BABEFEST!

photo 1 photo 2 photo 3 photo 4 photo 5BABEFEST.

It’s here. It’s huge and heavy and beautiful. When it arrived at my house, I squealed like a teenage girl and then was instantly impressed with the heft of this thing; it’s so well-made. It’s a 160-page collection of work by Cam Damage, Faye Daniels, Jacs Fishburne, Joanne Leah, Ruby Slipper, and myself documenting the time we spent together in Woodstock, NY. We all shot and modelled for each other at a gathering we called BABEFEST. And I love the results! It’s the only way to see the photographs I took while on this trip, which I think are some of the best I’ve ever taken.

Also, no one is wearing any clothes at all. In the entire thing. And it is GLORIOUS.

Get it. Get it for everyone you know.

30 Before 30: 3 Months Left

So, I’ve been doing my best to cross more things off my list. I realized today I only have 3 months and 10 days left. That’s not much time. So I need to pick up the pace on some of these things that have been in the works for awhile. I’m only done 8 out of 30. Oh well. I haven’t given up yet!

1. Learn Korean This isn’t going to happen. Ah well. I can say hello and thank you and sing along with BIGBANG, what more do I need? 
2. Go to England Done!
3. Meet Patrick Stewart
4. Get in shape enough to join a masters synchro team This is hard to measure. I’ve definitely getting in shape though.
5. Get my masters in something This isn’t going to happen.
6. Have Scarlett learn my name as soon as possible I didn’t do this, but my lovely brother and Lacey did!
7. Make a video that’s longer than 7 minutes
8. See Big Bang Done! and Done!
9. Finish writing a story Almost done!
10. Do the splits I’m close!
photo
11. Get more tattoos Done! and Done!
12. Dye my hair a fun colour Done!
13. Paint a series of paintings
14. Publish an article with a publication I respect Done!
15. Start a magazine/make a clothing line (even if only for myself) In the works
16. Have a real world art show I should work on this.
17. Record a song about my cats Um…
18. Go to New Orleans Probably not going to happen.
19. Do 60 lengths in 60 minutes Close to this! I did 32 lengths in 15 minutes, so I think I can probably do this, it’s just a matter of doing it.
20. Frame all art Oh god. Why did I put this here? I haven’t framed a single thing.
21. Do the Lakeshore trail There’s still time for this!
22. Go to three MLB ballparks I’ve never been to before Yeah, this probably won’t happen either.
23. Take a photo at every subway station This is happening next month.
24. Learn to french braid properly Every time I try it’s always upside down!
25. Build a coffee table I’ll help Shannon do this.
26. Go to a Lions game (I didn’t go to a Lions game this season, but that’s because the weekend we had planned to go, we went to the World Series instead. Acceptable substitute? I think so.)
27. Memorize a poem
28. Create an awesome choreographed dance routine and perform it with people I like Hm…
29. Volunteer I volunteered for a day. I know volunteering is a good thing to do, but I’m usually trying to make money, so it’s hard for me.
30. Cosplay as a Star Trek character at a convention of some kind Well, FanExpo is in August! 

I wish I had put on this list, BE IN THE PRESENCE OF TRACI MATLOCK. Because, honestly, that’s sort of all I want for my birthday.

Happiness is your come, sticky on my stomach, and the way you never call

I am so happy today. I masturbated this morning and giggled when I came. Twice. I stared at my butt in the mirror for a full five minutes. It made me laugh because it looked so damn good. I sang Beyonce in the shower. I put on lipstick for no reason. Bright pink.

I’m happy because you are always safe with me. We want what we can never break. We laugh because this happiness is so temporary, and we enjoy a punishing challenge. I am the woman you will never forget, because I am the woman who is happiest when you leave her. You don’t forget me because you love wanting me. You miss me, because you can never be with me. We’re relieved in each other’s absence as much as each other’s presence. Holding you inside of me feels just as important as not knowing when I’ll see you again.

I only smile with half my face. I only love you with half my heart. But I fuck you with my entire being. I do exactly what you like and I make you laugh because you treat me like you’ll have me forever and I like to make you feel right. I want to be on your cock every night, laughing into your open mouth, running my tongue over your teeth, making your body hum with the pleasure of me. But every night is a fantasy we’re past even wanting fulfilled. Instead, we satiate great hunger with great distance and the passing of time. The whole while I strive to make it impossible for you to leave me alone, even if I ask you to. I want my pussy to be your secret oasis in a confusing and too-practical landscape. I want you to see me and see more than me: see through my clothes to my skin that crawls with wanting you, see through my silence to the moans that hide building in my chest, your name throbbing under my tongue; see this whenever you see me, even if I ignore you, even if I tell you to fuck off.  Always see me lying back, legs open, wet cunt waiting for you. My self a body that is yours to take and use and come in and come on, so come on and hit this already.

When you tell me I’m your type, you remember that you are not the first to tell me that. When you tell me I’m beautiful, you’re a copy of a copy of a copy. When you tell me you love me, you’re one of too many. But I like it all best from out between your lips, in particular. Your fingers too, work for me.  Spelling out grasping moments of affection and confession that I cling to because they are so rare. You are so rare. I am not yet finished with you. I may never be. I am too happy when you leave me. I am smiling, even now, knowing you are getting hard at the prospect of missing me.

I am so happy today because I am anticipating the struggle, the chase, the process like moving mountains that is waiting for you to learn how to love.

Then, Now, Then

All the things I did as a teenager I remember so well and they are all the things that have seemed to stick to me as I get older. My favourite band in high school is still my favourite band now. My favourite writers are still my favourite. The movies that affected me most, still affect me. Teenage years are like this strange time-trap where emotions and personal preferences are formed and harden, somewhere in our minds and our souls, to remain forever unchanged throughout the rest of our lives. It is both terrifying and hilarious to realize this. But also soothing to be able to put on Disintegration and feel the way I felt when I was 17: untouchable and limitless.

I think it’s because when we are young, everything is infinite, and we are invincible. Time goes by slow; summers last forever as we experience a myriad of firsts—first broken bone, first crush, first album purchase, first kiss, first job, first concert, first love. We think time moves slow because it moves for us, when we let it. But then more time passes and we realize time is moving now without our permission. We’re doing the things we’ve always done, experiencing everything for the hundredth time. And it turns out we’re not invincible. In realizing this there is a great fear, and a great comfort. We are no longer the first of anything, but we will also never be alone. The amount of things we can experience for the first time dwindles, but we can also share more with others. I am afraid of not being first, but I am relieved that no one needs me to be.

All the things I do now. seem less important and more crammed together. One thing after another to get done, or accomplish, or just get through. There are new bands, writers, and movies, but I tend to move around them instead of through them. The way I’m describing it makes it seem as though there are fewer emotions involved in how my adult years are progressing, but I think it’s more a matter of how those same emotions are processed: quietly and with restraint.

I am both happier and sadder now than I was when I was first discovering The Cure and Joyce Carol Oates. I am more comfortable with forgiving myself for the choices I’ve made, but much more uncomfortable with the general shittiness of the whole world. I find it easier to genuinely enjoy things and certain people, while finding it difficult to hope for a successful future (for both myself and this shitty world). I am happy that I have become better at expressing myself and communicating, but sad that I’ve become more afraid of doing it.

Going forward to a future version of myself and asking her if she is still both happy and sad, if she is still afraid of not being first, or if she still loves listening to Disintegration; or alternatively, going back to my teenage self and assuring her she will always value these firsts, strengthen her against future fears, or warn her about the impending magnification of world shittiness would require me believing that either the past can be changed or the future can be predicted and neither of these things can happen.

I’ve been thinking recently of switching to the funeral services industry and as a result, I’ve been reading about/learning about/thinking about death more than I usually do and I keep playing this scene over in my head. I’m in a hypothetical interview for a position with a funeral home and I’m asked the question, “What do you believe happens to you when you die?” And I reply, without hesitation, “Nothing happens when you die. You’re just dead.”

The thing is, I just don’t feel like doing this anymore.

I’m listening to an ex-boyfriend’s mix that he posted on his blog that he rarely ever updates. I’m glad he’s an ex-boyfriend; I’m glad how all that heart stuff worked out, actually, in general. Someone told me recently that they’ve been following me for years and had no idea that I was married. All they got from my years of updates were cats and boobs. I love cats and boobs, so that makes sense, but I love other things too, and had thought the entire thing I was doing on the internet was not being a one-dimensional naked person. I’m going to flaw their perception and not my ability to portray more than cats and boobs. However, years of being followed, it’s been at least 10 years of being followed and I’m a bit tired of it. I don’t want to share in the same ways, and I might change my mind because I’m always changing my mind. About most things, but not the most important things. Like cats and boobs and my husband.

#npm: 3/30 What will it take

When we say, “What a coincidence!”
with hardly any awe, I’ve started to  think
of what we’re wasting. We’re forgetting
the odds of what it took to make this
happen. It seems we could be
anywhere with anyone but
coincidentally
we are together. Coincidentally, a million
moments in time converged to create
this moment, and we laugh and smile
and carry on–without being dumbfounded by what it took
to get us here, together. Shouldn’t we see
this as something more than a coincidence,
or shouldn’t the word,
coincidence, carry more weight? Shouldn’t it mean something
more like stars burning cold, like worlds with vanished histories,
like discovering solid reasons for existence,
like gods lying down next to mortals, in love, like you and me
standing together on this street corner
after 15 years of forgetting
how you take your tea (white), how you liked your hair (long), what you thought of me (beautiful), what I thought of you (idiot, lovingly), how you smelled (like coconuts), how you touched me (inside), what it was like to share our time (fleeting), how you looked when you were angry (some other time), how you looked at me when I cried (desperate), how you looked at me usually (a sigh);
and now today: you coming from the hospital where you work (as a doctor!), me just passing through.

Stopped at a light, in a city we never made
any history in, at a time when we’d almost forgotten
each other’s faces, on a day that is both
overcast (my favourite), and brisk (your favourite),
you are wearing that jacket I always loved, and I am
wearing my loneliness that you always
carried for me, and we find each other and all we say
is, “What a coincidence!”
Without any awe.

 

#npm: 1/30: That’s bad enough

The worst thing you can do is
to show someone
what you have under
your clothes.
No. The worst thing you can do is
show someone
you thought you could trust.
No. The worst thing is
showing more than
one person.
No. The worst is
not caring
who you show.
No. The worst thing is
creating evidence of
what’s under your clothes.
No. The worst is sending
the evidence
to an ex.
No. The worst is an
email attachment plus
Reply All.
No. The worst thing
you can do is
accidentally
post it to Facebook.

No.
The worst thing
you can do
is be a woman
who chooses to be
naked.

Then that’s all that
you are and
what could be worse?