I love free shit and I love reading- so I have a habit of picking up any magazine/zine/pamphlet I find that looks vaguely free. Whether it is or not is a minor technicality. A while back, I came across (and swiped) a queer themed zine at uni. Let me tell you what a find that was- total blast! The only beef I had with it was the handful of articles that had to do with all the different “types” of lesbian one could become. That kind of overwhelmed me a little so I let the zine be consumed by the black hole that is my bed room and totally forgot about it till recently. As is the way of my memory- it’s more a hypothetical possibility then it is an actual part of my brain.
Back to this array of lesbianna I came across. Talk about 21st century consumerism! I know these articles were meant to be heartfelt and crap but I felt like I was trying to pick out which mass produced style of individuality to take home and call my own. Kind of like choosing which style of Converse Chucks best suits me. And then there I was, back to my usual gripe that has created an unjustified distaste within me for Tegan and Sara and The L-word (surprisingly Ellen and pink have managed to escape my icy disdain). I’ve said it before (Actually I haven’t) and I’ll say it again: I did not break one mould just to be forced into another.
It took me over 5 years to come out properly. During that time, well meaning family members, friends and strangers were kind enough to raise various questions which I’d never considered before. Usual suspects included: “but don’t you want kids?”, “don’t you want to get married”, “don’t you want to grow old with someone?”. Thanks for the insight. Really, none of that EVER occurred to me! Tell me again about the terrible sense of loss I’ll feel if my vagina is never torn to shreds in child birth given homosexuality clearly will cause my womb to shrivell up and die.
Honestly, such ill informed questions don’t phase me now but when you’re young and vulnerable it can feel devastating that you might be throwing away a life time of dirty nappies and SUV's. It wasn't just about accepting the fact I was gay, I was also accepting the fact I wasn't straight. After finally shedding all this confusion and anguish to at last emerge a beautiful butterfly of gaydom, I don’t understand this need to then scuttle into the arms of the nearest stereotype on offer and settle into the cosy confines of someone else’s idea of what should be. Especially when you know what it’s like first-hand to break out of that.
Queer adolescences have an amazing opportunity where we are forced to question and define who we really are at such a young age. Yes, it’s a lot to ask of a 13 year old but most straight people don’t have that kind of personal crisis till there 40, have 3 kids, a mortgage and the sinking realisation that maybe they are too old for Sas and Bide jeans. So I say, take the opportunity and run it to the ground! Even for people who aren’t queer, you can still come out in some way- I guess it’s a bit of a metaphor for declaring to the world who you really are. Just ask Diana Ross if you’re not sure. (See Video at the end of this blog.. seriously.).
There is of course, always that need to fit in *somewhere*- that’s human nature I guess. Of that same vein, I’m always fascinated and in jealous awe of my friends who seem to fit in everywhere. No matter what social situation or group I invite them along to they can slip and slide between them with the ease of a slimy wet fish. I think all my friends are pretty incredible (even the slimy wet fish) and when I’m with them, being the creep I am, I like to observe them with an almost scientific precision. Carefully, through extensive internal note taking, I manage to extract their best qualities, which I then take home to see what I can learn.
I’ve tried to find some sort of common denominator that binds my friends who can fit in anywhere. Maybe they’re just that freakin’ cool or maybe it’s a certain dress sense or they have some particular quirk that everyone finds appealing. The only real common denominator I can find is they’re all confident in who they are and are very much their own person. I think people are drawn to that no matter what form it comes in; more so then they are to someone who has beaten their identity to a bloody pulp in the hopes of immaculately conforming to something which only exists in their heads.
Anywho, back to 98 Shades of Lesbian: I like to think I’m a girl who likes girl, and I can do without the bells and frills on it. None of this butch/lipstick/bull dyke/soft butch/femme/rarara crap. I’m a complex human being like everyone else, and as proud as I am to be gay it’s not all of who I am and I would hate to be judged as a person for any one aspect of myself. No one wants to be seen and judged as a mere 2 dimensional stereotype. The problem is, despite saying this, a lot of people are more than happy to dive head long into this social arms race to see who can best embody an imaginary ideal. Which in turn just facilitates outsiders to then judge them and everyone else in the contexts of their chosen stereotype.
The whole thing doesn’t need such a long bitchy rant but there you go, I did it anyway. Long and the short: It’s no fun and it’s really draining denying who you are. I really believe life is the journey not the destination, so why spend the whole time trudging upstream when you could just throw up your hands, go with the flow and see where that takes you?
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Aliens Abducted All My Friends
I love conspiracy theories. I also love ruining them for other people. If there is a rational explanation to put to someone’s harmless mumbo jumbo I’ll be the first to find it and ruin Christmas for everyone. Some may go so far as to call me a “bitch” but whatever, the sick glee I get from raining on someone else's parade is always worth it. So of course when a couple of friends recently got into alien abduction theories I took it upon myself to do everything I could to ruin their fun and promised to dedicate a blog to my endeavour.
Enter: This blog.
I don’t deny that there could be something or someone out there- not in the slightest. I just don’t know if I can go so far as to believe that aliens have been sneaking around making late night cameos all across the world without anyone noticing except for a staggering number of crackpots in Texas. There’s just so much conflicting evidence out there: between Men In Black, Widget and Star Wars, I just don’t know what to think.
My favourite explanation is a sleep phenomenon called Sleep Paralysis. It also explains a whole host of similar run-ins people have with spirits, ghosts, and apparitions- whatever late night visitors you might choose to roll with.
So this is how it works:
To begin with, while we’re asleep, our bodies usually go into a state of paralysis called REM Atonia. It’s important that we’re able to do this as part of a regular night’s sleep, mainly so we can’t act out what we're dreaming. Sleep Paralysis is when someone wakes up from a deep state of sleep, but the brain has kind of missed the memo and keeps going with the whole body paralysis thing, even though you’re now conscious.
There’s more to it though, Sleep Paralysis usually comes with different sensory hallucinations which can range from quite benign to fucking scary. The most basic are usually physical sensations, for example, one may wake up and experience a brief period of paralysis along with a sensation of being suffocated or crushed. This is quite a common occurrence; it does no damage whatsoever and only lasts a minute or two. I get this quite a bit if I nap in the day time (Sleep Paralysis is related to bad or irregular sleep habits). Let me just say, it’s fucking horrendous.
That’s kind of like the low cal version though- it gets better. People who experience hallucinations with their Sleep Paralysis get to endure it for up to 7 or 8 minutes. Along with the joy of being paralysed, many people report an intense feeling of a presence in the room usually coupled with strong feelings of fear or anxiety towards said presence. Comparable to the feeling you get when you walk home alone on a dark street and you are absolutely convinced someone is there. Quite commonly auditory hallucinations are involved as well. Anything from a simple buzzing or tapping, to laughter and screaming, to actual speech. Finally, it’s much rarer, but visual hallucinations can also get involved.
These are often percieved as a manifestation of the “presence” in the room and can take many different, often human like, forms. They usually are only seen in the peripheral vision and aren’t that vivid. Though in cases, they can take on extremely vivid forms and “physical interaction” between the person and the hallucination has even been documented. Most sleep paralysis episodes are akin to nightmares and are almost never enjoyable. Kind of a bummer really, it could be potentially awesome if you think about it.
To explain it in basic terms, it’s kind of like suddenly become conscious whilst dreaming. Of course, we automatically accept things we see to be true when we know we're conscious (seeing is believing and all). When you know for a fact you’re awake, when you know you’re not on drugs and when you can see a stranger standing over your bed in the middle of the night, you’re likely to believe that there is in fact, a stranger standing over your bed in the middle of the night. If the person or thing you’re seeing is totally weird, the brain is likely to rationalise what it sees and come up with an explanation (a ghost, spirit or alien) for something you see in a state of consciousness before its going to resort to all out denial of what you can see with your own eyes.
So, this is a great explanation for SOME alien abduction cases (I can accept that some cases can’t be explained away by crazy sleep disorders). Why is it though, that people all across the world are having the same “dream” about aliens? Surely that throws this theory right out the window, right? I honestly can’t tell you why so many people have such a similar “dream”. Though I can tell you that there are hardly any recorded alien abductions before the late 1940’s, which is also the same time sci-fi started to really make its mark on pop culture. Think about that. Before then? Most episodes of sleep paralysis were the backbone of countless myths and legends about demons, ghosts and monsters.
Enter: This blog.
I don’t deny that there could be something or someone out there- not in the slightest. I just don’t know if I can go so far as to believe that aliens have been sneaking around making late night cameos all across the world without anyone noticing except for a staggering number of crackpots in Texas. There’s just so much conflicting evidence out there: between Men In Black, Widget and Star Wars, I just don’t know what to think.
My favourite explanation is a sleep phenomenon called Sleep Paralysis. It also explains a whole host of similar run-ins people have with spirits, ghosts, and apparitions- whatever late night visitors you might choose to roll with.
So this is how it works:
To begin with, while we’re asleep, our bodies usually go into a state of paralysis called REM Atonia. It’s important that we’re able to do this as part of a regular night’s sleep, mainly so we can’t act out what we're dreaming. Sleep Paralysis is when someone wakes up from a deep state of sleep, but the brain has kind of missed the memo and keeps going with the whole body paralysis thing, even though you’re now conscious.
There’s more to it though, Sleep Paralysis usually comes with different sensory hallucinations which can range from quite benign to fucking scary. The most basic are usually physical sensations, for example, one may wake up and experience a brief period of paralysis along with a sensation of being suffocated or crushed. This is quite a common occurrence; it does no damage whatsoever and only lasts a minute or two. I get this quite a bit if I nap in the day time (Sleep Paralysis is related to bad or irregular sleep habits). Let me just say, it’s fucking horrendous.
That’s kind of like the low cal version though- it gets better. People who experience hallucinations with their Sleep Paralysis get to endure it for up to 7 or 8 minutes. Along with the joy of being paralysed, many people report an intense feeling of a presence in the room usually coupled with strong feelings of fear or anxiety towards said presence. Comparable to the feeling you get when you walk home alone on a dark street and you are absolutely convinced someone is there. Quite commonly auditory hallucinations are involved as well. Anything from a simple buzzing or tapping, to laughter and screaming, to actual speech. Finally, it’s much rarer, but visual hallucinations can also get involved.
These are often percieved as a manifestation of the “presence” in the room and can take many different, often human like, forms. They usually are only seen in the peripheral vision and aren’t that vivid. Though in cases, they can take on extremely vivid forms and “physical interaction” between the person and the hallucination has even been documented. Most sleep paralysis episodes are akin to nightmares and are almost never enjoyable. Kind of a bummer really, it could be potentially awesome if you think about it.
To explain it in basic terms, it’s kind of like suddenly become conscious whilst dreaming. Of course, we automatically accept things we see to be true when we know we're conscious (seeing is believing and all). When you know for a fact you’re awake, when you know you’re not on drugs and when you can see a stranger standing over your bed in the middle of the night, you’re likely to believe that there is in fact, a stranger standing over your bed in the middle of the night. If the person or thing you’re seeing is totally weird, the brain is likely to rationalise what it sees and come up with an explanation (a ghost, spirit or alien) for something you see in a state of consciousness before its going to resort to all out denial of what you can see with your own eyes.
So, this is a great explanation for SOME alien abduction cases (I can accept that some cases can’t be explained away by crazy sleep disorders). Why is it though, that people all across the world are having the same “dream” about aliens? Surely that throws this theory right out the window, right? I honestly can’t tell you why so many people have such a similar “dream”. Though I can tell you that there are hardly any recorded alien abductions before the late 1940’s, which is also the same time sci-fi started to really make its mark on pop culture. Think about that. Before then? Most episodes of sleep paralysis were the backbone of countless myths and legends about demons, ghosts and monsters.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
182 Days In The Life Of...
I ask you right here to please agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means “I survived”.
-Little Bee, in The Other Hand by Chris Cleave
http://poetryandvoyeurism.blogspot.com/2010/03/my-beyonce.html
There was a weekend in February, I have scarcely any recollection of it now, nor the three or four weeks that followed. I really don’t remember them that much at all. There are facts of course, things I know to be true: an accident, my girlfriend moving to Sydney the next day, visits to the hospital, the messy aftermath of an ambiguous break up, fights with the people I needed most. I see snap shots of all this, but they’re disjointed and out of order. It’s like trying to recollect a dream that leaves behind few clues, just an unnameable feeling and a sense of great significance.
There are other, different sorts of facts I’ve come to know since that weekend. Above all (unfortunately), I’ve learned that when the brain sustains an injury the healing is agonisingly slow for those waiting by the bedside. It’s like watching someone wake up in the morning in slow motion, only what should happen in a matter of minutes takes months. If a part of the brain cannot be salvaged the body sometimes has the ability to transfer certain functions to other parts of the brain and essentially “rewire itself”, connecting and creating neurons in different ways so that the body can carry on. In a way the heart does the same. Sometimes it breaks so badly, it will never work the same way again; there are parts of it that will never heal. Yet no matter how disfigured and scarred the heart may be, it continues to beat. Somehow, it finds a way to rewire itself and to carry on.
Inspired by Jamie Livingston who took a polaroid everyday for 18 years until his death in 1997, I’ve decided to do the same for 182 days (half a year) on a disposable camera. It helps in saving me from the hum drum blur of study and work and study and work and study and work that manages to swallow entire weeks before I even notice. There’s something very grounding in forcing myself to search for a moment each day that I feel worth photographing despite its perceived significance in the eyes of another. There is also something very powerful in recognising the little things that I would usually take for granted as part of my day.
I like the idea that the value of our lives does not lie in our achievements but is instead found in the day to day moments. Celebrating small moments by consigning the memory to a photo has quietly brought this idea away from some namby pamby mantra and into a firm mindset I carry. I guess, there’s probably something in that.
Anyway, these are some of my favourites so far that Idon’t particularly mind sharing:
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-Little Bee, in The Other Hand by Chris Cleave
http://poetryandvoyeurism.blogspot.com/2010/03/my-beyonce.html
There was a weekend in February, I have scarcely any recollection of it now, nor the three or four weeks that followed. I really don’t remember them that much at all. There are facts of course, things I know to be true: an accident, my girlfriend moving to Sydney the next day, visits to the hospital, the messy aftermath of an ambiguous break up, fights with the people I needed most. I see snap shots of all this, but they’re disjointed and out of order. It’s like trying to recollect a dream that leaves behind few clues, just an unnameable feeling and a sense of great significance.
There are other, different sorts of facts I’ve come to know since that weekend. Above all (unfortunately), I’ve learned that when the brain sustains an injury the healing is agonisingly slow for those waiting by the bedside. It’s like watching someone wake up in the morning in slow motion, only what should happen in a matter of minutes takes months. If a part of the brain cannot be salvaged the body sometimes has the ability to transfer certain functions to other parts of the brain and essentially “rewire itself”, connecting and creating neurons in different ways so that the body can carry on. In a way the heart does the same. Sometimes it breaks so badly, it will never work the same way again; there are parts of it that will never heal. Yet no matter how disfigured and scarred the heart may be, it continues to beat. Somehow, it finds a way to rewire itself and to carry on.
Inspired by Jamie Livingston who took a polaroid everyday for 18 years until his death in 1997, I’ve decided to do the same for 182 days (half a year) on a disposable camera. It helps in saving me from the hum drum blur of study and work and study and work and study and work that manages to swallow entire weeks before I even notice. There’s something very grounding in forcing myself to search for a moment each day that I feel worth photographing despite its perceived significance in the eyes of another. There is also something very powerful in recognising the little things that I would usually take for granted as part of my day.
I like the idea that the value of our lives does not lie in our achievements but is instead found in the day to day moments. Celebrating small moments by consigning the memory to a photo has quietly brought this idea away from some namby pamby mantra and into a firm mindset I carry. I guess, there’s probably something in that.
Anyway, these are some of my favourites so far that Idon’t particularly mind sharing:
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Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Take that MTV!!
Don’t you love when you’re sitting at home on a Sunday night, a little worse for wear after the weekend and something totally ridiculous and obscure meanders onto SBS or ABC? It’s moments like these when all you can do is thank whatever cosmic forces aligned to bring you such luck with such impeccable timing. With this in mind, I say thank god for SBS airing Eurovision live from Oslo, Norway on Sunday night and thank god for whatever it was that compelled my family to have SBS on at that very moment when it started.
Not only was it tacky, over the top and magical but I found it quite educational too! In fact, I now consider myself somewhat of an expert on European countries and cultures, most of which I’d never heard of until Sunday. I’ll be honest, I know little about the finer details of these places, like where they actually are or how to pronounce them. Yet I can tell you that an overwhelming majority appear to be populated by some sort of androgynous-electro-forest-nymphs. All those beauties with fabulous jaw lines and flawless skin yabbering away in there cooky “languages” just make me want to jet half way across the world to find the niche that is surely waiting for me amongst them.
For those of you unfamiliar with Eurovision, it’s a European song contest that shits all over anything like American Idol. Representatives from 39 countries across Europe compete in 3 rounds with the top 25 battling it out for numero uno in a final round which is aired internationally. Europeans being Europeans it quikly turns into this bizarre and trashy free-for-all with an incredible array of vocals and talent. This year’s winner was Lena who represented Germany with a song called “Satellites”. Truth be told, I wasn’t really behind Germany on this one. I felt that their performance didn’t sum up what I’d grown to know and love about Eurovision in the 3 and a half hours I spent watching it. I’d probably describe it as a low key indie/pop song devoid of flashy lights, vile techno, hideous dance moves and any wings emerging from ball gowns mid-song (a la Belarus). Jesus, get with the programme Germany!
However, Lena’s performance was in English. Much to my delight her grasp on the English language was very loose and her accent was downright weird. Kind of like she’d spent many-a late night combing through every known accent in the native English speaking world and had at last compiled a staggering portfolio of the worst possible pronunciation of each vowel. Bless. I liked that when she won she tried to give a thankyou speech in English but only managed to say “this is absolutely awesome” before covering her head and face with the German flag- always a pleasing touch. She was then presented with a hideous bouquet that looked like it had come straight from the set of Star Trek where it had just finished filming its role as a Cling-On’s vagina.
My favourites throughout the night included Azerbaijan (which I instantly translated to Azkaban), represented by Safura who sang “Drip Drops”. Allegedly (and I say allegedly, because I just couldn’t see it), the choreography was done by the same person who did Beyonce’s single ladies video. Also, Safura’s dress lit up mid song, MID-SONG! Another favourite for me was Iceland. I liked them for the simple fact they were represented by what appeared to be Beth Ditto’s fairy god mother. I also enjoyed the man who leapt up on stage during Spain’s performance wearing a pink fez and copying the backup dancer’s (who were dressed as clowns) in an attempt to “blend in”. And of course, there was France with their super fun "Allez Ole Ola", and its god awful (i.e. fabulous) choreography!
Low points of the evening included the UK who seem too removed and conventional to be part of Eurovision. In an attempt to get in on the crazy camp antics of their mainland counterparts they overdid the cringe factor of their song and underdid the pizzazz factor of their performance- the results were luke warm to say the least. Other disappointments included Russia, who sound as though they should be the kings of cringe but instead brought out this horrible indie folk band that performed in scarves and sweaters. Excuse me? We have dresses that light up, others that grow wings and robot back up dancers who shoot fire out of their arms (Turkey), and the best Russia can do is an old knitted sweater? Puh-lease!!
The evening ended with a dance that was taught to and performed by the entire audience, as well as the “back at home street parties” being aired as part of the show. Said dance was then taught to the 120 million viewers at home around the world. What fun! My sister and I did our best to keep up, clicking and shimmying in our living room at home whilst being led by men in purple and green leather suits on screen. Quite frankly, I cannot wait till the next party I throw which will undoubtedly have a strict dress code of “Eurovision back up dancer”. Luckily, the majority of the night has already hit YouTube and the 2010 Eurovision best of CD should be out soon so I’ll have something to tide me over as I count down the 365 days until next eurovision!
Not only was it tacky, over the top and magical but I found it quite educational too! In fact, I now consider myself somewhat of an expert on European countries and cultures, most of which I’d never heard of until Sunday. I’ll be honest, I know little about the finer details of these places, like where they actually are or how to pronounce them. Yet I can tell you that an overwhelming majority appear to be populated by some sort of androgynous-electro-forest-nymphs. All those beauties with fabulous jaw lines and flawless skin yabbering away in there cooky “languages” just make me want to jet half way across the world to find the niche that is surely waiting for me amongst them.
For those of you unfamiliar with Eurovision, it’s a European song contest that shits all over anything like American Idol. Representatives from 39 countries across Europe compete in 3 rounds with the top 25 battling it out for numero uno in a final round which is aired internationally. Europeans being Europeans it quikly turns into this bizarre and trashy free-for-all with an incredible array of vocals and talent. This year’s winner was Lena who represented Germany with a song called “Satellites”. Truth be told, I wasn’t really behind Germany on this one. I felt that their performance didn’t sum up what I’d grown to know and love about Eurovision in the 3 and a half hours I spent watching it. I’d probably describe it as a low key indie/pop song devoid of flashy lights, vile techno, hideous dance moves and any wings emerging from ball gowns mid-song (a la Belarus). Jesus, get with the programme Germany!
However, Lena’s performance was in English. Much to my delight her grasp on the English language was very loose and her accent was downright weird. Kind of like she’d spent many-a late night combing through every known accent in the native English speaking world and had at last compiled a staggering portfolio of the worst possible pronunciation of each vowel. Bless. I liked that when she won she tried to give a thankyou speech in English but only managed to say “this is absolutely awesome” before covering her head and face with the German flag- always a pleasing touch. She was then presented with a hideous bouquet that looked like it had come straight from the set of Star Trek where it had just finished filming its role as a Cling-On’s vagina.
My favourites throughout the night included Azerbaijan (which I instantly translated to Azkaban), represented by Safura who sang “Drip Drops”. Allegedly (and I say allegedly, because I just couldn’t see it), the choreography was done by the same person who did Beyonce’s single ladies video. Also, Safura’s dress lit up mid song, MID-SONG! Another favourite for me was Iceland. I liked them for the simple fact they were represented by what appeared to be Beth Ditto’s fairy god mother. I also enjoyed the man who leapt up on stage during Spain’s performance wearing a pink fez and copying the backup dancer’s (who were dressed as clowns) in an attempt to “blend in”. And of course, there was France with their super fun "Allez Ole Ola", and its god awful (i.e. fabulous) choreography!
Low points of the evening included the UK who seem too removed and conventional to be part of Eurovision. In an attempt to get in on the crazy camp antics of their mainland counterparts they overdid the cringe factor of their song and underdid the pizzazz factor of their performance- the results were luke warm to say the least. Other disappointments included Russia, who sound as though they should be the kings of cringe but instead brought out this horrible indie folk band that performed in scarves and sweaters. Excuse me? We have dresses that light up, others that grow wings and robot back up dancers who shoot fire out of their arms (Turkey), and the best Russia can do is an old knitted sweater? Puh-lease!!
The evening ended with a dance that was taught to and performed by the entire audience, as well as the “back at home street parties” being aired as part of the show. Said dance was then taught to the 120 million viewers at home around the world. What fun! My sister and I did our best to keep up, clicking and shimmying in our living room at home whilst being led by men in purple and green leather suits on screen. Quite frankly, I cannot wait till the next party I throw which will undoubtedly have a strict dress code of “Eurovision back up dancer”. Luckily, the majority of the night has already hit YouTube and the 2010 Eurovision best of CD should be out soon so I’ll have something to tide me over as I count down the 365 days until next eurovision!
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