Love Hate Relationship: Dear diary, My body is a bitch.....

I start at the tips of my toes, and little by little

I will attempt to make the most of my attributes. I will try to make amends with my loathing.

Make little less burden, make most of flesh.

These attributes fall upon critical eyes. Ones own.

A heavy going relationship with this mound of flesh we call a body.
Bitch bitch bitch. Stand up straight. You should be at the gym. Why why why are you on the couch, on the bench smoking, staring into nothing is favourable to being kind to oneself when Love Hate is at work.
Incessant dialogue in my head.
Enough now, I might state quite clearly, but still it is relentless.

Constant Comparison.
Which is stupid really. because nothing compares. we cant compare.
and to whom do we compare? or what? pieces of imagery that exists only in a balloon of perfection that I created, dreamed up one lonely night.

There are parts of me that get too much attention. I give in to the evil. Alone. In the darkness.

What is missing from this face?

written on the body. carved into the skin, and inked with the darkest shade of permanence.

tattooed across the forehead - I once had - Little girl. Lost and broken. Weathered by giving in to average lust and abuse.

That seemed at least more pertinent than - Love me. I Can't. So somebody should.


Dear diary,

My body is a bitch.

She wont harden up where she is sposed to. She stays soft in some spots.
She craves the forbidden.

I am strict with her but she wont listen.

Thursday night I worked.
After having a bad bust up with my body, I felt out of steam. Inside I hid that feeling.
Outside I had a strut.

Four or five people made comments about my body. This is not unusual. People feel they can comment I guess when you wear your flesh with confidence.
Waist, tits, ass and so on. Complimentary comments, I guess you could say.

people believe they are giving you a compliment. its an interesting opposite to the conversation going on inside my mind.

I want to get off this ride.

Its making me sick.

No more's and Never ever's

the butch's baby guitar strums in my heart

playin Happy Birthday Mr president

and Cupid

draw back your bow

and Go away Little girl

Most times music makes it all better, sort of, at least it's melodic

I re write the lyrics to old songs, changing pronouns, or the visual association in my little femme mind

Life is a 1950's movie and I am Sophia Loren
The woman who walks with a very prominent swing in the hip
for whom?

I ask

for whom?

what an ironic picture

lonesome beautiful lady


every time we meet we clash
for this reason or that
until the chips are down
we gamble with what is left of us


and forget anger

and remember it

and forget it again

and all the little pieces dont matter when the big picture is in tact


how many times will I say never ever and no more?

How many times do I really mean it?

thats like that joke, how many ........... does it take to change a light bulb?
How many times does a femme change her mind?

Winehouse sings the blues

Lent you outsidaz and my new Badu
While you were thinkin I didn't have a clue
tough to sort files with your voice in my head
So then I bribed you downstairs with a Marlboro red
and now I feel so small discovering you knew
How much more torture would you have put me through?
you probably saw me laughing at all your jokes
or how I did not mind when you stole all my smokes, yea.

And although my pride is not easy to disturb
you sent me flying when you kicked me to the curb
With your battered jeans and your beastie tee
Now I can't work like this, no, no, with you next to me

And although he is nothing in the scheme of my years
it just serves to bludgeon my futile tears
And I'm not use to this, no, no, I observe, yea, I don't chase
But now I sit with consequences, thrust in my face, yea
And the melodramas of my day delivery blows
that surpass your rejection it just goes to show
a simple attraction that reflects right back to me
so I'm not as into you as I appear to be, yea.

And although my pride's not easily disturbed
you sent me flying when you kicked me to the curb
With your battered jeans and your beastie tee
Now I can't work like this, no, no, with you next to me

His message was brutal but the delivery was kind
maybe if I get this down I'll get it off my mind
It serves to condition me and smoothen my kinks
despite my frustration for the way that he thinks
and I knew the truth, when it came, would be to that effect
At least you're attracted to me, which I did not expect
didn't think you get my number down and such
but I never hated myself for my age so much

And although my pride's not easy to disturb
you sent me flying when you kicked me to the curb
So. with your battered jeans and your beastie tee
Now I can't work like this, no, no, with you next to me

Nobody's Dolly

At my house we smoke under the willow on a green park bench at meal breaks.

My sister and I find strange things on the internet, like documentaries about polygamy, interviews with the wives of men who live on American ranches like Big Love. The women seem possessed. Well, they are. But not me. I am possessed by nobody.
Free.
this time.
We find movies of poltergeists. We get scared even though they are not real.
We get stoned and try and sing along to Shakira songs that we dont understand. I dont think Shakira understands them either.

At my house, I cook.
When I am home, everybody takes a back seat.
As I get older I am more controlling in the kitchen.
They are all happy to be controlled.
I cook fish with fennel. always vegetables. always meats.
there is always good wine.

At my house I listen to my ipod in the dark before sunrise when I wake up in a big bed in flannel sheets.

At my house I stumble into the kitchen at night in polka dot underwear and dolly hair and puffy lips and sit by the light of the fridge to drink water straight from the jug.

The classical music is always playing. All over the house.
Dogs wail in the morning. Cats scratch at my door.

I take out a heart shaped box filled with nail polish, buffers, files and creams, and manicure my feet and hands.

The grandfather clock chimes every fifteen minutes. Sounds romantic. But every fucking fifteen minutes?

At my house I miss my sister all the way across the world.

Ding dong.


I write erotica but keep most of it private.

I write healing stories. Some true, some taken from a place of dreams.
Always from the heart.


For the past few months I became so disjointed. so unmotivated. sad. empty. monotonous.

All those things? yes.

Sick of talking. need action. Need to be doing what I promised myself.

I'm writing a cabaret show to put on with my friend who dances in a burlesque trio. We will have a showcase with other performers from the city. I will work with a new friend who writes soul tracks. We will play covers to earn some cash. I will write and try to publish. I will study. I will work out. I will mediate. I will book a ticket for New York City and rent an apartment for three months next June. My friend will come stay and we will go to shows and put on our show and drink like fish and laugh til we cry. and when I am feeling a little romantic, I'll take myself to bed and write a letter or two and perfume them with rose petals.

I'll do it by myself.


Nobody's possession. Nobody's Dolly.

My own.

Thank you very much.


Now isnt that liberating?

hearts on motion

I went to see a healer the other night, for this one particular haunting thing that keeps coming up. Tight throat. Not speaking my truth.

Over the past 12 months I have confronted abusers.

I have opened doors and used my voice.


Lets keep on doin it.

and keep still. to reach a common ground with the motion that goes on around us.

I plan to travel across the world next year in search of a road less travelled.

Something tells me I will find it right back where I started.

But until then, New York New York.

I book my ticket soon..

What was Done

I wonder why circles of abusive are circle. I wish they were oblong, or zigzag, so that with enough force you could get thrown out of them, straight off the corner.
Instead of spiraling over and over into despair.

Not long ago I was faced with a demon.

I know it is because I have not dealt with something in my life, that the universe is continuously throwing it back at me in different forms.

I was confronted by a man who could not keep from touching me and in turn silencing me, rendering me voiceless through my own omission. Under the guise of massage, his hands went straight to my cunt and pinned me there. So much went rushing through me, hot anger, "How could you think that this is ok?" , regret "Why the fuck did I allow this in the first place", weakness (and this is perhaps the most prolific for me) "How can I say no?"

I gasped for breath, pulled myself away and shook. But said nothing.
I am crying inside that I could not face it.
Just tried to get away.
But how could I not, with the voice I have built up for years since childhood abuse, say -
"This is not appropriate.. and.. I am leaving now. How fucking dare you?"

I feel a sick sense of guilt when I cant meet someone's sexual expectations.
Which is all the time these days.

But I should not feel that. I should not feel sorry for them, as if they deserve my body.
As if I am just a toy.

This experience challenged my feeling towards men in general, and my love of myself.

Thought I would write about this as part of a healing excerise.

Thanks for listening.

Until I learn a certain lesson, perhaps I am destined to come across this again and again.

Memoirs 2003

Arrived in Oslo today.

It seems boring, but that is an understatement. We have spent the day in the
hotel, Nat and I feel like Eloise, the five yr old who grew up inhabiting
the Plaza hotel, up and down elevators and stairs, day in, day out...

We are starting to drive our parents mad. My stomach aches from laughing.
Apart from that, I am soaring through books, which cant be all good.
Mum and Nat and I decided we were slightly depressed about our fate. Norway
smells like fish and its not offbeat or exciting. So I decided to cheer us
up and find some things for us to do over the next week. I got all the
pamphlets the hotel had to offer, only to find that all the tourist
pamphlets are in Norwegian, so we cant understand them.

It is only dark for two hours at night, so this will remind us of just how
many waking hours we have to spend here. I think we will be hitting the
bottle. ALOT.

I am about 2 gin and tonics away from taking my sister to the gay clubs (i
am sure it would be frightful, full of stirrup pants and explorer looking
types, not to mention blondes, Norway gave birth to the blonde.

Gonna hit the museums though, walk around town, try and take the edge off
the delirium.

Hope you had a good time at the footy baby. Bet you are out drinking
now...(it's three am where you are...) and I know you said you would
decline, but I know you better not to take your absolute word for that. I
hope they are taking care of you. if you are tucked up in bed I hope you are
having sweet dreams.
your words make me get that quiver all over.
you drive me crazy
i long to feel the firm touch of your hands around my waist, on my
shoulders... and in your sleep your little monkey legs climbing my limbs
like i am some sort of jacaranda!!!

We had a great night the other night at the fancy shmancy restaurant, I
tried to be elegant and sophisticated to impress the consulates wife,
Magdelina, because she has always kind of had a personality clash with me. I
tried to be charming and funny.
It's so stupid, but i have always liked her. She has a strong character, she
has this sexiness about her, in a old Chilean pashmina and gold pearl
earring wearing kind of way. She is outrageous, materialistic but doesnt
care, she's amazingly beautiful. I sort of wanted to be like her. It killed
me that she found me... well, there was friction between us. i just let go when i realised she
was just this older woman feeling threatened by another personality that was
eruptive and emotive.
And that really i didnt want to be like her, i dont know if her smile is
real, she is uprooted from her life every two years to move to some fancy
new city in some new part of the world. And she is adored by her husband and
given everything she wants... sounds grand... but not simple enough.
Sometimes i am all glitz and gold, but baby, thats not real is it?

Anyway, she was eating out of my hand by the end of the night. and I was
myself...

Learn something every day ha?

I gotta go babe, sposed to fix snacks for my family in the hotel room, they
are returning from a cocktail party soon...

three paper joints and musings

I am chipped red nail polished and all over it.
dolly'ed up in the top room. thinking about the day.

"I turn the other way. I never turn you down. you turn me on."
roisin murphy sings i tunes.

tomorrow is reserved for lingerie window shopping. if its not too cold I'll grace a fitting room or three.

so tonight, I stay quiet. just tapping on the keys. dreaming of piano chords.

I saw a man on the tram today. He had a book that he clutched in his bony hands.
In neon bold I spied

Jesus Christ
and
Adolf Hitler

Hypnotism Works


He looked strange

He looked into my eyes for a second and then away
and I thought

Ok so now I'm hypnotised

And went straight home to drool over Agent Provocetuer and Chantal Thomass online.

and roll three paper numbers.

and restack my Vogue collection.

I wonder about modesty. and if I really understand it.

been thinking a lot about my distaste for men.
and that brings me back to this room I sit in.
Where abuse began when I was so small.

I wonder about my own understanding of my body image, and if it is inextricably linked to self loathing. An overly sexualized relationship. With myself. My obsession with Lingerie. With stillettos.
With the gym. With Vitamin D. With make up and hair products and all things pretty.

With breast size. And cellulite. And body hair. And god damn I am tired.

I am chipped nail polish and by my self with scruffy hair and no make up. Tonight. Going over why why why the morning promises hours of preening and scarlett lips.

Friends I have, lovers I have known, my mother, my sister - all of us with these warped and tenuious relationships with our hips, thighs, breasts.

Who are we beneath this and how on Gods Earth did we get to be so far removed from it?

And all this because of the wierd little man beside me in a rattling carriage on Glenhuntly Rd, blundering through the rain on a Friday afternoon.

Mao Zedong

found me in a crowded tram

and put a little red book in my hand

I was hypontised

and I liked it


My sister said, whilst tripping on acid, on looking at her legs as if for the first time
"Are these my legs? How embarrassing"

We laughed about that one many times. And how telling.

After reflecting on what got me to here, I say

"Is this my realtionship with my body?


How embarrassing"

Sunday lunch

Family Sunday Lunch.

Roast and potatoes.

I will try not to dominate the kitchen when I cook with my Old Man.

Love to rain today. Peaceful. Sweet, Dropping on my cheek when I smoke under the willow.

This song I sing

These floors, these walls, the doors of this house
I remember the taste of your mouth
Your smile, your face, your strong sense of place
and your ability to maintain your faith in me
I know its hard for us just to let go
of everything thats so familiar, I know
So many things that I wish I'd just said
when I was the only one laying in your bed

I wanna tell you that I wish you no harm
Wanna tell you that I felt safe in your arms
I wanna tell you that I wish you no harm and I felt safe in your arms

Bridge:
So many things that I wanted to say
I should have said them despite you anyway
I wanna tell you that I'm struggling to breath and I cant find me feet

I'm too young to live with regret
But some things that I've done are too hard to forget
And now I see your face in everyone I meet
Or so I think on these cold lonely streets

I wanna tell you that I wish you no harm
Wanna tell you that I felt safe in your arms
I wanna tell you that I wish you no harm and I felt safe in your arms

So many things that I wanted to say
I should have said them despite you anyway
I wanna tell you that I'm struggling to breath and I cant find my feet

PS

My mind is not a war field

Exes perplexes

Ex's...


For those that need clearance.

I have had a few.

The one I talk of with resentment is referred to as Tub. A drug addict. A homophobe. One who does not identify as butch. Violent and messy without the capability to love anyone let alone herself.

It lastest only for 18 months.

Just so there is no confusion.

Tub is the one I split from in may last year, and created this blog as the begininngs of self expression and exploration.


The other more significant I have known for over ten yrs and is very dear to my heart.

Clear?

Egg timer

Time goes by without a blink of an eye sometimes.
I stop writing for the opposite reasons I started.

It has become apparent to me how much I need to leave this country.
It has always been a flickering lampshade, threatening to leave the room dark. Now I feel I am ready, simply because there is little left to hope for anymore.

And so much to hope for on other shores.

New York, San Fransisco, Vancouver, Ontario, even someplace in Europe would do for me.

Anyone have any visa stories that might excite and encourage me>?



I set my own egg timer.

I will be on a new frontier by July next yr. Ladies and Laddie's, we are on a countdown, a process of rebirth over one yr.

Let it begin.

Late night emails

Up late. Late night emails. To open a picture file.


hiya
only just got this now. I am up smoking joints actually. ha. been blogging and starting to write a lot more, but havent yet published...

I have been smoking pot and putting on lingerie that I just bought for myself after getting through the last month at the gym... woo hoo
thats how a girl spends her thursday night. Sadly this pot makes me want to head for the fridge and eat toast and honey, which undoes all my good fucking work on the abs etc. he he

What you doing spud? (remember we decided that fruits are feminine and veg is masculine and you and Maxy fought over the spud title?)

arrrrrr


I miss you guys x


Then I came across emails from the ex that make me cringe that I even went that way. I forgot the desperation of wanting to get away.

And old lovers

and new friends

and people chasing me for money


why do I open email at night when there is nowhere to hide in the vast open and unforgiving silence of 2 minutes to 12?

goodnight. sleep tight. dont let the bed bugs


bite, a'ight?

Gender Bender babies

I work everyday with children.
Everyday I get another snap shot of innocent musings, of real freedom of spirit, glimpses of unlearned and natural ways of being.

Sometimes it hits me like a truck. Other days just washes over me.

Amongst the poetry of youth - the rich tapestry of discovering life and how one fits into it, there are a few children that are of particular interest to me.

One girl I have known since she was in her first year of school. On that first day she refused with tears to even step foot in the girls toilet block. She cut her own hair and would wear only the range from Boys wear Target.
She cringes when you don't abbreviate her name to it's masculine alternate.

I looked at her today. She is nothing incredible. By that I mean, she doesn't "behave" in this way for any special reason. Not to be different or make a statement or adorn the costume of gender arrangement. She is only this way because she is.

Another family adopted four brothers from Ethiopia last year.
Mother is bowled over at Friday morning assembly by the youngest two that cling to and clamber all over her. The smallest child has just started walking around in the past few months.
I watched him bawl at the assembly until finally Mother succumbed to letting him reach the treasure he had been grissling over.. her make up bag.
He pulled the red lipstick from her case and smeared it all over his small cherub face.
Happy as Larry.

I saw him yesterday and knelt down to say hello.

"You have some jewelery on today sweetie!"

Mum: "Yes he is wearing Mummy's special necklace"

The child is beaming. And I can already see their morning getting ready.

There have been a few pass through who, at such a tender age, redefine the meaning of gender fluidity for me.

How wonderful, to witness such a natural and lovely expression of something to them that is not embedded in social construction.

priceless musings

Liv looks up at me today and says "Do you have a Dad?"

"Yes" I answer

"Is it still alive?"

Blue blue eyes

Beautiful Simplicity

why

I write to have something released
and choose those words deliberately
as words can not hold the right weight
and get lost between the heart and the tongue
When the senses are stumbling

I write to redeem myself
And say penance in the lines
that your eyes follow on the screen
the last sounds in the night were tap tap tap on a keyboard in the dark

I write to celebrate
and create room for thought
when hope dwindles or lights don't shine so bright
as they should

I write to reinforce and revoke
what ideas came from you and what ideas came from me?
to change a notion or tend to it's ego
with the flick of the forgotten digit on the Enter key

I type with two fingers
and sometimes throw in a few more
The process is just as delicate as self discovery
and sometimes just a reckless and filled with pain

I write in a costume
an outfit concealing the little nuances
and as if I am so very very big
but I know i am little

I write for a small audience
of challengers and thinkers
and such an escapist attitude
here in my little office
up in the sky
with the surrounding wood
and the drone of speaker box

to the birds that whistle on a winter's morning
to the cicadas that buzz on a summer's night
and all for what purpose?

can anybody find me..?

Celebrate Stretchmarks

Just recently I read a piece about stretchmarks on Sinclairs blog and went on to read comments about the beauty of such a telling mark on a womans body. How they trace history and show strength.

I have always felt that way.

Long live the stretch

Taken to

She has taken to coming home of an evening and putting on a little white nightie and black knee high socks with big pink satin bows pinned at the calves, wrapping herself in her hot pink fluffy dressing gown and rolling a number as big as Herodotus's fat finger.

She has taken quite fondly to the Opera playing in the big house she sits in, in the warmth, in the glow of winter evenings, in the French provincial kitchen where she feels so small.

She likes to sit upon the counter whilst her porridge bubbles and swing her legs back and forth.
One sock up one sock down.

She likes to be peaceful and braid her black hair and rub lotions on her hands.

And at night when the moon is leering in her window and there is not a sound she reads Classics in her over sized bed with a pink eye mask on her forehead, that says 'good in bed' - how fitting, did someone read her mind?

In the morning it is still raining and she sits on the floor of the kitchen drinking tea, still in long socks and messy hair and naked face.

She dreams of Daddy

She has taken to the thought of been taken

Submit to me again!

Hey

It has been brought to my attention that my email address for submissions has been bouncing your mail back. Please use bijoumarc@hotmail.com for all further submissions.

And if you have already submit, please do so again to that address.

I will extend the deadline date to November as I want to make it a bigger project than I first planned.

xx Femme Kisses xx

Lina