Today Is 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
And then the rain came down
And sparkled the signs of the underground
And the darkness fell all over town on the last day

- Kirsty MacColl
'Last Day Of Summer'

There's a Bear in there, in His Underwear

Tonight (ie Wednesday 28th Feb '07) is the night for UnderBear, the Harbour City Bear's annual underwear party. Its on at Arq this year, and yours truly will be working there midnight-3am and dancing and schmoozing either side of these times. There will be tonnes (quite literally *lol*) of furry, sweaty, friendly, horny Bears and their admirers. Always a happy crowd and a damn nice perve. Ah, Sydney is such a sexy city at this time of year. The whole place is on heat...

TBoy, or Not TBoy

This is a conversation between Miranda/Randy and Ariel, in one of my favourite filthy books of all time:

'I felt pretty surprised myself. I hadn’t even known consciously that I was going to say it, and now I was stuck trying to explain something even I didn’t understand.

“I…I guess I’ve been thinking about it because of Jack.”
“Like maybe he’d rather have a real boy than Memorex?”
“I guess.” I took a long slug of my latte for fortification.
“Darlin’, tell me. When you were little, did you keep waiting for your penis to grow in?”
“No.”
“Did you feel trapped in the body of a girl, like it was the wrong body for you?”
“No.”
“When your breasts started to grow, did they humiliate you? More than the average pubescent girl, that is.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, voila, then chances are you’re not a true transsexual. You’d flunk at the gender clinic, anyway. If you’re going to go through with this, I can see I’ll need to make some flash cards and work with you until you can go in there and seem genuinely gender dysphoric. Now for the next set of challenging questions. Do you like your body the way it is? As much as any American woman can be said to like her body, given that we’re supposed to look like anorexic fourteen-year-olds?”
“Basically, yes.”
“Specifically, do you like your breasts and cunt?” '

— Carol Queen
'The Leather Daddy and The Femme'

When you look at like that, well, I think I am just about as gender dysphoric as young Miranda/Randy really. I like my cunt, a lot. Gives me and quite a few others a fair amount of fun. I have induced lactation, so its not exactly like I am particularly perturbed by my fully-fledged and fully-female mammaries. And I have NO desire for masculine dangly bits really. Quite clearly, Zoo is not by these definitions any sort of boy at all. Not that I ever thought I was- that's never been the point of my gender confusion... Yet, when I look at the gorgeous TBoys in my midst, there is something they have that I want. Furry faces and nicely scarred flat chests and giant clits, sure, but I'm not sure that what I'm longing for is purely physical. Nothing is ever THAT simple!

Debauched and Delirious

Still all wobbly and jelly-legged from the shenanigans of the last few days. Saturday afternoon saw a birthday soiree for SharntSayNo, which attracted the usual bunch of debauched deviants. With three kinds of steak on the bbq, almost endless jugs of sangria, mutiple salads and yummy nibbly things, bourbon, malibu, and more than Zoo's usual quote of that which makes me go faster, it was all very messy. We chatted, we laughed, we had readings from The Worst Hetero-Porn Book Ever Written (his 'stubbly dome'??? excuse me? arrgh!), cuddled up on the couch, and played that Theatre Sports-y game where you make a story by each person adding a sentence at a time. Our stories involved flying transexual fairies, scones, lots of body parts exploding, The Village People, a champagne enema, Cronulla, and something about coffee table legs, before we unwisely decided that it was all too complicated and we should play cards instead. Then we all eventually passed out, and when we woke in the morning a dear boy arrived at the door bearing croissants and proceeded to make cups of tea to ease our befuddled heads. Quite a nice bash all round, and as no doubt I've said before, it is fantastic to be back with my old crew again.

Headed home for a nice long bath and a shave of most of my hairy bits before heading to the sex party. Normally I wouldn't bother de-furring myself, but sometimes when I lie in the bath I see the razor and start playing and before you know it almost EVERYTHING is gone! Got the venue all nervous and squibbly, paid our $ and got our towels and started wandering. (And the first people I saw were OE and her 'date'. But you know, it didn't worry me that much at all. Think the chat we had the day before was the best thing that could have happened. It helped that the premises were quite large too, so that our paths never really seemed to cross and we didn't end up sharing the same playspace or the same playpartners at the same time.) After checking out the facilities we sat down for a cigarette and one of my filthy friends mentioned to me that she had a rather full bladder. Rather conveniently, so did I, and you will have no trouble guessing what happened next. Oh, it was the first yellow hanky fun I have had in a LONG time, and I really had forgotten how much I love it! The smell of pee and sweat and lube and rude bits all mingled together, hair and skin drenched, slipping and sliding all over the place, the taste and the temperature and... really must do that again soon! Stumble/slid out of that room shagged senseless and reeling, and rather sticky. Then a quick shower and more ciggies and chatting and random acts of voyeurism before being pounced upon and shown a rather nice black-gloved time by two of my dearest friends. By the time the second one had removed her bits from my bits I could barely walk, and was possibly nearing delirium, so had a bit of a breather. Until it occurred to me that I had a bag full of pointy things with me, so I asked one of my piercing pals if she was up for sticking me. And she was. Yay! Borrowed a torch, found the lightest cubicle we could, and set to it. Unfortunately the trashiness of the night before, and the sheer physical exhaustion of my other plays, had left me unable to take a huge amount, so we just played around with some 21gauge needles in my back. And one 18g canula, which was one of the most exquisate sensations I've experienced in quite a while! I always forget that the big ones often hurt less than the small ones, or at least sting a lot less and so I often find them easier to take. And certainly more erotic. When she slid the metal out and just left the sheath in my flesh... ohhhh... it was intensely sexual. Blush. really must organise something like this again soon, as there is still a cross that I need to be tied to, a sling I need to crawl into and a cage I need to be locked in. Oh, I do love being a pervert.

Mardi Gras Madness

'So, what are you doing for Mardi Gras?'

I will be marshalling, as really couldn't get into the idea of marching for some reason- even for SLPA or the Bears and didn't mange to find a Bitch On The Back spot with Dykes On Bikes 'cso I was too trashy to turn up to yesterday's bike and tattoo show. When I marshalled before it was a lot of fun, and from time to time I do like to have a bit more of a backstage role (believe it or not). Really not sure what I will be doing after the parade. I do get a cheap ticket to the big party for volunteering, but even at half price it really doesn't inspire me. Don't really ever enjoy most big parties, with the notable exceptions of Tropical Fruits and Inquisition, and though the line-up of DJs is quite wonderful, and so many more of my friends are going than normal, I still doubt I will go. There is always The United Colours Of Bent if I decide at the last minute that I must do a 'party', and there is rumour of a rather alternative alternative being held somewhere closer to my ghetto. Alos, there is a cute and freaky looking party called Disco-Dildo on Sunday at Club 77, from midday. See how the mood takes me with all of the above, but one thing is for certain. I will be at:

Gurlesque Farti Bras MG Recovery, Sunday 4th March, doors from 6:30 and shows from 7:30, and featuring:

'WIFE & DOMINO(that's right , the spunk from SLIT MAG!!), MS FEELERS & MS EGGBEATERS, TEAM PRINCESS, VERONICA, KIMO BOY, KIRA HULA LA, plus sexy gogo girls, our glamorous pussy pound lovely MS SINDI RAY & DJ SVETA'.

Oh my... that is one of the best Gurlesque line-ups I remember in a long time- and no prizes for guessing which particular ones I will be swooning over the most *sigh*. Yummy!!!

Sex and the Ouchy Ex

Ooooh, its the day of the naughty party and I daresay I am rather excited.

And a bit weirded out. Seems that the OuchyEx will be there, with a new playmate, and this just about blew my head apart when I found out. Texted her, expressed a certain amount of consternation, and then in happened- SHE FINALLY RANG ME AND SPOKE TO ME PROPERLY! Like, not when were both munted, or just in passing in some awkward social situation. It was an actual conversation. And she suggested we meet up for coffee and a chat during the week too. I wish she had done this a month ago- I really needed to have some dialogue with her and know where I stood. So, we sorted a lot of stuff out, and got back on much better terms than we have been in a long while. Seems she had been quite concerned about me, still loves me somehow, and wants it to be nice between us too. That would be really, really good. I miss a lot of things about her, and being her mate is one of the main ones. I miss just haning out and drinking beer and talking about everything and nothing, and if there's still a chance of that at some point in the future then the rest doesn't seem so hard to deal with at all.

MoodGym

As well as seeing the psych, have decided to do a little bit of independent work on my mental health. Have been scouting about on the web, looking mostly as Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. And in the process, came across the amazing MoodGym, an initiative of ANU that describes itself as 'A free self help program to teach cognitive behaviour therapy skills to people vulnerable to depression and anxiety.' Its kind of cheesy, in that public health-info brouchure jokey way with silly characters and rather simplistic language, but has some useful basics on identifying thought patterns etc so far. Have only just started, and already learned from the first two quizzes:
Depression- middle to high range. Anxiety- middle to high range.

I am just so sick of being the crazy girl. The one with really shaky self-esteem, the one who is super-sensitive to rejection, the one who drinks to much in an attempt to self-medicate, the one who gets into inappropriate relationships and gets destroyed when they don't work out, the one who doesn't have enough faith in herself to go with her gut instincts. But damn, its a bloody deep hole I'm in, years of ingrained behaviours that I need to train myself out of. I wouldn't care so much if I was just hurting me, but so many people are effected negatively by my insanity- friends, lovers, housemates, supervisors and last but not least my long-suffering family. It HAS to stop, even if it means thinking about things I'd rather not deal with or taking myself to the MoodGym.

Tantrums, Tears and the Taste of T

SLIT T Issue launch was interesting, to say the least. Wore the vagina dentata knickers I made, thus getting three Ts in one shot- teeth, twat and tail. Oh, and I threw on a tiara for good measure. Not many other people seemed dressed to theme, but there was still plenty to perve on and of course the art was rather sexy(and the magazine is great). There were the obligatory exes, one who was quite fun to catch up with and another,the Ouchy Ex, who hurt me quite a bit with her carrying on. (I must try to remember that people will be cruel without realising it sometimes, and even if they mean to be mean it doesn't necessarily follow that I am horrible or somehow deserve it. Serious glitches in my thinking here.)

After the launch a whole pile of us ended up at The Newtown to watch the new strip night, as A Certain Boy was performing. He came out as Mr Tool, was introduced as a former girl stripper from San Francisco and with 'TRANNY' scrawled across his torso and then, well, stripped... sigh... To explain a bit of what I felt watching him: when I was younger I was obsessed with The Birthday Party song 'Zoo Music Girl', and could never quite work out whether I wanted to be ZMG or fuck ZMG. In the end I decided on both, and that's the way ACB makes me feel. He's who and what I would still like to be entangled with, but he is also something that I want to be (just with more colourful tattoos, and nipples). Goddam, that is one BEAUTIFUL boy!

Then went to Impy with a Sweet Boy I'd met once or twice before, drank more beer, got stupid and abused the Ouchy Ex mentioned above (see below), and ended up being dragged out of there by the SB and back to his place for a bit of this and that. Was nice to be able to cuddle and chat without complications, just lying underneath the fan drinking tea and flipping through gender books and wallowing in our hangovers. Made me remember that sometimes interactions can be simple and sweet. Very refreshing.

Home with a crushing vagueness, missed worked, feeling pretty embarrassed yet again at making a scene with the OE. I just can't seem to get over the rejection, especially when there has been no closure, no definate handing back of possessions, no recognition that it isn't ever going to work out. It all just dwindled away in a haze of 'I need some time' and 'we should tone it down a bit' until one day the phone calls weren't returned at all and I was just left to guess that I had been dumped and to feel uncomfortable going to my usual social spaces and now... its horrible. Want to work it out with her, not to get back together but to be able to be happy to see her and to be able to share a beer and a laugh and chat like we used to. Just to be cut out, completely, is awful. I love her, and miss her silliness and her smile and her cheekiness. I want to be able to spend time with her, or at least exist in the same room without pain. But how to make it right when talking is obviously out of the question? Maybe I need to try to forgive her whether she wants to reconcile or not, maybe I don't always need to wait for permission to make peace.

Blah, spending the afternoon with NattieTheFlattie, the LWord and cups of tea and job-hunting- rather pleasant despite my melancholia. Must NOT get involved with anyone new, just can't cope with the constant threat of rejection. Speaking of which, debating whether to attend the sex party on Sunday. I'm alternately incredibly excited and incredibly scared at the thought of having to cruise and negotiate, and don't know how much I am able to put myself out there. Hoping there are a least a few of my regular playpals to get down and dirty with, as don't think my ego could cope with not getting any shagging at a party designed for just that! Hmmm... should I risk it or not?

I Hope That You Know That This Will Go Down On Your Permanent Record

Woooooohoooooooooooo! One chilled out Zoo!

Have just come from my supervisor meeting, and am in a very good mood indeed. Told her I would be suspending my PhD canditature for six months or so,and she said that even though she would miss me she was all for it. Then had coffee with my associate supervisor, who said virtually the same thing. Now just got to fill out all the paperwork, and in a fortnight or so will be free as a bird. Or at least, a bird with a six-month repreive from the cage.

Of course, with no scholarship I will need to find some means of support, but have already started putting the word out that I will be available for hire on a casual basis and don't think it will be two hard to find 3 or 4 days a week worth of gainful employment. And hopefully, if all goes to plan, I will be spending the most part of June/July in Europe! If you have any friends I simply MUST meet, or places I should perform, or conferences that I must go to, or museums I must visit then please let me know ASAP. Want to make the most of this trip, in all regards.Its all very exciting really...

Angel Lust

Came across this term on Six Feet Under, and then found the following definition at urbandictionary.com:
'Angel Lust' is slang used to describe the erection males sometimes develop after they die traumatically. They may even ejaculate during the final throes of death. During war time it's not uncommon for soldiers to put their dead naked enemies who have 'Angel Lust' on display as 'War Trophies.'

Anatomies, Engraved and Dissected

Anatomists, both in their everyday practice and when instructing their engravers to make prints, cut off and discarded those parts of the mother's body- head, arms,legs- which they percieved as unnecessary components.

Such perspectives were carved, inscribed on the body by the surgeon's knife, and by the engraver's needle. A certain violent activity joined engraving to anatomy. Anyone who has ever engraved is aware that it is a material act, not a surface process. The pleasures of going into a steel or copper plate are entirely carnal. Both dissection and engraving require a decisive cutting and carving. The eternal life of the image is always secured at the expense of the death of the object of study. Thus engraving, which involved incising, mirrored the work of anatomical dissection. Both processes demanded a degree of precision, a certain exactness and both are, essentially, a question of where to draw the line.

- Roberta McGrath
'Seeing Her Sex: Medical Archives and The Female Body' (2002:66)

Time Out

Am seriously contemplating taking a 6 month break from my studies. After 5+ years of studying I'm feeling more than a little drained and exhausted, like I have nothing new to offer my project at the moment. Need to just put it on a back burner and let it simmer while I cook up some other adventures... get a regular job that doesn't require much brain-work, play around with my performances and read some stuff outside of my immediate studies and head to Europe for a month or two to catch up with friends and breathe the dirty Berlin air. Then come back all recharged and invigorated and write me something magical!

The Week Ahead

Just recovering from Fair Day and drinkies and seeing Vampire Lesbians Of Sodom at The New Theatre with Madam Phantasm and Whoretic, and looking forward to much fun and nonsense to come... Working a lot, which means much more $ for Zoo. Then QueerScreen 'Boy I Am' FTM flick on Tuesday- Newtown Dendy at 7ish (check the net), Wednesday seeing David Hoyle at The Studio, SLIT launch Thursday at Medium Rare, Whoretic moves in on the weekend, SharntSayNo has a birthday affair, and Dykes on Bikes tattoo show and then all-girl-sex-on-premises-adventure Sunday. Hmmm, maybe single life is not SOOOO bad after all?

Oh, and rumour has it that MooZoo may be making an appearance for the 1:30 show at April Hellfire (Friday 20th). You have been warned!

Oh Oh, and there be cute pix from Velvet, feat Ali and Gaylourdes and moi, in last weeks Sydney Star Observer's party pages. Has been sooooooo long since I've made it into the queer rags- its nice to be back *lol*.

Babe In The Woods

When I flick through my posts on this blog I sometimes wonder what other readers must make of me. Part gendermucking monstrous queer pervert performance artiste with a highly developed sense of the absurd, the abject, and adventure, part little lost girl who strayed too far from the her happy suburban home and is still scared that the Big Bad Wolf is going to eat her all up before she can settle down into her Hallmark card dream with the lumberjack. Some days I just don't feel very brave or pioneering. But then I remember, it is usually when I decide to take the road most commonly travelled that I get seriously lost.

Yeah I recognize that girl
I took her from rags right through to stitches (pray for me now)
Oh baby, tonight we sleep in separate ditches.

Deep in the woods
Deep in the woods yeah
Deep in the woods a funeral is swinging.

Love is for fools and all fools are lovers
Its raining on my house and none of the others
Love is for fools and God knows Im still one
The sidewalks are full of loves lonely children

- The Birthday Party
'Deep In The Woods'

Moping About, All Melodrama and Comedown

Its all gone, and has been for at least a month (but somehow seeing the object of my most recent injury all cosy with someone else makes being dumped hurt all over again). No more champagne. Or strolling. Or shagging for days. Or watching Buffy. Or listening to Leonard Cohen. Or drinking tea. Or shopping for boy clothes. Or holding hands. Or those kisses. Or groping commando under camos. Or snuggling. Or flirtations across a crowded bar, or playing femme for the butch, or gentleman and the lady friend, or corset tightened and lacy knickers worn in anticipation and seduction. From adore to ignore. No pornographic text messages, no cheeky smiles when I walk through the door, silence at the end of the phone, cut off, abandoned, discarded, replaced. If only I knew I was missed, at least a little...

I leave you with photographs
Pictures of trickery
Stains on the carpet and
Stains on the memory
Songs about happiness
Murmured in dreams
When we both of us knew how the ending would be

- The Cure
'Disintegration'

Marenko's Monsters

Monsters are the embodiment of excess. That's why theur mere visibility is enough to disrupt the binary system. Against their body the binary system does not work. It cannot operate where there are life-affirming forces of excess and perpetual change; forces which are charged with an intensity which does not derive from a binary system.

These forces have something which is not reducible to a dyadic structure of thinking.

These forces dwell into the excess, into what is not definable in one exterminating determination.

Thus, the monster's corporeality cannot be forced into a single classification, cannot be captured by the trap of fixed categories. Ontologically borderline, the monstrous body is the hinge which allows unthought of openings. Untameable body, it makes visible in its own corporeality the arbitrariness of the binary system, a system that proceeds from according to a disjunctive apparatus, sythesised by the formula or... or...

It makes the visible because it is not reducible itself to an apparatus; because it is not taxonomically compatible.

The monstrous body is the living expression of an intermediate state, of a threshold whose unstoppable friction force is eroding the stale binary system.

-Betti Marenko-In.Sect.Corp TM
'The Self-Made Freak: Hybridizations and Bodies in Transition' in Body Probe (ed D Wood)

(Pix from my August '06 'November Spawned A Monster' HF show)

Bits and Pieces

Oh, I am just totally knackered! Queeruption party on tonight and would really love to go, but have not a scrap of social energy left after last night. Hellfire was fun somehow, despite most of my regular crew not being there. Found myself a few friends to dance with (wave to Buxom Wench), watched an extremely cute bride-birth-and-baby-slashing show by Pluto Savage and had half a sparkly-making device and got all cuddly and spent hours babbling nonsense and snuggling up to a cute boy I've known for years (who was incredibly patient with all my silliness). Then wandered back to another pal's place for tequila, pretending we were going to head out again, but ended up just talking and being giggly until we fell asleep. (Unfortunately such chemical enhancement makes me extremely horny, and wasn't with that type of friend. Damn this dry spell I'm having! I miss being shagged senseless for hours!). Then lay around on the comfy couch all morning reading the paper and drinking tea before crawling home in a daze to lie in bed all afternoon reading a trashy book. Now just hanging out with LesBeanz, getting pizza delivered and watching random DVDs and doing everything in slow motion.

Psych yesterday was brilliant. Was most exciting to find someone who just 'got' it all, including all the tricky queer and gender stuff. Going back to see her in three weeks or so, and can claim some of it on Medicare too (which is nice as its bloody expensive). Think it could be a really productive relationship. Yay! Not nearly as scary as I imagine it could be.

SLPA update

Check out the Sydney Leather Pride Association calendar for details of meet and greet, Ascension, Inquisition, education workshops, Leather Pride Week etc. LOTS of filthy fun to be had!

United Colours Of Bent

'Looking for something a affordable, queer, and alternative to do on Mardi Gras Night - Saturday 3rd March, 2007? Well dust off your leathers, make a strange costume, strip down to your g-string or cum in your best trailer trash outfit for:

THE UNITED COLOURS OF BENT
Two musical spaces, set over two levels with 6 DJs and 3 suitably trashy performances.
Cum inside the Global Ghetto (Phoenix) to hear dirty, underground tribal, with a global/ middle eastern flavour from DJs Feisty (ZIP) 9pm - 2am and Chadi (Acid - Beirut) 2am - 6am.
Upstairs from the Global Ghetto (Phoenix) you will land right in the heart of Trailer Trash (Spectrum), where you will be entertained with the sounds of electro, electro-clash and pop-rock spun by some of Sydney's finest alternative DJs.
Expect the unexpected from Neotokyo, an honest, tattooed ranch-hand fighting the enslaught of Middle American values, and most often found producing quality events like Bloodlust. Catch him whipping up a frenzy on the decks between 1am and 3am.
Look out for the backward baseball cap of Mandy Rollins (Hellfire, Dirty), rocking the house between 11pm and 1am in something other than her usual leathers. Could this be a sign of her cunt-tree roots?
Catch Mark Winmill (fresh from a season of Feasting on Flesh at The Sydney Opera House) showing off his nautical side, in a saucy number about a sailor and his ring. Gurlesque superstars, Sex Intents and Glita Supernova, can-can across the stage in a fractured Australian fairytale that starts when they get jack of being in a box.'

Tix $35 at Hellfire tonight, or at Sax Leather (with bf I guess) on Oxford St, or $45 on the door if available.

All Things Will Pass

In the past few weeks I have found out that one of the first people I ever played with (TENS machine on needles, ooh!) died suddenly, a not-so-close-but-close-enough friend has been diagnosed HIV+ (quite young he is too) and another girl I used to know from around the scene died three months ago (and her friends only foundthis information out now)... Don't know hat I think or feel about it all.

T Time

Its likely I've blogged this before, but hey, its worth mentioning more than once anyway!

Song Of The Siren

Going through lots and lots of files and cds full of photos, compiling a selection to get printed and hang in my room. Here are some from the Siren/Mermaid Show I did at Hellfire, June 2005 (courtesy of www.hellfiresydney.com of course). Had My Favourite Mermaid dressed as a hoary old sailor, she wrestled me down and cut my clingwrap tail, thus sexualising me, and slahed my tummy too and I ripped my feathers out and cut 'Zoo' into my leg with a scalpel. Then I pulled rice pudding out of my knickers (I figured that's what mermaid/siren cum would look like, pearly and creamy) and flung it at the audience, but don't seem to have pix of that!

Dear Breasts

This is one of my favourite 'breast' pieces, and a perfect love letter to be posting on Valentine's Day. I was just going to quote specific paragraphs, but couldn't decide so here it is in its entirety:

'Dear Breasts,

If I had you surgically removed, would you: a) feel abandoned, b) haunt me, c) notice? There's not much of you there, but I'm sure I'd miss you. I might miss you when my lover forgets and grabs for you to find nothing but her own disappointment. I might miss you when I have a baby and there's nothing on me for hir to feed on. The thing is, I feel very confused about you. People look at my face, then for you, to see who I am. They look to see if you're there, right as they're saying Sir to me. Yet they're still not sure what I am.

"Sir, you're in the wrong line." The only time they think they're sure is when my shirt is off and they make me cover you. "Ma'am, I'mgoing to have to ask you to put your shirt back on." I don't know which way to go. I don't really want to bind you down. I won't wear a bra. I just want to wear a t-shirt all by itself. I want to stop confusing people because confusing people feels dangerous. I think I'd rather them assume that you're not there and you never were.

Does this make you sad? It makes me sad. Does it make sense to keep you if I try to hide you? I can love you. Can I set you free? Would you understand? Would I? Would I feel more comfortable in the world? Would I ever be asked to cover you again? Would I still be in danger? Would I be in more danger? Would I be more dangerous? Would my mother notice? You're so small. I wonder who would miss you. Would you haunt me in my dreams, in my waking, in my sex? Would you appear in visions trying to find your way back to me from the pile of fatty tissue in the biohazard bin? I could keep you in a jar of formaldehyde on my altar, or in my freezer. I could take you out of my freezer and introduce you to new lovers so they don't miss out on you entirely.

I could have a fundraiser. I could film the surgery for an art project. I could project the surgery onto the wall while reading Our Bodies, Ourselves to an audience. We could be famous! My dear breasts, I could continue to bind you and itch and slouch. I could just be happy with the body that god gave me. I could change the world instead of myself. But as they say, Think Globally, Act Locally. When I think or speak of this, I think I might be hurting you, but you love torture. Or is it me that loves to have you tortured? For all I know, you hate to be clamped and bruised. For all I know this letter could be an answer to your deepest prayers. This is not a goodbye letter. I'm just trying to understand you and me, and why we're here together in this lifetime. Maybe in a past life, I was your hand and you were my one true love. This is a love letter. Talk to me. '

- Storm Florenz
'Dear Breast'
in From The Inside Out (ed Diamond)

Blue Valentines

To send me blue valentines
Like half forgotten dreams
Like a pebble in my shoe
As I walk these streets
And the ghost of your memory
Is the thistle in the kiss
And the burgler that can break a roses neck
Its the tattooed broken promise
That I hide beneath my sleeve
And I see you every time I turn my back...

She sends me my blue valentines
To remind me of my cardinal sin
I can never wash the guilt
Or get these bloodstains off my hands
And it takes a lot of whiskey
To take this nightmares go away
And I cut my bleedin heart out every nite
And I die a little more on each st. valentines day
Remember that I promised I would
Write you...
These blue valentines

- Tom Waits
'Blue Valentines'

Constant Craving

Let us say then, to begin with, that different women crave different things. I read once of a woman who ate coal. At night, when her husband and children were asleep, she would creep down into the cellar in order to suck on the cold, dark lumps of rock. Then there was the woman who smelt neat disinfectant: she bought huge plastic containers of bleach so she could sniff the invisible liquid on pads of cottonwool which she kept secreted in her pockets. Anne Boleyn ate larks' tongues. Fabienne, the girl in the apartments opposite, kept a large tank of catfish. She would cut off their heads and eat the bodies warm. My mother told me of an African woman who ate termite mounds, preferably after the rain so the earth was moist. Mary Queen of Scots was said to have requested swans' genitals, and one of my aunts on my father's side insisted on smothering pickled onions in golden syrup. It is also recorded that a certain Tibetan princess favoured rats. Then there was Eve and her overwhelming desire for that now infamous piece of fruit.

Whatever, the list is endless and the stories unique.

- Angelica Jacob
'Fermentation' (5)

It is raining heavily outside and I'm craving creaminess. Last few weeks I have lusted for cheese (especially in toasted sandwich form). Dairy is a major comfort food for me, and one of my most constant cravings- cheese and chocolate and butter and milky tea. Sometimes I obsess about eggs too, poached or fried or boiled or scrambled. Milk and eggs, how very Mother of me!

Stop Me If You Think That You've Heard This One Before

You know the feeling that everybody else is in on some secret that concerns you but nobody is telling? When I came out as queer/bi/dyke/faggot, most people I knew were spectaclarly unsuprised, and much less shocked than I was- as if they had all known it for years. Of course, I had been picking up copies of the Sydney Star Observer and obsessively hanging around Oxford St fag-hagging with the twinks from work, joining the women's collective (in the hope of meeting some dykey grrls), but had no idea why I was doing it! I had boys offering me their bi girlfriends for practice, and girls cruising me across the dancefloor at Stonewall, but I was not believing it somehow. Nah, I couldn't be, could I?

Well, at the moment I have that feeling around gender/trans stuff. Reading trans books, hanging out with trans people, looking up surgeries and packers online, skirting around the edges of it all. And have an inkling that in ten years time I will be identifying as trans(something) and getting surgeries or taking hormones or whatever, probably not to be boy, but to be 'other', and all my mates will look at me and go 'd'uh! we knew it all along!'.

I can't be a dyke 'cos I look so girly. I can't be trans 'cos I look so girly. Oh dear. What if this is true? Either way?

Monster Trans

Just came across Boots Potential's 'Monster Trans' (in From The Inside Out' ed Morty Diamond). It articulates so much of my thinking about monstrosity and gendered bodies, stuff that I haven't thought enough about since my Honours year. Here are some selected quotes:

'My preoccupation with monsters has mutated into something that provides me with an index with which to enact my gender and transness. Cultivating my monster identity preceded my identifying as trans. Part of this was the rule-breaking nature of monstrosity. For awhile, I was swindled into thinking, as many of us are, that there is a "correct" way to be trans: we have to take hormones, get suregries, get a GID diagnosis, change pronouns, pass, feel like a boy in a girl's body, and get a preppy haircut. My inclination is to break rules or flee from them, and if this long list of requirements was what it took to be trans, I didn't want that'

'Monsters are often referred to as "it". Though "it" is not my pronoun of choice, I am heartened by the thought that a living thing (at least within the collective imagination of a filmic audience) can escape immediate relegation to one category of the sexual dichotomy or another... Many medical, GLBTQ, and trans communities would often have us think that there is no other way than to choose consistent male or female pronouns, or there is something wrong with us, with our transness, or both. Monsters, on the other hand, open up a wealthof possibilities: what do you call someone or something that eludes you to the point that you can't determine its species or origin, let alone gender?'

'I plan to seek surgical alteration of my gendered chest. I am not intending to "pass", my goal is rather to be able to be read as trans, to create a lack of gender-cohesiveness on my body. in other words, I aim to defy the "kind" that I am supposed to be, true to my monstrous affiliations'

'My favourite monsters are the B-movie variety. This is the source from which my gender enactments are inspired. They manage to be at once deliberate in their freakishness, fictional, contrived, shocking, fascinating, never "correctly" human, always tenacious, and often campy. I take from this my pleasurable enactment and embodiment of transness. I revel in being freaky and campy, attempt to use the nervousness I inspire in people to challenge, and never settle into categories I don't feel accomodate me. And every once in a while, just to punctuate my point, I wear an old-fashioned Martian mask just for fun and effect'

'I am thrilled to have a vehicle which allows me to be simulataneously politically engaged, campy as hell, tough-as-nails, sissy faggy, butch new-wave dykey, dead serious, boy-girl-whatever, pansy, and terrifying all in one fell swoop. Male/female dichotomies do not allow for this mobility and simultaneity, but monstrosity does'

I love it. And it has decided my next tatto project for me! (Have been getting some good hours at 'bonus workplace' and also some research work, and have been hankering for some new ink for some time. Will post it when I get it, of course.

My Teeth Are Soft and I Can't Make A Fist

'It isn't exactly that I feel sick, just... kind of numb... and I can't make a fist. Mom, you want to hear something frightening? My teeth feel soft.'
- Corie in
'Barefoot In The Park' by Neil Simon

This just about sums up where I was at about 7am this morning when I was bulbing out of my head. Perfectly blissed out, tingling all over, lying around on a beanbag with SharntSayNo squashing and molesting me (cheeky girl). Actually experienced the 'bulbgasm', which is the orgasm you get when you have done so many bulbs that everything just explodes. Yummy!

Didn't end up doing the planned flesh pull as the POP was sick and so there was nobody at the party to throw the hooks. Did end up jellywrestling two boys (lost both rounds but was one of the most fun things I have done in a long time!), experiencing Freeq's new Cat'O'Nine'Tails 'til my back was covered in welts and I was on the verge of crying and my legs were shaking so much I had to be taken down from the rack, then Hunter cut a star into my back and he and Darkling then put some big yummy needles in too (all of this on flesh that was already extremely tender from the flogging) and I bled like a bitch... swoon... Very, very nice night. Lots of very cathartic pain and cavorting, watched some very nice piercing and cutting scenes, caught up with many of my old crew and got lots of cuddles and laughed until my stomach hurt and actually felt really safe and free (something I've not felt many places recently). Came home and pottered about all afternoon doing washing and eating porridge and chocolate, dozing on the lounge and chatting with NattieTheFlattie (who let me put some needles in her chest- yay for being on top!). Half-wanted to go to Gurlesque as Gaylourdes is doing a show and both the Buxom Wench and Ali are cage dancing, but serious lack of finances and social energy make it wisest to stay home and chill watching Dr Katz and Absolutely Fabulous and What's Eating Gilbert Grape etc. Am enjoying all the time I have been spending at home lately. Sometimes one needs to retreat to a safe place for a while.

*update* Phew! Realised the other day that I tended to panic the second I got into my bed, andput it down to the fact that it holds memories of snuggles and shags that I miss (and previous panics). Also, the place was an absolute pigsty. So I decided to rearrange furniture and clear out clutter and while there is still a fair way to go it feels much nicer! Burned a beautiful vanilla scented (!) candle and threw out lots of junk and worked up quite a sweat moving the bed and the enormous table and endless boxes of random bits and pieces and now off to spend first night in my improved living quarters.

You Think I'm Psycho Don't You Mama?

Have myself booked in to see a Cognitive Behavioural Therapy trained psych next Friday. Wish me luck-I know I've got a lot of work to do. Need to begin with dealing with the most destructive of my behaviours, ie, the panic attacks. Sometimes when I panic I do it without any harm to others, just hyperventilate quietly in my room or wander around a bit vague and jumpy. But other times it is much worse. Once I start to really disassociate (I can get quite 'out-of-body) it can make me rather irrational and unable to communicate, and then I tend to self-medicate with beer, and then I have even less grip on reality and often end up wailing like a banshee and/or screeching/texting obscenities at people I perceive to be the cause of my woes. And then I spend the next week panicking about making a fool of myself and too scared to go out in case I run into the victim/s of my rant (or witnesses to it). I feel horrible about being horrible, as while most of the time the victim has behaved pretty badly towards me (and thus 'deserve it') it usually doesn't justify the level of aggression they cop. Of course, panicking isn't good for me either but at this point its keeping others safe from my hysterical attacks that is my primary motivation.

Once I have myself at least a little sorted in that regard then I will hopefully have the headspace to work on some of the issues that I've buried for a long time. When I finally cracked the whole vanilla-hetero-monogamous routine I did so with a vengeance, from engaged in the 'burbs to five-way poly bi and leather Daddies in about ten months. Sure I have read a lot and talked a lot and experienced a lot since then, but think there is still much that I need to resolve somehow. Especially around gender identity- I never questioned the whole 'I'm a girl' thing until very recently. (I did always have an inkling or two that I was ahem, same-sex attracted, and liked girls.) Hmm, my head hurts just trying to fathom where to begin. Tonight I get beaten up and hopefully hooked and pulled, which is therapy of a sort. Got to start somewhere...

Milk'N'Cookies

Rundown on last night's Velvet show...

Costumes: Whoretic was delightfully dressed in multiple 'flesh-toned' and pale pink sturdy foundation garments, a sweet little embroidered apron, pink headscarf, magnificently large hair, high heels with demure bows, a pink pout, an enormous pair of gold eyelashes and carried a picnic basket full of cookies. I was tastefully attired in 'flesh-toned' granny knickers, red and blue curlers, a blue headscarf, blue plastic beads, red collar, diamantes, red knee-high fishnets printed with blue and white flowers, black heels (ouch) and the piece de resistance- LactoBoobies constructed from plastic party-tits and baby bottles and attached to a red gingham apron.
Action: We wandered through the crowd offering people Milk'N'Cookies. If one accepted, and most did, Whoretic would place a cookie between her tits. Then after asking whether one preferred cow-milk or soy-juice, I would soak the cookie with it (and often much of Whoretic). Then the choice was theirs- either consume the cookies straight from her cleavage or use their fingers. Ended up very messy and sticky, but delicious!

All in all Velvet was quite a mixed bag. The crowd consisted of everything from punky baby dykes jumping about to the perfectly vanilla 'L-Word' lesbians chatting quietly on the couches, to leathered up Dykes On Bikes giving dancefloor spankings to older corporate lesbians watching on with bemused looks. Entertainment was fantastic- Ali and Gaylourdes set up a Glamorisation Station in the foyer and performed shiny sparkly makeovers, Lisa hula-hooped and Ange tissu-d (is that a word?) , a Motown cover band called the Super Supremes, DJ Sveta, us roving and it all ended with a gorgeous couple of andro-king-gendermucking cuties transforming themselves on stage.

After that Gaylourdes and I ran off to The Final Kooky at Club 77. Kept my rollers in (which prompted much flattering comment), and my heels on (which prompted me dancing like a wannabe drag queen). It was so packed that there was a line half-way down the block, which we avoided by fabulousness and audacity, and when we got in it was so hot I could barely breathe. I danced, splashed myself with water, guzzled lots of water, smoked too much, didn't drink alcohol, danced, chatted etc etc. Stayed until the very very very end *sob*, then cabbed home for some shut-eye.

2nd Annual Academy Broads

The 2nd Annual Academy Broads invites you to 'step into the world of clitz and glamour' and submit your short (under 15mins) films by the 30th March. Part of SheilaFest, which is 25-28th April this year, so films need to be'by womyn, for womyn'. Email teretstar@hotmail.com for more details.

Boy, I'm Gonna Make You Sweat

Men's Sweat Drives Women Wild, with raised levels of cortisol ('secreted by the body to help maintain proper arousal') found in women who had sniffed androstadienone (musky-smelling 'derivative of testosterone... found in male sweat as well as in saliva and semen), according to new University of California research. Unfortunately, 'researchers used only heterosexual women in the study out of concern that homosexual women may respond differently to this male chemical'. Grrr! Wouldn't it add to the validity of the study to include homo-grrls? What were these researchers thinking?

The first time I understood the impact of boy-smell was when I was a (pre)adolescent creature out bushwalking with my Dad in the Royal National Park. It must have been the season for deer-loving I guess, because as we walked through a certain section I became incredibly aware of a musky scent that I knew without asking came from the stags who had passed that way before us. And it left me feeling a little unsettled, with something stirring inside me but I didn't quite know what... Ah, all of this has made me want to drag on my camos and hiking boots and head for the Park. A nice big walk would be fantastic, with maybe a skinnydip in a rockpool and an icecream on the way home. Haven't been outside in over 24 hours, not even for a cigarette.

Fashion Victim

Madam Phantasm flicked me this Fashion Victim short film, starring the gurls of Gurlesque. Its brilliant, and very very very silly.

Queer Prom Blood and Bits

I did promise to write up the Queer Prom experience, so here it is. The space was beautifully decked out in shiny hearts and balloons and toilet paper streamers hanging from the rafters. The crowd were dressed magnificently, with more tulle and satin and ruffle and sparkle than I have seen in one place for a long time! Everyone sat around the edges of the dancefloor eyeing each other off before a few of the more brazen kiddies started dancing, just like at the only school dance I ever went to in my youth (Scrambletown, 1987 or so- St Pat's Ladies College girls teamed with St Greg's boys). Shows included some hula hooping, three kings doing Elvis, MC Gaylourdes and her lassoo, bands and one or two others I can't think of right now. Miss Finkle gave out detention slips and spankings with her plastic pearls, and Whoretic fluffed me on a bench. And then, of course, there was my show:

After much deliberation I with a Teen Mummy Mummy theme, so as to incorporate both unwed motherhood and slasher films. I believe it was Madam Phantasm who made the suggestion of using Madonna's 'Papa Don't Preach'- and it was perfect! As you can see in the pix, I wore a nice ruched aquamarine dress, plastic tiara, trashy pink makeup, bandages, granny knickers, boots, and my now-deceased blonde wig pinned to my head with 21g needles. And a baby bulge constructed from ziplock bags full of jelly, a couple of dental dams, jelly babies and vermicelli noodles soaked in red food colouring, all taped to my skin and covered with bandages. And I had a small plastic doll squished inserted where babies come from (hence Whoretic's fluffing of me earlier). Got ready much too early, and was the first time I had ever pierced my own head so I went a little deeper than usual, so it was a rather uncomfortable wait to get on stage. Then my waters broke, and I started to leak goo through my dress so I had to sneak on a bit earlier than I was supposed to. Came on stage drinking a bottle of Bombay Sapphire (it matched the dress) and lipsynching. Stripped off the dress, pulled a stanley knife from my bag and slashed open the bulge. Goo went everywhere! Yay! Threw goo around the place, ate some, then gave birth to doll. In the process her body fell off, so ended up with just a head in a condom, which wasn't a great deal of use as was planning to give her a blow job. Then I pulled the needles out of my head and my wig off and though I didn't bleed nearly as much as normal it was still quite gory. The crowd seemed to love it, which is always a relief. And apparently I won one of the Prom Queen positions but had already headed off to Zip with the Buxom Wench. Nice event, and looking forward to the reunion.

Tales from Zoo's LJ

For a view of the Zoo in another time and place you can check my Zoo Music Girl LJ. Most of it is from my big trip OS in 2003. No pix, but plenty of perversion! I was SUCH a naughty young thing back then...

Have a great desire to go travelling again. Berlin is beckoning me. Maybe if I decide not to move up North I'll blow my car fund on a round-the-world ticket sometime this year. I need to get away from all of this for a while. Oh, and as one can't run from oneself I also need a counsellor pronto- so if anyone knows of a cheap queer/kink-friendly one I would much appreciate their number. Ta!

Baby Bumps

I don't know what was in the water five or six months ago, but there seems to be an extraordinary amount of women who are pregnant at the moment. Everywhere I turn I am faced with bulging baby bumps and breasts and that glow... its all very sexy. Excessive, abundant, divine and celebratory.

Manic Panic

Turns out that my recent burst of energy and enthusiasm was not so much a case of me being better, as me being totally manic. Bounced out of bed yesterday morning, porridge and coffee and into the city by 10:30, then...

Panic attack for the rest of the day. Met the Schwee for his birthday, sat in cafe totally wired and unable to make proper conversation and being quite irrational. Went to Domestic Love art exhibition, made small talk with lots of lovely ladies and tried to interact like nothing was wrong even though I could barely hold a thought for more than 30seconds. Came back to Newtown, met Beculum for a beer. She told me she had seen TCM out and about after his top surgery and he is looking wonderful, just as I knew he would be. And I realised just how much I am still grieving for what I imagined I could have had with him. (Sure, I can now see him out with his girlfriend and not flinch but at the end of the day I'm still really sad that it didn't work out. I really did think of him as my last chance for the whole Hallmark card deal, believed him to be the one, the cute and cheeky boy from the same part of town as me who would hold my hand while I got my bits pierced and take me to the footy for a long time to come *sigh*). B had also been out with ACB, who apparently has been asking after me (*sigh again*). Then ran into GC as The Slox a bit later, when I was well pissy and then of course all I could think of was wanting to be with her and then, well... anyone who knows me will be able to guess what came next. Panic plus object of heartbreak plus beer plus Zoo usually ends badly, and this was no exception.

Woke up this morning hyperventilating and wanting to cut myself. Couldn't get back to sleep, couldn't get my breath, couldn't even call out to my housemates to get a hug.

Don't know what to do about it all. My drinking has become extremely problematic, and is scaring me in that often there are very large chunks of the evening I don't remember at all. Not as in a little pissy-can't-remember-someone's-name-vagueness but as in no recollection, period. And I do some pretty bad things when I am pissed, hurt a lot of people, look like an idiot. Want to get away from it all, leave the PhD and the boys and the butches and... Wish someone would just take me somewhere, mildly sedate me, feed me and look after me and just let me chill for a while away from study and affairs of the heart, away from groceries and bills and performances and socialising. I'm bloody exhausted, and I want to rest.

Housemate Needed

We have a room going in my place in inner city for a queer grrl, to live with four other quirky creative queer grrls. Available immediately. Two vegetarians, one vegan and one omnivore, so meat-eating tolerated if you must (but don't expect most of us to cook it!). Pretty chilled enviroment. Not neat freaks but appreciate dishes washed up and empty beer bottles put in the recycling bin. Zero ice tolerance. 10 mins from Sydney Uni/Broadway by bus, 8 mins to Newtown on the train. Large room $100 per week(or possibly Small room for $80), paid fortnightly in advance. Broadband internet. Share bills. No bond. Email me ASAP if you are interested, or pass on details to anyone you think might be suitable. Thanks!

Shooting Cupid

Valentine's Day is fast approaching. And I am single (though nobody has officially said as much, and I am just reading between the lines). Red and pink cardboard hearts and curling ribbon scream out to me from shop windows, reminding me that this February 14th I will have the opportunity to: Pop the cork on my own bottle of champagne. Pick my own flowers. Pay for my own dinner. Write my own card. Light my own cigarettes. Poke my own bruises. Buckle my own collar. Sleep in my own bed. Send my own mushy text messages. Sing my own love songs. Fondle my own bits in the back row of the movies.

Initially I panicked about this state of affairs. After all, single is not a condition that Zoo has had much experience of in the last 15 years or so. And frankly, being alone on my birthday was absolutely horrific- but I think that was more due to being dumped by blanking* two days before it than being single as such. As the weeks move on and the insult and injury begin to fade I'm beginning to appreciate the solo thing a little bit more. True, I still wake up thinking of the same three people most mornings, but not for as long as I used to.

Was watching More Tales Of The City the other night (on my own of course), and in it Mouse had constructed Michael Tolliver's Dirty Thirty for 1977 list of Valentine's Day resolutions, much to the amusement of Maryanne. Number 1 was 'not to call anyone nelly or butch- unless that's his name', but I can't recall the others. To celebrate the 30th Anniversary of this list, I'm trying to construct my own list of resolutions to protect both my heart and the hearts of those who take up the challenge of having some type of love-liason with me. Here's the beginning:

1. Sip the honey and spit out the sting. (Or vice versa, depending on my mood)
2. Do not use anyone else's gender identity/ies or sexual preference/s to validate my own.
3. Do not allow anyone else to use my gender identity/ies or sexual preference/s to validate their own.
4. Remember that dependency and love are not the same thing.
5. Do not text lovers, ex-lovers or anyone else I have ever been 'involved with' when drunk.
6. Never say never. Its tempting Fate, and She likes a laugh.
7. Recognise what I want when I have it, even if its not what I was expecting:
Mrs. Madrigal: He's a sweet boy, Mona. I approve of him wholeheartedly.
Mona Ramsay: You make it sound like we're married or something.
Mrs. Madrigal: There are all kinds of marriages, dear.
Mona Ramsay: I don't think you understand the trip with me and Michael.
Mrs. Madrigal: Mona, lots of things are more binding than sex. They last longer too.

-30 Under construction. Am open to suggestions!


* A process in which it is never stated that you have been dumped, but you are simply completely ignored by your (ex)partner and left to fill in the blanks on your own. Its a cruel twist that adds an element of uncertainty to the rejection. It is especially effective if the dumper should shower the dumpee with admiration/make plans to move in with the dumpee/flirt excessively with the dumpee and then completely shut the dumpee off without warning within the same 24 hour period.

From the KookyKids

sad but true we're out of 77 william street
come and celebrate, together we'll be back somewhere - as soon as we can.sugar daddies who want to look after us - step up now

from 10pm live is ez & loretto from nyc show by pluto matt vaughn is our special guest spinner seymour and gemma will play kooky anthems from the past 12 years and future
dress up and make it a kooky to remember...
thanks to everyone for believing in us
kooky cd coming soon
much much love
the kookykids

I'm going to be performing at Velvet until midnight or so (*grr* will miss pluto's show), but from there will be hightailing it straight to Club 77 for this! MAJOR DRESSUPS REQUIRED!!!

Wise Words From Dr Cox

Watching Scrubs, and these words from Dr Cox articulated just what I was trying to say to LesBeanz earlier today: 'The couple that is truly right for each other wade through the same crap as everybody else- the difference is they don't let it take them down. One of those two people will stand up and fight for that relationship every time if its right and they're lucky'.

Been trying to add something to that, but think he's summed up pretty much all I wanted to say.

FTM film at QueerScreen

Boy I Am 7pm, Tuesday 20th Feb, at the Dendy Newtown:
'While female-to-male transgender visibility increases, conversations about trans issues in the lesbian community often run into significant resistance. This sophisticated documentary begins to break down that barrier. Boy I Am promotes incredibly rich dialogue through a look at the experiences of three young transitioning FTMs in New York City alongside the voices of lesbians, activists and theorists who address the questions about gender, identity and feminism few openly discuss. What emerges is the vital and oft neglected ways in which trans issues are inextricably linked to queer and feminist struggles. The interviews with leading gender and feminist theorist Judith Halberstam alone are worth the ticket price. '

Fun With No Beer

I'm sick of almost my entire social life revolving around pubs, clubs and other alcohol and chemically-fuelled events. I'm bored with shiny people off their heads talking gibberish, messy sexual encounters I have forgotten as soon as they are over, and living a life I don't recognise or particularly like unless I'm under the influence of some substance or another. Sure, being trashy from time to time is enjoyable and possibly even good for me mentally, but as soon as it gets to the stage that days without hangovers seem like a novelty its time to slow down. To this end, am staging a Fun With No Beer initiative, and trying to plan some activities that don't involves being maggoted. Here's a start:

* Cinema. Queer Screen is on this month. Check it out, and let me know if you want a movie-buddy!
* Korean Ginseng Baths. Approximately $30 to get in, and an extra $30 or so if you want the whole bodyscrub shebang, but its no more than a night out on Oxford St is going to cost. And MUCh more relaxing...
* Theatre. Seeing Vampire Lesbians of Sodom (at the New Theatre) on Fair Day with Whoretic and Madam Phantasm, and going to try to get to more.
* Performance. See more, and do more. And raise the bar with the stuff I do myself. More polished, more thoughtful, more politically aware.
* Art. Go to a gallery at least once a month!
* High tea. Whoretic suggested the QVB Tearoom, which offers:
Morning Tea 11am to 12pm $17 (A selection of cakes and pastries, finger sandwiches, tea or coffee. Tea Selection included. Tea for Connoisseurs additional $2) and Traditional Afternoon Tea 11am to close$30 (A selection of cakes and pastries, finger sandwiches, scones and preserve, tea or coffee. Tea Selection included. Tea for Connoisseurs additional $2).
* Afternoon of watching kiddies' TV shows and movies. I have Captain Pugwash, Worzel Gummidge, The Famous Five, The Wombles, the 1980s version of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe and possibly some other children's shows. We shall eat chocolate biscuits and popcorn and toast with peanut butter and gorge ourselves silly on fantasy and giggles.

I have neglected outings and events like these over the last twelve months or so. When I am depressed or stressed it just seems easier to wander into a pub and order a schooner than actually make an effort to go and find something that might enhance my senses rather than dull them. I need this to change.

Pissin’ the night away
Pissin’ the night away
He drinks a whisky drink, he drinks a vodka drink
He drinks a lager drink, he drinks a cider drink
He sings the songs that remind him of the good times
He sings the songs that remind him of the better times

- Chumbawamba
'Tubthumping'

Be My Anti-Valentine

Valentine's Day is less than a fortnight away. And this Anti-Valentine page has plenty of cute anti-VD cards to send to your loved ones (such as these) this year.

Pointy Pervy Business

This time last year I was about to head to Berlin. If I was repeating this adventure,I couldget there just in time for The Performing and Queering Sadomasochism conference being held 8-11th Feb. Sigh... Europe is so far away!

Oh well, guess will just have to have some pointy pervy fun here in sunny old Sydney. If all goes to plan I will be doing my very first flesh pull next Saturday night at a friend's party. Must confess to being more than a little excited/wriggly about it... such BIG hooks, and the sensation when flesh is stretched and tight! The Pervert of Piercing shall be doing the dirty work, and has offered to bring his whole tool box for anyone who wants to get poked with pointy things. See how I go with the pull and maybe do some spears or suturing or ? as well. Its good timing, as it gives me an incentive to detox this week, cut out the booze until then and keep the ciggies and caffeine low. Not strictly necessary, but I do often find some extra joy in having a really clear headspace when doing intense things like this. (Also, my kidneys were very ouchy today, so want to try to treat my body nicely for a while).

Going to try to make this a very quiet weekend. So far, its midnight on Friday and I have resisted all urges to head to Kooky or any other form of 'out'. Just been lying on the lounge of the empty house, watching Tales Of The City and Blackadder DVDs, drinking tea, dozing on and off. All tomorrow holds so far is brunch in the ghetto and then some shopping and prop-making (for Velvet) in the afternoon. No plans for Saturday night. Nothing much to do on Sunday. Feel like I should tidy/reorganise my room completely or make some grand art or read something brilliant to make the most of this free time, but sometimes watching lightweight movies and TV shows is as much as my brain can handle. I'm knackered emotionally and physically, and mentally I'm not far behind (though no idea why as haven't used my brain in weeks it seems). Ah, bedtime for Zoo. G'nite all.

The Non-Trans Privilege Checklist

Found this through Whoretic's blog, which led me to Ampersand's blog, and I think it is brilliant:

The Non-Trans Privilege Checklist

1) Strangers don’t assume they can ask me what my genitals look like and how I have sex.

2) My validity as a man/woman/human is not based upon how much surgery I’ve had or how well I “pass” as a non-Trans person.

3) When initiating sex with someone, I do not have to worry that they won’t be able to deal with my parts or that having sex with me will cause my partner to question his or her own sexual orientation.

4) I am not excluded from events which are either explicitely or de facto* men-born-men or women-born-women only. (*basically anything involving nudity)

5) My politics are not questioned based on the choices I make with regard to my body.

6) I don’t have to hear “so have you had THE surgery?” or “oh, so you’re REALLY a [incorrect sex or gender]?” each time I come out to someone.

7) I am not expected to constantly defend my medical decisions.

8) Strangers do not ask me what my “real name” [birth name] is and then assume that they have a right to call me by that name.

9) People do not disrespect me by using incorrect pronouns even after they’ve been corrected.

10) I do not have to worry that someone wants to be my friend or have sex with me in order to prove his or her “hipness” or good politics.

11) I do not have to worry about whether I will be able to find a bathroom to use or whether I will be safe changing in a locker room.

12) When engaging in political action, I do not have to worry about the *gendered* repurcussions of being arrested. (i.e. what will happen to me if the cops find out that my genitals do not match my gendered appearance? Will I end up in a cell with people of my own gender?)

13) I do not have to defend my right to be a part of “Queer” and gays and lesbians will not try to exclude me from OUR movement in order to gain political legitimacy for themselves.

14) My experience of gender (or gendered spaces) is not viewed as “baggage” by others of the gender in which I live.

15) I do not have to choose between either invisibility (”passing”) or being consistently “othered” and/or tokenized based on my gender.

16) I am not told that my sexual orientation and gender identity are mutually exclusive.

17) When I go to the gym or a public pool, I can use the showers.

18) If I end up in the emergency room, I do not have to worry that my gender will keep me from receiving appropriate treatment nor will all of my medical issues be seen as a product of my gender. (”Your nose is running and your throat hurts? Must be due to the hormones!”)

19) My health insurance provider (or public health system) does not specifically exclude me from receiving benefits or treatments available to others because of my gender.

20) When I express my internal identities in my daily life, I am not considered “mentally ill” by the medical establishment.

21) I am not required to undergo extensive psychological evaluation in order to receive basic medical care.

22) The medical establishment does not serve as a “gatekeeper” which disallows self-determination of what happens to my body.

23) People do not use me as a scapegoat for their own unresolved gender issues.

Pasts and Presents

'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it'
-George Santayana

Crying

I was alright for a while
I could smile for a while
But I saw you last night
You held my hand so tight
When you stopped to say hello
You wished me well
You couldn't tell
I'd been crying over you

- Roy Orbison

'Crying'

This song is dedicated to the one who kissed me last night. Thankyou.

Oily Tits

The New England Journal of Medicine recently published a report claiming that:

'The lavender and tea-tree oils found in some soaps, shampoos, hair gels and body lotions can produce enlarged breasts in boys... In laboratory tests, scientists at the National Institute of Environmental Health Sciences in North Carolina found that both substances can mimic the action of the female hormone estrogen and block male hormones that control both masculine characteristics and inhibit the growth of breast tissue.'

So, a word of advice for all those boys out there getting their tits shredded (not my term)- you may want to be avoiding putting any tea-tree oil and lavender products on those scars!