Halloween Horror Volume 5

this day seemed reasonably normal.....

Tuesday 31st October 2006

Goodmorning sweetie. Im going sailing on my friends 65 foot yacht 2day.across 2 lady jane beach champain all the goodies. @7.47

Good luck! This is the life.stunning day 2 b havning sex. @10.07

Hay sweetie I hope u didn’t get me wrong. Im save it 4 u. @11.04

So horny tho. @11.06

Did u hear about the plan than went down thanleft the emerald mines? Going 2 gladstone. They think the 3 dead are miners. How fucking freaky. @22.43

Halloween Horror Volume 4

Monday 30.10.06

Am I meeting u at succulents? Cant remember if u said or not? X @10.12

No reply. I guess I was wrong? Been waiting till 11.30. C u wed. I rang 2 change job interview till 2morow at 11.30am 2 c u off I guess that was a wrong fuc up2. Have a great day.x @10.37

That could have been arranged. But u have other commitments and now u can only dream what could have been. Have fun.xthats another u miss out on.3 strikes and your out. @10.59

I’ll let u know. @11.07

Looks like im heading up north 2 night.just waiting 4 phone call. @12.10

Yes babe.isuppose I better start packing. @12.13

What? Jus wear my riggers belt and hard hat? Will that do? @12.18

Don’t 4 get the steel capped boots.and a few tools. What a goo look.and a sweet smile. @12.21

Im real. Didn’t ufeel I was real last nite? Maybe u r dreaming? U never know whats? Around the corner. Life is full of suprizes. Never take it 4 granted. @12.36

The taste will fade. Im not gone yet.as 4 the sheets.u should wash them as the next bitch will b confused. She’ll b fucking the sheets and u might miss out.ha @12.46

Still waiting 4 call. I’ll let u know soon. @12.47

Babe I call the shots.u don’t need 2 cancel 4 me. I can still go at the end of the week. Thatswhat ive arranged. Im waiting 4them 2 give me the OK.but there is a chance I may still have 2 go 2night. @12.59

Will u miss me? Im no great loss. U will get it on and u will 4 get all about me.and it maybe better than ever be 4 I came along. @13.04

You r amazeing babe.thanks 4 your kind nature. U r very real and I like that.go 4 what ever u want in this life now.don’t let anything or anyone deter u what u beleave in.let love show u the way. Love everhting good or bad.its all learning.its allgood.you know what I mean.?x @13.15

Jus got the call babe. @13.57

Cant stop thinking about my cock inside u baby. @16.03

I’ll stop it then. @17.04

Horse and Carriage

currently I'm completing my Tax return and shuddering at the 43 essays I'm meant to be marking.

However WENDESDAY NIGHT at the HOLLYWOOD HOTEL I'll be busting loose - for some fine chinwagging about sex, gender and sexuality and genitality and lots of other stuff.

It's all in aid of the JACKI PASCOE SALON EXPERIENCE - a residency of weekly perfomrance, music , dance and disocurse organised by local luminary Jacqueline Pascoe.

It'll be like the guest lectures I get paid to do - only I'm not being paid so there'sll be more booty and no powerpoint. ACTUALLY I MIGHT JUST DO A PERFOMRANCE BASED ON MY BLOG RANTS. I'm on a panel with a couple of trannydames and we'll be between two bands - so around 9ish.

the evening kicks off at 8pm - so I hope to see yers there. the hollywood is off commonwealth street in surry hills - ferget the name of the street - its on a corner..... ask some drunk.

Over the weekend Schappylle is doing her interpretation of a South Australian PINK MOLL at an art auction eco conscioussness raising exercise at Mori Gallery at 3pm on Saturday 4th November. Addie is 168 Day Street.


Got this orff a friend - it knd of amused me....

Halloween Horror volume 3

This was the day of our second encounter... ohh if only I hadn't left the confines of my little ivy covered scholarly seclusion!

Sunday 29.10.06

That’s the plan.ill text u where 2 meet soon. Im driving at the moment @13.40

Hi sweetie. Where 2 meet? How about u come down 2 the newtwon hotel 4 one drink then we go and eat? Can u do that? @15.29

Cool. @15.33

I cant c u. im near pool table cum over. @18.43

Halloween Horror Volume 2

this was 2 days after our first encounter. I'd left another encounter up in the air - but swapped phone numbers - I was interested in meeting up but unsure when, but she was kinda persuasive.....

Saturday 28.10.06

Im so horny & u. R u up 4 it? @2.03

Sweet dreams babe. Im out of line sorry.but cant stop thinking about how sweet u tasted. I can still taste u in my mouth.x @2.16

Shame. I could have helped u get your rocks off.licked up your lush sweet pussy and kept u wanting 4 more.x @10.38

I’ll b picking up my tools over the weekend. Jus 4 u. and I hope u will need some adjusting after all the work u r doing? Cant wait 2 c u again.your taste is always on my mouth.and u r on my mind constantly.xxx;-) @11.28

About Sunday night. I would love 2 take u for dinner. I changed my plans as i would rather b sitting across from u enjoying your company and a good feast.xhow about u? x @12.27

8pm is fine.anywhere u like and what ever u desire or would like me 2 choose? As long as its fresh and good im there.let me know baby x. @14.31

Ok sweetie. U r holding me in despence. Thatscool. I’ll just have 2 wait. Is your day going well? @14.48

Suburban Mayhem

There is some good news.

I think I've found my sexual identity: a trashy femme called Sylvie. All thanks to cheap black wigs from the $2.00 shop and cheap black micro mini's from the $5 scragg shop, and cheap pink breasts from… err.., well the tit goddess, I guess. I've had them for about 25 years……. they don't cost very much at all. a bit of pain now and then. decent Bras. TLC & touch wood.

As the trashy femme, I feel like one of the Bronte sisters, being urged into a mask by their Papa " If you put htis on, you can be whoever you like, say whatever you like, it's not you, it's the mask".

so mayhem went out and was totally trashy on wednesday. Dancing like the whore of babylon, feeling up girls on the dance floor, following butches into toilet cubicles. getting other butches to follow me home. My mother would not be impressed with this at all.

Isn't lesbianism meant to be some sad, reclusive reflective decent thing, done between decent malephobic deeply in love sensitive beings who have no other choice than to seek refuge in a feminine caress?

Aren't lesbians lesbians only in couples and just sad spinsters while waiting for the perfect girl?

Can't we be cured by the perfect senstive non threatening man?

Aren't those piggies in the sky so damn pretty?

Last week, feeling mangofied, lusty, happy, energetic, I SMS'd my favourite femme icon of the month and posted a link to her blog. (see regal bits).

Like zoo (Milky and Ouchy) I too admire her eloquent posting on romance - and wish my browser wasn't so spastic that I can't stick up a link rightaway.......

All this midnight oil burning while the consort slept. He'd retreated into some world of pain/exhaustion/goodexcusefornotfuckingmeapprentlybut tryexplainingthattomycuntcozIain'tseenherearshaveyou?

feeling sexually deprived I naturally thought of the infinite sweetness of breastmik washed down by black bitter beer. Of the smoky succulent residue of ladylips lingering through more beers. Desire burned into me, and lay smouldering all week.

I wanked. a lot.

couldn't write. Wanted to sob. did sob. missed Abel. Listened to too much music. Wanted more. My head started throbbing. I had to get out. I took my migraine to yoga, and gently breathed. Realised that I had to get out. and move.

I had to go out and shake my bits, move like I was fucking and being fucked, and maybe even be fucked - but even just going through the motions lets off some thing.


my vagina, strange phallophillic and deaf creature that she is - is a marvelous dance instructor. (even more, I dare say, than the consort - though no-one's paid $80 an hour for her lessons).

she of course, leads. she leads me, she moves and moves me where and when and how she wants to go. Ever other limb, every other muscle follows her.

this explains the beatific smile on my face when I dance. It's like fucking nothing.

and I delightedly got led home by some incredible crinkle eyed butch, wiht a husky voice and eyes like the ocean, and hands like GOD (if a decent once exists) and Jesus - there's a whole world of women I need to sleep with because I think i've been missing out up to this point.


and I realised what I like in a man was being taken in the way that I want a woman to take me. hard, strong. No doubts. that self assurance.......

dykes don't ever ask if you've come or not.

when I told the consort he sobbed a lot but said it wasn't about me, and I'm still stupidly hoping for some sex from him, and meanwhile the saphhic sex god has been texting me every hour, and my twat throbs and I need to wank, and it's REALLY HARD to write.

the downside of the saphic sex god is that she is a chain smoker. and she doesn't drink coffee. She rang me one morning before I'd had mine. she didn't try again. I don't form words before coffee. (All the more Kudos to the consort for being the same way). I'm also scared she wants another girlfriend, she's talking about not moving interstate after all and has already tkaen her sex toys out of storage (ohhh lucky me!). i'm scared to tell her I've been bonking a man.

I wandered donwstairs and sought the advice of TEDG - whose a bit of a postgender sex god after her talk on thursday.

I asked her if I should maybe solve my problems by telling these inadequate, confusing and demanding people that I've FALLEN IN LOVE WITH ABEL AND WE'RE BACK TOGETHER.

those nice bonk/play buddies wouldn't have to be told - coz they don't make any demands. Just proffer bits of flesh, soothing caresses and naughtiness in between meals, coffees, conversations, mangoes..... which is all I want to do with anyone right now.

No fucking demands, no fucking expectations, no fucking dramas, no fucking posession.
Just lots of angst free, smoke free, game free fucking.

TEDG tried to persuade me that I shouldn't make up stories about Abel coz they might come true and that I probably do have the skills to actually ask for my needs to be met, directly from the intimates concerned.

but times like these I wish life could be like one of those ads for working dogs in the "the Land" newspaper.

Bailing, binding half-bull bitch. No time wasters.

Halloween Horror volume 1

Question: how do you tell if someone is a psycho stalker freak?
at what point do you make the call?
what do you do?
who do you blame?

What seemed like a fairly innocent two night stand - somehow over the halloween seemd to turn a bit odd. Lucky we're no longer in the 1980's - coz no doubt we would have gone to the Reclaim the Night march together or something and it would all be horribly ickily ironic.......

Friday 27.10.06

R u serious. @23.25

Maybe its time 2 play. @23.39

I have something on. @23.44

Cool. @23.51

First Mango of the Summer

My friend Jarnot (now snowbound in Sweden)

insisted that at the start of the summer you had to indulge in THE GREAT MANGO RITUAL.

This involves sitting near a tempting body of transparent sparkling water - wearing a sarong or some diaphanous raiment, and eating a mango - a whole one - with your bare hands.

Juice must drippel down forearms.
Pulp must end up on face and other bits of exposed flesh (especially thighs - tempting company to lick them clean).

You must scrape the pip with your teeth and use up a whole box of dental floss extracting the fibres from your interstices.

Having sucked the marrow, and being covered with the scent and pulp of delicious fruit - you then shed the diaphanous raiment and dive - or plunge (ideally naked) into the tempting body of transparent sparkling water .

Rinse the mango, rinse winter, rinse cares,. Float. Enjoy saline supported pneumatic mammaries.... be glad that summer is here.

Last sunday I did just that. Well almost.

I grabbed an overpriced mango from the consort's kitchen and strode purposefully down to Fairlight pool. Well - even though it's just been renovated with a new kiddy proof fence (yep - round a rockpool - what a bloody joke) and covered with breeders and spawn - I sat, in my raiment (Well a hat, and a frock) and dove into the mango with my bare hands and spread the juice inside and out.

coz it was mid october and peak melanoma paranoia season - I maintained my raiment of lycra rash shirt and bikini bottoms - and plunged in anyway.

Saw the ferry cross past south head, and sighed. Watched the sunset as another mango in the sky and sighed again.

I dragged another mango to uni to split with my supervisor on some hot humid lunchtime encounter. OK the main quad ain't quite a harbourside pool - but the mango was cool.

sinney can be great at times.

this week - the mango has gotten inside me. Maybe it was the splurging on seven golden orbs at PAddies that did it (average price: $1.20 per unit - yay!!). Better than bananas. (but god I miss bananas).

So today - I feel gravid with life, like I'm bursting at the sams with joy and delight.

I feel myself frighteningly fertile. Horny as hell, willing to be split in two from the inside. To suckle, to sing, to screw, to spew forth sproglets.

fuck fertility is frightening.

I got used to the clucking and sniffing around babies, the cooing bovinely at pregnant or nascently babified women. But this is weird. I'm stronger than I've ever been phsyically. Fit, energetic, calm..... Full of life, growing emerging. Life pulses within me and wants to extend forth into mini me's...... Maybe this explains the poledancing/hose beast tendencies. Bloody ovaries!

fucking hell.

I cross my legs, scowl and think pious thoughts about the tome.

Strangeways Here We Come.

It’s 2.30am and I could be calling my friend in texas. I’ve got a phone card. I’m writng this – not even live online but pre-typing in word. My dialup account has expired, so I’m stuck typing into the closed dark circuits of my e-mac. This may encourage me to use spellcheck before posting.

Each day I discover a new limitation of a large white box. I bought 3 depressing moochy CD’s yesterday but they won’t play on my poota. I’m not sure if I want to here the neighbours hearing me play THE SMITHS on the stereo downstairs– so…. Yeah, err, I’m not sure what to do.

Right now I’m listening to the greatest breakup CD in the history of the universe. It’s from Abel – and full of our froggy faves: “Je suis Conne!” by Bridgette fontaine (I’m not sure if I can translate all the nuances of this crazy tune – ‘conne’ is dumbcunt – and more a part of the common parlance of those feministically challenged frogs than C**T is for anglophones).

She also put on Anais’s crazy acapella parodies of every pop genre imaginable, and then a CD of another acapella onomatopoeia queen: Camille. That’s what I’m listening to 50 times a day. Partly coz it’s easier to split my brain between 2 languages, and coz of lyrics like these:

je t’aime toujours
je t’aime toujours
je t’aime toujours
ton amour, je sais
je t’aime toujours
les saisons passé

(if you need translation: I love you always, your love I know, I love you always, the seasons pass)

It then goes into a bit of a duet thing which I can’t discern and then there’s the weird interpretive libretto segue as my audio and translation skills both segue into random association…

Mais qui est cette homme avec des yeux? (but who is this man with the eyes)
(or is it ‘Mais qui est cette ombre desous?’) (But who is this shadow beneath)
Mais qui est cette homme, qui tombe amoureuse? (but who is this man who falls in love)

Yeah, right. I’m, full of shit and I digress. The song is called Pale September. It’s now October. My heart is so heavy, sodden, grey. My eyes drag down with tears and my chest drags.

I feel slow, remote, pathetic, exhausted, incapable of anything, removed, apathetic.

I’ve gone back into breakup mode and I don’t know who it’s for or what for or why. Abel has moved out (at last) and the consort appears to be drifting away – or I’m pushing him away, or something. It is a relief.

I feel like a sad pale marshmallow sitting inside some large thick walls. The walls are my own making and I’m not sad to have put them up – but turning away from the world, means facing myself, and at the moment it’s painful.

My heart, aches. It feels like period pain. Oh, you know, just an ache, sitting quietly and occasionally catching my breathe, strangling me with its intensity. But it’s not horrible or horrifying, just averagely awful. And awfully familiar.

There is no rational or decent reason why I should feel this way. My life is fucking fabulous haven’t you heard? I’ve just returned from a wonderful class reunion, having spent the weekend surrounded by people who love me, and who I love. Before that I had a delightful night out with some lovely ladies and I’ve been having a 3 month rebound affair with a caring ubermench. I’ve got an amazing work teaching really interesting courses, I’ve got stimulating and supportive colleagues, Sydney uni feels like home and I’ve got an amazing flatmate (TEDG) moving in on the weekend.

Good girls are always grateful

But I’m a fucked up bitch, neurotic, greedy, needy, demanding, malcontent.

And a week alone in a 3 bedroom house is a damn fine reason to wallow. So I dragged my heavy heart up the street and bought a copy of my favourite first breakup album (it was an ex’s flatmates so I never actually owned it). Doncha love morrissey?

Stop me, stop me
Stop me if you think that you’ve heard this one before
Nothing’s changed
I still love you
I still love you
But only sightly
Less than I used to.

I got inspired to admit to my smith's predilictions by the eloquent postings on "skirts are bleeding". (click on the link called 'ouchy bits'). she updates far more regulalry than moi - and with stunning eloquence:

This bit below pretty much sums up my state of mind at present:

"Some days I (almost) wish that I could just be that straight girl, you know, the pretty one who isn't going to call anyone's identity into question, who isn't going to run about being a lactating faggot and packing under her tutu, who will stand by her man as the perfect reassurance and confirmation of his masculinity. Who doesn't disrupt the equilibrium or make anyone think twice. I feel like such a mutant and hybrid monster, always wanting odd combinations of menu items instead of taking the set banquet:

I want the boy, but don't want to be the girl
I don't want to be a girl, but don't want to be a boy
I want the house together, but don't want to 'shack up'
I want my PhD, but don't want to be an academic
I want to have a baby, but don't want the nuclear family
I want a committed relationship, but don't want to be 'married'
And on it goes."


Well, hell I wihs I could be a confused mutant lactating faggot instead of a confused mutant bleeding snotty scragg - but no-one's perfect.

I've had hideous head pain, back pain, stomach pain this week. That nice reassuring punch in the nose type migraine that makes every other stress kind of pale into comparison, well I can handle that, but the screeching agonies of small sounds distance perfume wafting - makes it a bit hard for me to be around humanity.(teahcing undergrads was a barrel of laughs this week). I've also been blessed with the scary skewer in the back twisting hardness, catching my breathe as I attmept to walk. and have clamly booked in a shiatsu for this afternoon. Avoiding codeine. trying to strethc, relax, calm down, cope.

but the gut wrenching shaking abdominal agony.... yeah well, that kind of sucks a bit. I was gasping shaking grasping for the slippery elm yesterday, grabbing and gobbling bits of bread, barely able to speak. TEDG thought I was just needing a coffee, and the houseguest barely seemed to notice as he gave a detailed whinge about his insomnia. Insomnia? Easily solved - turn on the light, grab a book, meditate, draw, wank, write. It's inconvenient, but OK - compared to shuddering pain - the sort of thing which sleep should be a respite from..... eugh.

On things prickly, Able has a got a copy of Salo - which we are going to watch before she heads off to frogville and her girlfriend (who'm I'm no longer allowed to call SLUT) for the next 3 months.

nausteating sado maso seems like a good adieu to this hellbitch separation year.

and copraphagia.

I feel like I've been swallowing shit all year.

Last night we went to a concert of our neighbours, at a cafe up the road. The cafe, with various neighbours and familiar tag alongs, singing, strumming, saxing and blowing horns - with various other neighbours tucking in and cheering - felt like HOME. Abel and I sat across from each other "drawing in stereo" as one neighbour put it. stoic scribbles to the kathellissism heartbreak songs bouncing aroud the room....

Last night reminded me of the scene in "the singing detective" of the old singalongs during ww2. Everyone joins in - everyone knows each other - the ocmmunity is an extended network of friendss, aquaintances, exes. HEartbreak washes around the room - songs written for more familiar faces and sung for others.

no wonder I've got such a provincial view of culture (it's the stuff that ordinary people make and share with other ordinary people). the last time I heard the Kathellisism experience was at Succulent - where i'd dragged mum and the consort to hear my brother's ex 'sit in' and play double bass. In 2 months time I'll be able to hear her sit in on lots of other gigs - in New york - only they'll all be famous people (Kath introduced her as woody allens bass player coz that's her 'regular' gig).

But silly me, I blithely assume -that it'll be like here - muso's making music for each other, for their friends - as something to share and play with and make life meaningful - not some abstracted out-there brilliance that only the cognoscetti get to connossiership of.

I guess I'm in for a shock. Sydney is such a small town -and I live in such a safe, insular little part of it. I only go to places - concerts, clubs, galleries etc. where I know the organisers or friends do and I reckon I'll know most of the crowd - not because I'm 'cool' - but because I can't deal with the out of placeness of rocking up to some abstracted uberzone of 'culture' (TM) where the only reference point is a review in 3D world or realtime.

anyway - I was nestled on the couch trying to disguise my pervings on the gaggle of burches opposite, under earnest scribbles as Kath stood on the table and yowled sonorously....

"You don't a lover,
you just need
someone
to love you....."

and I saw the consort standing edgily at the bar, and wondered if she was singing the lyrics for him.

*sigh*

I'm not even sure if I can be bothered finding the words for my dissapointment, anymore.

*sigh*

I've written Kath's lyrics before in this blog, so I don't need to write them again. I only had a few tears in my eyes when she sang them again. I even allowed myself a few longing glimpses at Abel's torso, and I quickly scribbled a cartoon of her in a corner of a drawing.....

The wounds have covered over - They aren't as red raw and gaping like 6 or 3 months ago, and I can even look at my research notes from 6 and 9 months ago -where each page of earnest note taking is interspersed with pages of scrawled tear sodden agony.

No wonder this chapter has taken all fucking year.

And as much as I can sigh with relief and feel thankful that I'm not so hurt, that time has healed that Kath's great advice:

"Just move on, keep walking. walk away and don't look back, just keep your life moving forward because it's like some big hole that's going to swallow you up if you let it. but if you keep moving, in six months time, you'll look back and you'll be six months away from this place where you are now, and it'll be better..."

is so true it feels like a miracle.......

fuck this hurts. I still love Abel. My 'ideal relationship' is still inextricably linked to her, to us and our life together. Still. Noone else comes close.

Getting out of my Navel

God my problems are so damn trivial.

I've been reading Salam Pax and listening to the Smiths to get some perspective on my PMT (Premenstrual Thesis) gloom.

but then I got this in my email inbox


Here's the text version if the images are indecipherable

On the *14th of October, 10.30 am, at Sydney Town Hall,* Friends of
Lebanon-Australia along with other community groups has organised a
*public memorial for the Lebanese who have died in the recent war*.

In the weeks following the war it became clear that many Lebanese
Australian families have lost friends and relatives and were privately
in mourning. We felt it important that this mourning be public as well.
We were also keen that such a public event does not become a 'Lebanese
community event' but an Australian event where as many non-Lebanese as
possible can come to join the Lebanese in their mourning. This is why
the event is held at Sydney Town Hall.

Muslim Lebanese Australians have been on the receiving end of a lot of
negative stereotyping, prejudiced ill-feelings and discriminatory
behaviour from various sections of our society for far too long. It is
time for those of us who disagree with this this state of affairs to
not only be critical with those who peddle racism and prejudice, but to
take the more positive step of embracing the victims and showing them that
we regard them fully and unconditionally as part of our Australian
community. Joining them in their mourning is an important way of doing
so. Integration is not only about migrants adopting our values. It is
also about us learning to share their sorrow and pain.

We wish this event to be focused on a politics of inclusion within an
Australian context rather than on the Middle Eastern politics that
clearly underlies it. This is a unique opportunity, for those of us who
wish to do so, to assert an inclusive politics of friendhip in the face
of the incessant politics of hatred and division that is becoming part
of our everyday lives.

We urge you to join us in solidarity and to do your best to circulate
this invitation.

Ghassan Hage
For Friends of Lebanon, Australia.

Bad Pashin

this is getting banal
Actually I'm so tired and grumpy I can barely write an SMS, let alone a blog entry, let alone a thesis.

SIGH

so i'm posting the latest pics with my new dressup buddy. i'm the one without the teeth. this was taken by the fairy fraggle a few wee hours before we dragged each other off with an enigmatic catwoman for fun femmy frolics at dawn. i'll leave the compromising pics to readers imagination.