ohh_anxiety

here

when i forget to update, which is always, I am here: http://flesh-made-word.blogspot.com

the last few days I've been spending time with friends who loved dame, drinking and talking and eating together, telling stories and laughing and crying.

at the funeral the minister said Dame would want us to be happy, that he wouldn't want us to be sad to see him gone. I'm almost certain that isn't true. If there was anyone who understood sadness, it was Dame. I tried to hold it together for awhile, but when i remembered his tears and openness about being "mental", I just let my body shake and tears snot run down my face, staying quiet for the people around me.

we got there as the service started and there already wasn't any space to sit, i squeezed myself up by the piano in the back, and people kept coming, until they crowded the doorway. the whole thing was so strange, his family clearly suprised by all the people who came to say goodbye and talk about his amazing creativity, the praying, his family talking about this kid they didn't seem to know, and watching his friends turn their faces when they talked about how loved he was by his family, and how much happier he'd be in heaven. fuck.

afterwards, at the wake in the strange sterile room at a leagues club. ellie told me dame had talked about me a lot, his "mental" friend, and how we understood each others sadness. she said I had to take better care of myself, and be responsible, now dame's gone.

Damo,

Last night I took my longboard and some spraypaint out, and i wrote
"I'm gonna skate the streets of carro and remember you" on the road. Lucas has been painting boomboxes everywhere.

I got a new puppy. she came home for the first time the night i heard you died -I feel like it was weeks ago, I know it was only two days- her name is wreck. I know you two would like each other.

Joe is coming from melbourne tomorrow, and we're talking about beers at the skate park, and we're talking about you.

I dont know how you didnt know how loved you were. maybe you did, and it was all too shitty anyway.

a friend of mine, a beautiful boy died yesterday. I am pushing these words out, I am trying to find a way to speak to someone,I dont think it matters who. Damo and I became friends because of our sadness//sickness. I loved him for his public sadness, the way he wouldn't pretend he was okay. and i hated him for it too. at some points, like most of the people around him, and around me, I wished he would just get his shit together somehow. and tonight tiera called me and she kept telling me she wouldnt talk to me until I wasnt alone, and lucas wasn't there, and eventually I asked if anyone was dead, and waited for the reassurance that of course no one was. Damo, I am so sorry that when you were alive I didnt tell you what I told everyone else, that you are a beautiful and gentle person, a little kid in an over thirty year old body with fucked skaters knees and smokers hands. I am so sorry that all of us who loved you didnt tell you all the time that you are worth the fucking world, and that we want you here. when I was fucked up you called my phone over and over, and i silenced it because I didnt know how to talk to you. I should have picked up and told you: never fucking leave us. I love and you and i miss you, and i keep thinking about how you always said to me when you were talking about that shitty fucking horrible life you got dealt before you were born, that i resent so badly now, or about being "mental", you'd say "and i know you understand.. I wish you didnt, but you do". i loved you and hated you for that then and now. I dont want to sleep.

it's been a year since I offered my bed to Lu in after a show in my living room, then stumbled in drunk, and woke him up by tripping over the dining table we'd moved in there and sitting on the floor giggling.

I was still a long way from over my ex partner, I was in a confusing crush situation with Lock, I was not ready to be in a relationship, i was planning on moving back to melbourne, he had split with someone a day before. After we'd kissed (and thats all we did), we lay in bed talking about how good it was to be single, the fact that this was not the beginning of a relationship, and how he did not believe in love.

When we'd been mackin' on a regular basis for almost a month we sat in my windowsill smoking, listening to the same mix over and over, and talking about bands. We figured out it was a month, "this isn't a relationship" i said "I'm not your girlfriend. but we are mackin. and.. we could have a mack-i-versary

since then we've had a date at the end of each month. It is so hard not to make you vomit when I talk about mackiversary. but yesterday we went out to the house i grew up in, which my parents rent out, and which is empty at the moment, and just slept happily with the lake stretched out in front of us.

one year!

i am allergic to my own, much loved, we've-been-through-some-unpleasant-shit-and-she-still-loves-me cat.

stupid.

my brand new miacup menstrual cup is magenta silicon, which is a huge improvement on my brown rubber keeper, which I never used because it didnt fit quite right, and just looking at it made me feel gross.

tampon free youf!

... THAT MY BOYFRIEND IS A FUCKING SKATING GHOST?

I'm fucking hot.

bairnsdale, victoria.

so i had ethiopian food with a girl I used to fuck, and a boy who used to sleep in my bed and hold my hand, and who i was also fucking in the same time period. who have now been together in a serious way for about eight months.

I was leaving melbourne and getting a little crazy, and hooking up with all these people and burning bridges and shit.

he was being an amazing friend to me, sleeping in my bed because i didnt wanna be alone, listening to me talking about being in love with someone else, and not ever confusing sex and our connection with love.

and she was someone I'd crushed out on for awhile, and the sex (awkward) was kind of the least of it with her as well. with her I was feeling flirtation and attraction and all this stuff i hadnt felt in awhile.

anyway. I cant even imagine how wierd it must be to be in a relationship where you met your sig. oth. through a person you were both hooking up with at the time. I do know how intensely wierd it was to watch her reach across the table to hold his hand. I think I'm only okay with it because I live in a different city, and i dont have to see that most of the time.

the ethiopian food was amazing, by the way

I've been away, sleeping in the van, seeing melbourne and mountains friends, getting clean in the ocean, not seeing my own reflection, feeling strong and awesome.

look americans, i get that mccain's presidency would have been a terrible outcome. I just dont really understand the overwhelming support for a man who's anti gay marriage and pro death penalty. he is not yr ally.

its's a reach, but.. dear sex worker friends, and friends of sex workers,
like I said to cyd, I'm currently writing about portrayals of fat women in porn, and ideas about fat sexuality. if you happen to know anyone in involved in sex work who defines as fat/bbw/plus size hottie/ and is, for the purposes of work, a woman, ask them if they wanna talk to me about their work! It's not about school or anything, so I dont have to worry about scholarly blah, its just something I'm really into at the moment.

rina.anxiety@gmail.com

xx

I have spent three hours writing about history of natural medicine (school), and four hours reading about cisgender privilege (self) and now I would like to have a nap, not go to a birthday party, please.

ps. friends only posts

sex work is the reason I stopped i stopped believing in the feminist theory I was brought up on.

It was impossible for me to feel happy about my realization that my body is not who i am while still reading the kind of books which use that 70's slogan "our bodies ourselves", and state near-constantly that there is something inherently "female" and perhaps "lesbian" about me, and that my body is the proof.

I couldn't feel like I had a sisterhood when that sisterhood was at best condescending and pitying of the "violence" done to my body and mind, at worst telling me I had betrayed them.

 my whole life i had read and been told that women who work in any area of sex work are unhappy, dissociating in order to survive (and feed their heroin addictions, obv.). so it was a shock to see women around me who loved stripping: who seemed to be born for the work, and women who happily spent half their days cutting stencils and the other half fucking men for money. 

i am not saying some women weren't unhappy in their jobs: roxy cried when i played tina turner's "private dancer", but kept working, some women looked completely exhausted all the time, some found some jobs twisting their perceptions of men and sexuality in a way that made them stressed and miserable, and in fact i was one of them. I wasn't born for stripping, and during the times I attempted the work i was deeply unhappy (first in an unsupportive relationship which messed with my self esteem, and then in a place where i couldnt NOT be recognized). But many, many people are unhappy in their retail/secretarial/labour jobs. I myself had a nervous breakdown while working a regular work week and being engrossed in it.

Getting naked for film and still photography is so far the only job I've done that doesnt fuck with my head. I love getting my photo taken in that context. I dont like snapshots and "candid" photography, because i like to pose, I wanna get my body and my face the way I want it, so I can convey an emotion other than awkward. The more shoots i do, the less "the way i want it" equals standard porn poses. I'm more aware these days of the way I look, and what I can do with this body.

I guess i digress, huh?

I am just so disgusted by the idea that I AM MY BODY. like this body is the reason I am upset and hurt and maybe damaged by my past(before sex work). Like I am not able to transcend the limitations of my body. Like my emotions are solid, flesh and bone, not fluid.

blogs encourage lazy thinking and writing. no conclusion!

heart the size of a pea!