i’ve been doing allot of thinking and not much interneting, as you’ll have noticed. i’ve been thinking allot about identity and humanity and all of those things under your skin and how we express those things in our art, in what we write, the way we move, the things we say when we don’t think about saying them, i’ve been thinking about the things that make me who i am- woman, boy, artist, romantic, addict, compulsive, mother, child, slut, dyke, libertine, whatever.
any which way, i’ve been loosing my self in other peoples self portraiture recently, the real self portraiture, none of this myspace crap, the kind that captures a life tome of experience in one single image, the lovers and the long nights alone, the things they’ve been taught and the things they’re trying to forget, everything. i just love it.
i am back at college now, and i won’t go into detail about it all, but we have no resources whatsoever, to do anything with. the school has been spending thousands on building new rooms for the language and maths and i.t and english lit students. and we’ve got nothing in our one grey room behind the gym, not even a working tap to wash up with.
on the brighter side of things i’ve found a couple of new people, people who love their cameras also, and we’ve got big plans.
i admit this is pasted from a dA journal, it could be the other way round, either way, everyone is informed now i leaveyou with new photo :)
Filed under: Uncategorized
-i meant to mark as personal, by the time i’d started sounding like a twat i realised i ought to keep such things to myself. i seem like an attention seeky cow now, i’m sorry i exposed you to that, i’ll take more care next time.
Filed under: notebooks
the cover is pink silk, with strings of red and white flowers, every page is fresh and clean and virgin, lovely. pretty, but not so pretty you don’t want to ruin everything by writing in it. there’s nothing like the feeling of a new notebook. i spent hours in stationary shops yesterday trying to find just the right thing for the new term at college, which edges closer and closer, the new new new beginning, and i think i’ve found it. this notebook will be something wonderful. a place to keep the things that excite me, on nice comfortable little A5 pages. and A5 is the best size, definitely.
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
I am under seige. And as usual when my own reality is threatened, I squeeze myself into the smallest space possible. I am writing this from my wardrobe, probebly a few days before it’ll get to my blog. there’s a peice of paper bluetacked to the wall here, with a poem on it, ‘love after love’ it must have been years ago i put it here, but i know now why i had to keep it, so i could find it today. and it’s such a comfort to me. i feel as if everything inside of me is changing, and i don’t know who i’ll be when it’s over, like a belated or second puberty. sat in the bath with my knees pulled into my chest, thinking how funny my feet look under the water, i do my best not to look at my body, because it’s not mine, and i can’t understand how it got here. i’m down the rabbit hole now. i’m picking up speed. darkness light darkness. jars.
i have been assimilated. i’ve gained ’employed’ down at deviantdolls, a deviantart club dedicated to women, by women, for women. from now on everything you see in the photography gallery will have come through moi. it’s rather fun. there’ve been a few pieces is was tempted to ignore, the fuzzy web-cam so called ‘glamour portraits’ but i guess that’s not my place. i don’t think i’ve screwed up yet and i’m pretty damn pleased to be a part of something so huge. thankyou T.
i had my scan, at last, it was as horrid as i thought and more. my two biggest fears are doctors and my reproductive organs, so you can imagine that internal scans and exams of my lady bits are my worst nightmare. unfortunately i’m having a lot of them lately. they also did an ultrasound, i saw my own ovaries, wahay (-_-) what they did find was that i don’t have much of the lining of my womb left, which i expected, i have been bleeding since fucking february after all. as per usual, nobody said or did anything to help, and i left the hospital even more pissed off than when i went in, if possible.
i would like a hysterectomy right about now please. hell, i’ll take the entire ‘gender reassignment’ package, i’m tired of this.
as of september, i am to be an art student again, chuffed. i’ve got one year to make up for lost time, in my own clothes, with plenty of cigarette breaks, which is a bonus. i need to make up for old lost gcses, but i can do that pure art, which could be great if i can just put my head right for a few hours a day. i think i’m strong enough now, i think i’m ready.
my deviantart pageviews go up and up. and everytime i’m astonished by the thought that people actually like my photos. i spend so much time putting myself down and picking holes in everything i do or write or say, i don’t even notice all my little happy stats rising, i don’t think about the messages in my various inboxes from people wanting to see me, who miss me. i’d usually start calling myself names when i realise things like this, but today i think i will accpet it, and admit that i’ve gotten myself a little ‘lost’ recently.
ah yes, and i’ve renamed this space, as you can see, because i thought it was nicer :)
to anybody not familiar with dA, or my ‘=lithiumkitten’ persona, here’s the last thing i tossed into the largest art community on the planet, a follow photograph to my ‘half jack’ post.
i enjoy my gin. i feel quite drunk now but as if i could type crap all night, maybe i will, but i don’t think i ought to do it here. so farewell and good night. xx
oh and don’t forget, you don’t have to be a member of wordpress to comment or just say hello!! i’ve had a few hundered pageveiws here all redy, but only four comments, i don’t want people not to be saying things and talkignto me because they’re not on wordpress. (then again, i might just be uninteresting.)
i’ve been too busy or too annoyed in the past two weeks or so, to really sit down and get lost in anything. but every month, without fail, bizarre magazine have enlightened me to something fabulous. issue 115 was no exception.
so if you’re not familiar with the publication, or just have’t gotten round to buying it yet, i feel i must introduce you to the wonderful ray ceasar. who’s interview pulled my heart out of my chest backwards, roasted it, and stuffed it back in again. not to mention his work, ha. i’ve never felt such an empathy with someone i’ve only read about, really, it’s strange.
after speaking about being born a dog, playing with dolls on his window sill, and working as a case-photographer at a children’s hospital, he moves on to the all important business of souls, which is the part that ‘got me.’
“my world and my soul exist in a big old mansion on the edge of the sea, and every picture is a room in that old place. the salt of that sea preserves me and each wave is a dream of what lies below the ocean.”
this struck a chord with me, i have always believed, without question, that my mind, and my soul is a house with many tiny rooms, stuffed with books and childhood toys, props from the films that have moved me, porcelain dolls of all the people that have changed my life and the people i don’t want to forget, dusty vinyl records, bulging boxes of photographs and stuffed animals. and whenever the world that exists around mine, the real, becomes to much to handle, i can escape to that place. walking the candle lit corridors, padding bare-foot across the creaking floor boards, peeking through each painted door to find a room where i can stay a while till the storm outside is through. even though the wind rattles my roof tiles and blows a few doors open that should be kept shut, even though the rain drips in through the odd crack in my ceiling, my house will never fall down. not ever.
tell me i’m mad if you’d like. but i like writing here. once i get my thoughts in order ‘on paper’, it begins to put them right inside my own head. you see?