On Sluts, and Ethics

Rules of the sandpit: Don't steal other people's toys or playlunch. Don't dump your mates for the new kid with the shiny Tonka truck. Say please and thankyou. Don't pee in your own patch. Be loyal to your mates.

Sure, certain 'non-conventional' relationship structures can require some extra thinking time to do well, but really, the basics are that simple.

And so it surprises me that some people seem to spend so much time sitting around bollocking on about complicated ethical and moral structures, trying to outdo each other on theoretical points of non-monog/poly/kinky/queer relationships, and continue to ignore the fact that if you just PLAY NICE and TREAT OTHERS HOW YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TREATED then much pain and nonsense would be avoided.

Bah! Thank heavens for the Monster is all I can say!

The old grey mare ain't what she used to be...

(Ain't a 'she' no more, for a start)

Lately it has become increasingly apparent that the Zoo is getting on a bit. I can't drink ten beers in an evening and then make it to work in the morning. In fact, I would be lucky to even drink the ten beers. I can't really party three nights in a row, period. Sometimes I stuggle to do three or four different activities in a day (work, write, coffee date, art, play, whatever). The idea of afterparties exhausts me, and my perfect recovery is being in bed by dawn with a crumpet and a cup of tea. I don't do any chemicals anymore really-- never could really handle them but now they just floor me. Often I don't take as much pain as I did in days past, can't cop fifty needles or an hour-long beating with nearly the same ease as when I was first a painslut.

Sometimes, shock horror, even warmup (and in dire moments, foreplay) seem necesssary.

Much of this, I know, is to do directly with the thesis beast. It sucks a lot of energy, even when I am not working on it directly. If I write for more than four or five hours a day I pretty much don't want to do anything else afterwards. And the closer I get to the end, the more intense it becomes and the less energy I have for other things: making shows, socialising, dancing etc. The next six months is going to be HARD.

Much of this is also to do with my chronic sinus pain (8 or nine years now I reckon). This had been tenporiarily relieved by magical chinese herbs, but my therapist has left and I need to source another who can do the same thing for me cos nothing anyone else has given me has worked. Sneezing and wheezing for the first two hours of most days, and often an hour or more at the end, is quite debilitating. It makes one tired, and nauseasted, and eventually very flat and sad. Not to mention the pain, the day in day out pressure in one's face and gums and eyes and head. (Am trying to get details of an amazing chinese med dude in Marrickville pronto so I can get this all sorted. Its just foul, and has a massive impact on my everyday life.)

And some of it is just to do with getting old. Physically old, but also not WANTING to do so much anymore. Or wanting to do different, often quieter, things. Quality ovedrriding quantity. Increasing discernment, and increasing realisation that its only worth surrounding yourself with roses if you take time to smell them.

And I am comfortable with most of the shifts that are taking place in my head and even my body, I feel wiser and more happy with my place in the world and with myself generally and its all good. Mostly. Sometimes though, just sometimes, I see a young'un up on the rack with that thirst and that hunger for pain and sensation and everything and for a moment I miss it...

It's not gone entirely, of course. In fact I don't think that it has gone at all. I still want to learn things and experience as much as I can and travel and meet new people and throw myself into challenging situations and expand my boundaries and question everything but somehow the energy has shifted.

I'm not who or how I used to be, but most probably that is the point.

Life Drawing

Sydney Leather Pride Association Life Drawing – Tue 5 May

Location: Aurora Gallery

Address: 43 Bedford St Newtown

Cost: Booking essential.

RSVP: curator_leather_pride@yahoo.com.au

Camille

Went to see Camille O'Sullivan last night, with the Monster. It confirmed that I do like champagne in outdoor settings very much, I love the vibe of most art festivals, I miss the Studio (Sydney, provider of much short, cheap, queer and outrageous entertainment) like crazy and I am, and I still find this unusual, finding long haired women with cleavage and a certain smutty attitude very appealing. Think it began again with Julia on Rock Kwiz-- thanks Madame P! Make them flirty, funny, slightly disheveled, and with that particular glint in their eyes and I am gone...

Unfortunately the few people I have actually known over the years who fulfilled that criteria were quite mad in very dangerous ways. Surely there must be a mostly-stable-femme-fatale category?

Sundowner

Tonight I prowled the Women's Sundowner at Grapeskins with my Monster. Despite feeling like something the cat wouldn't even bother dragging in (still ill, but running on adrenalin and musk), I spent precious energy flirting with a particularly tasty young boi. Suddenly, I remembered how to hunt. Mark your prey, separate it from the pack, then...

I don't think I have sucked all the marrow out of Perth yet. Circling, I can almost taste the blood pumping. And with this hunting partner, my sights are set.

Leaky Academic

The fact that I spend all day contemplating bodily fluids in one form or another does not lessen the power they have to weaken my knees and cause my breathing to quicken. Indeed, its possible it makes it STRONGER.

Today I wallow in milk, corporeal gifting, the transfer of tissues between bodies. I've taken my shirt off in the heat, and I can smell myself curdling.

Frisky

Maybe its the end of renovations. Maybe its the heat. Maybe its the promise of soon rolling about in Sydney soon. Maybe its the smell of paint and cleaning products. Maybe its hormonal. Whatever the cause, I am friskier than usual these last few days.

In a constant state of alert, making eye contact with strangers in the street, imagining pervy Perth possibilities, wondering who, what, how I can hunt, procure, entice, devour (or be devoured). All organs erect, flushed skin and frantic heart, lips licking lips locking, mucous membranes melting, all senses hyper-aware, of scents, sounds, sights-- traces of aftershave in the mall, sounds of breathing in the elevator, the knot of a tie around an unshaven throat.

Nothing But Mammals...

'All those dirty little beasts doing what comes unnaturally' piece by Emma Tom, from the Australian website (thanks to Urban Rev for putting me onto this):

'Google the word sex and there, alongside the predictable plague of free porn sites on the first page of 713 million results, is a short video called Slug Sex narrated by that well-known international pornographer David Attenborough.

"When an individual is looking for a partner, it gives its trail of slime a special taste to advertise the fact," Attenborough gushes as two lusty leopard slugs hook up for a slowie.

After providing a running commentary on the squelchy slug foreplay, Attenborough becomes almost as enthused as his hermaphroditic subjects when the big moment finally arrives.

"Suddenly, the pair start to slide downwards on a rope of mucous (and) each everts its male organ from just behind its head. Now, at last, sperm passes from one slug to other. The transfer is complete!"

Phwoar! I mean, hurrah! I mean, what a sober and completely untitillating educational experience.

Our fascination with the mucousy ropes and oddly situated penises of non-human intercourse is these days being serviced by a motherlode of eminently respectable books, docos and internet sites. Through these we can learn that redback spiders use their sex organs as pivots to somersault on to their partners' fangs for an orgasmic cannibalisation. It's toe-curling -- and also genital-curling -- stuff.

Then there's the Hugh Hefner-ish existence of the male painted crayfish, which shacks up with as many sheilas as he can squish into his coral bachelor pad.

And let's not forget:

* The pygmy chimpanzees or "jungle hippie". (These philanderers pair off for a poke at the slightest hint of danger, stress or boredom.)

* The sexually suicidal blanket octopus. (Males are 100 times smaller than females, which means sex for dudes is of the kamikaze variety and requires the use of a licentious, arm-like marital aid.)

* Aquatic warblers. (Europe's rarest songbirds are the most promiscuous and energetic lechers in the avian universe, with males indulging in orgies of up to 35 minutes compared with most birds' embarrassing one or two seconds.)

...Well, how are upstanding Christians supposed to explain what the Big Guy was thinking when he created the deep-sea angler fish, a breed that revels in an outrageous trinity of vampirism, semen prostitution and snuff sex? The fun starts when the male latches on to the much larger female's side and sucks her blood in exchange for sperm. Their flesh then permanently fuses, with some female deep-sea anglers swanning about with six-packs of suitors still attached. '

The Boar's Bite

Vatsyayana ... his list of kisses included The Balanced Kiss (kisses on the curve between the breasts), The Forcible Kiss (kisses implanted on the breasts), and The Chaste Kiss (kisses given from the breast downwards to the waist). While among his recipes for erotic 'scratching and biting' is The Boar's Bite:

'the most appropriate portions of a the body for this type of biting are the female breasts and shoulders. A small portion of the skin of the breast or shoulder is held between the teeth and chewed, and then another portion is taken, and so on, leaving a long, unbroken line of red stain.'

Commenting on the violence of The Boar's Bite, one authority notes in the most charming and matter-of-fact way that for obvious reasons this particular bite should be strictly avoided 'when dealing with virgins or other people's wives...'

-- Mervyn Levy The Moons Of Paradise

You, Blush? No!

It seems that some people out there think I am immune to blushing, even when I am being paid attention by some exquisite creature. And getting all flustered if they look at me across the dancefloor or offer me a drink, or if they stand just that little bit closer than casually, or brush against me as they pass, or whisper sweet obscenities in my ear... I get tongue-tied, all a-quiver, can't think straight and tend to just babble inanely if not clammed up entirely. And I love it.

Its been happening a lot lately. Usually its all about the Monster-- when she gives me THAT look, or I just know she is watching me dance or walk or eat or do anything at all. The Pride Party was deliciously nerve-wracking, not only being flirted with by amazing creatures, wibbly-mmaking in its own right, but knowing that it was all being observed by her... *shiver*...

You Should've Left The Light On...

Around 6pm yesterday afternoon I was happily sanding down the front fence, being all butch and handy on a post-Pride parade and party Sunday, when I got a call from the Zoo crew. A performer was ill and they had no show, could I replace?

Fortunately wasn't feeling too sickly from the previous 5am bedtime and dancing and schmoozing, so figured I could manage it, and within two hours, with the most-able assistance of the magnificent Monster, I had music and props arranged and constructed, had rehearsed a couple of times, and was almost ready to go! Here's the bones of the show, with pix available soon:

Sinead O Connor's epic piece, 'Troy'. I have LONG wanted to do a show to this, and know it inside out from many a heartbroken session of howling to it in years gone by.
Outfit: Barefoot. Blue satin jumpsuit, with lace trim, ties at front leaving keyhole opening over tummy. Long blonde curly wig. Whiteface, with various blue shading and shadow, electric glitter lipstick. White cotton knickers. Blue feathers, attached to needles, pierced into tummy, breasts, and just above my pink bits. Dental gag. Plastic heart, pulsing through different coloured light, attached to chest.
Action: Begin on stage, sitting in medical chair, covered with white sheet.
Slowly start to emerge, until standing on stage, looking into audience.
Heart falls off (unintentional!). Hold heart out to audience, move through them, touching them, reaching out, throw heart away...
Back on stage, go to one side to pick up corkboard covered in paper, with outline of voodoo doll on it, cross eyes and big red heart. Show to audience, touch, kiss?, sit it on chair. Kneel before it, 'I'd kill a dragon for you... I will rise, I will return'.
Undo tie on jumpsuit, slowly remove. Stand in front of audience, all feathers and white knickers and dental gag.
Music shifts, start ripping out the feathers, and stabbing them into the doll. Leave the three under my knickers until last, eliciting at least one gasp when revealed.
Wipe blood all over tummy and tits, then use to draw a smile onto the doll.
Lie down on stage, and end covered in sheet.

Think it worked! People seemed to like it, and it FELT good! Perfect end to perfect weekend really, and the dancefloor was going off, and there were flirty bears everywhere, and I cage-danced and was writhing all over the Monster, and there was plenty of free beer for us, and Space played one of the best sets I have heard in Perth-- dirty, dark, music to sweat and play and crawl about to, and I was on the most tremendous buzz from the endorphin rush of blood performance and... well... it was a beautiful thing!

Stitched Up

Well, you know I love needlepoint! Check out these embroidery transfers at Sublime Stitching...

Runt Likes Boots

Thanks to Toy/GenderFuckBel for the pix, taken at Zoo last Sunday. If you think the boots are something, then you should see what was wearing them... More on my facebook, for those who really must look at such things.

WunderKammer

Next time I am in Melbourne I will be spending a lot of time, and possibly a lot of money, at the wonderful WunderKammer. Medical equipment, prints, maps, insects, instruments... can't believe I lost it for so long! Wanted to go when I was there recently, but couldn't find it anywhere and thought it must have closed. Dang! Want to go back to Melbourne NOW!

Willy, Willy Big

For all you admirers of phallic enormity:

The Big Penis Book

"The Big Penis Book is a big book (an LP-sized hardcover, 384 pages) celebrating supersized stiffies and the photographers who immortalized them. It's the follow-up to Taschen's 2006 hit The Big Book of Breasts, also edited by Dian Hanson, and boasts more than 400 photos of some startlingly major tent poles, including rare pics of "the 13-and-only" John Holmes. Hanson, once dubbed "the most cerebral pornographer in America" by New York magazine,offers us not just the pictures, but also a fascinating history of penile aesthetics and erotic male nude photography."

Damn Fine PERV- *CALL FOR ENTRIES*

THE INAUGURAL PERV QUEEROTIC FILM FESTIVAL

THE RED RATTLER, 6 FAVERSHAM ST, MARRICKVILLE, SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA
4TH – 7TH DECEMBER 2008

ABOUT THE FESTIVAL-- Perv is a new international film and video festival dedicated to queerotica. This year Perv will showcase some of the latest and greatest audio-visual material representing and catering to queer desires. The festival is committed to the representation of diverse sexual identities and practices. From the sensual to the lewd, the silly to the serious, the subtle to the shamelessly upfront, the Perv program explores the full spectrum of queer erotic imagery.

Encompassing a four-day program of screenings, installations, panels, parties and play that promise to stimulate, titillate and engage, Perv pushes the envelope and all the right buttons.

CALL FOR ENTRIES -- Perv is currently seeking entries for its inaugural festival. As well as actively seeking out brand new film and video work, we are putting a call out for less contemporary queer erotic moving imagery. All genres and categories are welcome: documentary, fiction, experimental, short and feature-length works, we want them all.

SHORT FILM COMPETITION-- As part of the festival, Perv is running an international shorts competition. To be eligible to enter the competition, films must have been produced within the last two years and must not run longer than 15 minutes. Finalists will be in competition for two separate prizes to be award by a judging panel and audience vote respectively.

HOW TO ENTER-- To obtain an entry form or to find out more about the festival and its entry requirements email pervfilmfestival@yahoo.com.au or visit the festival website www.myspace.com/perv_queer_filmfestival.

Deadline for entries is MONDAY 15 SEPTEMBER 2008. There is NO ENTRY FEE!

Send In The Clowns

Hell Hath No Fire Like Goth Moth

Damn, seems the freaks in Sydney have well and taken over in my absence... Check out what tomorrow night's (ie Friday 18th) Hellfire brigs you HERE. Wow.

Dead Dreaming

New blog to keep an eye on- this Vampire is a Monster after my own heart! Preferably still warm and beating...

Cthulhu's Spawn.

Tranni, Panicked

Second crap incident for the week: Just found out that the same person who stood me up for a playdate the other week is seriously in lust with my monster. Of course. Not only am I completely mis-read in this town, but I am completely undesirable to even the kinky ones, as a kinky one. Geezus, how many ego blows am I supposed to withstand?

I hate this city sometimes. Yes, there is amazing art and cultural stuff. Yes, there are some nice folk. Yes, I am settling down to the pace. But I am SO tired of not having a queer community as such. Sure, there are a few isolated enlightened creature, but the rest of them seem to sort of stop dead at the GL in the GLBTQ.

Gay/lesbian. Boy/girl. Butch/femme. I feel like a freak, and a monster, and not in the same happy and exciting and lovable way I do in Sydney. Here I half-expect them to come chasing me down the street with torches for having the audacity to wear a man's suit AND girl lipstick, or dress like a faggot whilst possessing a twat, or wearing a tutu without identifying as female, or being breasted yet still wanting to dirty dance with stinky boys, for not being predictable and safe and living within the prescribed dichotomies. Heck, if I don't want to me a WOMAN, where's my T-shot? Why aren't I being a MAN then? What the hell do I think I am doing with this mixing and matching? MAKE UP YOUR BLOODY MIND? How can you be trans* but not 'transitioning'?

But instead of bearing torches, they bear the ultimate weapon- making it clear that you are not desirable. Not shaggable, not even someone to play with. I feel like some sort of exotic plant, to be examined and admired for its difference, but kept at a distance in case its toxic. Yes, thats me, imported from afar with my stories of debauchery, of orgies and play parties and blood fetishes, of hanging from hooks and bathing in body fluids. Sort of sexual attractive somehow, all visceral and damp and inviting-- but possibly carnivorous so best go with what you know how to manage. Don't take any risks, stick it in a glass case and see what you can learn about it without actually engaging with it. Maybe I should offer small specimens of myself for microscopic inspection? Have myself tested so that people know I am safe to eat? Change my packaging in order to lure in the unsuspecting?

Apparently it is not enough that I am a filthy pervert. It is not enough that my arse looks amazing in my Mephisto leathers. It is not enough that I have the best cock on the block, and that my red hanky topping skills are pretty hard to beat. It is not enough that I make interesting performance art, or write for a queer magazine, or was once catheterised on a pool table in a leather bar. It is not enough that I can take a good flogging, that I have a high pain threshold, that I know how to manage many things. It is not enough that I smell damn fine, or look amazing in a gas mask, or have a fetish for boot polish. My scars aren't sexy here. Everything I have worked for means nothing, and I would be better off having internalised the LOTL manifesto and learning my proper place and lines.

Damn, the hard yards can be SO hard sometimes. I forget how privileged I am in Sydney! That there are places with no Spunk, no Slit, no Kooky, no Gurlesque, no Man Jam, no Bad Dog, no Phoenix, no Tranni Panic.

I need to bleed, very very much. If only there was a piercing top in the whole state that would consider it!