Category Archives: perception


the dude’s muttering about the cricket and i tell him i am not a sports fan and he says i know.  so i ask him how he knows and he says i can just tell.  so i wondered what sports fans look like, since neither one of us is dressed in sports gear – he’s in a short sleeved button down shirt, shorts and bare feet.  i’m wearing cargo pants, a t-shirt from sutherland in the karoo and my feet are bare too.  so is it my hairstyle?  my face?  what?  and being the self-obsessed aware neurotic sensitive soul that i am, i wonder what i do look like to him.

an open letter to the mainstream ..

Is there any chance, that if I stopped making such a song and dance and getting up in your face about being a dyke all the time, that you’d do the same for me about your heterosexuality? I’m actually not expecting any special treatment for being a lesbian, I’d just like the same treatment as you. I’m human after all.

Would you mind supporting the right to marry? South Africa was 5th in the all too brief list of countries to legalise gay marriage – actually, all the world needs to do, is allow any two consenting adults to marry, provided they’re not related. It’s as simple as that. There’s no need to even mention the word gay.

You also need to help us, as human beings and because you’re human beings too, to make sure that murder, rape, torture and bullying stop entirely, no matter what the justification. I’m queer, so I tend to notice when it happens to my tribe, but it’s unacceptable for anyone to do it to anybody for any reason.

Please, please, please teach your kids that all human beings deserve respect. Kids who are outside the mainstream have a horrible time at school, in their own homes and in the world in general and that really isn’t remotely fair. By sticking to conventional rules and expectations, kids end up depressed, suicidal, dead … they don’t deserve that! Plenty of South Africans are careful about teaching their kids not to be racist, but how about looking out for the geeks, the queers, the transgenders, the goths, the women, the … everybody. How about that?

Why are South African schools still not allowing boys to grow their hair, by the way? That is completely sexist. Just apply the same rules – if your hair’s long, tie it up. Whatever. I swear, if you treat me like a human being, I’ll stop shouting about my sexuality.

my bloody valentine’s day massacre

no, i didn’t have a dyke drama style valentine’s day.  neither did my period start.  i did, however, see these … so romantic … red rose, pink champagne and raw meat in the shape of a heart.



so … how was your valentine’s day?  commercial?  lonely?  did anyone give you a fluffy pink hippo, a plastic rose, chocolates in amusing shapes?  a nice lump of raw flesh?

Life without labels

If, as many people suggest, we do away with labels, we will be left with no nouns.  At that point, not only will all sentences fail to work at all, but language will disintegrate AND there will be no way to order whatever you want to drink at the pub.

Or you’d just have to use noun classifiers or something – and then life gets even more complicated from that stage.

Let me know when you’ve made a new language and I’ll get right on to it …

Have a look at writing without nouns too.

Revolting Footnotes

The thing about life, is that it’s just not storyshaped.  All those people who say ooh you could write a story about my life – are basically talking a load of bollox.  Mostly, this is because if you start onceuponatime so and so was born and then write till today, it’s boring.  I know, I’ve tried it myself.  Drying paint died of terminal tedium reading my life story.  You have to extract a plot out of it and then you have to change some details.  Unless your nonfiction is already plotshaped, you really just need to kick its arse into fiction, using your poetic licence, your prose one and any other tricks you have up your inkstained sleeve.  You have to be brutal also – don’t write for nobody but yo’ muse.


why does the devil get all the good accessories?

Noooo those are not religious bigots reminiscent of early pitchfork-wielding mobs of angry peasants!  All they are saying is that demons own homosexuals like kugels have handbags.  It’s a STYLE thing and you know that whatever’s fashionable in hell this season will be global soon.

{Westboro Baptist Coming to SF to Protest Jews, Musical Theater and Twitter}

Apparently god hates South Africa too.

butch enough to fight baboons

How many baboons could you take in a fight? (armed only with a giant dildo)There’s been an interesting little exchange of blogpinions here at WordPress lately, about butch identity.  If you’re interested, it’d probably be a good idea to start here or here and then you’ll get the link to the post she reacted to and various reactions all over.  Good stuff.  At the end of the day, as ever, I guess “how to” things are just ever-evolving definitions of ever-evolving things and … om …

As ever, the question of identity become entangled with the issue of labels and then you get people going oh hey let’s add more labels and that tie-dyed crowd who just want, like, nooo labels at aaaaall, maaaan.

What do I want?

Oh, fucknose.

I want labels to be as fluid as identity should be.  I want academics to stop studying identity and everyone to just get on with being.  I want to study gender and identity.  I want a cigarette.

Having always been a tomboy and having also always been “otherwise,” I embrace labels like “dyke” and “butch” and “queer” partly because they fit my exterior so comfortably, but also because they remain unfashionable and are perennially ripe for reclamation.

I neither know nor care what the butch manifesto says i am supposed to be or do or wear.  I wear boxer shorts, yes, but i also wear bras and have never and will never (oh I have just fucked the tense up nicely) bound/bind my breasts.  I don’t pack, I do use a strapon.  I can change a wheel, I can also sew a little green elephant patch on a jacket.  I wear men’s clothing, except for that blue shirt my gf gave me, but frankly it’s rather boyish.  I cry easily, I have no fluffy toys, I talk to my dog and pretend he talks back … eh, blah blah BLAH if you CUT me, do I not BLEED and so forth.

Where I do get all misty eyed about butch pride, is the same place I get it about drag pride i.e. diesel dykes and screaming queens are the people who get picked out and picked on, because they are the ones who are noticed.  They are also the ones right at the front of many important marches, where marches matter ito activism.

I wrote stuff about it all a while back, if anyone’s especially bored.