Annie Sprinkle as her character, Anya.
my inspiration for the card i made of/for her & gave her to-day :)
» me +the card
» Annie +the card (not bad for a crackberry shot! she is so lovely!)

Whole by Denise Duhamel

I learned to masturbate late,
in my mid-twenties, with a self-help book
in my loft bed in the East Village.
A few blocks over at an underground club
people were having orgasms in public,
and on stage at the Pyramid,
Annie Sprinkle showed her cervix
to all who were interested. As I learned to dance
around the primal scream that was my clitoris,
around the pink cartoon blurb missing words,
I was in kindergarten gym again. Mr. Lynn
held his left open hand against my back
and his right open hand under the wing span
of my ribs. The forest green mat before me
was spooky, everything dark
beyond my small town. When I tried to explain
I’d never done a tumble before,
he grew impatient, his hands somehow unbuckling
my taut legs until I was kneeling at the edge
of that plastic forest that smelled of sweat. I was sure
I’d break my neck, that my head
would be crushed under the weight of my stiff back.
I half-abandoned myself to death
when I heard the girls behind me, waiting their turns,
sizzle with impatient whispers. My rolling was far from perfect,
the almost-horizontal lost hubcap seconds before its collapse.
I think a few children laughed, my body sideways,
my legs off the mat. And everyone else went on,
perfectly whole as bagels, donuts, and bicycle wheels.
Some even lined up to do it again and again.

today i went on a Sex-Ecological tour of the Boston Public Gardens, hosted by the legendary sexpert, PhD porn star performance artist hippy goddess hott mamma yamma, ANNIE SPRINKLE. it was so much fun. she and her partner, Elizabeth Stephens were sensual, totally into it, totally engaging, light-hearted and ridonk. i can’t believe i spent the afternoon with her, and i even got a picture of her with the card i drew of/for her. (with Denise Duhamel’s poem “Whole” inside, Annie’d never seen it, or knew she was in it, rather. maybe i’ll just post it later!) we were eco sensual and it was kind of like a nature walk with a sex workshop theme, about making earth your lover to protect her, and marrying the moon is a good idea too, not bombing it. i am a bit inchoate, it’s been a lovely hazy day though. it makes me so happy to be a burlesquette quaintrelle performance artist, myself.

hilariously this could be no LESS bawdy but SO MUCH DIFFERENTLY so than the testosterone driven, very much indoor-aggressive-cruel-cement-world type sexuality experienced at the Jesus Lizard reunion tour show i attended last night at Boston’s Paradise venue. this man, this beast of a man, David Yow, spits as much as he sings, and doesn’t miss a syllable as he crowd-surfs (more often than singing from stage)- through his fans, desperate for his sweaty benediction. it’s in their rider on this tour that a security staff member’s only job is to feed the mike cord above the crowd-surfing hands so as to not get unplugged. the great thing is the audience is as eager to help (they don’t want to miss a thing, either!) as they are to hold him up. it was some mosh pit team work! the world can be a place you want to lick dew off grass and sniff dirt, or lick the salt from a rock idol, as much as pet a sensual piece of granite. this is what i have learned in the last 24 hours. time to take a shower. (i did wear the same outfit to both…)

that » “Lock & Key” journal-keeping documentary i shared here a weebit (2 tumbles) back is getting some press. hoozah. since i am clearly the “panache”-iest interviewee (probably the only one to send a statement of why i was involved & a hi-res press photo!) i got to be the topique of this online local edition of the Boston Globe arts.

—-> http://www.snurl.com/lockkey

look, ma! i’m in da virtual “paper!” i am honoured to have been a part of this project. now to correct misinformations. i don’t do spoken word (i hafta admit i am not a fan/part of that culture, i am only SPEAKING WORDS in the most literalist of senses. and i’m an asshole for even saying this so i shall stop) and the fabulous film fatale documentary-maker chelsea spear found me and sought me out via myspace, because i apparently have little biography besides my OCD journalllling on my personal page. having seen the toys/me perform i don’t know what order all this came in, but it was a great invitation to accept, so i did. and we filmed and made merry and made friends. i don’t know why i’m defensive about the oxymoronical storytelling in this article/blurb, but i didn’t seek her out on craigslist, what, do you think i’m some common journal-hooker? i’m joking, and it’s not coming out well.

i had an amazing phone conference with my mentor, Cate Marvin last night. my thesis manuscript is finished. i think i’ll be posting teasers from it in my: poetesss.tumblr.com land. and i hope you all have a lovely weekend.

p.s. i’m going on tour with the edrie-less (she is having knee surgery as i type this) army of broken toys (w. Jaggery!) this december. canadia will never be the same. i am in total disassociative denial that all my art seems to be on the up and up biorhythmically, and i am so grateful. so very very grateful. now to reorder my manuscript. table of content to be contents here i go!
p.p.s. photo by my coworker, Patrice P. at the 10/9 army of toys wicked waudewillians gig at YMCA cambridge.

my contribution to the #fallback trend. have some Billy Shakeshaft and ‘96 Baz Luhrmann tragi-romance. as this is what keeps popping into my mind when i see “fall back,” because i am a dirty literary voyeur. (R+J Act 1, Scene iii)

Nurse:
And then my husband—God be with his soul!
A’ was a merry man—took up the child:
‘Yea,’ quoth he, ‘dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule?’ and, by my holidame,
The pretty wretch left crying and said ‘Ay.’
To see, now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it: ‘Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he;
And, pretty fool, it stinted and said ‘Ay.’

happy daylight saving’s delight! delight i say, in thine extra hour! spring forward. fall backwards, sezually.

some of you met me on LJ when i was but a wee teenage fairy. my blogging habits have ebbed and flowed through the years, and in an effort to address/defeat/conquer my blogger’s block and catch you kids up on who i’ve been neglecting to tell you’ve i’ve been busy being (like the busy bee’s knee’d gal i am) i wrote, for my 25th bday (this past tues 10/20) the biggest blog entry i daresay i ever have. lots of sexy garter pictures, army of toys timeline, and youtube clips of me talking about twatter and clits. twat?!

i hope you enjoy, blogosphere. i worked hard on it for you.
now to get intoxicated! hippy away!

» http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/72569.html