last night i had the strangest dream...
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Thursday, September 01, 2005
New Poem: V for Vaudeville (draft 1)
The cinema died in celluloid swells that sparked my skirt,
Dyed in dyes that flaked off between my fingers where it made soft roses (hidden)
in the white of my hands. That dye like a butterfly.
From sepia canyons the light wove in throes and fits to hit hard the soft surface of a dirty mountain stream.
Not clean
Like some book or show but filled with mud, silt, sand,
leaves
feces.
I pulled my skirt up and ran the way that dogs do:
To Fro To Fro
Pell mell they say.
Oh hell.
Oh leather.
On the other side I saw the dark coming on like Dor-
othy, the Emerald city.
THERE IS: NO PLACE
Noplacelikethoserubylips noplacelikethoserubyslips
But as the clouds gathered green, I watched the sunset
Of the screen in waves of
Blink ing
light.
The cinema died that night with a one-two punch, a whispered kiss.
Pomp, Romp & Ceremony as I made it down the quiet hall alone, a weary traveller in some solemn steamy dream with no C for Cinema only V for...
The credits rolled a final time in step as, beautifully,
Tragically, with a car chase, a final sigh, a fandango, a top hat scream, dropofblood like a black pearl
(Perfect, never drying)
Cinema lay dying.
A silence. A cut.
It died then, in the moment I found you ,
down the town below
in those theatricals, hands singing like tough birds
Belly like fish, and the eyes of a shorn whore
Vellum Vaudeville reborn in fetish garb:
Oh hell.
Oh leather.
(Mary, Joe and Sade. A rebirth of entertainments gored, gone and dog-eared).
You whiteness, fleshed, no longer flat and light as light as light on screen had been.
You, the new god in stereo with a seraglio of cigarettes, rubbers and loves.
When push comes to shove you will make it XY XY XY: high, dry
the unlikely hero of flesh and blood.
No poison will harm you,
And your fingers burst through the gloves of some high fiction, as they reach through me.
This is not film
This is just Noir
This is not cinema
This is just verite
There may be dancing in the final scene but
That tango will be for you and me alone
For no eyes in space will keep time
When your eye look into mine.
And you light a cigarette in your own style
Forever undirected.
Dyed in dyes that flaked off between my fingers where it made soft roses (hidden)
in the white of my hands. That dye like a butterfly.
From sepia canyons the light wove in throes and fits to hit hard the soft surface of a dirty mountain stream.
Not clean
Like some book or show but filled with mud, silt, sand,
leaves
feces.
I pulled my skirt up and ran the way that dogs do:
To Fro To Fro
Pell mell they say.
Oh hell.
Oh leather.
On the other side I saw the dark coming on like Dor-
othy, the Emerald city.
THERE IS: NO PLACE
Noplacelikethoserubylips noplacelikethoserubyslips
But as the clouds gathered green, I watched the sunset
Of the screen in waves of
Blink ing
light.
The cinema died that night with a one-two punch, a whispered kiss.
Pomp, Romp & Ceremony as I made it down the quiet hall alone, a weary traveller in some solemn steamy dream with no C for Cinema only V for...
The credits rolled a final time in step as, beautifully,
Tragically, with a car chase, a final sigh, a fandango, a top hat scream, dropofblood like a black pearl
(Perfect, never drying)
Cinema lay dying.
A silence. A cut.
It died then, in the moment I found you ,
down the town below
in those theatricals, hands singing like tough birds
Belly like fish, and the eyes of a shorn whore
Vellum Vaudeville reborn in fetish garb:
Oh hell.
Oh leather.
(Mary, Joe and Sade. A rebirth of entertainments gored, gone and dog-eared).
You whiteness, fleshed, no longer flat and light as light as light on screen had been.
You, the new god in stereo with a seraglio of cigarettes, rubbers and loves.
When push comes to shove you will make it XY XY XY: high, dry
the unlikely hero of flesh and blood.
No poison will harm you,
And your fingers burst through the gloves of some high fiction, as they reach through me.
This is not film
This is just Noir
This is not cinema
This is just verite
There may be dancing in the final scene but
That tango will be for you and me alone
For no eyes in space will keep time
When your eye look into mine.
And you light a cigarette in your own style
Forever undirected.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
making the flakes snow: looking at a year part 1
there's a suitcase on my bed again.
I am making preparations to leave singapore, and go back to home, another home, again. i ws saying the other night that i feel like if i live somewhere...doesn't have to be a long time, just a few months, but if I LIVE there, i always miss it. that's my failing as a nomad. instead of having the home be inside me so that i never move, the ideal of the floating nomad life, i find that the world is my home...and there is always somewhere that i miss.
A year ago, august was all heirloom tomatoes and purple twilight. i was listening to vinyl with the windows open and a candle. Now i wonder...where did all the fireflies go?
Full of nervous energy
sleeping in the fold out bed, no furniture, new apartment, waiting for shipment, glossy wood floors and a pilow in front of the tv to watch Law and Order while eating roasted veggies in a wrap and a glass of white wine and later, to be sitting smoking on the porch in my towel...i love the feeling of drying off from a shower in the open air...hair up in a towel knot.
somehow the cigarette smoke was bigger before the furniture, the books...i wanted to let it out the back door.
I spent the days wandering around, and sitting by the pit, reading Bai Xianyong, i think...musicians, stilt walkers, madmen, drunks...i found home on the benches, in a movie of ease and elliott smith, the odd hard drunk. THe days were hot, and everybody said hi, you know, everybody said hi. i had to slow down just to go...take your time, miss. take your time.
When things started, when classes started i was walking through Harvard yard listening to tears for fears with the sun coming light, and a mug of joe from home, the co-op carry cup that i had picked up when i joined one august day after going off to watertown with a jar of homemade muesli for Fish and the Fam. I was listening to Depeche Mode that day..my jeans were rubbing out the tune to Personal Jesus from between my thighs. But, anyway, back to Harvard yard. I stepped through this shoal of people, it was the 80s all of a sudden...clean, bright, slightly vicious.
I was filled with love.and still being filled with love for my ex. I never thought i would speak of him as my ex. i was looking to the cleanliness of the wrought iron chairs, their happy picturesque position. and the T that sounds like elliott smith, the Decemberists, the pogues, the hidden cameras. always.
my grandmother died just as the air was getting colder.
and the speech between me and WIll was getting thinner and thinner, but what there was was boiling like tea on a mountain top. I remember he called me one time when fish was over and i had this sinking feeling as i sat in the red phone chair. my feet beat out a tune on the fridge..the words of the fridge poetry between my toes. "winter". "woman".
i took the plane home for the funeral after a week of being dazed. my grandmother had died in the time it took me to make and eat a bowl of oatmeal. I sat on the park bench in the island at the entrance to my development listening to Morrissey's "Our Frank" knowing that something big was ending. and it was even more than my grandmother's life. it scared me to kiss the smell of rot and shit in the crematorium, to cry so hard when i saw my own empty room where i had made love to will the last time. on the cream carpet floor in the summer lamplight. (you see, i remember. I remember the first time too)
in black i drank a black beer in the pub that was grey and low, surrounded by thick fingers in gold rings and hoarse voices and ploughman's sanwiches, everybody thinking of her great knees up, her G&T and her sense of style. her fuss, her jokes, Her sense of duty that was sharp as her photogenic nose.
I came home to cambridge and morrissey afraid that my last 18 years were being pulled out from underneath me.
------------------
I See Color Bars When I Come
the red sugar crystals on the cake sparkled in the candlelight. I was naked. It was my birthday after all and i was going to eat cake and run around and do my ironing at 3am like the sawn off bitch that i am. But, mate, with a heart of gold.
Halloween i set the fire alarm off and became an unpopular resident. But i went to Rocky Horror anyway in a gothy get up that (reminded me of the good parts of venice, before i woke up smelling like rotting on the inside from the most painful..no i never felt that way again...i washed so hard so long.) and Blue with a gold earring and an old slouch hat walked me home like a gentleman jim.
Sawhain round the table with new friends, a strange mix..a big sweet fairy running around granting chocolate to me and a little girl with dark hair. and my how we drank.
NOSFERATUNOSFERATU NOSFERATU.
i was painting. reading. so excited. so stressed. the snow began. the markets shut..but not without a few trips to buy groceries on fridays in freezing rain...thanksgiving was a haunting of a childhood hotel and thinking that Business Chinese was a drag. it was.
--------------------------
I am making preparations to leave singapore, and go back to home, another home, again. i ws saying the other night that i feel like if i live somewhere...doesn't have to be a long time, just a few months, but if I LIVE there, i always miss it. that's my failing as a nomad. instead of having the home be inside me so that i never move, the ideal of the floating nomad life, i find that the world is my home...and there is always somewhere that i miss.
A year ago, august was all heirloom tomatoes and purple twilight. i was listening to vinyl with the windows open and a candle. Now i wonder...where did all the fireflies go?
Full of nervous energy
sleeping in the fold out bed, no furniture, new apartment, waiting for shipment, glossy wood floors and a pilow in front of the tv to watch Law and Order while eating roasted veggies in a wrap and a glass of white wine and later, to be sitting smoking on the porch in my towel...i love the feeling of drying off from a shower in the open air...hair up in a towel knot.
somehow the cigarette smoke was bigger before the furniture, the books...i wanted to let it out the back door.
I spent the days wandering around, and sitting by the pit, reading Bai Xianyong, i think...musicians, stilt walkers, madmen, drunks...i found home on the benches, in a movie of ease and elliott smith, the odd hard drunk. THe days were hot, and everybody said hi, you know, everybody said hi. i had to slow down just to go...take your time, miss. take your time.
When things started, when classes started i was walking through Harvard yard listening to tears for fears with the sun coming light, and a mug of joe from home, the co-op carry cup that i had picked up when i joined one august day after going off to watertown with a jar of homemade muesli for Fish and the Fam. I was listening to Depeche Mode that day..my jeans were rubbing out the tune to Personal Jesus from between my thighs. But, anyway, back to Harvard yard. I stepped through this shoal of people, it was the 80s all of a sudden...clean, bright, slightly vicious.
I was filled with love.and still being filled with love for my ex. I never thought i would speak of him as my ex. i was looking to the cleanliness of the wrought iron chairs, their happy picturesque position. and the T that sounds like elliott smith, the Decemberists, the pogues, the hidden cameras. always.
my grandmother died just as the air was getting colder.
and the speech between me and WIll was getting thinner and thinner, but what there was was boiling like tea on a mountain top. I remember he called me one time when fish was over and i had this sinking feeling as i sat in the red phone chair. my feet beat out a tune on the fridge..the words of the fridge poetry between my toes. "winter". "woman".
i took the plane home for the funeral after a week of being dazed. my grandmother had died in the time it took me to make and eat a bowl of oatmeal. I sat on the park bench in the island at the entrance to my development listening to Morrissey's "Our Frank" knowing that something big was ending. and it was even more than my grandmother's life. it scared me to kiss the smell of rot and shit in the crematorium, to cry so hard when i saw my own empty room where i had made love to will the last time. on the cream carpet floor in the summer lamplight. (you see, i remember. I remember the first time too)
in black i drank a black beer in the pub that was grey and low, surrounded by thick fingers in gold rings and hoarse voices and ploughman's sanwiches, everybody thinking of her great knees up, her G&T and her sense of style. her fuss, her jokes, Her sense of duty that was sharp as her photogenic nose.
I came home to cambridge and morrissey afraid that my last 18 years were being pulled out from underneath me.
------------------
I See Color Bars When I Come
the red sugar crystals on the cake sparkled in the candlelight. I was naked. It was my birthday after all and i was going to eat cake and run around and do my ironing at 3am like the sawn off bitch that i am. But, mate, with a heart of gold.
Halloween i set the fire alarm off and became an unpopular resident. But i went to Rocky Horror anyway in a gothy get up that (reminded me of the good parts of venice, before i woke up smelling like rotting on the inside from the most painful..no i never felt that way again...i washed so hard so long.) and Blue with a gold earring and an old slouch hat walked me home like a gentleman jim.
Sawhain round the table with new friends, a strange mix..a big sweet fairy running around granting chocolate to me and a little girl with dark hair. and my how we drank.
NOSFERATUNOSFERATU NOSFERATU.
i was painting. reading. so excited. so stressed. the snow began. the markets shut..but not without a few trips to buy groceries on fridays in freezing rain...thanksgiving was a haunting of a childhood hotel and thinking that Business Chinese was a drag. it was.
--------------------------
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Monday, August 08, 2005
An Homage to National Day
O it is coming.
After hearing fighter jets nearly every day and crazy big groups of soldiers marching and entire highways blocked by files of pristine (as never used) tanks and artillery, Tuesday is finally...Singaporean National Day. yes. I know. You're THRILLED.
So Singapore is celebrating the big Four-Oh and this seems to be an enormous deal (and not without reason, i might add, BUT) it's like kids and Christmas where they start getting excited about the big day right after Haloween...is it almost here??? Is it??? Is it??? the military bouncing up and down tgging the sleeve of the whole island. this is like the big show to prove to all the wives and mothers that when you send your sons off for National Service they do actually learn how to DO something.
marching.
they're REALLy good at it.
thing is, there is a good side: No work. plus...and this has been the sweet part of the gearing up escapades....FIREWORKS. Now as a consequence of the hyperactive and yet overly cautious (read: must practise every weekend so as to make sure the show is RIGHT) pyrotechnics being's habits i have been party to some pretty nice fireworks shows on saturday nights this month...and the capper is...i can see them from my window. howzat???!!!
Pay $70 singapore dollars to squeeze inbetween a bunch of people painted red and white my ARSE. No. I am going to maybe take a stroll, see what kind of crazy thing people are getting up to afterwards, but as for the fireworks and that itself...I will be doing it in true Singapore style...with no WALKING whatsoever...sitting by the window of my apartment. i will salute this crazy place in the most fitting way i can think of...with cholesterol:
Singapore, i raise my Kaya toast to you!
(for those of you not familiar...kaya is a yummy yummy hainanese coconut spread with egg yolks in it that will kill you. really. But it's WORTH it.)
After hearing fighter jets nearly every day and crazy big groups of soldiers marching and entire highways blocked by files of pristine (as never used) tanks and artillery, Tuesday is finally...Singaporean National Day. yes. I know. You're THRILLED.
So Singapore is celebrating the big Four-Oh and this seems to be an enormous deal (and not without reason, i might add, BUT) it's like kids and Christmas where they start getting excited about the big day right after Haloween...is it almost here??? Is it??? Is it??? the military bouncing up and down tgging the sleeve of the whole island. this is like the big show to prove to all the wives and mothers that when you send your sons off for National Service they do actually learn how to DO something.
marching.
they're REALLy good at it.
thing is, there is a good side: No work. plus...and this has been the sweet part of the gearing up escapades....FIREWORKS. Now as a consequence of the hyperactive and yet overly cautious (read: must practise every weekend so as to make sure the show is RIGHT) pyrotechnics being's habits i have been party to some pretty nice fireworks shows on saturday nights this month...and the capper is...i can see them from my window. howzat???!!!
Pay $70 singapore dollars to squeeze inbetween a bunch of people painted red and white my ARSE. No. I am going to maybe take a stroll, see what kind of crazy thing people are getting up to afterwards, but as for the fireworks and that itself...I will be doing it in true Singapore style...with no WALKING whatsoever...sitting by the window of my apartment. i will salute this crazy place in the most fitting way i can think of...with cholesterol:
Singapore, i raise my Kaya toast to you!
(for those of you not familiar...kaya is a yummy yummy hainanese coconut spread with egg yolks in it that will kill you. really. But it's WORTH it.)
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
night vision
so i am drinking my jasmine tea concoction, listening to Arab Strap and trying to work out what digital camera to buy because i am going to india next week. Lots of saffron coloured smog i expect. i hope to be able to upload lots of stuff for you all to see...DIMACo should have pictures from Xinjiang soon too, i reckon.
I was going home in a cab today (left my metrocard at home...high heels...long story) and i realised how little i have explored in Singapore. What with all the web stuff for Dudley and the writing and what not i haven't gotten to nearly as many places as i would like. So this weekend is going to be hectic. I just saw all these interesting places fly by and just wished i didn't have to bring my mac into work everyday (the IBM has issues, and besides, i hate pcs) so that i could be more footloose and fancy free. the food i eat at lunch just about makes up for it...i travel a thousand miles through my tongue.
all kinds of projects happening now...new feminist journal could be starting, a real project...will write about that when i have more time, and i am trying to put an online exhibition together. If only i could design webpages properly!!
I will write more later, but i kind of needed to put somethng in as a marker between the present and the horrible bombings. Thankyou to all of you who signed my e-letter of solidarity. I plan to post it here and send it to SOAS and the BBC on the month anniversary of the bombing.
love you all and can't wait to come home to see at least some of you...some of you i will have to wait longer to love at close quarters...
SR65X
I was going home in a cab today (left my metrocard at home...high heels...long story) and i realised how little i have explored in Singapore. What with all the web stuff for Dudley and the writing and what not i haven't gotten to nearly as many places as i would like. So this weekend is going to be hectic. I just saw all these interesting places fly by and just wished i didn't have to bring my mac into work everyday (the IBM has issues, and besides, i hate pcs) so that i could be more footloose and fancy free. the food i eat at lunch just about makes up for it...i travel a thousand miles through my tongue.
all kinds of projects happening now...new feminist journal could be starting, a real project...will write about that when i have more time, and i am trying to put an online exhibition together. If only i could design webpages properly!!
I will write more later, but i kind of needed to put somethng in as a marker between the present and the horrible bombings. Thankyou to all of you who signed my e-letter of solidarity. I plan to post it here and send it to SOAS and the BBC on the month anniversary of the bombing.
love you all and can't wait to come home to see at least some of you...some of you i will have to wait longer to love at close quarters...
SR65X
Thursday, July 07, 2005
london
what is happening? What IS happening? Bombs went off in London today, again i am out of the country when something happens in a place i love, and i have to thank god, but also to feel profoundly frightened. I was in Beijing when 9-11 happened, and now i am in Singapore. One of the bombs went off in Kings Cross where i lived between 2000 and 2001 and which i lived nearby between 2002 and 2004. another bomb went off at Russell Sq. the tube station where my alma mater is. My friends and teachers work and live in the area where this happened. i....
i don't know what to say at all.
TO all my friends in the UK. STAY SAFE. I miss you all and love you. Thank you to those of you who replied to my desperate email finding out if you were ok. It's good to know that you are all intact...makes me feel like i might have a chance at sleeping. sending all my love.
i don't know what to say at all.
TO all my friends in the UK. STAY SAFE. I miss you all and love you. Thank you to those of you who replied to my desperate email finding out if you were ok. It's good to know that you are all intact...makes me feel like i might have a chance at sleeping. sending all my love.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
like mate to check
Ok so here's another new poem...not finished, but...for your perusal.
------------------------------------------------------------------
In bed I fight with muscles move, against the mattress like mate to check
Make gestures, inspect the springs for signs of you
But your motions are printed into sheets split by time and time zones
Where your body lays and sways to whistling breezes in yours, the
State
Of Sleep/
I battle tangled sheets, the sails of dream-ships flying out to you,
Pull down the rigging, chart maps, your borders fine patrolled
Find the blind spots, soft points unwatched and slip in easy
Mounting my invasion by the light of the North Star.
Your arms embrace me like the harbor bar
Your lips salty with the light of morning
I never was a stranger
No alien here
As I step up time’s gangplank
Toes curled on ridges of days
Living the love to know your body’s home.
This is a morning
Where I approached you where you lay
So sweet so soft and drowsy
Put down my thoughts and sighed
This is a moment
Before you know I’m there.
In bed I fight with muscles move, against the mattress like mate to check
Whispering yet trade routes into the pillow’s ear, knowing that
The lights outside still blink e-ven e-ven be-fore the dawn
Turns
On
And I find myself spread in bed alone
------------------------------------------------------------------
In bed I fight with muscles move, against the mattress like mate to check
Make gestures, inspect the springs for signs of you
But your motions are printed into sheets split by time and time zones
Where your body lays and sways to whistling breezes in yours, the
State
Of Sleep/
I battle tangled sheets, the sails of dream-ships flying out to you,
Pull down the rigging, chart maps, your borders fine patrolled
Find the blind spots, soft points unwatched and slip in easy
Mounting my invasion by the light of the North Star.
Your arms embrace me like the harbor bar
Your lips salty with the light of morning
I never was a stranger
No alien here
As I step up time’s gangplank
Toes curled on ridges of days
Living the love to know your body’s home.
This is a morning
Where I approached you where you lay
So sweet so soft and drowsy
Put down my thoughts and sighed
This is a moment
Before you know I’m there.
In bed I fight with muscles move, against the mattress like mate to check
Whispering yet trade routes into the pillow’s ear, knowing that
The lights outside still blink e-ven e-ven be-fore the dawn
Turns
On
And I find myself spread in bed alone
Friday, July 01, 2005
moveon pac petition...please sign!
Subject: O'Connor is retiring. Take action to protect our rights.
Hi,
As you probably heard, Sandra Day O'Connor just resigned from the Supreme Court. This is an extremely important time for our senators to hear from us. They need to know that we are counting on them to stand up to President Bush and protect our rights -- because with a moderate like O'Connor stepping down and a far-right like Bush making the nomination, well, the stakes couldn't be higher. The Terri Schiavo tragedy showed us all just how far these people are willing to go.
MoveOn PAC has already started an emergency petition, and we're looking to get 250,000 signatures and comments to the Senate before Tuesday -- which is when rumor has it Bush will announce his nomination.
I hope you can take a minute to join me in signing this petition, so our senators know that, in what might be the fight of our lives, we need them to do what it takes to protect our rights.
http://www.moveonpac.org/protectourrights
Thanks!
Hi,
As you probably heard, Sandra Day O'Connor just resigned from the Supreme Court. This is an extremely important time for our senators to hear from us. They need to know that we are counting on them to stand up to President Bush and protect our rights -- because with a moderate like O'Connor stepping down and a far-right like Bush making the nomination, well, the stakes couldn't be higher. The Terri Schiavo tragedy showed us all just how far these people are willing to go.
MoveOn PAC has already started an emergency petition, and we're looking to get 250,000 signatures and comments to the Senate before Tuesday -- which is when rumor has it Bush will announce his nomination.
I hope you can take a minute to join me in signing this petition, so our senators know that, in what might be the fight of our lives, we need them to do what it takes to protect our rights.
http://www.moveonpac.org/protectourrights
Thanks!
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Go Ja Go Karta
Well, i am writing because tomorrow i am going to Jakarta Indonesia on my own on behalf of DBS, the company I am interning for out here in Singapore. My boss will follow on thursday, but i wanted to let you all know where i was becasue, well, i dunno...
THis week has been CRAzy so far. New friends on motorcycles, boss takes me out for thai food, marketing people actually really really nice and should open own design firm and stop being paid less than they are worth.
more later, promise...right now i have to go make sure i have everything and go to sleep crack of dawn flight tomorow. Up at 5am. ugh.
take care, all of you,
much love,
SR65
XXX
THis week has been CRAzy so far. New friends on motorcycles, boss takes me out for thai food, marketing people actually really really nice and should open own design firm and stop being paid less than they are worth.
more later, promise...right now i have to go make sure i have everything and go to sleep crack of dawn flight tomorow. Up at 5am. ugh.
take care, all of you,
much love,
SR65
XXX
Thursday, June 23, 2005
in love with a view
my penultimate full day in korea. THis has been for me one of the ultimate holidays, in a way: I get to listen to really great lectures for free and commune with feminists and see really great art (more on that later) and then go and have amazing food and shop. i had planned to do a bit more museum going...there is so much to see here...but by today after three days of 8 hours of lecture sessions (more or less) i just felt like wanderng and shopping today, my day off.
Unfortunately i have an outrageous headache right now...probably from being out wandering in the sun.
I had the ultimate korean experience yesterday and today:
Yesterday I went to the conference as usual...there has been a lot of stuff there about the plight of the korean women taken as "comfort women" i.e. sexual slaves/forced prostitution/rape victims by the japanese army durng the second world war. I am sure that some of you are aware of the level of brutality that these women, now mostly in their 70's and 80's were forced to endure. on monday there was a meeting between Koizumi and the Korean leader (whose name escapes me, ugh) here inSeoul (and actally, i think at my hotel, at least in part...there were tonnes of riot police and what not here on monday...it was scary) and Koizumi categorically refused to acknowledge that these atrocities had occured and refused to rectify new textbooks that glossed over this and other war atrocities (the textbook has China's back up too...incidentally). So there ws a protest, actually the 67th (i think) on this matter yesterday, and i and many participants from the conference were pleased to take part and lend our suport to these brave women.
afterwards i went to some more lectures about gender in china and whatnot, and then to a rountable on women's new media art...i am thinking about putting an online exhibition together for Dudley!! I have another plot/plan which i will write about shortly and which i am really excited about...a feminista-journal-scrapbook-translation project (more on that later)
So i met some wonderful curators and artists and went out to dinner on my own, came back an looked at the films that were being shown through their work, and the work of EMAP (Ewha Media Arts Project). glorious evening...been walking aroun Seoul with my massive Bose headphones on listening to Van Morrison and Fairuz(the ones my parents gave me as hand me downs) looking very old skool. Funny thing...huge headphones attached to an iPod!
Today I started my day with a green tea an Sweet potato Latte at O'Shelloc ( swanky japanese influenced green tea boutique cafe) in Myeongdong (nearby fashionista lively shopping area) and walked to namdaemun Market which is HUGE and piled high with dried fish, fruit and veg, and fake gucci...as well as sundry household items, art supplies (?), costume jewellery wholesalers and dry goods as well as clothes in great heaps for no money (but not anything you would want, for the most part). Had lunch at a market stall in the midst of all of this, a quiet corner in the chaos (there was a demonstration going on on one of the streets at the edge of the market as well...no idea what for...signs all in korean) where i saw somebody eating something that looked tasty and i pointed an said "i'll have what he's having". Ended up with a huge bowl of vermicelli type noodles in an iced soup with kimchi in. it was absolutely delicious. I drank a bottle of iced green tea an ate what i could reading "The Opoponax" and the ladies working the stall were somewhat amused.
went on the Dongdaemun, another market in the shadow of one of the former city gates, except this is a whole series of huge fashion malls something like Xidan in Beijing, plus a big clothing warehouse market...more like Wujin Xing with hats and scarves and stuff. I bought some great stuff...and went off to look for some culture. BEcause even though i didn't feel like musuem hopping all day, i couldn't shop all day either.
wandered around the lovely buildings of the "traditional korean village" at Cheongmuro. big groups of chinese an japanese tourists. after getting dusty looking into the comfy looking wooden floored homes stocked with furniture and bolsters, i had a cup of citron tea (AmaZING.. a sweet marmalade like paste you mix with water to make a kind of tea) in the restaurant that is inside one of the traditional style buildings (xirca 19th C), just as the sun was begining to be a little gentler and a breeze was stirring up
Spent a couple of hours wandering aroun the Lotte Dept. store, one of the sawnkiest i have ever been in...really...rivals japan. sampled all different snacks, and bought some...seaweeds and crackers and encrused tea leaves (i think..it's tasty, so whatever) to bring home..and some of that citron tea.
now, probably due to being out in the sun, i have a raging headache...but it was worth it...i have one more day of conference tomorrow,,,an ihave to pack...get ready to go back to singapore...which is how i got the title of this entry. Because as good a time as i have had here, and as much as i like it...i actually miss singapore. I miss my apartment..i miss the sense of space and the cleanliness of the air in my room, the incense burning, the indian markets and the exciting prospects....most of all, i miss my view.
SR65X
Unfortunately i have an outrageous headache right now...probably from being out wandering in the sun.
I had the ultimate korean experience yesterday and today:
Yesterday I went to the conference as usual...there has been a lot of stuff there about the plight of the korean women taken as "comfort women" i.e. sexual slaves/forced prostitution/rape victims by the japanese army durng the second world war. I am sure that some of you are aware of the level of brutality that these women, now mostly in their 70's and 80's were forced to endure. on monday there was a meeting between Koizumi and the Korean leader (whose name escapes me, ugh) here inSeoul (and actally, i think at my hotel, at least in part...there were tonnes of riot police and what not here on monday...it was scary) and Koizumi categorically refused to acknowledge that these atrocities had occured and refused to rectify new textbooks that glossed over this and other war atrocities (the textbook has China's back up too...incidentally). So there ws a protest, actually the 67th (i think) on this matter yesterday, and i and many participants from the conference were pleased to take part and lend our suport to these brave women.
afterwards i went to some more lectures about gender in china and whatnot, and then to a rountable on women's new media art...i am thinking about putting an online exhibition together for Dudley!! I have another plot/plan which i will write about shortly and which i am really excited about...a feminista-journal-scrapbook-translation project (more on that later)
So i met some wonderful curators and artists and went out to dinner on my own, came back an looked at the films that were being shown through their work, and the work of EMAP (Ewha Media Arts Project). glorious evening...been walking aroun Seoul with my massive Bose headphones on listening to Van Morrison and Fairuz(the ones my parents gave me as hand me downs) looking very old skool. Funny thing...huge headphones attached to an iPod!
Today I started my day with a green tea an Sweet potato Latte at O'Shelloc ( swanky japanese influenced green tea boutique cafe) in Myeongdong (nearby fashionista lively shopping area) and walked to namdaemun Market which is HUGE and piled high with dried fish, fruit and veg, and fake gucci...as well as sundry household items, art supplies (?), costume jewellery wholesalers and dry goods as well as clothes in great heaps for no money (but not anything you would want, for the most part). Had lunch at a market stall in the midst of all of this, a quiet corner in the chaos (there was a demonstration going on on one of the streets at the edge of the market as well...no idea what for...signs all in korean) where i saw somebody eating something that looked tasty and i pointed an said "i'll have what he's having". Ended up with a huge bowl of vermicelli type noodles in an iced soup with kimchi in. it was absolutely delicious. I drank a bottle of iced green tea an ate what i could reading "The Opoponax" and the ladies working the stall were somewhat amused.
went on the Dongdaemun, another market in the shadow of one of the former city gates, except this is a whole series of huge fashion malls something like Xidan in Beijing, plus a big clothing warehouse market...more like Wujin Xing with hats and scarves and stuff. I bought some great stuff...and went off to look for some culture. BEcause even though i didn't feel like musuem hopping all day, i couldn't shop all day either.
wandered around the lovely buildings of the "traditional korean village" at Cheongmuro. big groups of chinese an japanese tourists. after getting dusty looking into the comfy looking wooden floored homes stocked with furniture and bolsters, i had a cup of citron tea (AmaZING.. a sweet marmalade like paste you mix with water to make a kind of tea) in the restaurant that is inside one of the traditional style buildings (xirca 19th C), just as the sun was begining to be a little gentler and a breeze was stirring up
Spent a couple of hours wandering aroun the Lotte Dept. store, one of the sawnkiest i have ever been in...really...rivals japan. sampled all different snacks, and bought some...seaweeds and crackers and encrused tea leaves (i think..it's tasty, so whatever) to bring home..and some of that citron tea.
now, probably due to being out in the sun, i have a raging headache...but it was worth it...i have one more day of conference tomorrow,,,an ihave to pack...get ready to go back to singapore...which is how i got the title of this entry. Because as good a time as i have had here, and as much as i like it...i actually miss singapore. I miss my apartment..i miss the sense of space and the cleanliness of the air in my room, the incense burning, the indian markets and the exciting prospects....most of all, i miss my view.
SR65X
Monday, June 20, 2005
the feminist and "the visit"
Ok...so it is in fact 11.30pm here in Seoul, yes..I am in Seoul, Korea for the International Interdisciplinary conference on women. And it figures that having stressed all night and then gone to be very late, getting up late too and scrambling into a cream coloured pants suit so that i can look all professional-like (he) when giving my prsentation i got to the opening ceremony late...not that it mattered. the kicker was that as I was standing out in the scorching sun after having been given a huge quantity of reading material and other ephemera in my very own "Women's Worlds" complimentary conference pack, i felt cramps starting and suddenly realised i was getting my period. Right now. I had anticipated this would happen. I am not one of those women who knows the ins and outs of her cycle intimately, and times her life around it. No. Mine is generally something that happens, i vaguely know when it is going to kick in. I missed last month...go figure, and i thought somewhere in the back of my mind...it is bound to come during the conference, it is bound to come during the conference. Because it shows up at the most innoportune times always. When I am moving. When I have exams. whenever there is a high stress situation it just has to come in and be the icing of annoyance on the proverbial cake o' stress. Anyway, i thought it was a rather interesting excercise to try an explain that i needed a tampon or other sanitary item to a helper at a korean women's university during the first 2 hours of a women's conference. Hilarious actually.
My presentation went ok, incidentally. One of the panelists didn't show up, and everybody was still just getting oriented on campus, so we only ha about 6 people, or 7. my paper was too long, but the Q & A session was great fun.
But what the hell. It's over. I did it. It goes on the CV and i have a week of cool lectures to go to, and i had Donkatsu for dinner (very bad for me, i know) while reading Wittig's "THe Oppoponax". And then a pair of drunken Koran guys eating ice cream asked me for cigarettes on my way home to the hotel and the one who had the less minimal grasp of english vocabulary kept asking for my phone number and putting his arm around me. I couldn't take him seriously enough to be worried, he was so silly, with an ice cream cone and a cheezy drunken grin.
I have spent most of my money and have nothing to show for it really, except for a catalogue of good meals. I am going to do more wandering and stuff starting wednesday. TOmorrow...more conferencing and my mom's friend is meeting me for dinner i think.
One more piece of news though. I signed up to read some poetry at the closing ceremony. what am i getting myself into?? I think i might red my new poem though...it is suitably feminist.
let me know what you all think,
missing everybody!!
love,
SR65X
My presentation went ok, incidentally. One of the panelists didn't show up, and everybody was still just getting oriented on campus, so we only ha about 6 people, or 7. my paper was too long, but the Q & A session was great fun.
But what the hell. It's over. I did it. It goes on the CV and i have a week of cool lectures to go to, and i had Donkatsu for dinner (very bad for me, i know) while reading Wittig's "THe Oppoponax". And then a pair of drunken Koran guys eating ice cream asked me for cigarettes on my way home to the hotel and the one who had the less minimal grasp of english vocabulary kept asking for my phone number and putting his arm around me. I couldn't take him seriously enough to be worried, he was so silly, with an ice cream cone and a cheezy drunken grin.
I have spent most of my money and have nothing to show for it really, except for a catalogue of good meals. I am going to do more wandering and stuff starting wednesday. TOmorrow...more conferencing and my mom's friend is meeting me for dinner i think.
One more piece of news though. I signed up to read some poetry at the closing ceremony. what am i getting myself into?? I think i might red my new poem though...it is suitably feminist.
let me know what you all think,
missing everybody!!
love,
SR65X
Thursday, June 16, 2005
new poem: my pleasures are not illicit
My pleasures are not illicit.
They run run run fast and happy
ArminArm ArminArm like paper men down the highway
above
Past the clumps of trees that dream themselves to ideal forests
above
And for a path to the sky
The dappled light.
My pleasures shout marco polo
Smoke vines and get off boldly under bridges for shade where…
(A fat man runs with fat children at the yellow feet of the madhouse
That looks like a multi-storey-madman
Walking down the valley v)
…My pleasures do not hide.
Small: they shine and slide underbehindoverthrough doors, keyholes and cracks
Pick locks in broad day light where sun plays search lamp
To find you where you sleep, to hold you and your soul where you dream so deep.
My pleasures are a body whole:
whole in all its carnevale
Whole and hurting, hurtling down roads unknown
That body with silences, openings, moans
orifices, architecture and ordinary elegance, idiocies
(betises)
(betises)
(betises) bis.
bis.
bis.
Body bad that scuffs heel shone, shuns the step a step, shuffles a little, stubs its soft toe.
The hair the sweat the hole boned whole, like a tent made for loving low.
My pleasures are invincible
A superhero stream
Sprinting up your dark mountain screaming all the way
Ambling down your precipice
They may crawl through phone lines and swim the oceans green.
They
Live unseen in every breath (you breathe you) breath (you breathe)
Take keys brass under tongues, cross lovely hearts
And live the little death.
They run run run fast and happy
ArminArm ArminArm like paper men down the highway
above
Past the clumps of trees that dream themselves to ideal forests
above
And for a path to the sky
The dappled light.
My pleasures shout marco polo
Smoke vines and get off boldly under bridges for shade where…
(A fat man runs with fat children at the yellow feet of the madhouse
That looks like a multi-storey-madman
Walking down the valley v)
…My pleasures do not hide.
Small: they shine and slide underbehindoverthrough doors, keyholes and cracks
Pick locks in broad day light where sun plays search lamp
To find you where you sleep, to hold you and your soul where you dream so deep.
My pleasures are a body whole:
whole in all its carnevale
Whole and hurting, hurtling down roads unknown
That body with silences, openings, moans
orifices, architecture and ordinary elegance, idiocies
(betises)
(betises)
(betises) bis.
bis.
bis.
Body bad that scuffs heel shone, shuns the step a step, shuffles a little, stubs its soft toe.
The hair the sweat the hole boned whole, like a tent made for loving low.
My pleasures are invincible
A superhero stream
Sprinting up your dark mountain screaming all the way
Ambling down your precipice
They may crawl through phone lines and swim the oceans green.
They
Live unseen in every breath (you breathe you) breath (you breathe)
Take keys brass under tongues, cross lovely hearts
And live the little death.
singapore view:1
this is one of the views from my window. Will write more shortly...gearing up for Korea at the moment so rather short on time. Promise to be more prolific!!! Anyway...Enjoy, peeps!! P.s. My lunch was cooked in a banana leaf. Next time will take pictures of that!!
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
when in singapore
do as the singaporeans do, which it seem is basically: eat. A lot.
actually it's a bit more complicated than that.
And i know i haven't written in ages in here, and i apologise to all my faithful friends, and even to the unfaithful ones.
It's quarter to two in the morning here. Dark outside. a few cars going by on the network of highways visible from my twentieth storey apartment. The air conditioning is on, and Arab Strap is playing. a series of orange lights in rows and knots, skyscrapers, the lush trees invisible in the dark except for the rich darkness they create. I am sitting in the window sill, about a foot wide, right up against the window so that i feel like there is nothing between me and the space, the drop and the cleanness of it. I have a view of the harbour during the day which makes me happy when i sit here and wach the sun come up with a cigarette. I developed the habit of squishing myself right next to the windows of tall buildings when i was in Hong Kong the first time. I think i was 13 or 14. I was sleeping on a fold out bed in the living room section of a suite in the conrad hotel, probably more than 20 floors up. I became fascinated with the way the towers looked like crystals or spikes, needles emerging from the clouds of mist. I liked to look down into the mist and imagine the city afloat. Which is quite funny because it is as the author Xi Xi imagines the city in some ways. Anyway...
enough with the atmosphere
i got here monday morning at 7am and it was already 82 degrees
i am living in a service apartment here, a cross between a hotel room and a flat. the city is strange, a bunch of modern shopping malls that i have to say are exceptionally boring, except for the ubiquitous and bustling food courts, butted up against areas designated by the ethnicity of their inhabitants, Arab St., Little India, Chinatown. these are much more fun. Arab st. yesterday went by "dry markets" in the shadow of the mosque, selling spices and dried fish, shrimp, cuttlefish and etc. every size of dried shrimp you can imagine, and the little baby whitings, dried into little strings. herbs. bitter and salty under sheets of red plastic awning. textile shops, all manner of silks and ribbons, towered up in the windows, and perfumers, gold bottles and prayer beads. Little India was all jewellery, a lot of it gold, handicrafts, florists, sweets everywhere, and pakoras, roti, dosa. but i am going to be in india soon. It seems like incense is being burned everywhere, but each area burns its own incense. Indian masala incense and arabic style a litle heavier and big sticks of sandalwood scent in chinatown. which is where i was today.
i will write more tomorrow, feeling very tired.
take this as a first report from singapore, and excuse my laziness
love SR65
actually it's a bit more complicated than that.
And i know i haven't written in ages in here, and i apologise to all my faithful friends, and even to the unfaithful ones.
It's quarter to two in the morning here. Dark outside. a few cars going by on the network of highways visible from my twentieth storey apartment. The air conditioning is on, and Arab Strap is playing. a series of orange lights in rows and knots, skyscrapers, the lush trees invisible in the dark except for the rich darkness they create. I am sitting in the window sill, about a foot wide, right up against the window so that i feel like there is nothing between me and the space, the drop and the cleanness of it. I have a view of the harbour during the day which makes me happy when i sit here and wach the sun come up with a cigarette. I developed the habit of squishing myself right next to the windows of tall buildings when i was in Hong Kong the first time. I think i was 13 or 14. I was sleeping on a fold out bed in the living room section of a suite in the conrad hotel, probably more than 20 floors up. I became fascinated with the way the towers looked like crystals or spikes, needles emerging from the clouds of mist. I liked to look down into the mist and imagine the city afloat. Which is quite funny because it is as the author Xi Xi imagines the city in some ways. Anyway...
enough with the atmosphere
i got here monday morning at 7am and it was already 82 degrees
i am living in a service apartment here, a cross between a hotel room and a flat. the city is strange, a bunch of modern shopping malls that i have to say are exceptionally boring, except for the ubiquitous and bustling food courts, butted up against areas designated by the ethnicity of their inhabitants, Arab St., Little India, Chinatown. these are much more fun. Arab st. yesterday went by "dry markets" in the shadow of the mosque, selling spices and dried fish, shrimp, cuttlefish and etc. every size of dried shrimp you can imagine, and the little baby whitings, dried into little strings. herbs. bitter and salty under sheets of red plastic awning. textile shops, all manner of silks and ribbons, towered up in the windows, and perfumers, gold bottles and prayer beads. Little India was all jewellery, a lot of it gold, handicrafts, florists, sweets everywhere, and pakoras, roti, dosa. but i am going to be in india soon. It seems like incense is being burned everywhere, but each area burns its own incense. Indian masala incense and arabic style a litle heavier and big sticks of sandalwood scent in chinatown. which is where i was today.
i will write more tomorrow, feeling very tired.
take this as a first report from singapore, and excuse my laziness
love SR65
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
new look: hope you like it!
So, all this fiddling about and tweaking of my my myspace profile has taught me the tiniest tiniest bit of html, but you know i am stretching it as much as possible...so decided to give the mirror stage a bit of a face lift...or at least snazz it up somewhat although it is still my classiest internet incarnation. The painting now serving as background to the title is by Anselm Kiefer...my favourite painter. just lots of books. i thought it was rather appropriate. anyway...must get back to the final papers.
SR65
SR65
Saturday, May 14, 2005
White Light: Complete poem in 3 parts, first draft.
As I said before the graphical play is going to be destroyed on here...but anyway, here it is...tell me what you think, peeps.
SR65x
-----------------
White Light
1. that slick of your back
put comma to curve make
straight the way way way
out there, it became an
exclamation for me
a cry from below
put pen to paper
make a line curve to line
a swift motion that you
can fill with phantoms
that time you gave me your hand
clench firm soft fingers tight
make sparks make light light light the night
and spread apart the sheets
of days where we can hide
like hibernation or honeymoon.
put pen to paper
and paint the inside
out
2. am. You’re winding yourself around me like a soft soft string/our arms/ great sweet knots of heat/ they pack our selves, a gift enclosed/
I think
I’d like to cut you open with passion and a slit, lick that knows only love.
Hold picnics at the binding borders of your skin, make tiny bonfires of regrets
Bring all that sugared sap up of you up to drink like fountains you will flow
Put my hand inside your Glory: O it is B e a u t i f u l, your vicious soul. It will
rain
down
warm
in
All
the
Pink movements of your lips, Great White hard hips you have, and a voice
That speaks fit to burst blue blue upon an endless story, those details
You thought long forgotten. Yes the trees that grow in your heart, the
Grasses and the vines that line the way, the birds and fires and lightning
On that path through you the lemon trees too, and sunny gardens, the Love and tomatoes. All of these I will tiptoe through, covered stealthy in your
Spirit skins leaving kisses, bites for signposts. Because sometimes it is the
Package that undoes the ribbon and
Red Red Ridinghood that wears the wolf.
3.
You like an imperative:
The force of it, as it sprays across my face
Like all that fire hose pornography.
5 alarm at 5 am.
That’s when…
You, like an imperative,
Appear closersmoother, bend me
To an X, with sex to center
Make me on the cross of
St. Andrew.
You hold my body: flaming tinder,
Tell me that’s not all I am
But your eyes were a pilot light
that night,
So it’s a 5 alarm at 5am.
SR65x
-----------------
White Light
1. that slick of your back
put comma to curve make
straight the way way way
out there, it became an
exclamation for me
a cry from below
put pen to paper
make a line curve to line
a swift motion that you
can fill with phantoms
that time you gave me your hand
clench firm soft fingers tight
make sparks make light light light the night
and spread apart the sheets
of days where we can hide
like hibernation or honeymoon.
put pen to paper
and paint the inside
out
2. am. You’re winding yourself around me like a soft soft string/our arms/ great sweet knots of heat/ they pack our selves, a gift enclosed/
I think
I’d like to cut you open with passion and a slit, lick that knows only love.
Hold picnics at the binding borders of your skin, make tiny bonfires of regrets
Bring all that sugared sap up of you up to drink like fountains you will flow
Put my hand inside your Glory: O it is B e a u t i f u l, your vicious soul. It will
rain
down
warm
in
All
the
Pink movements of your lips, Great White hard hips you have, and a voice
That speaks fit to burst blue blue upon an endless story, those details
You thought long forgotten. Yes the trees that grow in your heart, the
Grasses and the vines that line the way, the birds and fires and lightning
On that path through you the lemon trees too, and sunny gardens, the Love and tomatoes. All of these I will tiptoe through, covered stealthy in your
Spirit skins leaving kisses, bites for signposts. Because sometimes it is the
Package that undoes the ribbon and
Red Red Ridinghood that wears the wolf.
3.
You like an imperative:
The force of it, as it sprays across my face
Like all that fire hose pornography.
5 alarm at 5 am.
That’s when…
You, like an imperative,
Appear closersmoother, bend me
To an X, with sex to center
Make me on the cross of
St. Andrew.
You hold my body: flaming tinder,
Tell me that’s not all I am
But your eyes were a pilot light
that night,
So it’s a 5 alarm at 5am.
Monday, May 02, 2005
militant orgasm: female cumshot/human cumshot
I am successfully avoiding doing much work...smoking. thinking.looking at the net, reading articles. suchlike.
I have some interesting food for thought too...through the power of modern technology and the dirty mind of my new lover, i have been party to witnessing myself have an orgasm for the first time. Now this is weird...for those of you who have NOT seen yourself have an orgasm...it's a mixed experience. (God...do I really look like that??? UGH) Don't worry peeps, i am not going to go into too many dirty details, although frankly i am sure that some of you wouldn't mind swopping stories...
just this: did anybody else know that people blush behind their ears and then that it spreads and then there's a blush across the belly when you come??? I didn't!!! I mean apart from the penchant for poppers in the 90s where everybody would be walking around red faced, vaguely horny and teenage, i hadn't realised there was an empirical pattern to the whole thing. and apparently this is universal. I think this is WELL beautiful. or indeed....VERY wow.
and it brings to mind...
one of the main points of Catherine Mackinnon's writings (and others) on Pornography concerns the displacement of female pleasure...the ubiquitous cumshot that stands for all sexual enjoyment, where the phallus is inscribed on the bodily penis as the primary symbol, and the primary symbol of pleasure, taking the place of the "invisible" female orgasm (whose existence is STILL apparently up for debate...double ugh). Now, recently in my adventures in sex (yay) I have been party to a lot of very interesting experiences...a lot of times lately where i feel like Fausto Sterling et al must be absolutely right...like Rubin says "men and women might be different to eachother, but they are more like eachother than anything else for example kangaroos and coconut palms" ( this is a sorta quote...i didn't consult, but I always loved that line, and it is very nearly correct if not absolutely). What I mean is that i have been looking at my lover and i have been recognizing the feelings and the expressions more..."male" pleasure always seemed to me to be somewhat delineated in opposition to the popular representations of and expressions of female pleasure (which, naturally we must remember are often bunk), but i think there may be, even within the currently fairly omnipresent binary economy (ugh) some potential to see the human, something utterly simple and simultaneously mainfestly complex. The bottom line is that there is potentially a unisex cumshot, something sexy, i.e. halfway between ugliness and grace, and utterly utterly human. I want to glorify this thing...it seems like a basis to a new visual erotic...an economy based on expression and body that glows.
I guess it's a bit subtle. Not for everybody. But it makes us into neon strips/fireflies!
But in any case, i am excited about it. Also, the whole shabang has given me ideas for art projects...to paint somebody up as if they were going through an orgasm, and take very clean photos of them doing ordinary things...shopping,in the library, housework, etc. (I dunno about the camera question...i suppose i should buy one soon. I miss my SLR. What i really want is the digital SLR out now...yummy) All you'd have to do is part the lips slightly and close the eyes...more like St. Theresa's ecstasy than bimbo with tongue slightly protruding as she rides latest billboard. Any volunteers for the project??? I want lots and lots of different types of people!! Orgasms for everybody!!! I am thinking this could be something for an exhibition with Vox Ominous (?)
anyhoo. just a thought. or two or so. I am going to run along now and do work, awaiting breathy phonecalls and excited emails.
SR65X
I have some interesting food for thought too...through the power of modern technology and the dirty mind of my new lover, i have been party to witnessing myself have an orgasm for the first time. Now this is weird...for those of you who have NOT seen yourself have an orgasm...it's a mixed experience. (God...do I really look like that??? UGH) Don't worry peeps, i am not going to go into too many dirty details, although frankly i am sure that some of you wouldn't mind swopping stories...
just this: did anybody else know that people blush behind their ears and then that it spreads and then there's a blush across the belly when you come??? I didn't!!! I mean apart from the penchant for poppers in the 90s where everybody would be walking around red faced, vaguely horny and teenage, i hadn't realised there was an empirical pattern to the whole thing. and apparently this is universal. I think this is WELL beautiful. or indeed....VERY wow.
and it brings to mind...
one of the main points of Catherine Mackinnon's writings (and others) on Pornography concerns the displacement of female pleasure...the ubiquitous cumshot that stands for all sexual enjoyment, where the phallus is inscribed on the bodily penis as the primary symbol, and the primary symbol of pleasure, taking the place of the "invisible" female orgasm (whose existence is STILL apparently up for debate...double ugh). Now, recently in my adventures in sex (yay) I have been party to a lot of very interesting experiences...a lot of times lately where i feel like Fausto Sterling et al must be absolutely right...like Rubin says "men and women might be different to eachother, but they are more like eachother than anything else for example kangaroos and coconut palms" ( this is a sorta quote...i didn't consult, but I always loved that line, and it is very nearly correct if not absolutely). What I mean is that i have been looking at my lover and i have been recognizing the feelings and the expressions more..."male" pleasure always seemed to me to be somewhat delineated in opposition to the popular representations of and expressions of female pleasure (which, naturally we must remember are often bunk), but i think there may be, even within the currently fairly omnipresent binary economy (ugh) some potential to see the human, something utterly simple and simultaneously mainfestly complex. The bottom line is that there is potentially a unisex cumshot, something sexy, i.e. halfway between ugliness and grace, and utterly utterly human. I want to glorify this thing...it seems like a basis to a new visual erotic...an economy based on expression and body that glows.
I guess it's a bit subtle. Not for everybody. But it makes us into neon strips/fireflies!
But in any case, i am excited about it. Also, the whole shabang has given me ideas for art projects...to paint somebody up as if they were going through an orgasm, and take very clean photos of them doing ordinary things...shopping,in the library, housework, etc. (I dunno about the camera question...i suppose i should buy one soon. I miss my SLR. What i really want is the digital SLR out now...yummy) All you'd have to do is part the lips slightly and close the eyes...more like St. Theresa's ecstasy than bimbo with tongue slightly protruding as she rides latest billboard. Any volunteers for the project??? I want lots and lots of different types of people!! Orgasms for everybody!!! I am thinking this could be something for an exhibition with Vox Ominous (?)
anyhoo. just a thought. or two or so. I am going to run along now and do work, awaiting breathy phonecalls and excited emails.
SR65X
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