Femme-insm 101 (refreshing the memory)

The following is an abridged version of the script 'Femme-inism 101'. Written in 2006/7 it was a response to the sexism, femme-invisibilty, gender queer invisibility and stereotyping I experienced around that time both inside and outside of the queer community. So often the assumption is that the systems of oppression opperating in the world at large will magically evaporate once inside queer spaces.

I post the script here as lately I have been pondering my own evolution as Femme, especially in terms of gender identity and plan to write more on this to follow up. 

Femme-inism

Ah yes, the ‘80’s… It was a wonderful time for me, when I left home and discovered feminism… and lesbians.

But, oh my god, the clothes! It was a nightmare. What can I say? Doomed.


As we waved goodbye to the 80’s I felt the pull of sadness in my heart.
Oh no, no more lavender dungaree sets, no more women’s consciousness raising groups.
No more non-penetrative, totally respectful, equal partner, woman identified woman, lesbian vanilla sex.
Oh well, and so the world moves on. I went into the nearest store and brought myself a slutty push-up bra, some sexy underwear, a tub of hair removal cream and some lady shave razors.
I never was a very good earth mother.

I got to tell you, I never did buy the whole thing about essentialism. I’m a girl, but there’s no way that that relates to any ‘true notion’ of what a woman is.

I’m your bastard daughter white trash whore sister bitch goddess chipped brick über-slut, fuck-you-in- the-ass nightmare kinda girl. Raised by mama to do all the right things, and just look at how I turned out. An angel in the kitchen, and a whore in the bedroom. Give me half a chance and I’ll see if we can work out something that combines the two. How about you cook me dinner in your underwear and then I fuck you on the table?

I’m neat, I’m clean, I’m nice as pie. I know how a good girl behaves. I smell sweet as the new mown hay, all fresh clean hair and soft perfume.
I’m the kind of girl who loves her switchblade, I’m gonna force you to your knees and make you say please. I’m a real girl.


Wymmim, (how is that spelt?)
I have a word for you of a new social movement.
This is not the first wave, this is not the second wave, it’s not even the backlash.
Ladies… I present to you Femme-inism.

My momma was the über-femme: beautiful, immaculately dressed, so perfectly feminine. From her I learned everything: how to walk, how a real girl talks, and how to behave. To speak softly, to laugh at the right moments, to carefully calculate the effect of my movements on those who watched me. To phrase and consider everything I did until I became an embodiment of artifice, a moving object. Growing up with my mom was like going to Geisha school.

True or false? I’m dragging up into my real self.
We’re talking about gender… and we talk about femme.
I try to explain, I know it’s a construction, I know I have some heavy conditioning. Just try growing up in my family! But I also know that I can’t and don’t want to get rid of it. Getting rid of my femmeness would be like trying to remove my bones.
There’s so much internal fakery that makes up the real me. And so many heavily fetishized objects to which I attach my identity, my fascination with the external symbols, the clothes, the wigs, shoes, make up. I know this stuff is crappy make believe.

But I want to explain that when I put on this drag, this fake, this costume, that’s when the outside begins to match the how I see myself inside.
When I dress up I’m becoming who I really am. I’m like a transvestite husband dressing up in his wife's clothes.

You may have heard about the good old binary gender divide operating out there in the big bad straight world. Of course I’m sure its something that would never ever come up in the queer community? Sexism?

The assumption that because I'm femme, I'm also stupid and passive, there’s something dodgy going on there, some deep buried belief that femme is ‘normal’, ‘natural’, the default mode for females. Fail to see the gender fuck in femme, read me at face value and we’ve got nothing to say to each other.

It’s amazing though how being femme means that you are endowed with certain magical powers! Really! For example: the power of invisibility!

The other side of passing, well I call that knowing the tricks of the trade.
You have to be smart to play the con. If you dress like a girl, you soon get used to finding ways to stay safe.

On the train crossing out of Croatia into Slovenia I suggest we fuck. She’s out in the hallway smoking a cigarette and I keep flirting, lifting up my skirt, flashing her my underwear.

Back in the train compartment she’s shy, like always I’m the devil’s advocate, talking her into it, saying ‘Come on, don’t be a pussy, let’s fuck’. She draws the curtains and is genuinely scared. What’s to worry about? I don’t get it!

I strap on a dick under my pretty pink skirt and get her down on her knees on the carriage floor. I tease her calling her a sissy boy, my little faggot cocksucker, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back to tease her lips with my cock.

Just as she’s really getting into giving me a bit of good head, the ticket inspector comes to check our tickets. He flicks aside the curtains and as soon as he sees her down on the floor he backs out. ’Excuse me’. He’s the one who apologises, for interrupting our little scene.

I smile at him in a sexy coy sort of way, rearranging my skirt and holding my bitch close and he leaves us alone. My girl is totally freaked out, really scared that something bad could happen to us because we’ve been sprung having sex.
Me, I couldn’t care less, it’s like I always thought it would be, we’ve just passed again, riding the wave of heterosexual privilege. The ticket inspector thinks my butch is some guy getting lucky with his girl, wishing he should be so lucky as to get to go down on some hot slutty girl on the train. He has no idea that there’s a big fat dick under my skirt.

It’s so complicated isn’t it? Gender, sexuality, how we see each other and the expectations we have. All these ideas that stop us making it up as we go along.

I’m playing with this young transboy, I’ve got him down on his knees and I say ‘Jack off, I want to see you jack off, I’m going to piss in your mouth while I watch you cum’. He looks a bit nervous, understandable. But what he says is ‘I have to go and get my cock.’ This is one of those pauses that can be a bit of a scene killer.

So he gets his cock and holding his dick between his legs, he jacks off, just like a boy would. And I’m fascinated, because just the night before in my room I’ve been trying to figure out how to do exactly the same thing! Me and this boy, we think the same way about our cocks.

How come no one ever talks about Femme spiritual cock?
Me and my mate, she’s another Femme of the trashy hardcore variety, we spend a lot of time talking about our cocks. There we are rifling around in our handbags, and at the same time we have those conversations along the lines of: ‘If I had a real cock’, talking about our favourite dicks, ‘This is what it would be like… except  bigger.’

Isn’t it funny how all this comes back to cock? Sometimes it really worries me.
How did I get to be such a ‘dick for brains?’ Freud would have something to say about that.

Now ‘Phallic symbols’. Basically anything that’s long and pointy represents THE PENIS. So: High heels, yep, phallic symbol, knife: phallic symbol, strap on, well honey what can I say that’s not a fucken’ symbol! And the weirdest thing of all… the feminine woman herself, yes that’s right, represents… A PENIS.

So if I’m a chick and I’ve got a knife, high heels and a strap on, that means I’m standing here with 5 fucken dicks!!!

What can I say? Woohoo! All right! I’ve been waiting all night for this moment. Come on Darlin’, come to Daddy… that’s right… c’mon… come to Papa.’



The script has been performed in London, Vienna, Stocholm, Malmo and Beograd. It featured as part of 'The Gender Queer Playhouse' At Transfabulous Transgender Festival of the Arts 2008, and the feature film of the same show titled 'The Lovers and Fighters Convention'. It has been published in Queer Beograds documentation of their festival on "Trans and Sexwork' 2007.

Selection of the film for the LLGF!!

I've known for a while but have been keeping it 'hush, hush' - now I can announce that my film 'Queer Beograd Border Fuckers Cabaret' has been selected to screen as part of the LLGF (London Lesbian and Gay Film Festival). It appears in the Queer-provocations program.

It's been a LONG haul making the film, which presents historical documentation of the Queer Beograd festivals opening night cabaret, using archive footage of performances. A snap shot of the politics of the collective and political climate of Serbia 2004 - 2008......produced/edited/directed by yours truly!! :)

I'm keen to see where else the film can screen, I'm very happy to have it be selected for a big festival, and will see if I can get it into others. I'm also looking for different methods of distribution and wider audiences. I think it would be a waste if the film was only seen by western queers seeing a 'different world', that's nice and all, but I think the film is capable of actually doing some political WORK.

What I have in mind is any sort of screening big or small where the film can do it's work to carry the message of a radical bunch of queers fighting against ALL kinds of oppression: so antifascist groups, LGBT/queer groups, activist, ANYONE who wants to see the film.... especially those who are off the beaten track and might get something from the film as a form of solidarity!!

Get in touch!

                                          _{Photo by Biljana Rakocevic}    

 
eventually the film WILL be released as a free download on my own and the Queer Beograd website....but not for a while yet.

Endless cycles, invisible illness and books

It's been a long time since I wrote anything in this blog, the past 15 months have been a very insular time. Looking after things close to home, working on projects that sum up long periods of work, histories and collaborations. A time of consolidation, recovery, and exhaustion.

Exhaustion ....how to explain the kind of tiredness when you were done before you even started the race? Where each added stress draws out more non-existant energy. Where there s a feeling of being sucked down beyond what is possible to bear. I've been resting a lot, I feel like I spend half my life resting. Im not sure how to catch up energywise or if that is even possible.

I ask myself if I am being lazy. When it's not really such a bad day and I still let my partner carry my bag, or help me up stairs - in my mind I'm asking - 'Am I lazy or tired? Am I being cautious, conserving energy? or am I making things worse by not trying harder?'

Recently I replied to an RSVP invite to which only I was invited, asking if I could bring some one with me to help me get there, and to be of assistance while there. I feel like a faker, but then I know how much more energy is eaten up trying to attend events alone.

Then there are the bursts of energy, when I decide I can't possibly rest any longer, or when there are just things that need to be done. Resting is boring, I've also spent half my life avoiding it!
The YEARS of pushing beyond exhaustion, forcing my body to work, being in extreme situations, doing extraordinary things has had a cost.

I mention this issue not to complain, chronic illness just 'is' a feature of my life, but because I'm aware that others also live with this situation. Looking well, often managing to achieve a great deal... but having this physical struggle and the internal debate of, on the one had not wanting to admit defeat. And on the other, how to tell others? how to ask for help? how to break through this invisibility? when to most eyes we look completely FINE.





In this 'interior' year often the people who I had expected to be there weren't.

I ended two very long running work/life collaborations: goodbye to Wotever - it had been rocky for a long time.  Goodbye to miss dotty. Much sadness, anger, frustration, many tears...but again after a long period of trying, it was time to let go.

With both situations much as I would have LIKED for them to be different, they weren't and the best thing to do was to acknowledge that reality and move on.

But what Im grateful for is that in the midst of what felt like the longest of hauls there were bright moments: love, whores, power-breakfasts, new friendships, renewed contact in old ones, the really solid people sticking by. Being able to find moments to laugh and have fun. Simple things. There was joy in living even when things were hard.





I made a film
I wrote a book

Both document the 'Queer Beograd Border Fuckers Cabaret'

I wish the film were more 'perfect', it is what it is. It tells the story, carries the emotion of those times and if I say so myself it seems highly politically relevant! 
 

The book. When I first started working on the book as a project I wanted to produce something that felt integrated, where the design really melded with the subject matter of the text, and the book felt like a beautiful thing to have. The designer has done a bloody good job! I've taken to carrying the draft copy around the house, flicking through it and just feeling its weight. (a true book pervert). Weird thing is I don't READ any of it ....I just look at the pictures...I hope this is not going to be the case with other people who get it. But it IS beautiful!


The task of the next few weeks is to slowly begin to move my work and self out into the world again,
to update my terribly neglected website, to begin to create some visibility for the book and the film.
To some how afford to print the book - now that is another long story! (oh my days!)

My current internal debate is over wether to buy a walking stick or join the gym! It's possible I may do both - and perhaps that in itself is most clearly illustrative of this 'invisible' situation. Some days are better than others.

New times, new adventures, new playgrounds, and I have itchy feet for travel.

collaboration

Ive spent a great deal of my life working on collaborative projects, most often as part of a collective.
Collectivism is a method of working that I have grown up with, at times it has constituted a rolling battle between my desire to be part of communities and to dedicate myself to my own projects.

As I sit down to begin to write the introduction to our next Queer Beograd book, it's the difficulties of naming how collaborations work that is on my mind. The tender balancing acts, bleed-overs and sparkings that we give to each other. How to give credit where it is due.

Of course there are those who would say there is no need to give credit to any part played in a collective or collaborative work, that to do so is devaluing the heart of collectivism. Sounds ok as a theory ....but I have been around long enough to question how politically fabulous it is to not credit ones collaborators, or those who have inspired, influenced and helped us.

I also have not so fond memories of pouring a great deal of time and energy into so called 'community' efforts only to find out at a later date that the art of someone elses self promotion has been heavily employed and ZERO mention of contrubution or attribution is ever made. Like the word 'community', collaboration can often be misused.

'Collective' is one of those phrases often said with gritted teeth or accompanied by sighing. In my experience t's a bit like being involved in a very big polyamourous relationship where instead of arguments about sex or jealousy (tho you can have those too) the fights are more often about who said they would do what and who is going to write the next funding report. Like all relationships the collective can be a challenging place in which we work out (or at least act out) our personal difficulties.

With the script book that is currently in progress the fact is that many of the pieces were written in collaboration with others, based on stories told to me, or fragments of stories pieced together to form a narrative. The writing and words of others has formed a large part of the work.

One of my favourite techniques when writing with others is to spend social time together, to drink coffee, to ask questions and to listen. These conversations have formed much of the basis of the scripts.

Early on as part of Queer Beograd I decided I must allow myself some creative play, to survive the harsh environment of our activism via  my love of performance and stories. Thus the Queer Beograd Border Fuckers Cabaret was born.

So I begin to write of the very complex balance and exchange between listening to and working with others, while at the same time acknowledging the thread of my own direction running through this.
To acknowledge that continuity, the presence of my own work and effort is something I have to fight to allow myself to do as I find I am so poor at promoting my own work.

After more than 20 years of working within collectives, STILL there is the tussle between inside and outside, community and individual. Perhaps this is why I find collaboration such a fascinating exchange.

Accumulation

It's a time of looking back. I've recently completed a 30 minute film, a compilation of footage shot over the years at various manifestations of 'Queer Beograd Border Fuckers Cabaret'. Eventually we hope to host the film as a free dowlnoad on our Queer Beograd website. It feels like a milestone to be able to look at the body of work as a whole and see it with the benefit of hindsight.

Having said that it is next to impossible to access in the present performances that were often conceived of, researched, written and staged mostly when we were being chased about by fascists.... Those sorts of circumstances can be very distracting! They are also the times that look a LOT more fun from a distance, nostalgia is a wonderful thing and so much less likely to give you a heart attack.

My next trick is to produce a bilingual publication of the 20 or so scripts written for the Queer Beograd Cabarets. Many hours of proof reading lie ahead. I hope my lovely designer is still speaking to me by the end of this process of assembly.

I miss the stage, I miss the electricity of doing live gigs!! But for the moment I only have so much energy, the boring reality of only being able to undertake so many projects at a time.

So, looking back, consolidating, collating, preparing, so as to be able to share the good work of the past years. THEN it will be time to dance into some new adventure!!

In the meantime here is a blast from the past, 'TV Whore' a show I did in Sydney 2001 accompanied by the wonderful Sex Intents and Glita Supernova of the legendary 'Gurlesque' lesbian stripshow.

Back from the woods, out in the rain. Films, books and editing.

Oh OUCH!! The come down from Berlin was something harsh. Returning to London on the weekend of the Jubilee to a forest of union jack bunting was not the most inspiring homecoming. My idea of a good 'Jubilee' is the film by Derek Jarman, a post apocalyptic dystopia in which Buckingham palace has been taken over and turned into a punk music recording studio.

Then there is the weather!! Seriously people what is this?!! The wind howls, the rain pours, everytime I brave the outdoor conditions I find myself saying 'But this is JUNE'.  And next there is the Olympics to look forward to!

MEANWHILE BACK IN EDITING LAND

Work on the film is going s l o w l y ...no real change there...  the running time is being nibbled down to it's proper length. Apart from keeping me awake at night wondering exactly how im going to subtitle a lot of the Serbian language material and get the fucker finished on time it is good to see the work of a few years all in one place.

It has to be said that a lot of the performance material im editing is not light in it's content...you know...take the usual antifascism, genocide, border regimes, war, mixed with an unhealthy dose of homophobia/transphobia.... and then try to make it entertaining, funny and sexy

Still ...as the saying goes "The show must go on" - or in this case the film must be finished!! I have a very fast approaching deadline, staring me down like a Mac truck...and I'm like the rabbit trapped in it's headlights. Sitting here writing a bloody blog post instead of doing the subtitles!!
Ahem ...call it a tea break.

The book of scripts is kicked to the curb for the moment except when it comes to staring at the scripts it will contain and trying to figure out the subtitling. Soon tho it will be time to push on and start proof reading the english versions, hunting down the serbian versions and looking through the hundreds of photographs from past performances. ROLL ON!!! So looking forward to getting all of this stuff OUT THERE!! *trudges back to editing.

A cabin in the woods (or technofuckery)

I mentioned to a friend recently that I was spending a month in Berlin to work on editing a short film ( an overview of the past years of Queer Beograd performances) and working on our next book ( a compilation of scripts from the same material). He laughed and said 'Oh, you're going to a cabin in the woods!'.

I suppose I could try to do this work in London, but it seems to me that city is always clamourous. Compared to a usual day in London, Berlin feels like a villiage. Plus as I don't have any fixed place of residence at the moment, when some one offered me a sublet in Berlin I thought 'why not?'. It's quiet, its a lot CHEAPER to live here and because the majority of my income comes from working online, I can move about.

Well that's the theory anyway. 

All of this sounds very glamourous, oh and dont get me wrong it is kind of fabulous. The apartment is bigger than several of my friends london flats combined, the weather is glorious, I'm slap bang in the middle of one of Berlins most notoriously gentrified neighborhoods, something I would curse in London but which is luxurious to visit. But then the gritty realities of life keep sneaking in.

My first night here I had a massive burst of enthusiasm, coupled with paranoia as I wanted to check my rather antiquated technology was working. without lap top, web cam and internet...I'm fucked.

This is the thing about the glittering high flying world of showbiz/activism/or as we call it 'queer superstardom' *cough* -  all of this takes place on sweet fuck all money.

Plugging in my creaking old power book, I find a tape to test and connect up the half broken/but still plays things camcorder. After an hour or so of tinkering around I have an edit of some very old performance material - one of my first fully realised pieces  - performed in
Sydney 2001.

From there it was all down hill. Filled with excitement about showing off my early work I converted it to a quicktime and went to upload it to youtube, NO JOY... youtube tells me it will take 1,465 minutes to upload my video. There's something weird about the internet here that is not an altogether happy story. I give in for the night.

As morning dawns I realise I still need to earn a living. I put on some sort of trashy outfit, set up my lighting (good lighting is the key to everything) and turn on the webcam.
In the jizz mines many of my regulars ask me if Im enjoying myself in Berlin and how the film making is going. Bless their little cotton socks, but for some reason their imaginations only stretch as far as thinking that 'Mistress' is in Berlin making porn!

Unfortunately there is some sort of weird techno-misallingment between my webcam streaming software and the internet connection here. Lot's of comments along the lines of 'I'm sorry Mistress your cam feed is running slow' or 'my apologies Mistress but your sound is breaking up'. argh fuck and damn it! I lose a bit of business because of this but still manage to tweak in at the end of the day with enough to pay the rent.

I decide to battle on with the film making, another technofear is that if I over burdern the warhorse of a powerbook it will blow up completely and I will again ...be fucked.
So the scheme is to make the video on an external drive. *sigh*. Drive one is dead, drive two blinks its lights sweetly but appears to have compatibilty issues (its not from the ark). I trek across town to pick up some of the collectives funds and invest in another drive. I arrive and read the cheery note 'sent most of the money to Belgrade, I'm sure you will manage'. The money is 70 euros less than I expected. I check drive prices, the one I think I need is 9 euros more than I have. I find a bank, draw out my last 20 euros and go and buy the sodding thing, counting out the last bit in change.

At home again I nervously plug it in, ...it blinks, flashes lights at me, then crashes my computer. Scary, scary moment....VERY 'cabin in the woods'.  I guess I will return it tomorrow - the upside of this being that if i get my money back then I can afford to eat!! :D

Oh well, Im not sure exactly HOW Im going to do this editing, but I WILL. Eyeing the applestore here, checking the exchange rates and thinking about more debt. Hmmm....maybe.

It's a funny combination to be a jetsetting, political activist, gender queer, performance artist, cam mistress, film maker. That also somehow makes sense. This techofuck of a world. Not sure where I will live when I return to London, not sure exactly what I will be living on while I am here. This weird precarity - but still  - LIVING THE DREAM.