both a piece of cheese and myself a cigarette. Phew.

Today was exciting too, in a country sort of way. Took the doggies for a walk, which was messy (low doggies + long grass + lots of mud). Wandered into the village. Found an amazing shop that sells vintage clothing, including some gorgeous hats and a 1930s cheetah stole (all yours for $750). Nice, but mostly VERY pricy! Scrounged through various retail outlets yielding a new boot brush and an assortment of pliers and various other bits and pieces. Remembered the great old cemetary just over the other side of town. Was further away than I thought, but a most enjoyable walk in the drizzle, breathing in the smell of log fires and damp earth. Spent a pleasant while jumping in puddles and kicking through autumn leaves, tramping over pinecones and needles, reading gravestones, listening to the kookaburras, watching the mist settle in and pondering on the edibleness of the big creamy mushrooms with the red underneaths. Think I could get used to this...

A Nice Cold One For The Madam Please

If you see Madam Phantasm around the place before I do, please do make sure she has a beer in her hand. For she has HANDED IN HER HONOURS THESIS! Sure, there is one more pesky essay to be handed in before she is finally free of academia for a while, but if she follows my advice and just writes 6000 words (or whatever) on something she wants to waffle about and intertwines it somehow with what she is supposed to be writing about then its a pinch of piss really. (In my case I ended up about typing out a whole piece on blood+sports+women. Boxing, Bullfighting and BDSM. Significantly more passion than polish but still pulled it off)

(Soon To Be) In A Bind

With the help of Hunter, a tape measure and much crossing of fingers I have finally ordered myself a binder of my own:

The Ultimate Chest Binder! Double Front Panel For Extra Compression

Apparently, this elasticised marvel: 'completely binds the chest and leaves you looking masculine and athletic'.

I'll settle for less-girly-shaped and mildy fit, but hey, if suddenly I get biceps and a six-pack then so be it! Got the black one, as am too much of a grotchild to ever keep my whites white for very long, and the only thing I have ever been able to bleach successfully is my hair (if you count looking like Toyah as success). Hopefully it will arrive by the time I get back to Sydney, but be warned- the few times I have wandered about bound flat I've been constantly hard and sweaty and looking for some rough and fumble.

Winter Kookiness

Next Kooky is on the July 13th. Two housemates have birthdays around then, as does AuntyC. Maybe we can make it some kind of combined birthday bash to compliment their individual parties? Mmm.. and after such a beautiful encounter with a likely lad at the last Kooky I'm much looking forward to seeing what comes my way at this one. Time to practice the flirting techniques from Love Pump's workshop!

But what to wear? Its Black Friday, so maybe something unlucky?

i'm the ghoul king/ of a million dead souls/i'm erotic language/that was blessed in hell/should have said goodbye/when you saw those empty eyes/i know that you're watching/when i'm looking away/you got some sweet surprises coming again/whispered prayers won't keep you safe from harm/never recognize my bad luck charm

bleeding deep inside honey?/crawl away and hide/i'm ready when you're ready/come out and play/i'll be carving notches in my gun all day/whispered prayers won't keep you safe from harm/never recognize my bad luck charm/i'm living on a bad luck charm

- stiv bators
'bad luck charm'

Wet Thoughts On A Wet Day

Its raining hard outside, I'm on my second cup of caffeine and watching the fish swim about their tank- and I'm needing to pee badly. Which naturally enough leads me to be sitting here squirming excitedly and pondering my favourite fluids.

Blood, of course, smeared across lips and thighs. Ejaculate, of various varieties, stinging my tongue and sticking limbs together. Sweat leaving salty outlines on the sheets and tingling on fresh wounds. Spit straight from one mouth to the other, in my eyes and dribbling down my chin. Tears soaking into pillows, lube leaking from me when I stand up, milk seduced from engorged breats. WD40 and diesel, greasing back my hair and scenting my skin. Cold coffee and flat beer quenching hard-earned thirsts. Cold creeks washing the dirt from my feet, warm ocean waters crashing against aching bodies stretched open and sore. Piss consumed straight from the source, trace elements and toxins hitting the back of my throat.

ByeBye Lady Lumps

In what must be the most fantastic recent news of all (even compared with Zoo's breaking of the drought), it appears that my dear friend's breast bump has disappeared. It was as much as she expected, but she was holding out on telling anyone until the scan 'proved' it was gone. And there was not hide nor hair of it on when they looked. Yay! Happy dance! No need for surgery! Ooooh, and now she can have her big birthday bash without such yuckiness in the air. Woooooooooooooooohooooooooooooooooooooooo! The goddesses are smiling indeed.

Boy Business

To the best of my knowledge there have only been approximately three people who have ever thought me particularly sexy in my camos, boots, suits, steel-caps and cropped hair. Generally it seems to be the consensus that I am considerably more lustworthy when in fishnets and corsets- though I can't say I quite agree. Its true that I do often feel quite shaggable when tarted up (and possibly more comfortable sometimes as its what I am more used to), but its also true that I usually feel MUCH much more inclined to be truly skanky when in boxers and a hanky. In stockings and glitter I want to be seduced and giggly, but in a wifebeater or hoody I want rough and tumble by garbage-strewn canals in Manchester and to pick up trade directly out of the gutters.

On a tangent: A friend of mine from Sydeny found ourselves in this gigantic opshop the other day, trying to find suits to wear to one of the Betty parties. Our efforts were to no avail, as not only was the superstore rather lacking in suitage for folk with waists under 36 inches but we really didn't have much of a clue between us how to tell if one DID happen to fit! I mean, where are pants supposed to end? How long should a jacket be? How to deal with waistcoats that go all bulgy at the sides where one's tits are? Its all rather bewildering. Like I need some sort of older brother to drag along with me, the type who knows all about the proper knots for ties and how to wear cufflinks and where the waist should sit on a pair of trousers. And on yet another tangent: Have brought my pipe down here with me, and if I get into town tomorrow may buy some proper tobacco and see if I can't teach myself how to smoke the thing correctly. It wants to go out and be puffed upon at leather events but until I can do it without choking or having to relight it every ten seconds its not going to!

Stalkers

There are nice anonymous commenters and readers out there, like my dear lost PV (whereforeartthou oh Initialled One?) and then there are ones that are just plain creepy. But short of changing my blog to private there is nothing I can do to prevent anyone from reading it. Hmmm. Feel a bit icky somehow!

Retreat Details

Vaguely recall that I said I'd found the details for the 'good' Vipassana retreat but don't think I gave the link. Just came across it again, so click here if you wish to enquire about a nice spot of meditation. Still working on dates for me, but hopefully I'll be there sometime in August (was going to say 'if anyone cares to join me' but that's hardly the point is it?).

Hair Affair

In far too much of an overtired and overexcited state to stop blogging now (due partly to Betty and partly to being ALONE IN A BIG HOUSE and partly to the effect of writing that last post). Sure, its 2:30am, but do I have to be up at any particular time in the morning? Nope. Anytime before lunch to feed pets and walk dogs but NOTHING else specifically planned for tomorrow/today! Am I gloating? AM I EVER! And so, you get more rambling from the wee small hours of my mind...

First thing I did on my first day in Melbourne was to drag sweet Cutthroat op-shopping. This was mildy successful for my part, providing a spangly lycra dress to wear to the opening and Q&A that evening and other sundries. Before retail therapy though I REALLY needed to get a haircut. So C took me to Dr Follicles, site of my Most Amazing Fun Barber Haircut Ever. We went in, and the guy cutting hair seemed rather perplexed. He looked at me, and asked what I wanted. 'Well, a haircut' I replied, only to be told that 'we don't do ladies' haircuts'. Hurrumph! DO I LOOK LIKE A LADY? 'That's funny, I got my hair cut here last September'. He eyes me more closely, then says 'R did it!'. 'Yep, what have you done with him?'. 'He doesn't work here anymore and we don't know where he is'. Grr. I bet they don't know where he is- he was divine! A purely filthy boy who fell for my piercings, insisted that he was the one to do my hair, gave me a brilliant cut and then INSISTED that I would be attending Beyond and he would poke holes in me there (that last bit didn't eventuate, quite possibly 'cos I was too busy getting my boots done by an almost naked Bear and following around a skinhead in a red gas mask but hey, that's not the point). To cut a long story short Zoo was all grumpy-pants and 'this would never happen in Sydney!' melodramatic about being pissed off by some beige gayboy, and with all the Betty business I didn't end up getting it cut at all and so still look like an eccentrically furred teddy bear- and not in a good way. But being in my optimistic mood I figure this has just given me more opportunity to go scouring websites for THE perfect cut. Usually I end up with either some random barber's interpretation of my hand-waving and vague 'no, this bit should be shorter than that bit and go like this' or just getting out the clippers and shaving whatever bits most offend my aesthetic sensibilities. So, for the second time recently (re May21) I find myself back at the SkinMarvin site, ostensibly looking for a new coiffure but most just perving. (Oh, and did I mention that I met someone at Betty that not only knew what a scally was but obviously wriggled at the thought? Tied in nicely with a very silly conversation I was having with someone else about doing rude things whilst wearing his green and gold adidas trakkie *g*.) And yet again I find myself at the cropshop archives too. Military? Flattop? Faux hawk again? Definately NOT a side part... who knew it could be this difficult to decide?

Blushing, Fumbling, And Moaning Softly

Coyness is nice, and
Coyness can stop you
From saying all the things in life you'd like to
So, if there's something you'd like to try
If there's something you'd like to try
Ask me I won't say no, how could I?

- The Smiths
'Ask' (and yes, I do believe I've quoted this song before)

One of my favourite workshops of Betty was the ' I want to fuck like...' discussion. It started off with some of us writing down things we liked to do/wanted to do but were afraid to ask for and having someone else read it out (so it was anonymous), then some hypothetical 'A wants B to do X, what are some of the issues for both of them?' and that provoked some interesting points. But what made me wriggle with joy was when a rather sweet someone made the very valid point that asking for stuff can be plain embarrassing, even for people in queer communities where it is often impicitly implied that everyone should be so radical and cool and all down and funky with their sexual desires that

What she asked of me
At the end of the day
Caligula would have blushed

- The Smiths
'Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now'

And it can be embarrassing. I spent a good couple of days sniffing around the object of my blush and lust at Betty before I could make even the most subtle of moves. (Very few people believe me of course, 'you, Zoo, shy?'. Umm, yeah, to the point it is almost crippling sometimes. And the combination of having this reputation in some circles of being some untouchable scary super-slut and actually being utterly utterly scared to make a move on anyone that makes me wet means that I end up in the silly situation of neither being approached or able to approach. Stalemate. Arrrgh!) So... I circle about like a puppy looking for attention, then finally end up crashing out in bed next to said person, drinking vodka and cuddling and being too shy to even try for a kiss. Next day at Sweaty Betty pervy party manage somehow to end up with her in a darkroom, but we both take so much time about suggesting it that by the time we get there the place is closing in 15 minutes. Still, some nice fumbling and much longed-for mouth to mouth. Go on to a party, with more flirting and snogging about before suddenly she disappears with a friend of mine. Hmmm, can't be greedy I guess, and talent that should really be shared! Next evening we end up in a pub together, then due to some spectacular luck with closed nightclubs we end back at my lodgings drinking beer with another friend. Send friend home, suggest she comes into my boudoir and then finally after much lying there I ask 'so, what WERE you going to do to me in that darkroom if had more time?' and get an answer that makes me very happy. Especially when it so happens that she is willing to continue what we started. Now, moments like this can sometimes overwhelm Zoo, and I find myself going TOTALLY subby (yes, subby, who'd ever have thought it?) and unable to do much but lie there and hope to be slapped hard. Fortunately this 'tactic' worked none-too-badly in this instance, resulting in much hairpulling and pinning to bed, biting of tits and other bits and a total melting of Zoo into a speechless mess of moans and incoherent mumblings... In the morning I'm more blushing and shy than ever, something about the daylight that makes it harder to be quite so 'please Daddy, I want some more' but it starts again anyway, to my delirious delight. Much to my regret I can't find my toppy side anywhere, and so am typing this now wishing that I'd had the balls to make my fingers and mouth move where I wanted them to! No idea when I will see her again, what she thinks of the whole affair (if she thinks of it at all) or whether I have a hope in hell of getting to do the filthy things to her that I would like to, but in my mind (and elsewhere) I've got her thrown over the bed and am playing 'who's the Daddy now?'. I'm imagining her on her knees with her mouth around Sire (or perhaps something more manageable if I'm feeling benevolent) and me being the glove-puppeteer. Oh, and possibly drawing blood, in the nicest possible ways. Zoo does like blood, from split lips or brass knuckles or knives that miraculously appear from steel-capped boots.

I feel like I am regressing a little perhaps. Its strange, I used to be SO much more confident and assertive about such matters, was able to just grab my little red hanky from around my little left wrist, stuff it in the waiting mouth and grab the lube and gloves but now its so difficult for me to trust anyone enough to dare to even suggest it. Sire is more often used on me than by me, and I'm usually the one who ends up scarred and walking funny if I manage to find myself tangled up with anyone. Strikes me as somehow odd that I need to trust someone more to top than to let them do unspeakable things to me? Think a lot of it is to do with the fact that most of my experience until rather recent times (well, five years buts its not like it has been a constant shag-fest) was on the receiving end of hetero-sex and so when faced with the prospect of actually being allowed to be part a going into part b I get a bit bewildered and afraid I'm going to do it wrong, to not be a 'proper hardcore radical sex fucking machine' and so I simply don't do it. Oh, and having been around quite a number of stone types I always get confused if people leave their boxers or shirts on as to if I am actually allowed to go there- many a 'what are you doing?' reaction has left me a little hesitant to go for folks' rude bits if I think maybe that's not what they are wanting. Quite a cop-out, especially when I know that I'm not the only one that feels this way and expect other people to get over their inhibitions to top me. And when I do do it its one of my favourite things in the world to be have a sore hand from spanking and a sore wrist from being clamped down upon and a sore pubic bone from thrusting- I love to be in there! Ahh, figure I will get my confidence back eventually, and with any luck before too many more amazing orifices escape me. Maybe I just need to pick people who don't make me go totally weak at the knees just by looking at me? Can only find the nerve to be that rude to people who are either anonymous holes in toilet cubicles or really good friends/partners who I feel confident won't judge me- I find it hard to be even vaguely toppy with people I can barely speak to without blushing.

Still, despite feeling a little silly for not getting in there I'm smiling more than I have in MONTHS. And no matter what follows, or doesn't, it was a very nice end to a very nice holiday.

Photo Finish

'Tis odd, somehow I haven't felt the need to document so much lately- not taking nearly as many pix as normal and barely touching my noteback at all. Came back from Betty with probably less than a dozen pix (*gasp* I can do fabulous outfits, and see fabulous shows and sites and whatnot and not need to capture them sometimes). This is VERY strange behaviour for me! Not sure what has brought about such a change, maybe a gradual acceptance of the impermanence of things, including myself, has led me to not need to try to keep every single moment of my life recorded somehow, to just be able to let a lot of it go, or process ... That said, don't panic, you'll still have new Zoo material to read- I'm sure that after a week of no-blogging or writing I will stay up half the night posting here (and I did make sure to collect almost every flyer and handout and badge I could find at Betty, to file away in my little boxes of queer memorabilia).

Hitchin' Bitches

Phew! Camp Betty is over and I am one bruised, bitten, bedraggled, blissed-out Zoo. Will tell you all about it in fits and starts I imagine, but will at least try to begin at the beginning.

8 persons in a van heading along the Deadly Hume from Sydney to Melbourne. All dressed along the loose theme of 'something you'd find hitching along the side of the highway': one Thumbalina teenage runaway with a stick and bandanna full of her belongings (NatInTheHat, complete with a 'Nevaland Or Bust' sign) , two dodgy serial killer types with big black mos and beards and scary hair (one with fake teeth and a bloody spanner in her/his pocket), one sort of sideshow spruiker escapee with top hat, rubber chicken in mouth and sign reading 'The Carnival Is Over' (guess who), a street hooker with a see-through red negligee, g- string and 'End Of The Line' sign, a spectacular spiderman and two random trashy babes who looked like they might have just got kicked off some messy band's tour bus. We travelled along, singing songs and palying word-games and telling stories of our first girl-on-girl (or thereabouts) action and stopping at the side of the road to pee and take tons of photos of us pretending to hitchhike oustide the turnoff to the Dog On The TuckerBox at Gundagai. It was all very much fun, and put me in the right frame of mind to begin Betty!

Blood, Simple/Puppy Love

Ah, life can be full of such lovely surprises! Lost track of Hunter Bear this afternoon and so was at a bit of a loose end before my dinner with AuntyC and ButchBitch and the boys when who should jump on me as I got off the train but My Favourite Mermaid. Her company is always a pleasure of course, but even more so when it transpired that she too had some time free and a nice sharp scalpel blade at her place and so we went back and played with her very excitable dog (dog! did I mention I am in the throes of serious puppy-cluckiness? woof!*) and then she went over my faded face-cutting for me. Happy floaty bleeding Zoo. Pleasant way to begin the evening, and so totally unexpected...

*Not sure of the origins of puppy-cluckiness. An urge to have someone big and boofy who will jump on me and smother me with unconditional love the second I walk through the door? Someone who will fetch things without whingeing? Who will go for as many walks as I like and not complain? Who will piss in back alleyways with me? Who will lick my feet (oh, I do miss the Smurphe sometimes *g*)? Or is it really just that I long for the toys and accessories- squeaky rubber chickens and collars with diamante bones or big shiny spikes and (*gasp* *quiver* *wet patch*) those plastic thingies that you use to pick up and hurl the spit-soaked ball from one side of the park to the other? It certainly can't be an urge to wander around with a pocketful of plastic bags so that I can collect wayward doggy-droppings, can it? And its most certainly NOT the smell of canine breath after the consumption of raw meat! Maybe its an urge for furry cuddles? Whatever the origin of my desire, its a fact that I can't really have a doggie at the moment, for much the same reasons as I can't have a child (or even a conventional kind of partner?). I'm too much of a wanderer, too prone to wanting to run off on adventures for days on end, to travel the countryside and not be home in time for supper and anyway, you can't take puppies in any Aus National Parks which would put quite a damper on a lot of my holiday and weekend gallivanting. Hmmm... I need one or two that I can just borrow sometimes, take for walks and wrestle about with and then put back in someone else's kennel.

Fingerstache

Hmmm... this is so silly that I just had to post it! Check out the Fingerstache on Wiki.

Lazy Layabout

When I got my Monster inked the other day Megan saw the small butterfly tattoo above my left hip, and (almost) stifling a giggle asked 'was that your first?'. However did she guess? Yes, it was indeed my first, done by a bearded bloke at Illustrated Man who was rather forgiving when I fainted, almost threw up, and fainted again. I was 25 (at a pinch), and aside from a nostril piercing, several ear studs and some mutilation-style cuttings had never done any bodmod at all. It didn't hurt that I could recognise, more a complete overload of SENSATION, and it sent me reeling in delight to the point of passing out cold! Monster is healing up nicely, a little tight and tender but ever so deliciously raised and is much wriggly joy to rub in the Bepanthan and trace along the outline...

Am being such a lazy Zoo today. Started off well after a late start: cooked, cleaned up kitchen,washed up, de-jellied and de-chocolate-sauced the items from the Slox shows, booked a flight and had a shower intending to get some more chores done but then headed back to bed *shrug*. Just can't get motivated somehow, floppy and sleepy and just want to stay curled up and doze with the heater going, chatting online to various bears and a madam. Hmmm. Must get lively! Items to be packed and outfits to be arranged! But its so warm and cozy in here!