Posts Tagged ‘fuck you’

me, Clayton, rape.

Friday, April 15th, 2016

me, Clayton, rape.

It wasn’t rape because that’s what he growled at me the first time he overwhelmed and coerced me when I’d just said I wanted to wait before we started having sex together.
It wasn’t rape because he’d only gone down on me and fingered me and heroically resisted sticking his cock in my body.
It wasn’t rape because when he walked out without fucking me, saying “That’s all I wanted”, licking his lips at my door, I smirked.

It wasn’t rape because if it had been rape it wouldn’t have signified the start of a long term relationship.
It wasn’t rape because I came so many times, every time.
It wasn’t rape because I’d agree to do things I’d said I was uncomfortable with after he said over and over that he needed them.
It wasn’t rape because I’d agree to try things I was scared of and it would be my fault he wasn’t satisfied with the outcome.
It wasn’t rape because we were “the power couple”
It wasn’t rape because he was the “top”

It wasn’t rape because I tried to leave him 7 fucking times and kept going back.
It wasn’t rape because I suspected I was with a sex addict and still stayed with him.
It wasn’t rape because I suspected he was a sociopath and still stayed with him.
It wasn’t rape, because he was cheating, and it has to be one or the other.
It wasn’t rape because gaslighting.
It wasn’t rape because manipulation.
It wasn’t rape because power struggle.

It wasn’t rape because ‘his sexual needs’
It wasn’t rape because I became accustomed to never not having sex when we were together.
It wasn’t rape because he made sure I got off before he did.
It wasn’t rape because any critique of his treatment of me was immediately escalated to my accusing him of it and rape is a bad, bad word.

It wasn’t rape because I’d done the same toward others and couldn’t face it.
It wasn’t rape because I knew I’d ‘met my match’ in him.
It wasn’t rape because I was trying to be less controlling — surrendering was the whole point.
It wasn’t rape because we were ‘sex positive’

It wasn’t rape because I was already damaged.
It wasn’t rape because I had to be Good, Giving and Game
It wasn’t rape because I was learning.
It wasn’t rape because I was getting what I deserved.
It wasn’t rape because love is hard.

It wasn’t rape because my life revolved around being good at sex.
It wasn’t rape because I suspected he was in love with Zita, and not me.
It wasn’t rape because he bought me dinners and marathon texted.
It wasn’t rape because he invited me to meet his family.
It wasn’t rape because there was something wrong with me.

It wasn’t rape because losing my mind in that relationship was my fault.
It wasn’t rape because I was the one who screamed and yelled
It wasn’t rape because I could see the scared little redhead boy he kept trying to cover up
It wasn’t rape because part of me wanted to make babies with him
It wasn’t rape because part of me wanted to marry him

It wasn’t rape because I let him get away with it.
It wasn’t rape because I knew no one would take my side.
It wasn’t rape because I’m not supposed to have to need anyone to take my side if I’m telling the truth.
It wasn’t rape because I didn’t want to be in love with a rapist.
It wasn’t rape because I didn’t want to have been a rapist.

It wasn’t rape because what about the theater we worked at together.
It wasn’t rape because it was my fault his ex’s wouldn’t talk with me about him
It wasn’t rape because all those other girls are just jealous of you, Courtnee.
It wasn’t rape because I was the dangerous one.
It wasn’t rape because I was the evil one.
It wasn’t rape because I was the powerful one.

It wasn’t rape because fighting for my sanity was exciting.
It wasn’t rape because I was the one who was so fucked up I’d get suicidal
It wasn’t rape because when it all came crashing down, I was the one the ‘sex positive’ community ditched.
It wasn’t rape because he succeeded at peopling and I failed.

It wasn’t rape because the Judge clearly hated me and sided with him.
It wasn’t rape because his pretty ex girlfriend made amends with him just in time to show up in court by his side.
It wasn’t rape because the other woman he raped and then pretended didn’t exist ran and hung me out to dry.
It wasn’t rape because I needed to burn the shit he had given me and that’s just crazy.

me, Clayton, rape.

So I watched Jessica Jones on binge a few months ago. Alone.

I shouldn’t have been alone for something like that, but I didn’t expect for it to bother me so terribly.

It bothered me so. Fucking. Much. I hated her so. Fucking. Much. I spent the second half of that show vehemently wishing she would kill herself. I kept wanting to see her kill herself and when she did it I would have woken the neighborhood celebrating. I fucking hated her fucking dramatic drinking and her stupid decisions and I fucking hated how fucking weak and pathetic she was. I wanted to see her die.

I knew when I was watching it it was bringing up some massive shit, but I couldn’t figure out from where. It couldn’t have been from David. David was a fucking meatheaded boundary pushing fucking emotional moron who finally went too fucking far, not a god damn Major of Psychological Warfare like Killgrave.

So what the fuck was it? What the fuck was triggering me so badly?

Yeah. OH.

How did I write this, without seeing ^^^^^^ this ^^^^^^? I don’t know. I’m not supposed to know everything. But I’m going to Keep Going. I am, perhaps naively, looking forward to a time in my life when my gnashy, suicidal trauma surfacings don’t revolve around figuring out/remembering who in my distant past fucking raped me. This broken record shit is getting really, really old.

Still pooping on rape culture

Thursday, January 28th, 2016

So I was told yesterday that comically centering my own nonsexual nudity in any of the constant reminders I post about my patreon existing is disingenuous, because I rail against rape culture.Mmmkay.

I was told that it’s ok to use nudity in my art, which I have done for over 20 years, but it’s not ok to make a joke about posting boobs on patreon so haha sign up.

Mmhmm.

I was told that harnessing my own agency and inviting people to support me in a way that ever centers that portion of my body of work devalues everything else about me.

*files nails*

A man, who has been at times clearly conflicted with his own attraction to me, which is what he centered when stating his ‘honest opinion’ about his perception of not being able to afford to see my tits (the image is public, actually, in my modeling portfolio) told me this, and claimed to be trying to point out what he viewed as internalized sexism.

*yawn*

He told me I couldn’t have it both ways, that I couldn’t critique and work to transform a culture which seeks to objectify and shame my body without my consent, and ever consent to being gazed upon with my nipples showing and having the audacity to suggest that it’s possible to be financially supported in that.

*side eye*

He told me this in response to the first post I’ve penned in almost two years in which I centered my nudity, much less in good humor, and, even though he is a fucking therapist, failed to recognize how deeply vulnerable and brave of a step that reclaiming was for me in my healing.

*scowl*

This is an aspect of rape culture. That women are not allowed their own pride, agency, or to make money with their bodies, as long as any old man who gets a boner doesn’t have free license to objectify her any time he wants.

It’s a part of rape culture to hold the belief that a womans figure, nudity, sexuality is consumable only if she’s giving it away freely, and doesn’t expect compensation unless she sits down and shuts up.

I am officially on record as not here for that shit.

I’m not here for being shamed and diminished by some creepweasel fingerwagging shitbiscuit just as I’m rising from ashes and reclaiming an openness about my own fucking body  — an openness that has brought me joy and exhileration and freedom and makes me laugh and allows for me to return to a more complete expression that I’d long since lost to fucking trauma.

I am not here for shaming nude artists of any form, including my friends who are porn stars and sex workers, or even remotely implying that their willful participation in that negates their stances or validity as rape culture critics/consent culture advocates.

So you can thank this asshole for the verocity of the flood of nudity that is likely to become present in my immediate work.

And you can sign up to support that work, along with my book, my music, my neverending nomadic journey, at http://patreon.com/courtnee

*sips tea*

For Kirsten

Saturday, August 1st, 2015

I told you so

There is nothing
So precious
As a sisterhood
That softly cautions
Of ones ability
To disregard
Our profound knowing
Instead, to fill
His jagged caverns
Brimmed in untapped dark
With the naive light
Of our hopeful
Imagination

Let me get Pretty for you.

Wednesday, March 4th, 2015

FuckYouDelete

Friday, January 16th, 2015

It’s become so amazing to me how much commonly-accepted forms of dialogue are just flat out silencing, erasing, entitled fucking bullshit.

Not long ago I would feel ‘irrationally’ slighted over it, and blame my ‘damage’ for my ‘sensitivity’ and wonder what was wrong with me.

Fuck that noise. I ain’t internalizing that manipulative crap anymore.

“Grow some balls and smile” while I systematically minimize and belittle you, little girl… unless of course I am appreciating how hot I think you are. FuckYouDelete

“Feel free to delete this patronizing, uninformed comment” that I as a complete stranger have left on your accessible facebook post about feminism, which I see as my right as an entitled white guy rather than a courtesy you offer. (I did).

“Notice now how I’m coming in here to point out something completely irrelevant which paints you as a naive overemotional idiot so I can talk about this thing I think is more important. Also I didn’t read the article this conversation is linked to” FuckYouDelete

Y’all. These are just some of the silencing, minimizing tactics used on me this week. It’s rather incredible how utterly common this shit is. But in particular, here’s my thing lately:

“You should be helping more caustic abusive men because they’re just wounded, not calling out the privilege and misogynist sexism which keeps them from seeking help for themselves in the first place”. Mmmm. Right.

I have a soft spot for these privileged, wounded geek males who are whining about how mean girls are being to them by insisting they wake the fuck up and level the playing field by, I dunno — unlearning their ridiculous fucking programing and not treating women like subservient magic objects that are supposed to make your life worth living for you, maybe.

I grew up with them, and in a lot of cases, they’re still basically exactly where they were back then, stuck in their same old patterns, which basically look like: ‘your poontang would save me if you’d just give it up more/differently/better/easier/whatthefuckever’ or ‘your poontang scares me’ plus ‘and that’s your fault somehow’, even though I’m so immature and emotionally stunted all I really have to consistently offer is paying for shit and standing around impotently when life hits the fan and you actually need real loving support and some fucking backup.

Hearing their tales of misguided blame and agony is sad. Even though 5000 years of women being treated as livestock and sexual property is immensely sadder than the plight of these nerdlords who still think they’re being oppressed by society into the bowels of their parents basements, I recognize that they are fucking trapped, and I’m all about doing what I can, safely, and within my scope of skills and ability, to combat the consequences of the capitalist patriarchal conditioning that’s causing these guys (and ME) so much pain.

AND: It is not feminisms, or women’s, job, to heal the men who make feminism needed right now. It is the job of feminism to work toward equity by raising up and supporting the people who are systematically beat down by the existing structure of inequality (women: US. WOMEN.), and to point out how the privilege of that structure is hindering the powerful from healing themselves (and one another) so they can address the power dynamic they perpetuate among themselves.

The idea that a feminist should shift to focusing on healing men is simply another symptom of the patriarchal ideal that women are supposed to sit around taking this shit and ultimately focus their efforts on feeling Stockholm syndrome for, and going out of their way to ‘help’, their oppressors.

And most importantly; no one, woman or otherwise, can help a person who doesn’t want help. No woman with any sense of self preservation will willingly engage in ‘trying’ to heal a person who a) hates them and b) isn’t asking for help.

“An overwhelming majority of us come from dysfunctional families in which we were taught we were not okay, where we were shamed, verbally and/or physically abused, and emotionally neglected even as we were also taught to believe that we were loved. For most folks it is just too threatening to embrace a definition of love that would no longer enable us to see love as present in our families. Too many of us need to cling to a notion of love that either makes abuse acceptable or at least makes it seem that whatever happened was not that bad.”
—All About Love: New Visions by bell hooks

What men are suffering from is the same fucking childhood traumas we all suffer from PLUS the dark side of their supremacist status in patriarchy. I truly hope you break free some day. To do that, ‘men’ need to step up to the plate to heal themselves, and then one another. Men need to learn how to do that, rather than insisting that the ‘women’ they benefit from collectively (and often subconsciously) erasing and raping and blaming step up to help them fucking do their god damn work for them.

pa·tri·arch·y
ˈpātrēˌärkē
noun
a system of society or government in which men hold the power and women are largely excluded from it.

The nature of this sad state of affairs that none of us signed up for is: This is your fucking supremacist shitshow. Without your active engagement as the empowered group, we all stay fucked in this soup of fuckary. You are the ones who need to use YOUR fucking resources to pull your shit together and then help US pull this bullshit paradigm apart. Use the fucking money you’re making to get some fucking therapy, use the power your voice inherently has to influence others as you learn, stop trying to suck your healing from us for free using your fucking sideways patriarchal shitbaggary against us. Grow some fucking integrity.

If you want help to heal, I will fucking walk with you through burning pillars of dog shit to do it. I will bare compassionate witness with you through your patterns worst petty death throes. I will stand firm while I get hit with the ripples of your previously unfelt agony. I will hold a safe, intentional container for you while you lose your fucking mind and everything you thought you knew about yourself dissolves into a shadow. I will teach you every fucking thing I know about overcoming that shadow. I will fucking remind you over and over again how brave and powerful and strong and viable and good you are even when you make mistakes. And I will call you on those mistakes so that we can work together to ensure you have what you need to do better next time. I will blow your fucking mind by being the best teacher and champion you’ve ever had, if you want (and pay) me to do that for you. To HELP you, support you, guide you, as YOU make the effort to work through YOUR OWN fucking shit.

What I will not do is cater to those who presume I should spend even one more moment of my life martyring myself for stubborn, privileged men who deeply, profoundly, subconsciously fucking hate me AND WANT TO KEEP HATING ME.

What I will not do is ever, ever be in an intimate relationship, professional or otherwise, with another person like that, ever, the fuck, again.

What I will not do is spend another fucking moment of my life making the pain of wounded manchildren with their fingers dug into their fucking ears more important than the devastating impact their sickness has on me.

What I will not do is pretend that these unwoke guys don’t sit on thrones with fistfulls of cake while insisting that women set aside their fight for their own sovereignty and female equality to bring them fuckers more fucking cake. Often so that said cake can be thrown back in our pretty painted faces for us not being capable of magically chewing it and swallowing it for them, as well.

What I will not fucking do is spend even another second of my life ‘trying’ to do your fucking work for you so you can sit around fat and happy and fucking ignorant, syphoning the energy I generate.

If going back to doing any of that is what it is you think I am good for, if that’s what you think I should be doing with my life and my work and my social justice efforts: FUCK YOU.

Truly. Fucking fuck you. I been through way too much growing and pain and subversive fucking abuse to fuck around with y’all. Not even a little. Block, delete, go fuck yourself, byebye.

Thursday, January 15th, 2015

Impromptu road trip. I am not taking as many pictures as I might have expected, but I also haven’t gotten to where I am going, yet. I did stop in Idaho to take in the lake for a bit.

Tuesday, January 6th, 2015

“There are times when we have to stand for justice. And there are times that in standing for justice, we have to turn away from people that we would ordinarily want to be with. That is the difficult part of struggle.” – Bell Hooks

These are the places rape culture starts

Saturday, November 8th, 2014

This is an amazing account of the very real corrosion and trauma that results in loved ones blaming the victim of sexual abuse/assault in the name of trying to make everything ok again. I related to this, and I am glad I got away.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/michelletea/my-stepfather-the-peeping-tom

Thanks for that, dude.

Monday, November 3rd, 2014

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”
― Edmund Burke

This Ghomeshi thing, how his friends and community are admitting to knowing he was up to some shit, brings to light some ugly things for me. Ugly things that encouraged me to continue raping in my sex life. Ugly things that effected me when I broke out of my own cycles of abuse at the hands of others.

I’ve been thinking about that Edmund Burke quote a lot lately. Thinking about myself, thinking about the agonizing impotence of many people who have let me down, standing aside, watching. Thinking about how that contributed to how long I remained an unconscious rapist. How long I remained in corrosive situations that deeply, deeply damaged me.

Most pointedly, these events have been reminding me of something a man I know said. Something that angers me, and has been the perfect surface from which to reflect my collective grief and rage.

It was something this person said about the man who raped me in April, when I told them — a close friend of his, who had lived with the rapist for a period of time — that I didn’t know how said rapist, whom he hadn’t seen in a while, was doing, because I didn’t speak with that guy anymore (and why).

His response was: “Yeah, I’ve seen how.. selfish, his maleness is.”

Yeah. No. This shit needs a do-over.

Let me tell you a little story. See, me, as a woman, and the friend of mine who was also dating the same man who raped me this year, as a woman, both talked with him about his creepy behavior. We talked with him about it in the context of our own discomforts and boundaries which he sucked at respecting, was always rubbing up against and trying to push past. But it went even farther than that.

We figured out we both got the creeps from him in the same way and, because we considered him a friend, we had a *fucking intervention* with him about it. He was all appreciation and ears, as he normally was when we were swatting him on his fucking nose about being a pushy cockbrained asshole; wanting to know how he could do better, because he didn’t wanna be “that guy”, even though it turns out he, acting like “that guy”, and continuing to return to behaving like “that guy”, was totally “that guy”.

QUACKs like a duck? Hmmmm.

A few months after this friend and I took him to dinner and schooled him, the guy I’d had consistent confusion around and periodic boundary conversations with raped me after witnessing my getting shitfaced drunk while choking on massive waves of grief.

Additionally, he had sex with me without the condoms I’d had to constantly insist that we fucking use because he made sure to remind me every time we had sex that he’d been ‘tested’, and for a special added bonus, did so without having told me he’d stopped using protection with one of his other partners months before.

The next morning, and throughout the week-long shock period before all the elements of his dickbaggary had come to light and I dropped him like a sack of hammered shit, he’d already started bitching to ME about how bad *he* felt, expecting me to be his fucking support system for it.

Here’s a thing that I think people on the more powerful aspect of this sexist patriarchy spectrum are missing: Even when the courageous miracle happens, where someone who is being leveraged upon by this system of ours that has trained us for thousands of years to see femininity as property, stands the hell up for themselves within their relationship, it *doesn’t work*.

The women these people are fucking have zero power to influence the unconsciously indoctrinated cultural behavior of these men. Zero.

The reason for this in my experience is that there’s not enough incentive, when women these men are already getting their toxic masculinity validating sex from, speak up. They are the people with whom that creepy fucking approach was proven to work on already. They are the people who have shown investment in that approach, and in the person behind that approach. They are the people who have already volunteered to represent what is silently and unconsciously hated and objectified, people with whom that physical bond is already established.

It’s like throwing a toothpick into a volcano when a woman who is in an active loop of this behavior stands up and says that shit actually, well, stinks. They are the people who have been putting up with the fucking shit and listening to the fucking excuses and still giving up that good ol’ validating sexual property.

I suspect it really doesn’t work from that being-fucked position when attempting to influence people who apologize for this behavior, either; The men who stand on the sidelines listening to the struggles the women they fuck are having with the pushy abusive men in their lives, or the harassing ‘nice’ guys on the streets. I spent the last 7 fucking months, learning that one.

It’s really easy to sit back and say, ah, well, let her handle it, when you know something is wrong. It seems like the really nice, polite, proper thing to do; mind your own business, and as a bonus, cover your own yellow ass.

It’s also really REALLY easy to look at the results of a mans misogyny and abuse manifesting in the woman they’ve been dating, and decide she’s just off her rocker and that’s more of a problem than what might have been wrong with the way she was treated by the guy.

I know how easy that is, in part because it is what happened with the one “top” (HAHAAHAH) I dated, who used to get pissed and entitled toward me for not liking the sex he’d pressured me into trying in the first place. Who had been gaslighting and lying to me about the multiple people he’d been cheating on me with for the entirety of our relationship. Who had been systematically breaking down my psyche with his lies and selfishness, and done that while he was using the Edward Cullen stare on me and talking about babies. Who I had been calling out on his shit over and over and over again and being met with lies and accusation.

When I finally, finally cornered him in his lies and that relationship finally, finally hit the fan, everyone who seemed to have had any influence on the fucker, including prominent voices in the sex positive and BDSM communities we had both been a part of, stayed ‘neutral’ and watched bewildered as I had a fucking nervous breakdown. Many of them lifted the abusive sociopath to the top levels of the festival community I had once been a part of, all while failing to understand and even shaming me for being so fucking angry and betrayed by them for it, not seeming to grok how I could feel so abandoned and unprotected by their complacent niceness toward him.

You effect what you have your attention on. And too many of you have your attention on proving women aren’t being truthful, proving that you’re the good guy by standing back and doing fuckall to actually act like one, proving that it’s women who should be accountable for some boundary pushing asshole that YOU KNEW ABOUT ALREADY raping them and “making” you feel like cowardly shit.

Well you know what? You *should* be feeling like shit, hiding your real power behind willful impotence and listening to yourself talk over the women who you claim to give a fuck about.

Use your fucking privilege and get the fuck in the ring with us already.

I know you’re dying to throw it around, because every time I talk about this stuff, there’s a gallery of you at the ready to chime in and tell me about your intellectualizations of my life as a female. There’s always a few of you to press your resistance toward accepting that my life experience is real into my conversations. There’s always a few of you to talk about what you think from your objective perspectives needs to be “done”, and usually it has to do with what you as a fucking man think *I*, or “they”, need to be doing.

I’m telling *YOU* what needs to be fucking done, you clueless wounded fuckers: Drop your own sexism, that shit that helps you think your philosophical opinion of this issue trumps the lived experiences of the people who actually fucking deal with it, take your incredulous self-involved topic-shifting bullshit the fuck out of my facebook threads, and then go work to drop the act that being neutral about the abuse, sexism, rape and misogyny you see in other men is anything but fucking cowardice.

This is tough love purification by fucking fire. This is ending thousands of years of conditioning and inertia. Your greatest self can only rise from the fucking ashes of the lesser you, and here I am the motherfucking flame thrower. Stop telling ME you’re not that fucking guy: tell other MEN you’re not that guy, and tell them WHY, and actually BE NOT THAT GUY when you fucking say it, or I will FUCKING INCINERATE YOU. Grow some FUCKING BALLS and stand the fuck up for the women in your life, stand the fuck up for the men you want to see other men grow to be.

That best friend of yours isn’t a “White Knight”, he’s a sexist who thinks women need his saving, and he probably hates them for it and abuses them and that’s why all his girlfriends are fucking crazy and can’t seem to function. That friends boundary pushing-coercive maleness isn’t ‘selfish’, it’s fucking rape, and it’s probably why all the women he dates eventually refuse to ever talk to him again. Use your fucking privilege to be the fucking change.

And yes, it IS fucking street harassment, and here’s a guy doing what you should be doing: Working his ass off to walk the fucking walk, and contributing to other guys on how the fuck to walk it too.

But there he was, that close friend of the man who raped me, a person that the guy actually valued, listened to, had meaningful conversations with, looked up to, a person who wasn’t relied upon for their dick-wetting validation, tsk tsking in the seat next to me — because aww, how unfortunate that male mans selfish maleness had bit me in the ass, too; that maleness he’d seen and grimaced at and knew was fucked up — who had been in the position to take a stand and to make a difference. And he didn’t.

Thanks for that, dude.

And by thanks? I mean fuck. You.

Sunday, October 26th, 2014

If ever confused about where one stands on an issue, figure after the “, but” is where their priority lies. — Courtnee Fallon Rex

Friday, June 20th, 2014

“My words may not be pretty enough for you, but they are true and they are mine.” – Mariann Martland

Forever in debt to your priceless advice

Sunday, June 8th, 2014

https://soundcloud.com/soundofnee/covering-nirvana-heart-shaped-box-whim

Heart Shaped Box on a whim. Because fuck it.

Played live with my Harmony G-XT which I am still getting used to.

Saturday, June 7th, 2014

“The greatest gift you can give someone is your own personal development.” – Jim Rohn

Not all Men.

Tuesday, May 27th, 2014

In the usual world, the occasional anomaly Elliot whatshisfucks not withstanding, it seems it’s always the ones who say “I’m not that guy” who fall the hardest when they behave like one; the ones who deny their darkness as from another breed are, of course, the least capable of fessing up and overcoming their embodiments of it.

But the fact of the matter is, in our culture, we are all covertly groomed to one degree or another into being sexist rapist fucks.

I’ve found immense power and clarity in facing and integrating my darkness around what I’m capable of. In there, I am that guy (and so are you).

I do my very best to make the choices not to behave like that guy, probably like you do, too. But when I fuck up, I am capable of seeing it and doing something about it.

That’s more than I can say for the entitled ‘nice guys’ I’ve encountered in my life.

So what to do about it?

Let’s take an example of a conversation on facebook that stemmed from this meme about men who interject in the conversations of women which depict their experiences of sexism with the age old defense “Not all men do that”. AKA, “I don’t do that”.

Let me first start by saying; bullshit. Yes, you do. In fact, you’re doing it right that second. *cough*maleprivilege*cough*

A person is exercising their privilege when they enter into a conversation regarding the experiencing of oppression by others who do not share that privilege and attempt to turn that conversation into one about them by interjecting their dismissive viewpoint.

AKA “No, that’s not what’s happening.”

In the case of men chiming in about women’s issues in being consistently marginalized in patriarchy soup, that tends to happen a lot. By pointing this out, I’m not discounting maleness. I’m discounting the use of maleness as privilege to dismiss the real experiences of women.

The answer is for the men who want to make the totality of the conversation about their kneejerk defensive argument that ‘not all men’ behave in the way that is being described, to shut the fuck up.

Literally, just keep your holy always-more-important voice to yourself. I know how hard that is. But just do it. Practice. It gets easier.

Instead, listen and do your best to empathize with what is being said about the experiences that are being had by the people who are complaining about the way they are being treated in a society you directly benefit from.

Jumping in to defend yourself says a lot more about your shame and need for validation than it does about the person who is expressing their distaste for their lifetime of being treated as subhuman, whether it’s worded more generally than you’ve deemed necessary or not.

It is not your job to express how someone has responded to their mistreatment in a way you as Automatic Arbiter Of Everything find unjustified.

Repeat: It is not your job to express how someone has responded to their mistreatment in a way you as Automatic Arbiter Of Everything find unjustified.

I’ll just throw in here that I learned what I said because I was once the dickhead who kept asking angry black feminist women why they were so pissed off at all the white feminist women, because as a white feminist woman who cares about race issues, I took it personally. *I* am not that guy!

Surely it was incredibly important that I stomp all over their conversations regarding the oppression and vindictiveness they’ve experienced from white feminists that plagiarize their work, and disrespect them over their semantic transgressions I have decided to knitpick them about.

Because I had FEELS, and I had privilege, so fuck these meanass bitches. So what that they deal with hate and racism every day of their life, I needed to say my righteous piece! Sexism effects me, too; I’m a feminist, too, so I must speak to this perceived injustice in how they are handling their injustice! It was so important for me to say what I was thinking!

I was used to my feelings and my important behavioral insights being the most important thing in the feminism room because that’s what society has told me all my life as a white woman with charisma and social power. MY voice MATTERS.

Newsflash: They aren’t. It doesn’t.

There’s real work to be done here, everywhere, and it starts with the people who are in socially groomed power positions shutting up, stepping back, and giving those who don’t have that power a voice, the opportunity to speak, to express their realities, and to exercise their own agency. Especially in the conversations THEY ARE FUCKING STARTING AMONGST THEMSELVES!

It’s incredibly painful to go through that process, to stand by and not be able to make a struggle or a triumph about you, straight white guy. I really feel for you and your confusion if you’re relating to this threat to your entitled position in the world.

And I get it. I’m skinny pretty straight white well-spoken cis girl. I’ve been there. I am still there. It sucks, it’s confusing, and none of us asked to be in the power positions we were born in. And we were all born in at least some.

But if you actually wanna do something about this, rather than leveraging angry marginalized voices to rationalize your clumsy privileged butthurt, you’re gonna have to sack up and learn that not every conversation is about you and your fucking feels and your fucking opinions.

My observations of others, and of myself, indicate that in general people grow by recognizing one extreme, trying on the opposite extreme, and then settling somewhere in the middle.

As for social justice, it seems to go: ‘Not my problem/don’t notice/I don’t see color’ to ‘ohmygod I am so freaking out here guys ohmygod here let me fix that for you also poor me I’m so INVESTED look at how invested I am in being on your side oh my god my privilege is choking me aahhh!!’ to, eventually, hopefully, actual allyship – which lies in the middle.

As for snapping out of being a perpetrator or aggressor yourself? Well, one fast track is getting caught, called out, and not being let off the hook.

You’re welcome.

Regarding Elliot

Monday, May 26th, 2014

“Men are afraid women will laugh at them. Women are afraid men will kill them.” – Margaret Atwood.

Compassion baiting is bullshit and I don’t put up with it anymore.

Monday, May 19th, 2014

Ever wonder why being judged for responding ‘too angrily’ pisses you off even more? Good insight here. http://www.buddhistpeacefellowship.org/5-big-problems-with-compassion-baiting/Twitter

I discovered “5 Big Problems with Compassion Baiting by Katie Loncke” a few months ago, and loved it. I related to it in terms of the obese shame demon the article had helped me figure out I’d brought back with me after doing a 10-day silent meditation retreat in January.

I really needed to hear it at the time, to allow for it to be ok to feel the gamut of human emotion again, not just the zen shit.

Recently, I really needed to hear it again, for entirely different reasons.

Fuck compassion baiting. Bunch of invalidating patronizing horseshit.

Sketchbook update

Saturday, May 17th, 2014

First page with color in my tiny sketchbook. It will be full by summer, I’m betting.

Sunday, May 11th, 2014

“And God promised men that good and obedient wives would be found in all corners of the world. Then he made the earth round, and laughed and laughed and laughed.”

I’m over it now.

Sunday, April 27th, 2014

I’d stopped really writing here for a while.

I did it because someone who was formerly influential to me in my life, who is historically by far the most damaging and hurtful person I’ve ever experienced a relationship with, shamed and mocked me for it, and for my artwork, and basically said a lot of really fucked up cruel shit to me.

This reenactment a few months ago spawned a wave of child devastation that I am still struggling through but haven’t written about.

Whether I choose to write about the actual incident here, I have not decided.

What I have decided is that I don’t care what she thinks.

So in case you haven’t noticed, I’m back.

Dear slimy guys

Wednesday, April 23rd, 2014

Dear all y’all slimy guys,

Hi, slimy guys. How the hell are ya. How’s that closet today.

I happen to know that, in addition to being slimy (shhh, don’t tell on us), y’all have a lot of other traits, too. Like being smart, and funny, and loyal, and other stuff. I know that deep down, you wanna think you’re a nice, respectful person that other people like just because of those traits.

And mostly, you are (nice and respectful and liked for just those traits)!

Here’s the thing, though; You know you’re still slimy even with all that.

You know that cheating is violating and fuckder than fuck.

You know that penetrating people who are excessively drunk or otherwise vulnerable to you without previous clear-headed not-vulnerable consent is super shitty.

You know that pressuring someone every single time you have pre-negotiated sex about not needing the condom they include as part of their boundaries because you ‘got tested’ months ago is disrespectful as fuck.

You know that whining shit like a 5 year old when you don’t get the sex you were expecting is fucking creepy. And gross.

You know that trying to convince someone to fuck you who is unsure about sex with you is pressuring and coercing them. Bonus if you’re pretty sure they were a virgin before you forced your ‘snake’ in her!

You know that fucking someone when they’re unconscious is not ok (also rape. Just sayin.).

You know that throwing a tantrum when someone doesn’t want to let you tie them up/shit on them/blow their dog is un-fuckin-cooth.

You know that withholding basic safer sex information like, say, switching to unprotected sex with another partner without bothering to mention it for months, is fucking shady and god damn near unforgivable.

You know that holding people, who have already come forward with you privately over their concerns for your behavior, to the polite social standard of ignoring or lying or otherwise deflecting your accusatory “Do you think I behave like a creep?!?!?!?!” is manipulative invalidating bullshit #andalsogaslighting #emotionalabuse

(in case you need them, here are some rapey definitions to go along with your rape guidelines. mmkay.)

MMm but do you ever make my dick hard.

Deep down, if not completely, you fucking know it, slimes. And so does anyone else who’s paying attention. It reaks out of every fucking pore you’ve got whenever you enter a room scanning for anyone you think might fuck you. When you creepily try to rub that girls (whose sitting in another guys lap) feet while muttering to yourself after we just played our first and only show together after you raped me.

And deep down, you also know, that not being able to keep your dick in check is not only your personal failing, it perpetuates the devastating dehumanizing notion that even good men, good men like you, are fucking knuckle dragging Neanderthals hopelessly harnessed by their cocks, in upright human clothing.

I’m sure that knowledge is really crushing and awful and that’s part of the reason y’all tend to be so insecure, emotionally vacant and socially awkward. That any moment the slime might bubble up out of your collar and commandeer your brain at any moment, god, what confinement.

I’ve been the slimed out sexual predator type person myself in my fucked up abusive past, so while I don’t know exactly how you feel, I do have sort of an idea, from the perspective of someone who wasn’t born into your world, but who adopted it seamlessly first to survive, and then to get ahead.

I know all too well how shitty it felt to be 20-something me, trying to hide and deny that sex was my pathological, psychological warfare, while attempting to fill the massive spiritual hole I had in me (perpetuated, in part, by my continual sliminess). All with misappropriated sexual validation sought out via that sliminess with people I, frankly, often didn’t even fucking like.

It was extra super hard to hold all that bullshit up while I was in therapy and researching/executing various coping methods, you know, actually working out my fucking shit and learning how to value myself. *nudge*nudge*

Maybe that’s why I’ve historically given slimy guys like you so, so much leeway. Aww. He’s 40 and still doesn’t get this stuff; God, poor him. He’s still working hard to believe he’s not being a slimeball to me right now. Poor guy, jesus, he’s so confused, adrift, in need of help.

But see, here’s the thing, slimypoo (MMmhhh). The thing that makes this all the more awful for anyone who ends up in an intimate agreement with you, you lucky. fucking. bastards. You ready for it? You sure?

It’s the fact that you try to make the people who are trusting in you – giving you the benefit of the doubt, letting you fuck up and violate them and corrode their trust over and over again while you say you’ll do better but are actually keeping your fucking head firmly planted up your ass so you can keep believing you’re not actually being fucking slimy like me – responsible for assuring you that you are, in fact, not what you are being. Which is, let me tell you again takes one to know one; slimy.

Every single creepfest flag-raising boundary-pushing fucking disrespectful asshole I’ve come across in my extensive sexual life has one absolute thing in common: They want validation from from me, the femme they creeped out, violated, invaded; when they know they’ve seriously fucked up.

It’s always about how bad they feel, how helpless they are because the bad feelings, how overwhelming even the thought of accountability is.

It’s always how much they say they want to be there for me while I process their fucking transgressions, while having no experience or skills to serve as such to themselves letalone anyone else (cue bad memories of my own transgressions: I’m sorry I was such a shitty wife, Rob).

It’s always: Selfish self serving fake non-apologies that maintain that they are not slimy “I messed up! I got the feels sooo bad!! SOOO BAD! Would a slimy guy feel THIS BAD??!”

It’s always: Focus on how they’d like the effect of their cause to go “Don’t mind me, I’m just compulsively violating your boundaries AGAIN to contact you after you told me to leave you alone to tell you I wanna be friends still and I respect you enough to encourage you to take all the time you need to come to the conclusion I want to be friends still and I don’t even need SEX to offer this, sugarpuss! God, your pussy tho..”.

It’s always: “I did a bad thing, but I [insert fishing for validation comment here | expression of how they’d really like the conflict to end in their favor here | proclamation that they don’t deserve the fallout bestowed here]”.

If they DO say in mouthwords that it won’t happen again, count your lucky fucking stars for that small respite, they don’t say how or why, and eventually, it does fucking happen again. (keep an eye on this one, ladies – they’re slippery, and they’re the ones that might MIGHT MIGHT MIGHT eventually unslime themselves, but probably not ever… with you.)

They’re always so worried that they might lose my friendship, that I might think that maybe they’re a fucking slimeball, that maybe their (sometimes years) of frequent disrespect and idiocy might finally have some kind of repercussion for them that doesn’t just involve me grimacing painfully for their plight, holding their hand and telling them it’s ok.

They continue to hang onto their sliminess, and continue to move through life thinking that’s not what they are being, because it fucking works.

Because people like me help them make it work.

And because, ladies who are nodding and laughing and crying all at once right now, they bank on their niceness outweighing YOUR truth when they prioritize their satisfaction over your well being.

See here’s the bottom line, slimes; I’m not gonna keep taking this on for you guys.

I’m not gonna keep offering you my insights and suggestions on how you might maybe come off as less of a creep to people in response to you fucking ME over with your fucked up sideways self involved rapeyass bullshit.

I’m not gonna keep setting you up with other women thinking that maybe I’m just too sensitive and am taking all your slimy shit the wrong way and you just need someone hotter/sluttier/stupider/more desperate than me. HELLO FUCKING INTERNALIZED MISOGYNY: WOW.

I’m not gonna keep mentioning therapy, suggesting educational resources, mentioning therapy, getting over your violations, mentioning therapy, sucking your dick, mentioning therapy, making up with you, mentioning therapy, while you sit on your fucking ass and do nothing for yourself to progress as a fucking human being and either wear proudly, or fucking dump the slime act.

I’m not gonna keep telling you it’s ok, you’re just dense, or scared, or lonely, or uneducated, or inexperienced, or immature, after the 7th fucking ‘respect 101’ rule you’ve broken via your undeserved access to my fuck canal.

I am not going to keep fucking you. Not with rules, not with protection, not with bribes, not with a thousand Cillian Murphy face Batman Begins castings bukkakeing all over my heaving chest; not no way, not no how.

In fact, Slimy McSlimersons In Perpetual Denial; I think I’m done giving anyone who even marginally smells like one of you a remote chance in fucking hell of ever blazing my trail at all, ever, ever, ever ever EVER.

EVER.

AGAIN.

After nearly three decades of collecting slimy stories, I’ve paid my dues for my previous slimeball life. And honestly? Cutting your kind out of my sex life is the compassionate thing to do. I have learned beyond a shadow from living both sides that unsliming is something you accomplish by knowing and healing yourself to the point that your honor outweighs your need to validate yourself through sex and violating boundaries, not by fucking clawing your way into any chance you can to practice make-up sex on other people.

I truly hope y’all figure your shit out and learn to either stop or properly represent the fact that you behave the way you do.

I, for my part, am fucking fed up with dealing with this, through punishing myself for having ever been like you are, and, frankly, I am up to way too much fucking awesome to put myself at risk so slimes in denial can maybe someday behave like better fucking people one day in the future for probably four girlfriends down the line from where I am.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for a 5-year shower and a gallon lysol douche, and to start the first day of my new life; where I stop pretending rape isn’t fucking rape, and cease the narration that you ever even came close to deserving me.

SIN-GODDAMNFUCKING-CERELY,
-nee (former self involved slime ball rapist)

(note: This entry should really just say people, since this is an issue for all gender identities including nonbinary. ‘guys’ rang better, and having identified for most of my life as a straight female my experience is with them was specific. Also; this is a rant, and I don’t give a fuck if you’re offended by it. SG sympathizers tha fuck outa here.)

Step 78932442532 of 617581231905890433

Monday, February 24th, 2014

Last year, I focused on stabilizing my psychological core. Among the multiple misconceptions and obsolete beliefs I resolved, in doing so I dissolved most of the remaining tendrils of my identification with needing other people to be/act/do/behave in certain ways in order for me to feel capable and worthwhile.

This year, I am tackling the remaining tendrils of my identification with poverty.

Bring it on, you fucking delusive antiquated bitch.

EMFUCKINGBODIED

Saturday, November 30th, 2013

I swear I just saw myself for the first time

I told myself in the mirror

As I cried after connecting so incredibly profoundly with multiple people (And once again meeting another incredible man I can’t have in my life like I would prefer, god damn stupid growth opportunities)

“You are..

An amazing woman.

And you will ALWAYS be
An amazing woman.

No matter what
Anyone else thinks.

And when you die,
The world will be a better place

Because you
were in it.”

I am an artist.
And I am fucking amazing
And I am going to get what I want for myself.

Because I am worth it.
And there is no worthier cause than my happiness.

Thank you for showing me what is possible.
And thank you for believing in me.

When I was just a little girl…

Monday, August 26th, 2013

Want to help me flesh out some specifics from a scene in my newest show?

Please respond with what immediately comes to mind when presented with the phrase “Inner Child”.

Mine was: Inconvenient asshole.

SEAF 2013

Monday, August 5th, 2013

Disclaimer: After a long week on my feet, I am a bit fried mentally, more than a bit exhausted physically, and yet still rather awake and energetic. My creativity is in the shitter, though, so if you’re hoping for poetry unfortunately I doubt you’ll find much this time. You will, however, find a blog entry about my experience performance directing for the Seattle Erotic Art Festival this year, and a little bit of a backstory as to why that’s kind of a Big Deal for me. Also; I speak only for myself on this blog, and do not represent any official stance of the FSPC or SEAF directorial committee here. Enjoy.

Well, that was really something!

This year’s Seattle Erotic Art Festival had us returning to one of my favorite festival venues – the Showbox Sodo – which, at the time of our last occupation in 2007, was the Fenix. The Showbox had the best facilities and friendliest staff of any venue I’ve worked in, ever. They were wonderful and contributed highly to my enjoyment this weekend.

After many years of vastness and what became a disproportionate focus on spectacle performance art and dance parties, it feels to me now that SEAF has again embraced its roots as an *ART* festival. Though the event wasn’t perfect (um, we seriously need to strike those walkway tables after 10pm next year – great when there’s 100 people, not so much when there’s more.), I would be hard pressed to be more pleased with the results of our hard work this year.

Up until 11pm, patrons could browse, hold a conversation, ask about the artwork and purchase pieces without being interrupted, or having to scream over loud thumping music. During our after-parties when we’d raised the volume some, patrons never had the lights illuminating the artwork shut off on them and were still capable of browsing and buying, and were never forced to pay attention to anything they didn’t want to.

The artwork was the best I’ve ever seen at the festival, which is including the catalogues from previous years in which I did not attend. Most of the pieces that weren’t really my style had a clear validity and seemed to belong in the festival regardless of my personal preferences. I think I only truly disliked perhaps two. The film exhibition, which I unfortunately had absolutely no personal experience with due to it being offsite (I’d like to see the films onsite, or staggered next year with the visual art festival on another weekend), was spoken of incredibly highly and sold very well.

My absolute favorite parts?

In addition to this, I directed a suite of beautifully organic and diverse performances that included many shapes, sizes, and colors that complimented the art, captivated our audience and helped maintain a dignified, elegant and erotic atmosphere.

My team was impressive, I had an excellent stage manager, and every single one of my performers made me look really fucking good.

In addition to that, my workload was reasonable enough that I got to have a lot of fun at the festival, both during my tenor as a director and after my performances were finished. The vibe in the venue was positive, and everywhere I looked patrons were smiling and happily chatting. I even spent a bit of time at the bootblacking station overseeing most of the venue, smiling, watching people slowly pour in through the cash doors.

And boy do I fucking love being on a headset!

These are only my vanity pictures. To see the other amazing pictures of the festival check out SEAF’s flickr stream and be sure to log in to see the ‘adult’ ones with buttcrack and boob.

SEAF for me carries a long backstory with many deep layers, in regards to my individual growth in sexuality, as an event director/performer, and in terms of healing from an abusive relationship. I was first involved in the festival as a model in an accepted piece in 2003, and nearly every year since then.

From 2005-2008 I contributed to SEAF directly as a performer, patron and director. After the 2008 festival, in which I had directed aerial performances and performed, I stepped away from SEAF during a bad breakup with the Performance Director at the time, who had eyes on directing the Festival.

When we split up, we were both heavily involved in SEAF and the Little Red Studio together. In the separation, though we never officially divided things, I basically got LRS, and in turn got Obsidian (If you don’t know about that show, you probably should.), and he got SEAF, and with that, the Director title he’d wanted, eventually.

I was angry, hurting, mentally dismantled, and felt left out by cutting myself off. I was also busy with my own creative endeavors, and really, I had no choice but to leave given the circumstances.

Over the years, I heard through the grapevine of the changes being made to the festival, how it had become bigger, more glitzy, more stage show, bigger, bigger, bigger, and less focused on the artwork or feeling like an art festival.

In 2011, I submitted artwork, a performance proposal and returned in a limited capacity under the direction of Eva Luna as an ambient performance artist, with my most estranged year away being 2012 in which I strenuously returned to having no involvement.

I had no idea how much I missed SEAF, in part due to these changes I didn’t agree with and my bitterness toward the person making them, until I was capable of returning in a directorial capacity when my ex left on bad terms in December. I wrote after being invited to the first planning meeting I’d been to in 5 years;

It’s funny, when something is simply off the table, how disconnected with missing being involved in it you can be. – http://blog.neevita.net/archives/13498

I had forgotten that SEAF, when available to me, is one of the few places I absolutely, without doubt or apology, belong.

My reentry has been validating, satisfying and very fruitful after a rough start in preproduction earlier this year. I can attest with no hesitation that we pulled off a miracle given the circumstances and logistical/administrative turbulence we all went through.

One of my favorite things to do right now is marvel at how impressively all the people who remained involved stepped up and gave this event everything they had. We worked together naturally and without any pettiness, arguments or personal difficulty that I could see. Everyone was amazing at their jobs and awesome to work with.

I am so thrilled that I stuck with this through my storm of concerns over the last few months. I have learned a lot in the past 6 weeks and grown as an event director as well as personally through this experience. I really just can’t express in words how lovely it is to be back, or how proud I am of what the festival has become/returned to being.

As the smoke clears I can see that the occurrences which lead me away for a while had also saved me from the corrosive aspect of the learning experiences the org went through during the time my ex was in charge, and for that I’m thankful. Had I still been working on SEAF since 2009, regardless of my personal feelings regarding him, knowing myself as I do, I suspect I would have been worn of it and have moved on by now, just as it’s getting good again.

Instead, I get the best of both worlds – I didn’t have to continue working with him, didn’t have to be around him, I got to take a break and focus on my own work and artistry, put on some amazing shows, created an arts nonprofit, nurtured my massage and gallery business, and now I have the ability to reap the benefits of his work and what was learned from his mistakes regardless. Thanks, dude!

Now Extrovert Entertainer Whip-cracking Chatty Me fades into the background, and Tender Introverted Drained Me begins her recovery from intense connection fatigue and activity of the last few days. I connected with a LOT of people in profound and significant ways, my feet are killing me, and I am very, very tired.

For now, I will be behind the scenes again for a while, tending to myself, my personal creative work, and processing through the emotional impact of a very big few days – which includes being rather elated and prideful of my accomplishments, and planning my strategy for next year.

It feels good to be back to what was my element for a long time, and to again embrace it as a keen expression of who I am and who I want to be in the world.

Thursday, May 16th, 2013

So I hit the street, and I walk the walk, with big thundering steps. I stand up straight, and I’m breathing deep, like I’m on a mission. I’m heading home, to my sanctuary, where I can unload. Brilliance is coming, I can feel it seething out my pores, vibrating, anticipating its escape. I’m gonna make some good fucking art.

I’m all set to make some good fucking art.

It’s all aligned to make some good fucking art.

And like an orgasm that slips away in the final moments, like the race you only barely lost, like the 7-10 split you only missed by an inch.

An INCH. A FUCKING INCH.

And then the pro shop guy, the vietnamese guy, who you had to ask your dad if it was ok to like because he’d talked so much shit about the war.. who points out that this much >< is the same as this much > < And like Mc Hammer, who you had to ask your dad if it was ok to like because he was black when you finally saw his album cover on that cassette.. CASSETTE. Fucking racist. It slips away. Falls away. Something you never really had in the first place falls away. And all you're left with.. Is yourself.