Random Happy Thing

Briefly met with an ex today, one of those ones where things can still get a bit tense and words can still be a bit hard to find. But this morning, I was greeted with a big smile, and I smiled back, and nothing hurt. Almost made me blush, total reflex melt, small talk was made and then I was away again... Sweet.

Spikes, And Lips

Recently I met one a dear friend's grandad. He's a bit of an old pisspot methinks, and apparently not too concerned of being considered a right sleazy git either. For after I had been introduced to him, he turned to my mate and, referring to my lip spikes, commented

'That Zoo. You'd have to turn her upside down to kiss her.'

'Oh no,' my friend assured him. 'That's even worse.'

Scragg Gets Her Gear Off

Schapylle is on The Chaser tonight:

'you wouldn't bloody believe this - but I was on the beach in the nuddy on Saturday - working on my all over tan to look really hot for the sexy pics I took with my hubby Darryll so we remember forever how hot we are as newlyweds..... and some bloody clown came up and arrested me for wearing a hat! It wasn't just any hat - but I was wearing the Aussie coat of arms too - just trying to show my support for the greatest country on earth - and then I get fined $100! Turned out to be some prank by those bloody pinkos at the ABC - so they're showing it tonight on The Chaser at 9pm'

Halloween Queen

Its Halloween tonight. I woke up dreaming of ghosts this morning, in a good way and a more sinister way... Not doing anything to mark the occassion really, forgot to get all spooky-dressed-up this morning and so looking fairly 'normal' (its a relative concept) but think I will toddle along to the Slox for a wee bit anyway. I will be attending a Day of The Dead feast on Friday night, which I am looking forward to greatly. A time to celebrate death, to enjoy it, to make peace and make merry with one's ghosts. To dedicate one day to what once was, persons and pets passed over, relationships that have ended, old selves. There is much to mourn, but more to give thanks for.

To The Continent! And Beyond...London Calling

London calling...

Vauxhallville 'A Spit-And-Sawdust-Spectacular', including 'DECEMBER 20thCHRISTMAS CONFECTIONWith THE THREE WISE BEARS, mulled wine, carol-singing & Prima Ballerina MADAME GALINA. Santas, Shepherds & Sugar Plum Fairies go free. DECEMBER 27th & 28thSNOW WHITE & THE THREE BEARSPantomine starring TIMBERLINA, DUSTY LIMITS, GILL MANLY, NATHANIEL DE VILLE, POLLY VINYL & BEARLESQUE. Dames, Genies, Evil Queens, Prince Charmings, Ugly Sisters, Cinderellas, Chorus Boys & Pussies go free.' Wow. Freak pantomime. Wow.

HorseMeatDisco 'Can't Beat The Meat'. No, I daresay you can't.

For3ign (?). Looks quirky.

Splitting Sides

Heck, I think its been a long time since I have giggled as much as I did this weekend. Much sillypants action! Quiet night at home Friday, much needed pottering and flopping about the house until the wee small hours. Nobody else was home, so I fell asleep lying around watching BBC cop shows, made cups of tea, properly chilling out. Saturday had the Shazza/Dazza pervy photo shoot for Slit, which was absolutely hilarious to make. Think zebra print bedlinen, silky of course, cans of VB and Bundy/Coke, Hills hoist action, and every Aussie blokes' Aussie dream of a threesome with his missus and her hot blonde best friend. She's a grouse sheila, my Shazza. Don't know whether we had more fun doing our patriotic duty all over the astro-turf or sitting on the black leather lounge going through the 600+ photos with my fave photographer, almost unable to breathe from choking back laughter enough that we could see the screen. Then was too sinusy and exhausted to even contemplate going to the Masquerade Ball I had promised a VERY yummy thing I would attend (and I am still VERY sorry I couldn't make it, but barely managed to stay upright in a chair all night- no chance of dancing Zoo), so texted my apologies and toddled off to Mummy V's for some dinner. Of course, dinner was delicious, and LOTS of it, and the company was special, then somehow a couple more people arrived and the champagne and red wine we already had were accompanied by beer and vodka and after much animated conversation and gossip and giggles it was somewhere around 4am (?) and I drifted off to sleep on her outdoor lounge. Woke up around 11, sunshine on my face and all squiffy and floppy (and slightly queasy.) Then Ali sent a message re heading to the organic markets, so wandered down the road and bought magnificent sheep's milk blue cheese and a bag of green vegies and checked out Reverse Garbage... home for food and shower and outfit change and then off to Gurlesque! Despite being a bit fuzzy still, and kinda sleepy, I had an amazing time. Such sweet people, and a few I'd not seen for a while, flirting with some rather cute ones and chatting and hugging and watching some of the best shows and podium dancers I have seen in quite a while... Vixen did a rather naughty act including a Ken doll, a meat cleaver, and some cucumbers- to Whyd'ya Do It? by Marianne Faithfull. Oh, I LOVE THAT SONG, still! Gaylourdes gave us very wrong Kiki and Herb slash fiction spoken word and sexy strip, Elizabeth B was as enthralling as ever, and Vagina Debbie, well- you had to be there! Think it was quite obvious how she acquired her name *wink*. We had Ali and the Harlot and Wife and a cute construction worker working between sets, oh, and quite a sexy nanna (if you put a pussy pound in her foundation garments she gave you a Werther's butterscotch) and the ever-lovely Lillian too. Lots of other shows of course, and Sex and Glita being, well, Sex and Glita. And LOTS of laughter! I love my tribe, my community, my logical family, my crew- sexy and generous and funny and subversive and passionate and political and... dang, think I'm gonna cry. Only going OS for a few months but I miss them already!

KamaSEAtra

Today, the SMH tells us about the perviness of sea beasties:

"It's just mind blowing what these creatures get up to," says Victorian aquatic scientist Sheree Marris, author of KamaSEAtra: Secrets of Sex in the Sea. Raunch and randiness are rampant among sea creatures, Marris says. "There's jealousy, there are creatures who cheat on their partners, they do the same sort of things as us in terms of courting - they spray scented perfumes, they do amazing dances, they dress up and change colours. "As humans we think we're such sexual beasts but compared to sea creatures we're just so boring."

The Bank Of Zoo

Bleeding heck. I don't mind lending folk money when I have it, but at the moment I am owed $ all over the place! Uni buggered up my pay, and two people owe me relatively large chunks and haven't coughed up yet, and have been trying to get some bill $ out of housemates for MONTHS I'm trying to book hostels online and don't have access to enough $. Grrr! Stupid conference people haven't STILL taken my fees out, which means that I have to keep enough in the credit card to allow for that, and with teh xchange rate changing I don't know exactly how much that will be anyway... Makes it all very hard to budget! Life is complicated and hectic enough at the moment without people buggering around with me and constantly getting in the way of my plans. STOMPING FEET NOW.

Positive Proof (As If We Needed More) That LOTL DOESN'T GET IT...

Or if it gets it, it wants to stop it! At Gurlesque last night Sex went on a bit of a rant about the demon Lesbians On The Loose magazine, and I don't blame her one bit. For apparently they had taken one of Gurlesque's promo blurbs which read 'for women and trans' and made it read 'for women and transwomen.' Oh, what's the knock at the door? It must be the LOTL GENDER POLICE! Enforcing correct laws of inclusion and definition! Grrr, I have long and passionateley hated LOTL and their anti-kink anti-bi anti-queer pro-consumerist leanings, but this is beyond their usual lows. Perhaps, as was suggested, they just assumed that poor Sex Intents didn't quite understand what she was saying and, heaven forbid, they might start getting transMEN at their lesbian events and thought they were doing her a favour by making it explicit that it was only for transwomen??? If so, that is ridiculously misguided and blatantly patronising. If not, and there was a deliberate intention to make transmen/bois etc believe they were unwelcome at Gurlesque then it is completely unforgivable. And after all they have done to promote their conservative agenda throughout the 'lesbian community' I am NOT giving LOTL the benefit of the doubt this time.

So, to make this perfectly clear:

Gurlesque is for women and trans folk. Trannybois, trannybears, transmen, transwomen, transgender, transsexual... Simple.

Boy

There is a girl who addresses me as Boy. Its funny somehow- last time I really thought of myself as a girl was when I was with a Boy.

It makes me whimper. Here, Boy. Daddy's Boy. Boy Wonder. Oh Boy.

Single Queer Woman

Just came across a reference to myself as a 'single queer woman' in an email- somebody introducing me to someone else and this was part of how I was described. Queer, fair enough. Woman, well, its to be expected as with my 'real name' and 'feminine curves' its kind of 'obvious' *sigh*. But 'single'? I mean, yes, I am and all, but as this was an academic-arty comment and enquiry, and the person introducing me had only ever dealt with me on a professional 'I'm not whingeing about my exes etc) level, it seemed rather odd. What the hell does 'single' have to do with anything in this context? Felt like I was being set up, like it was some sort of mating ritual... but as what? To who? Or some sort of judjement? She hadn't even asked if I WAS single! Me confused. Maybe she just meant I was single and not part of some troupe of performing bears?

Ah, its 3am and all I have done tonight is fall asleep watching BBC cop shows and pottered about putting a few things in boxes (I mean, packing, seriously) and plonked a whole heap of music on the new lappy. Really ought to get to bed as I've much to do today, but... nobody home, can play The Smiths loudly and bang about and have loud Hitachi fun so don't really want to!

Busy Busy Busy

Conversation between Michael and Mrs Madrigal in Armistead Maupin's 'Michael Tolliver Lives.'

" Are you keeping busy?" I asked.
" Keeping busy? That's a terrible thing to ask someone."
" Sorry."
" Only the bored keep busy. I am busy."

Worms Who Like Girls Who Like Girls To Be Boys

According to today's SMH:

Lesbian laboratory worms have offered scientists evidence that sexual orientation is wired into the brain. Researchers altered circuits in the worms' brains so they were attracted to members of their own sex. Dr Jamie White, from the University of Utah in Salt Lake City who led the study, says the worms look like girls - but act and think like boys.

Bound Breasts

You know when you are just off in your own little world at work, merrily typing away answers to questionnaires or asking serious questions about people's undergraduate experiences and then all of a sudden you're thinking:

'Damn, what I want RIGHT now is a session of heavy breast bondage. Like, until my tits go all purple and I have rope-welts around my ribs for days. Oh, and maybe while this is happening somebody could zap my nipples with a violent want. And of course, it might be good if I was tied to a chair too'?

Yeah, well, like that. *HINT HINT*. Not normally that much of a rope bunny, but sometimes I do get a inkling to be restrained by a nice length of hemp...

Beer, Boobs, Bitterness and Blokes

Today's SMH reports that 'Hundreds of men at the Bulga mine in the Hunter Valley have been attending classes on menopause and foreplay - because, according to management, a sexless miner "can get mighty grumpy at work" and affect production. And the men, aged from 20 to 60, have been transfixed, asking why women menstruate and seeking tips on how they can "explore the wife again".' In World affairs, we are told that 'Posters of a rosy, puffy cheeked newborn baby have provoked controversy in Italy because the infant is shown wearing a wristband name-tag with the word "homosexual" written on it. The photograph of the baby is part of a anti-discrimination campaign launched by Tuscany's regional government and is accompanied by the slogan: "Sexual orientation is not a choice."

Whilst MX tells us that 'The (travelling)Museum of Broken Relationships asks people to donate mementos of everything from short flings to painful divorces. Yesterday in Berlin, an axe used to break an ex's furniture was added to the 300 exhibits.' Also, 'An Australian barmaid has been fined for crushing beer cans between her bare breasts, while an off-duty colleague has been fined for hanging spoon's from her friend's nipples.' Whatever will they think of next then, hey?

Quirky And Different

Story of my life, again, from XKCD.

Nice Dice

Don't know if I ever posted a pic of the dice that my buddie biopsy punched/scalpelled into my back a wee while ago but in case not, here's one now. Pretties!

One More From XKCD

'Cos I'm just in love with these perverse little stick figures.

For The True Geeks Amongst You*

XKCD - A webcomic of Romance, Sarcasm, Math and Language.

* You know who you are.

House, Mate

Friend still needs housemate in Marrickville, $128 per week, big backyard with vegie patch, two doggies to play with etc. Interested? Email Zac at burlesqueboy@gmail.com.

Left VS Right

Try this test, NOW, before the link dies. No prizes for guessing that I am totally RIGHT on this one!

LEFT BRAIN FUNCTIONS
*uses logic *detail oriented *facts rule *words and language *present and past *math and science *can comprehend *knowing * acknowledges
* order/pattern perception *knows object name *reality based *forms strategies * practical
* safe

RIGHT BRAIN FUNCTIONS
* uses feeling *"big picture" oriented *imagination rules *symbols and images *present and future *philosophy & religion *can "get it" (i.e. meaning) *believes *appreciates *spatial perception *knows object function *fantasy based *presents possibilities *impetuous *risk taking

Packing And Boxing

I am in the process of yet again packing up my belongings, to store whilst I am overseas. If anyone has spare boxes that I may borrow for a few months (until I get settled in wherever my next place of residence may be) please let me know ASAP and I will arrange to get them somehow!

GURLESQUE SUNDAY 28TH

Sex Intents, Glita Supernova,Gaylourdes,Fancy Piece Productions,Elizabeth Burton,Vixen Noir,Kira Hula la..are you gasping yet?,Mia Mortal,Miss Ruby Zahra,Vagina Debbie(one half of Team Princess)and featuring Miss Nude Australia Suzi Q& Ms Pole Dance Australia,Candice.....Plus go go gurls in between shows to keep you thoroughly entertained,whilst dancing to the tunes of the fantastic soul that is DJ Gemma.

DOORS OPEN :6PM SHOWTIME 7.15 PM.SHARP-11PM
$20 CONCESSION
$25 WAGED
16 Flinders Street Taylor Square.
no pre sales.

Deliberately Barren

This is the term a nasty politician man used in an attempt to discredit a female MP not so long ago. I mean, what type of woman would choose to not bear children?

I am deliberately barren. And sometimes my womb aches, despite the Implanon (contraceptive implant) ceasing my bleeding, and my almost-never shagging of bioboys rendering pregnancy most unlikely anyway. I'm 32 now, and with no desire to be an 'old' mother time is of the essence if I decided I did want to make babies.

Hmm, what has gotten into me these last few days? Why am I even thinking about this? whats with the sudden wanting to nest with a loyal mate and fertilise eggs? And when will it pass?

Mood: Nostalgic for the girl I once was.

Shock Value

John Rockwell writing 'about shock in art. Audiences and institutions have long believed that anything that unsettles is intended to provoke. The provocation hardly needs to be sexual. It can be childlike (''My 5-year-old could do that!'') or primitive (Gauguin) or political (Grosz) or distorted (Cubism) or conceptually unsettling (Duchamp's urinal; Cage's ''4' 33' '' of silence).

For a long while, when people raged against such provocations, I would take the defiant position of assuming, unless authoritatively informed otherwise, that the artist had no intention to provoke. Morton Feldman needed to write a six-hour string quartet. Philip Glass needed to spin out his deafening electronic-keyboard arpeggiations to the end of time. Maybe even Jeff Koons needed to depict coitus with his wife at the time, an Italian pornography star and Parliament member.'

('Reverberations; Shocking! Offensive! But Being Pleasant Is Beside The Point')

Sheila Makes Me Day, As Always

A good laugh on an angsty afternoon came to me from the blog of Nixwilliams. He links to the marvellously insightful piece FTM Transsexualism and Grief by our dear pal and protecter Sheila Jeffreys, who helpfully chooses to 'identity FTMs and MTFs by the pronouns that demonstrate their sex class of origin for the sake of clarity.' Oh, if only I could pick a favourite quote from it I would make a tshirt. Perhaps:

'So FTM transsexualism is a problem for all women who want to change the power relations of male dominance rather than engage in surgical social climbing. But it is most spectacularly a problem for lesbians because it is lesbians who are suffering the agony and the expense.'

or maybe

'We must challenge those forms of self-harm which are presently being promoted as progressive and liberating such as butch/femme roleplaying, sadomasochistic self-mutilation and the instruments, drugs and surgeries now being used to enable lesbians to ‘transition.''???

Thankyou Sheila. It is all so clear to me now!

Never Again

'Never again' is what you swore
The time before...

- Depeche Mode
'Policy of Truth'

Alcohol is a depressant, true. And I have been blind half the weekend, and now I am all flat and melancholy and uninspired. Surprise! Oh, and ever so slightly coming-down, not just from minor sparkliness but from the buzz of socially butterflying and being fabulous that leaves you with a bit of a void when it is over and you are back to the daily grind. Sure enough, I LIKE most of my daily grind a lot, but today it all just seems sad and grey and like not much fun. Seeing Laurie Anderson tonight, and then pulling an all-nighter at Uni after that, so do have something to look forward to but...

In a bit of blahness about the Singleness of Zoo. Sure, I'm getting much better at it. Just seemed like all weekend I was surrounding by couples that were madly in love and still going strong after years of being together, and wanting it badly. Want the someone who I can travel with and play house with and who I can cuddle up to on cold nights, all the predictable Hallmark card stuff. I want someone to buy flowers for and someone to bring to Christmas dinner and to have camping adventures with and to make porn with and to trust enough to... well, all that.

But after the last two serious affairs, the almost-married de facto business and the one I was going to run away with up North, after the 'this is it, no it isn't, ah, THIS is it' of promises and leavings I don't know that I could risk it again. Maybe. Maybe there is someone who won't end up leaving me for the exact same things that made them love me in the first place.

Bah, this is ridiculous! Pull yourself together Zoo! More coffee! A hot shower! Go flirt with someone or plan your next photo shoot! Schnell!

Crab Racing

Apparently the rise of the Brazilian is leading to the demise of the dear pubic lice. From SMH, as usual:

A Dutch museum is having trouble getting its hands on a parasite that just about everybody else is anxious to avoid: pubic crabs.The Rotterdam Natural History Museum has appealed for somebody - anybody - to give it a single crab louse for its collection, amid fears they may be dying out.The donor's anonymity, said curator Kees Moeliker, is guaranteed.

Moeliker said that in essence, the lice's habitat is being threatened."When the bamboo forests that the Giant Panda lives in were cut down, the bear became threatened with extinction. Pubic lice can't live without pubic hair."

Trashypants

Trashy trashy trashypants Zoo. Friday Kooky 'til close, Sly 'til close, to friend's place for more beer and nonsense ramblings and gigglings. Then street art tour (yay) and Baby Love (giant tea cups, kind of like dodgem cares, with big plastic babies sitting in them and you get in and ride around) at Carriageworks. Seedy, but somehow manage to dye my hair and pull together a pretty impressive outfit and get out the door before 10pm to get to a hula-hopping pal's party. IT WAS FABULOUS! Amazing people, bursting at the seams with gorgoues creative performing types and a studio set up to take pix of partygoers (there was some weird fruit thing happening so I ended up posing witha grapfruit skin bra as a banana being eaten by my vagina dentata knickers) and Mr Red Shoes turned up and we just danced and danced and danced for hours. Sweaty and sexy and... more chatting and more dancing and some fabulous light-up hoop work from a whole pile of people and then we somehow ended up going for a 'nightcap' at the Oxford. Three, four maybe (more) beers later there is much snogging between dear RS and myself, and myself and another current curiousity. Yummy silly messy fun, then back to her place with RS and some other trashpuppies we ran into along the way for more beer and a little teensy bit of sparkles and babbling nonsense and sleeping on the couch. Ended up upright but not particularly articulate at the launch of the latest Slit magazine, their Gang issue. Eventually pulled myself together somehow, sort of, and schmoozed, danced, chatted, flirted and fondled with many hot and spunky folk. Nice night, great shows from Wife and I.Kandi (and clowns), stocked up on back issues to take OS as pressies for people.

I have done NO work all weekend. Cue PANIC.

There is SO much to do before I go away and I am just on the brink of freaking out. Hmm. Make more lists, do a few more all-nighters, come here on Sunday nights and not go out so much and just force myself to be productive. Think part of the panic is that travelling, whilst exciting and fun and full of interesting people and all that good stuff, is kind of stressful too. Especially travelling solo.

Danks St Festival This Sunday

Yes, its late notice, but I can't keep on remembering EVERYTHING can I? 'Specially with this dang sinus-hayfever-fuzzyheaded-Pseudoephedrine-is-my-Saviour confusion that is passing for my mental state at the moment. Grrr! Oh, and I just read that Sculpture By The Sea is running from November 1st to 18th this year (I'll be trying to go on a weekday so let me know when you're free). Anyhow, I am waffling, so here's a nice festival for a sunny Sunday:

21 October 2007 11:00 AM – 5:00 PM
Following its enormous success over the last two years, Danks Street Festival returns with lots more entertainment, fun and food than ever before, including live music, DJs, gourmet food stalls, an Artists Market, kids interactive Arty Pants area and roving entertainers. The festival will be extended into Young Street for the first time, to host a Sydney produce market, with fresh food from growers and bakers.
Locations:
Danks Street, Waterloo & Waterloo Skate Park, Elizabeth Street Waterloo.

Transport details etc at City Of Sydney site.

Cherrie - November Issue Out Now *Call For Submissions*

From Katrina, who would LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU if you want to rant and rave or write pervy pieces...

In case you haven't seen it yet, the latest issue of CHERRIE (November)has just hit the streets, featuring an interview with Missy Higgins, articles on queer Indigenous women, outing and one girl's innovative homophobia campaign. Plus regular sections:cool gadgets, reviews, entertainment, activism, rant and rave, sex and fashion.For upcoming issues, I'm looking for Rant n Rave pieces, 400 words on any topic you like. Payment for those published. And erotic stories of 500 words. Send to me at editorcherrie@e-p.com.au

GlowYogaWorm

As I wriggled about on the loungeroom floor this morning contorting myself in some sort of intuitive yoga routine it occurred to me that I was kind of like a glowstick and my body needs to be cracked in the right places before it will light up.

To The Continent! And Beyond. Third Time Lucky.

New York:
PS122- 'an esteemed presenter of experimental and alternative performance and a home to countless emerging artists'.
Frabnklin Furnace- has an excellent 'Goings On' list.

Salzburg:
The Sacher Hotel/s are celebrating the 175th birthday of the Sacher-torte. Whislt not being a huge fan, it would be remiss of me not to have at least one small slice!
The Sound Of Music is available in tour form. It is tempting, though at 35 Euro maybe I should just buy the postcard?

Belt Up

When I came home last night I sat down on the lounge to gather my senses before I made a cup of tea and went to bed. My favourite quilt, a threadbare and tattered patchwork some unknown hand stitched more than a century ago and passed to me by a dear friend who has moved away, was still folded up on the armrest. Someone had casually placed a worn leather belt across it, and seeing this I almost pissed my knickers. Belt. Gasp. Belt. Swoon. Belt.

Belt?

Belt sent me totally into subspace, a place I don't often visit (especially on my own). Suddenly Daddy was at the door after a long day at work, in suit and tie, smelling like scotch and aftershave. Me forced to my knees, bruising as I hit the cold floorboards of the hallway. Gagging, led by throat and dragged along by hair, and then... Belt. Slowly, hearing buckle undone above my head and leather sliding through fabric loops, we all know what happens next... belt keeping hands behind back, belt around throat, belt leaving welts across my thighs and cutting across that sweet spot, belt as make-do gag, belt trussing ankles... But somehow the thrill wasn't in what happened next anyway, the sting was in that moment, the less than a minute of mouth pressed up against zipper and breathing wool and sweat and rough hands surely managing metal and flesh. Belt?

Now, where the hell did THAT come from then? Some not-too-distant memory of a dancefloor belting by a uniformed butch as her ultrafemme girlfriend held me down, a very-distant memory of the only belting my father ever gave me (when I was about 2 years old and I wouldn't stop screaming because my Mam had gone to church)? Its not so much the object as the reaction that's got me curious, plenty of things make me swoon moistly (needles, blood, latex gloves, amyl, boots, binders, rope, breath controletc etc) but the sight of this belt on my bedlinen made me want to learn my place, and for that place to be sleeping on the floor. In a puddle.

Stem Cells And An Unfinished Sentence

Last night I stayed at my parent's house and woke up dreaming that my hair was black and easily came out of my head by the handful at the slightest pull. Today I visited my friend in Liverpool hospital again. Mash-up of the story so far:

Intensive care when I first heard, not holding out too much hope. Nobody could fathom it, symptoms confusing, time running out, tests and oxygen masks and steroids... Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Chemo. Home. Sight fading. Hospital, home hopsital, repeat. More meds, more treatment, more hospital, more home. Hair gone, bald and eyelashless, weight gained and puffed up. I visit whenever I am out that way to see my folks, crossing the park near my old college in which I used to dry hump my first ever boyfriend by the fountain and drink screwdrivers between classes, past my old orthodontist's office and the train station where I bought redskins on the way to school. To the oncology ward, wash hands with antibacterial gel and waltz in with my bunch of contraband blooms (even my mother's homegrown roses are too risky it seems, for these Big C patients, so they get relegated to the front desk where no patients can even see them).

Her hair used to be reddish. Now it is dark, almost as long as mine, and I do my now-customary doubletake. At every visit I have to match the bed number with the one her partner or the information booth has given me, always hesitant to say the first hello in case I have misrecognised her in someone (else even though her energy is unmistakeable). The hair is a shock, new, different, then she effortlessly pulls out a clump to show me it won't be there for long. Never get used to anything, nothing is certain, not even redhead or brunette. She needn't bother shaving anywhere, she confides, even her pubes fall out at the slightest touch. There is a big machine attached to her, or more she is attached to it, relentless pumping, beeping, bags of fluid hanging, tubes everywhere but most gruesomely from her neck (veins collapsing everywhere, best place they could find to put them). Blood comes out, stem cells harvested, remainder back into body, four or five hours a day until they have enough. Then there will be more chemo, harder, stronger, hopefully big enough to wipe out the bad stuff along with the good. Then they will transfer the stem cells back again and cross their fingers that this is enough to start replacing all good cells that were killed in the battle. We chat about my upcoming trip, her partner, my work, parties she used to hold, people we have in common. It is hard to leave, even harder than it is to stay, and I promise I will try to see her again before I go. No need to finish that sentence, I won't be back in Sydney until January, the pauses say enough...

When I meet my mother in the shopping mall afterwards we get sushi and pretzels and I tell her about my dream.

Sydney Queer Pride Project *CALL FOR PERFORMERS*

Don't know any details about the SQPP other than what just came through on this email, so contact them directly if your're interested!

The Sydney Queer Peer Project is holding a queer performance night on the 3rd of November (which is a Saturday) and we are looking for performers! All different types of performances welcome- music, acts, theatre, spoken word, dance etc Anything political, creative, fun, etc
is welcome! The night will be held in Newtown and will be from 8pm onwards.

The Sydney Queer Peer Project is a group of young queers who are being supported by ACON and Twenty10 and are currently organising a day for young queers involving a zine, a forum, workshops, art and performance. If you want to know more, please email us!
xxox nat
sqpp2007@yahoo.com.au

Less Than A Month To Takeoff And Counting

Current Zoo To Do List

* Finish paper for Somatechnics collection. Have 4 000 out of 5-6000 words down, but needs LOTS of editing and adding to still.

* Pack up my belongings and move then to some convenient storage space like, umm, my parents' den.

* Write Salzburg conference paper. Fortunately can base this on one I wrote but never gave last year, and use a lot of my literature review (I think?). Still, really ought to look at it SOON and not be too cocky.

* Two photo shoots. One for Slit with MO'M, the other solo portrait work for a friend's MVA project. Both require costuming and planning!

* Write conference paper, short and sweet, for some sort of PG Research Showcase. Apparently they want me to presnt bceuase my work is so 'innovative'. Be careful what you wish for folk.

* My first yearly PhD review. GULP.

* Work out two shows for November 14th at Sly Fox. Thinking cheesy and silly with lots of audience/friend participation. Have a couple of songs good to go, and the basic sketches of the shows that go with them.

* Finalise designs and details for major tattoo work, to be performed in London.

* Make more contacts, find more exhibitions to see and clubs to go to and people to schmooze while OS.

* Invent new hairstyle. Cannot consider going to Europe without at least SOME of it shaved to the skin. Damn waste of snow and subzero temperatures if you can't feel it on your scalp. Hmm, and what to pack? Yes, hard, but what else? Need to be a warm leather-clad academic performance artist in good boots. Think that's do-able with a bit of planning.

Here Boy

We've both been waitin' for a long time
We've both changed a lot
Up 'til now it seemed the wrong time
To know whether to come here or not

Oh, but come said the boy
Let's go down on the sand
Let's do what we wanna do,
Let me be a man for you
Just say come with me boy, just take my hand
I'll let you see what you wanna see
Come on be my man for me

- Mondo Rock
'Come Said The Boy'

Suddenly I have an urge to get maggoted on cheap beer at a surf club and have sweaty fumblings up the skirt of some girl who tastes like sweet cider, sandy fingers pulling hair, muffled moans by a rock pool, waves crushin as... Damn, I AM A CLICHE! Always pictured this song to be set at Crescent Head, my old family caravan park dreamworld where I spent many a tortured adolescent summer and my sixteenth birthday longing for blonde boys in vans smelling like Dr Zog's Sex Wax to be 'men' for me. Of course, I was a gothling at that point, which meant I wasn't exactly prime surfie-slut material. Contrary little creature I was even then! Sister She Sells Sanctuary indeed.

Its A He-Thing

In an email exchange the other day a stranger referred to me as 'he' and it made me kind of dizzy, even though it was an almost- perfectly innocent mistake. Now an online friend and flirt has decided somehow that I am 'he' too, and it made me cry, sort of. But more it made me blush and wriggle in my seat, and feel all kind of teenage boy (or how I imagine a teenage boy feels when recognised as male by an attractive female). Just don't tell her that. Shuuuush....

Experimenta At Carriageworks

Did I mention Experimenta Playground: International Biennal of Media Arts? If not, I should have, 'cos its bloody brilliant and on at Carriageworks in Wilson St until the beginning of November. Don't question me about this, just go!

Gay Peacock Falls For Lexus

There is a reason I still read the SMH. For stories like this one about the peacock who developed a thing for a boy-peacock blue car:

"It started when he fell in love with this Lexus, which was in a very distinct peacock blue and looked like another peacock boy," he said. "He couldn't control his urges and tried to shag it. He attacked the panels so hard that the car needs a total respray. "The insurers, Lloyd's of London, are not very happy about it."They've had claims for all sorts of things like lions biting people, but never have they heard of a peacock sexually attacking a car before."

Sir Benjamin has also decided the peacock, whom he named Ron Davies after a former bisexual Welsh Secretary, is gay. "Peahens are brown, but Ron Davies is only attracted to blue cars so I can only assume he's gay," the aristocrat, who has made headlines before by offering to give his manor away and hire his dog Jasper as a "best man" at same-sex weddings, said.

To The Continent, And Beyond! Part Two. Plus Some Random Things What Got Caught In My Net

London:
Hard On. 15th December. Unfortunately I shan't be there this month when Buck Angel is performing (not a huge fan, but heck, I'd be curious to see him) but still... reckon there be some mischief to be had on regular nights. Now, I just need a member to take me *hint hint*. Look at the photo pages to see how the club got its name-its all just one HUGE hard on!

KAOS. Not sure of the date yet. But see if you recognise the Passive Aggressive in the first photo gallery. That boy is everywhere...

Just read that Torture Garden have their XXXmas Ball on December 8th. A nice way to start the festive season methinks. Yes, Santa, I've been very naughty.

The Horse Hospital. Not sure what's on when, but could be worth checking out. A 'unique arts venue in London which has been providing a space for underground and avantgarde media since 1993. We offer regular events to our members showing rare film, music, and art, as well as hosting a significant collection of fashion items and related material. Don't send us any horses.'

And even though they don't appear to have anything on whilst I am in Blighty, knowing that Actart exists makes me extremely happy. Whimper.

Geez, one gets the feeling that one really should be based in London for a while, no? If only it was not so far from Sydney! Bloody inconvenient and very bad planning I say. Ah, maybe when I have finished this PhD business I can just plonk myself somewhere in the UK/Continent for a year or so.

Berlin:

Berghain. The one and only. Has to be done, preferably in stints of more than 24 hours straight. And I will be there on my own this time, which means I can finally check out the dark corners (and rooms).

Oh, and in my online adventures I came across this reviewpost on Robin Grebson's Guide For The Perplexed. I do think this guy is a knob (most possibly not in a nice way), but heck, it made me laugh:

Untitled (Syncope) where Kira O’Reilly “employs…biomedical and biotechnical practices to consider the body as material, site and metaphor in which narrative threads of the personal, sexual, social and political knot and unknot in shifting permutations” meaning she cuts herself on stage with a scalpel.

One word sums this up for me. Why. Why do it? Why go and watch it? And look at what is really going on. In these types of shows it is always women, never men, who find themselves parading naked and self harming – this is little more than cerebral lapdancing for students of Gender or Queer Studies.

And possibly my favourite ever myspace 'I'd like to meet' comes from Lee Adams:

'explorers of the infinite and marvellous things of the inmost mind, that which is before thought ... These of the living hand, the makers of epics, the tellers of tales, fantastic, compelling, beyond belief, of that which is and never was, worshippers of a fair impossible (s)he, tramplers of the slime of the pit, clamberers of the rock of the holy mountains, dreamers of the rose and the dew, of milken hill and vine of immortality, these are they that tell of the true end of pleasure beyond becoming - who seek what is to be'

Speaking In Tongues

I was recently described in an email (at least I think that was what was going on) as:

'd'australie qui est genderfuck tranny boy 'zoo', qui fait une perf avec ses seins et de la lactaction.'

An Aussie genderfucking trannyboy called Zoo who does something with lactation perhaps? Tres exotique! Now here's a thought: maybe I should pump my way around Europe and consider my adventures through my MilkBrain? It often has some very quirky insights!

Motley Medley Of Merry Moments

Comfort the Disturbed- Disturb The Comfortable.
Easy There Mr Testosterone. You Can Be Replaced By A Zucchini.
I Don't Cook, Clean Or Put Icky Things Near My Mouth

- Badges by HOBO

Saturday was filled with the Surry Hills festival, followed by eating a huge chunk of art at the MCA. The former was a lovely way to spend a morning, wandering about in the sunshine perusing the wares and entertainment on offer and sitting on the grass eating vegie curry and buying jewellery made out of Lego and some cute patches and badges and bumping into various friendly faces. Oh, and if you ever see Parker's Organic Juices around please do give them a try. I had a sparkling pomegranate juice (well, half grape, 40% apple and the rest pomegranate) that almost made me cry out with delight!

Then I pretended to go and see Art and About, but instead got caught up by the MCA somehow! Just as I walked in I ran into Rapunzel and her Beau, and we decided to do one of the tours. Tour guide was well-meaning and presumbaly quite knowledgeable but so waffling that we gave up after a while and just did our own thing. Oh, how I LOVE THAT GALLERY! Think I am having some sort of Art Epiphany or thereabouts, as I found myself staring into what was essentially a rectangle of painted blue stripes with small squares in them with tears rolling down my face. Normally I don't 'get' pieces like that at all, so far as for all I can appreciate the technical skill but not actually have that 'smacked in the head' feeling. The whole room of Hilarie Mais' work has that effect on me, that 'punched in the gut' totally visceral and almost nauseating disturbance. It wasn't unpleasant, just unexpected! And there was some stunning pieces in the rest of the gallery too, particulary the Julia Rrap retrospective (make sure to go into the tiny dark room with th e mattress) and Martin Smith's beautiful photographs of suburbia with sad sweet stories and observations and song lyrics hand-cut into them and Gareth Sansom's big bold bright pieces with text like 'he spent new years eve alone... sniffing amyl' (or thereabouts, didn't think to copy it down exactly) and photos of him with prosthetic female body parts attached to his person stuck into the corners of the canvas. I was absolutely delirious and dizzy by the time I wandered outside. Art is exhausting!

Oh, and as I meant to post the other day, Art is My New Lover. Of a fashion, or maybe it is not Art itself but the whole... um... I don't know WHAT it is exactly! Just that I have been feeling a bit ho-hum in the horniness department of late, not sure of where my passions currently lie and then when I found myself at SCA the other day after months of not being not-very-often being wet-knickered in the direction of any particular persons or objects, or even lustful in general really, I was suddenly and utterly turned on by... ummm... the galleries? Seriously, all I wanted to do was shag something, anything, on that hard cold floor, or perhaps more correctly just shag the hard cold floor, surrounded by video installations and enormous prints, with the essence of pigment and glass drifting in from the neighbouring studios... (Has anyone else read Davida Allen's 'Close To The Bone'? Where Vicki seduced Hugo, a student in the art class she teaches, and the way she lusts for the scent of proper oils and so closely links her painting and her mothering and her libido)

On Sunday I toddled along to the Buxoms Wench's Birthday BBQ. Yummy! Big sunny backyard full of assorted perverts and family, kids running about the place, scoffing ridiculous amounts of food from the big piles of cheeses and crackers and bread rolls and tofu and vegie patties and chockies and cupcakes and Lukely's Amazing Tart and Belgian beer that matched my outfit, lying in the sun on a blankie and chatting and dozing. Then headed off to watch a friend do some sort of audtion-type thing but got waylaid my Madame Phantasm and ended up drinking and watching Kath And Kim at The Newtown. The Newtown is exciting for the fact that it is the only place I know of where one can enjoy a nice cool beer with bears and buddies whilst singing along to 'Homecoming Queen's Got A Gun' (Julie Brown, complete with filmclip). Then I went and danced at Loose Ends with the Buxom Wench and Lukely. It was fun, and I was slightly bedrunken, and La Donna's alter ego turned up and we danced and danced and there was a funny little boy from Malmo is giant glasses drinking red wine and the music was okay but... Its a Sunday night in Sydney. Yes, there be a lot of party people and some with jobs that conveniently give them Mondays off or who don't mind traipsing to work on half and hour's sleep and two Berocca but lots of us want/need to be home at a reasonable hour and would like some fun in the time we have to spend! So, please, dear DJs- DO NOT MAKE US WAIT TWO HOURS BEFORE PLAYING SOMETHING DANCEWORTHY! Grrr, by Sunday night one should not require foreplay*.

Today I bought a new sketchpad (which I somehow can't mark yet, think it deserves a new felt pen?) and had lunch at my favourite cheap-and-cheerful Lebanese foodery with Les Filthy Frog. It was FANTASTIC to see him- we work on the same campus (scarcely three buildings away from each other) but rarely seem to catch up. Now I am Uni. I will leave soon, do some chores at a friend's place, maybe have dinner with AC and ButchBitch and then get myself back here to the office. Have stocked the fridge with tofu-chilli-vegie-noodles that I cooked up this morning and soy yoghurt and I have fruit to nibble on and rosehip tea and so... I'm planning on doing an all-nighter again. Seems to be when I work best, nobody around but me and the moths and although I'm quite tired now if I have a little sleep on the couch and a coffee and the night-air clears my sinuses I think I could get much done. If only I knew quite what it was that I wanted to do!


* And most of you will no doubt be aware of my personal position on foreplay at the best of times *lol*

In Love With Alice Dreger

Great quote sent to me by a great friend, simple but to the point:

As (Alice)Dreger once dryly noted ... 'if you don't know who is a male and who is a female, how will you know if what you have is a case of heterosexuality or homosexuality?' (1998:9).

Lap Dancers 'On Heat' and Shaghappy She-Kiwis

From NewScientist:

'Geoffrey Miller and his team at the University of New Mexico, Albuquerque, compared the earnings of lap dancers who were menstruating naturally with those of dancers taking the hormonal contraceptive pill. During the non-fertile periods of their menstrual cycle, both sets of dancers earned similar tips. But when naturally cycling lap dancers entered their fertile period they earned significantly more in tips than their co-workers on the pill'

And this from SMH:

'New Zealand women have the most sexual partners in the world, according to a global sex survey reported on Saturday. They have an average of 20.4 sexual partners, according to a survey by condom-maker Durex - well above the global average of 7.3. New Zealand was the only country where women were more promiscuous than their men, who averaged 16.8 sexual partners.'

To The Continent, And Beyond!

Yeah, yeah, I know, now I'm just being a wanker but look! Look at some of the amazing things I get to do on Latest My Grand Adventure!

Klub Fukk Queer playspace in London
Seduced: Art And Sex from Antiquityto Now at the Barbican, Probably on a Thursday so I can enjoy a Seduced cocktail and some aphrodisiac snacks.
And try to find a Bearlesque gig whilst I'm there too. MY goodness! Hairy boys stripping to burlesque!
Go to Tate Modern to see The World As A Stage.
And TortureGarden of course. At least once.

And that is just London.

New York brings The Museum of Sex.
Berlin the Hamburger Bahnhof. And the Neue Nationalgalerie. And Gemäldegalerie, which most likely I will be unable to pronounce correctly.
And pick up a copy or two of Daddy at Peres Projects.


Will post more fun things I want to do as I come across them, probably more for my benefit than yours. This makes it easy to keep all the links in one place...

Oh, and here is a link to a blog of Franko B's mentorees, which I'm finding quite interesting and inspiring.

After A Fashion

After a fashion
Which is purely the mood the takes me
I'll set my mouth on fire
And kiss you 'til you blister..

After a fashion
She's the answer
After a fashion
I'm the question

- Boys Next Door
'After A Fashion'

Art, Feminism And The Body

Critical Forum- Double Vision: A 21st Century Exploration of Art, Feminism and The Body
Friday 19 October, 3.00pm - 5.00pm
In the wake of postmodernism, feminism, and the increasing fragmentation of the body image in popular culture, how is the body interpreted and re-configured in contemporary art? This informal forum will explore these questions, with diverse perspectives provided by theorists, artists and curators on aspects of art, feminism and the body. The forum will encompass feminist histories, new artistic approaches and local anecdotes.

$25/15 Members and Concessions
Bookings essential:education@mca.com.au or 02 9245 2484

Surry Hills Festival/Art And About

Who's up for
Surry Hills Festival tomorrow in Prince Alfred Park

And/or

Art And About at various location around the CBD?

Call me, text me, but don't bother emailing me 'cos my laptop is still knackered and I can only access emails at the office!

Tyra Meets The Girl Fags

At work so haven't been able to watch this yet, but here's a link to Tyra Banks talking to some Girl Fags.

Creepy Cabbies

Just lately after Sly Fox Queer Central Wednesday outings I have had problems with the drivers of cabs I catch home. I have had enough of 'oh, so this is a lesbian bar... are you are a lesbian? you know some lesbians give me sex instead of the fare... I like to have sex with girls and boys... when was the last time you had sex? was it with a boy or a girl?' conversations with creepy cabbies. Its disgusting, uncalled for and more difficult to manage when you've had a couple of beers (or more). And given the fact that a large number of young dykes/queer women/lesbians/transwomen etc attend this event every week and rely on cabs to get home safely it is quite a serious matter- nobody deserves this sort of harrassment. I called the Sly after I got home this week with details of the offending creep, and their security was going to keep an eye out for him, but that didn't seem like enough. Especially as it appears that some drivers are deliberately picking up female passengers at the Sly so they can be sleazy towards the 'lesbians'. Whether this merely be for 'sport' or has more sinister intentions, its still totally unnacceptable.

So today I email the ACON anti-violence project with details of the last couple of disturbing cabbie incidents I've had and asked them for advice. If you have had any similar encounters please email them: avp@acon.org.au.

Sydney Stencil Festival 07

www.stencilfestival.com

pine st creative arts centre
64 pine st chippendale

various activities on from 16th - 28th october

Nine Performances With Milk

Nine Performances With Milk is a series of poetic and subversiveactions. Through the universal and bodily nature of milk, the artistsprovoke the audience to reconsider their relationships todesire, memory and identity. An uncomfortable journey unfolds, as boundaries are breached andborderlines transgressed, leaving only contamination.This is a work of subtle beauty, at once fragile, vulnerable and at risk. Within it, there is a sense of something at stake, a state of mind which is displaced and restaged. A dialogue on the edgeof psychosis; a disequilibrium which finds its own level.

All this and much more can be found on the Hancock and Kelly Live site.

Every day I find more beautiful things in the world, more inspiration, more wonder, more magic, more joy. At the moment, a great deal of this is centred around 'art': the making, the viewing, the being, the witnessing, the conception. Today I had a meeting with a very sweet and gentle man at my Uni's fine arts college, and I actually discussed my 'practice' with something approaching confidence. This is a VERY big step for me, to talk about myself and my work and my practice without having to compulsively provide disclaimers ('I'm not really an artist', 'I'm only NEW!', 'I don't know much about theory/performance/academia' ad infinitum). And I'm liking it a lot.

Birthday Blessings

Today is a very special day indeed. Happy birthday Madame Phantasm! Happy birthday Buxom Wench!

TransReSext

This is one of the most exciting events I have come across in a long time:

TransReSext is a pansexual transgender + genderqueer sex party based in Melbourne and surrounding areas in Australia.TransReSext came into life because of the specific struggles facing transpeople at regular sex parties. Body dysphoria can be crippling even with our regular partners, let alone around strangers, and many cisgendered people don't understand why it's such a big deal for us to be naked and sexual around other people. There can also be confusion and feelings of rejection due to our orientations - transwomen are often not welcome at lesbian events, for example, and the transman might be laughed at by the doorman at the gay orgy he wants to attend. TransReSext is a pansexual event which means people of all orientations and genders are welcome.TransReSext, being a transgender and genderqueer specific space, means that transpeople will have the comfort of knowing that the other people there will not only understand, but will feel very similarly. They can be comfortable in being themselves without being judged. This safe space means there will be less assumptions about us based on our bodies, and will hopefully let us relax enough to truly enjoy the sexy experience that we're there for!

Smoking Banana Skins

I think I am slowly giving up smoking. Not sure why, but it seems to be happening of its own accord! I just don't want cigarettes very much anymore. I forget about them for days at a time, only realising when I find myself all vague and mildly panicky and sort of disassociating that the shakiness of body and mind I am experiencing is due to lacking my usual allowance of nicotine. Part of the addiction is habit, true, but unless I am drinking that doesn't really kick in. Just the cravings, and, as crass as this sounds, the desire for my mouth to be full. To counter this, I eat. Now this could get dangerous if I was to replace ciggies with chocky or cheesy delights, so my plan is to EAT FRUIT instead. Simple, but seems to be working. And I can get a LOT more oral satisfaction from $11 worth of apples and bananas and sultanas and dates and figs than from 25 cancer sticks... Hmm, not sure why, but don't even have that great a desire to get pissed at the moment. Instincts tending towards all-nighters at Uni rather than the pub, and to dancing in my happypants rather than my pissypants. I feel a very strong urge, a NEED, to keep a clear head at the moment, to see things properly, to notice and comprehend, not to be so afraid of my surroundings that I have to block them out...

Woof?

This may sound kind of naive or just plain ditzy, but why the heck do Bears say 'woof' to each other? I mean, I know what it means, and its one of my favourite greetings, but I don't remember Goldilocks being woken up with a 'woof', do you? Curiously though, it seems that even Belles Bears includes a dog 'woof woof' on its range of sounds you can add to your build-your-own-bear project, though EduQnA.com answers 'What noise does a bear make?" with: growl (belly rumberling) roar (spots food) stamp stamp (spys food gives chase) thud thud (steps on food source to kill it) growl (satifised its dead) munch munch (eats) burppppppppp (finishes) pitter patter pitter patter (creeps around for pudding) rumble rumble (stomach settling) .

Wings Of Desire/Xed LeHed

Ah, some BEAUTIFUL suspension at the Oslo festival. Particularly enamoured with the 16 point Angel on the Saturday... Swoon... Check it all out on the Wings of Desire site.

And while you're playing about on the net, did I mention the tattoo magic of Xed LeHed? If not, click here NOW.

Trans, Wimmins, And Gender Queer Conference Reader Call Out

Don't know anything about this conference, but it looks like a mighty fine thing to me! More folk discussing these things the better...

hi everyone

we are organising a conference around trans, wimmins and gender queer issues on december 14-16 in melbourne.as part of this, we will be producing a reader, and are calling for contributions.the conference will be about things like: gender, gender identity, gendered language, health, bodies, stuff we dont talk about like eating disorders, abortion, sexuality, feminism and trans, being an activist of colour, making pissers, porn and sex work...... and basically whatever people want or contribute or think of or need or desire... its what we make it into.we also want to have art, performances, and stuff like that. we want the reader to be full of people's personal contributions, sothings that you write, yourself. because your voice is important, thethings you have to say are interesting and amazing, and deserve to bepublished and read as much as any academic writing. we want people tocontribute whatever they want to express - their stories, their feelings,their art, or their own academic analyses of stuff.

so the deadline for contributions is november 30, so we have time to layout, print, and all that stuff.contributions can be emailed to twgqconference@gmail.com. or if you want to handwrite or draw, you can send to 33 John St East Brunswick, 3057.

Year Of Magical Drinking

Somehow, and I'm not quite sure of who is behind this, I recieved an invite for myself and a friend to the opening night of Kiki and Herb's Year Of Magical Drinking show in Sydney. Excellent timing, as I was planning to see if MadameP wanted to go on another night as a birthday treat! And now we have comps- all the more $$$ to buy a great bottle of champagne to celebrate with! Hurrah!

Created by and starring Justin Bond (Shortbus) and Kenny Mellman
New York's legendary cabaret duo returns to The Studio with the premiere of a brand new show following a successful season on Broadway.

Kiki is an ageing, boozy ex-burlesque dancer and chanteuse. Herb, a gay Jewish orphan, is her piano playing, life-long accompanist. They have played together for over 2000 years, surviving the highs and lows of showbiz trends, relationships, mental institutions and the ravages of history.

Featuring songs made famous by Gnarls Barkley, Amy Winehouse, The Gossip and Jarvis Cocker.

Diary Of An All-Nighter

Its 2:30am on a Tuesday and I am the only one left in the office. There's no coffee and I'm almost out of food, down to half a bowl of noodles and tofu and vegies. I've got 2 000 words down on a 5-6 000 word paper, and at this stage it is easier to judge quantity than quality. I think it has stopped raining. Big moths have invaded the bathroom, and when I sat down on the toilet they made me laugh by flying out from under my big black taffeta skirt. There is nobody online to play with. This place smells funny, like damp academics and kitchen bins that haven't been emptied. Somebody has left two hot dog sausages in the dishrack. I don't know how long I have been here tonight. Time and activities are all beginning to blur. Either I will fall asleep now or I will write something brilliant. And either is fine with me.

Bad Dogging- The Aftermath

Post- Bad Dog trashiness with boots, beer and beanbag. Bliss! Thanks to Ali for the pix.

Pee In A Jar

Just remembered that I have been carrying around two specimen jars of pee in my backpack for the last few hours. Hmm, wonder how long they keep? To the trusty internet:

'Urine specimens are fairly stable, remaining fresh for five to seven days at room temperature and up to two weeks refrigerated.'

Apparantly specimens fare better if refrigerated, but I'm not sure that the good folk in my office at Uni, accustomed as they are to my odd ways, are gonna go for that. Anyhow, I kind of like the idea that I have jars of pee at my feet as I type. Oh, and that I get to have a blood test afterwards! Excitement! Did someone say 'slight medical fetish'?

Orangutan Shows Fetish For Blondes With Body Art

True, I am in a kind of blogging frenzy at the moment, but sometimes I just want to SHARE EVERTHING! Including this, from ABC News:

Sibu the orangutan has miffed his Dutch keepers by refusing to mate with females and showing sexual interest only in tattooed human blondes.Apenheul Primate Park hoped Sibu would become its breeding male when he arrived two years ago, but orangutans do not seem to be his type."He chases them, or ignores them, but he doesn't do what he should do," said a spokeswoman for the park. Instead, Sibu fancies his female keepers, especially blondes. That, the spokeswoman says, is common for orangutans but Sibu has a fetish for tattoos, harking back to a heavily-tattooed keeper who reared him. "Orangutans have special interests in special subjects. Sibu happens to like tattoos," she said.

The park has not given up on the 31-year-old Sibu. He showed an amorous interest in a female orangutan while living in England and keepers hope he will find love when reunited with her in a new enclosure in Chester, England.

The Great Depression

It hit me again today that a large proportion, if not most, of my closest friends are medicated. In a 'mental health' kind of way, and most usually for some sort of depression or anxiety. What the heck does this mean? So many of my conversations start with 'so, you're feeling a bit better?' and then 'yeah, thanks, I've just started on Zoloft/Eflexor/Some SSRI'. Heck, I am all for better living through chemistry, have even been known to partake in it myself, but the number of my mates who need meds just to make it through the day concerns me. Better than not having them and not making it through the day, true. But... I don't whether it makes me sad or scared or just plain out pissed off. Such briliant, creative, talented, thinking, intelligent, artistic, generous, gentle people. And such IMMENSE pain and distress. Doesn't seem fair, but then I guess fair is a pretty odd concept anyway!

The Rules Of Desire

You know when you are struggling with something, trying to put it into words or pictures or actions and then all of a sudden someone else just sums it up in two sentences, right when you need to hear it? Well, dear old NixWilliams just did that for me, commenting on his blog about a book he'd read:

'yeah, didn't you know? ... the only positions from which one can desire are heterosexual or homosexual man or woman. thus meaning you can only desire women or men. you can never desire transpeople, and transpeople can never desire as transpeople.'

And this is where my recent difficulties of desire lay. I don't have a script for love or seduction or lust or longing that doesn't really on some sort of male/female dichotomy. Hetero- one, homo- the other, bi- both. It takes a lot to let go of this, and whilst I am quite comfortable with my own brand of non-genderedness in the rest of my life, it can be quite hard to negotiate when it comes to attractions. I become acutely conscious of being considered female by most, if not all, of my playmates. Sure, in some cases that is part of the attraction (either because as a 'woman' I am their rule or their exception), and in some cases its pretty much neither here nor there to them I'm sure. But still, I am looking for something else.Its not just in the ways that I am desired either, its the ways that I desire too, the way I consider my body in relation to other bodies, the positioning of self as some entity other than girl or boy. It throws my labels into dissarray. It even makes my faggot seem superflous and clumsy, a faggot is a boy who lusts for boys, or even a girl who lust for girls the way boys lust for boys, or a girl who acts like a boy whilst lusting for boys or... see? It makes no sense anymore, any of it. My gender doesn't feel so much fluid as evaporated.

Hmm, can't articulate more than that at the moment, but its a start. Fuck, my tits hurt. I'm beginning to realise that my tits know much more about me than I ever imagined, and quite possibly do a large amount of my thinking too.

SLIT launch Sunday 21st October

Slit Magazine presents: Gangs Issue #12 Launch and party

What: The Slit Gang issue will be launched! And it is looking pretty deadly - housewives brandishing spatulas and pans, an ironic take on 80s dyke biker moles, clown punk wrongness, Ethnic gang Vrs the trannie cops.. turning the tables on police harassment, Gang FluffMuff in the taming of the Zioux, BykeGangs, an a card shark poker Gang spread by Tokyo
and that's just some of the photoshoots. There is also interviews with Fadia Abboud, djs Mandy Rollins & Feisty, The Blush Foundation, the Tranny Cops, Bonny (Survival Cafe) Brown Council and stacks more...

Shows: Covergang show by Mighty Hermaphrodity,Stranger Danger and I.Kandi; Wife, electronica band the Blush Foundation and more to be announced.

DJs: Tokyo Lovekitten, and Mandy Rollins and Feisty

Where: Hermans at Sydney University, ground floor Wentworth Building( City Rd, opp main Uni bus station)

When: Sunday 21st October, 6pm-11pm. Happy hour cocktails are on from 6-7pm.

Cost: Free! Slit magazines for sale. New issue (Gangs) $10, back issues $5.

Come and play gangs, dress up, and celebrate the new issue! All gender mutations welcome.

No prizes for guessing which Zioux is getting taken down by the FluffMuff girls. Its a hard life, really!

Street Anatomy

Seems there is no end to the fun things one can find on this here new-fangled internet thingummy. There's even a site by Vanessa Ruiz dedicated to Medicine+Art+Design. Bliss! And very helpful in deisgning my latest set of tattoos. Aside from her own medical illustrations, her blog has endless work from other people, such as these by Frederik Ruych. The British Library tells us about Ruych (1638-1731):

“He thought of these exhibits as highly educational, but also felt that they should be decorated ‘prettily and naturally…Small skeletons were positioned in ‘geological’ landscapes, crying into handkerchiefs, wearing strings of pearls, or playing the violin. The ‘botanical’ landscapes were also made up of body parts: kidney stones or tissue from the lungs would become bushes, grass or rocks.”

and

“His public dissections would be held by candlelight and accompanied by music and refreshments.”

Oh, and for those of you interested as I am in such things, the US National Library of Medicine has a Dream Anatomy site.

So Long, Farewell

It has been called to my attention by certain persons that I really ought to plan a Bon Voyage Party to ensure that I see all my Sydney sluts, slags, supporters and sleazes before I go OS* for a few months. So, to make things easy for everyone, I'll be holding court

At the Sly Fox
Wednesday 14th November
From early until the wee small hours

Have put my name down to do a couple of shows that night too, with much audience participation (just not much mess, as they now have a 'no food' rule. I thought I may have caused that with my Garbageman routine, but seems it had something to do with Wife's chokky cake!) . So, you get to see me with my much of my kit off, not much of a novelty I know but still the last of my flesh you'll see in the flesh for a while. And naturally I'm always up for last-minute spankings or whatever else you come up with. Last time I left for a big trip I had my name beaten into my inner thigh, think beer carton stencil and some very determined and imaginative artists...

*Oh, and it seems that I am now heading to New York and San Fran as well (did I mention that?). So any contacts or ideas on where to go or floors to sleep on etc in these cities MUCH appreciated.

Anything But More Vodka Jellies!

From BoingBoing:

Here's a HOW TO for converting cans of Guinness to popcicles by freezing them, slicing the bottom of the can, inserting a stick, cutting the top off the can, and sliding the can off. The results look beautiful and delicious.

Not Tonight, Sweeties, But One Sunday Soon

I want to go to this. Who's up for it?

Hissy Fit

Yesterday I lent my laptop to one of my housemates, as I often do. Came home, it was on my bed in its well-fitting zip-around flip-open bag. Picked it up, laptop flies out and lands on my foot, then onto floor. For not only was the bag not zipped up, but the handy velcro straps that hold the expensive piece of technology in place hadn't been done up either. Ouch to foot. Double-ouch to fact that when I started laptop the screen was all strange, with various coloured stripes on it and not much else. Hmm. Hooked it up to external monitor to see if it was just the screen that was buggered. Umm, no. Microsoft symbol comes up, with some interesting lines of gobbledygook text, then it just goes blank. Doesn't even make it to sign-on. Yes, I did curse, yes, I did scream blasphemies about living with a bunch of animals who were raised in a barn and had no respect for property or any idea how to look after it, yes, I did threaten to start packing that second and give them notice and just get the hell out of there before anything else of mine was stolen or destroyed. It still makes me sick to think of it, even though I know full well it was an accident and that said housemate is one of the best I have ever had etc etc. Really... why? What lesson am I meant to learn from THAT? After having my study-art-work-play plans foiled by the Dead Cat Incident on Friday, I was actually in a really creative mood, had just been to see Y do a great piece at an exhibition opening and my hayfever had finally cleared to the point where I could almost think (after a week of major head-fuzzy ouchiness) and all I wanted was to sit in front of the telly watching the Bill and sending emails and looking for tattoo designs and digging through the net researching galleries to visit and museums to haunt and then... Nope. Sorry Zoo, no laptop for you. Grr. One would be tempted to think that one should be more selfish, not lend things to people or turn up every time something needs to be buried or someone needs company for a gruesome hospital trip. THIS IS WHAT I GET FOR MY TROUBLE? Stomp feet, pout, rant.

But hey, maybe it won't be too expensive to fix (and housemate has offered to pay for it). Don't reckon the harddrive is totally knackered, so should be able to retrieve all of my data. Can do most of the stuff at Uni, 'cept for downloading pix. Worse things could happen. At least I'm not the cat.

Gag

In my quest for interesting bodies doing interesting things, I came across Lee Adams. Check out Gag:

1. To choke or retch from nausea. 2. Something forced into the mouth to prevent speech. 3. A hoax or practical joke

Gag involved both real and simulated acts of self-mutilation, being at once sincere and parodic. The piece involved cutting a love heart into my forearm (literally wearing my heart on my sleeve - as the image was printed momentarily onto the shirt before disappearing as the blood soaked through the fabric)

After gagging my mouth with bandages, I then simulated stitching up my lips. At this stage the audience could not tell what was real and what was theatrical effect. The performance ended with the me stripping naked except for a pair of high heeled shoes, then walking through the audience. Almost at the point where I reached the doors, I twisted my ankle, fell, and crawled the remaining distance out onto the street

Gag was conceived for and performed at VAIN Festival of Live Art 2002

and the rest of his site. I like, a lot.

Milky Ways

Got an email from the sweet man at Don't Look gallery at Dulwich Hill, and he is up for having me do my Induced Endurance installation piece there next year. Thinking at this point it will be in late March/early April. Gives me time to recover from my trip, write a chapter of my thesis, sort out props and costumes and other requirements for the piece, pump a bit and get myself mentally and psychologically prepared for a VERY intense two weeks. Further details can be found on my Galactablogue (click here, or at the LactoGrrl link on the right)

Champagne, Opera and A Pussy In A Box

Yesterday I spent a lovely morning with Dreadfullgirl watching mindless morning TV and eating scrambled eggs and over-caffeinating myself with instant coffee. Headed into Haymarket to visit a cheapie travel agent MO'M had recommended(which sadly didn't turn out to be any cheaper than my usual one). Had a delicious, still-warm from the oven custard bun from a tiny shop in a Chinatown arcade, and wandered happily through the markets. It was a nice sunny day. I was about to jump on a bus to Circular Quay with a plan to spend a few hours immersed in art at the MCA, when the phonecall came...

Aunty C has just finished her radiation therapy and the whole cancer-monster seems to be gone. During the course of her chemo she somehow ended up with a cat, Derek, a sociable and playful little creature who kept her company through all those days at home alone. Then about a month ago D was bowled by a car, instant kill, buried underneath the lillies. Soon she had TWO new cats, rescued from some shelter or another. Skittish, and shy, they hung out under the couch together and snuck about cautiously whenever strangers were around. Then a couple of days ago Aunty C rang saying that one of them, Alfa (short for Alfafa of course) had cancer. Bugger. The phonecall yesterday afternoon was asking me to come down to the animal hospital as they were going to euthanase him (Turned out not to be cancer, but some virus. Either way, he was going down.) Well, one can hardly say no to such an invitation, so I found myself patting AC's head and taking last photos and waiting for the vet to come back in with The Green Needle. Now, apparently this overdose of anaesthetics is USUALLY quite a peaceful way to go, just drifting off to sleep. Hmm. 'There is a chance he'll take a couple of deep breaths after he's gone' says the vet. Green fluid flows through the canula- Alfa yelps, jumps about, yelps more. He's not happy, or he's scared, or he's in pain, or perhaps its just a reflex reaction and he's not feeling or comprehending much/anything at all? Second vial, something clear- Alfa yelps, settles, stops. Eyes open, limp. (When I was a young and angsty gothling teenager I had a morbid fascination/fear of damp dead kittens, lukewarm, fur slipping over lifeless muscle and bone. And a mild obsession with the fear of grey furry moths flying into my mouth, but I digress).

We caught a cab home with Alfa covered up in his wire cat basket. Aunty C put him in a box lined with tissue paper, covered him in flowers and perfume and encouraged the other cat to have a look and a sniff so she could work out why her playmate wasn't there anymore. People came over, we drank Japanese beer and French champagne and ate blue cheese and listened to opera. Odd vibe to the evening, but plenty of laughs and good company. Too late and too drunken to be digging up the dirt, so we put him in the fridge overnight and buried him near Derek this morning.

All of this, well, except for the front-yard burial, reminds me of watching my friend die from cancer last year. The moment when everything stops, when the flesh is still warm to the touch but can't feel the touch... I couldn't bring myself to touch the cat, but I'm glad that last year I did touch my friend after the fact, patted his hair and kissed him goodbye on his forehead, sat with 'him' while we waited for the men with the trolley and the van.

Wow. Just when I think that I have dealt with that I find myself staring blankly at the screen and crying without even realising it. Wow.

Starry-Eyed

From Free Will Astrology, as usual. Cusp creature that I am, you'll find me being messily and artistically telepathethic in tune with Nature this week if seems:

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Jackson Pollack (1912–1956) was a pioneer painter. Instead of using an easel, he laid his canvases on the floor. Rather than manually applying paint with a brush, he poured the liquid colors out and then used his whole body to shape his creation, crawling and walking on it. Sometimes he'd employ trowels, sticks, pieces of glass, and other objects to further manipulate the paint. He's your role model for the coming week, Capricorn. I hope he will inspire you to expand the way you carry out your specialties. Try new techniques. Involve more of yourself in the process. Be willing to get messier than you've been before.

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): According to the indigenous people who lived in the Americas before Europeans arrived, the world is populated with spiritual powers that take the shape of animals and plants and natural forces. In other words, there are many forms of intelligence, not just the kind that reside in human brains. And it's possible to communicate with these other intelligences; we can tune in to their alternate modes of knowing and seeing, thereby expanding our narrow understanding of reality. To do that, however, we can't rely on spoken and written language; we have to be receptive to their nonverbal language. We also have to be humble enough to recognize how smart they are, and how much they have to offer us. I mention this, Aquarius, because it's a favorable time to learn from spiritual powers that reside in things such as hawks, horses, oak trees, and rivers. Nature is primed to tell you intriguing, unimaginable, and useful secrets.

Museum of Lost Binaries

Was really confused the other day at Uni. There was a bunch of schoolkids about to traipse into the Nicholson Museum, and the teacher was dividing the group into 'boys' and 'girls'. They still do that? Even so close to the ghetto? Hmm. Guess it was a MUSEUM full of ancient artefacts...

MishMash *Art Exhibition Opening*

The ever-beautiful Y will be performing Saturday:

i'm part of a group exhibition that opens this saturday at 5PM. i shall be performing a work titled: UNPICKING THE GAY DOLLAR. its presented by TWENTY10 and includes gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender artists (and a queer!) drop in for a drink if youre in the neighborhood

At 45 Bedford St Newtown, Saturday 6th October, from 5pm.

(And don't forget that Schappylle and Darryll will be at Mori tonight, Looking For Democracy and all that, from 6-8pm. See youse there.)

Onanistic Inspiration

Some of my best thoughts come to be whilst I am making sweet auto-erotic love. This morning I wrote the outline to a book chapter before I'd even stopped shaking. Perhaps Hitachi was one of the Muses? Hmmm, I remember Calliope and Clio and Erato, could well be that Hitachi was the Muse of Masturbatory Musings or some such... Either way, I'm thinking of acknowledging it at the front of my thesis- 'And to my dear Hitachi, for leading me to my to earth-shattering conclusion'.

Born Again?

I say don't you know
You say you don't know
I say... take me out
I say you don't show
Don't move time is slow
I say... take me out

I say you don't know
You say you don't go
I say... take me out

I know I won't be leaving here (with you)

- Franz Ferdinand
'Take Me Out'

Think I should make that last line into a T-shirt.

I haven't had anything resembling a 'relationship' since February. It is October now. I've achieved my goal of a minimum six-month single stretch (this is more significant than it may sound- and I am justly proud of myself), and though there are still times when I miss the easiness of knowing who I'll be leaving with all the same I can't imagine finding someone I wanted to share my life with to that degree. Well, there might be one or two people I could imagine it with, and I'm sure they know who they are, but I'm much too shy to even entertain the prospect.

Beculum has taken to referring to me as The Born Again. Heck, maybe she is right? Heaven knows I'm not picking up much trade of late, so maybe my slutty kinky days about town are over? Or maybe I just need a change of pace and scenery? Thinking that Europe/UK might just get me back in the mood for dark alleyways and wet jeans and dirty boots!

Breasts, Brains, And Brawn

I have just come out of a meeting with my supervisor and feel like I could easily vomit. Shaky, disassociating, almost out of body, panicked, on the verge of tears and possibly hyperventilation. And its not a bad thing at all.

I am reminded that writing is a physical process. That I need to push my body to its limits, that this is what my work is about in so many ways, the boundaries of what the body, my body, is capable of. Since I have returned to study I have felt like I should get into training, my body is craving large plates of green vegetables and litres of water and long walks and stretches before and after each bout of writing. I get incredibly hungry when I am at my desk, which I used to ascribe to boredom or procrastination until I realised that thinking uses up more kilojoules than I had ever given it credit for. Brain and brawn are not opposing forces. I'm not just writing about the body, I am writing with the body, I am writing the body. (Geez, I probably sound like a second year cultural studies student, but its one thing to know something with your mind and another to comprehend it with your flesh.)

At the moment I have much to learn and ponder about using my practice as a research methodology, and how to incorporate this into my dissertation. When I began considering including performance pieces alongside the written work I conceptualised these almost as illustrations for the text, a way of adding clarity and explanation. Now I place these works (or more the process of creating them) as the text, and the words as the way of making sense and debate of what has been said. I'm lost, a little, as have never done anything like this before, but not only does it feel right, it feels necessary.

Get Your La Las Out

My date for Bad Dog was the luscious La La. By name and my nature, that one.