“You Get What Everyone Gets; You Get a Lifetime.”

I’m off to a wake this afternoon. And somewhat appropriately, my latest Express column is all about grief and, slowly, moving on.

I wrote it before Kiana’s partner died last week. It wasn’t written for anyone other than me, really. But there is always someone dying (trite and sad, but very true), and always someone who will need those words.

I had one line that kept repeating itself the Wednesday night before. It was a very late evening as Hylas and I went with Kiana to her partner’s house, as we gave our condolences to his wife and (adult) children, as we took Kiana off to Takapuna Beach and hugged her and walked with her past midnight along the surf. And that long late evening Death strolled through my head reminding me that “you get what everyone gets; yet a lifetime”. She’s right. You do. He did. Alas, that doesn’t make it easier for those still living theirs.

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Chronic Hope

In my photos you see me smile all the time – and that’s because I’m happy. I love being photographed, I like blogging, and I delight in the wonderful comments of my readers.

But being happy isn’t an easy thing. I am happy, yes, but it is in spite of a whole fuckton lot of things. Of those, three are the biggies, and they are depression, grief, and pain.

None of them are things you can see when you look at me, and see me smiling. But they’re all there, all the time.

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Chocolate Decadence

This came from a most excellent discussion about sex positivity over at The Lady Garden, and is well deserving of further dissemination.

Max Rose said this in the comments:

A better analogy might be “The world would be a better place if more people ate more and better chocolate”. Unlike vegetables, most people acknowledge that chocolate makes them feel good, but they are sometimes made to feel guilty about it if they enjoy it more than moderately or don’t enjoy it in socially sanctioned ways, and a lot of people never get to experience really fine chocolate.

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What makes me a woman?

Is it because I have a cunt? No, that can’t be right. Buck Angel has a cunt, and he’s very definitely a man!

Is it because I have the potential to create life inside me? It’s not that either. I’ve been sterilised, so no babies are growing in this womb. And sperm makes life just as much as eggs do.

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Expressing Myself

As you may recall, I’ve written a few articles for Express Magazine in the past (one on pansexuality, and one on HIV and loss), both of which have been very well received. It was great to see my name, face and words in the newspaper, not least because I was writing about topics that are important to me.

Express, in addition to their fortnightly paper, now has an excellent web presence, and their lovely editor got in touch with me before Easter and asked if I would be interested in regularly contributing some words. Naturally, I was very reserved and only squee’d a few times as I accepted the offer

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Labels vs. Labels

Guest post by Unicorn on a Motorcycle.

I wear a lot of labels. Pansexual. Switch. Liberal. Sex-positive. Blogger. Single. Cisgender female. Masculine. Tattooed. Pierced. These labels I wear with pride and will happily discuss them to the death with anyone who shows an interest and has something interesting to say. I revel in the person I am, have confidence in my desires and my body, and love to express myself in any and all ways, particularly through the written word. Rare is the day that I don’t commit something to figurative paper in the hope that someone will read it,

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Staying Safe – published!

After my Staying Safe post a few weeks ago, the lovely Hannah, editor of Express Magazine, asked if I could expand upon it for the next issue. (You may recall I had an article in Express last year about Pansexuality. Apparently when I write about Buck Angel it’s a popular thing…)

The latest issue (09/02/11 – 22/02/11) came out last week, and as promised, here is a scan of the article – and the full text of the revised post.

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Staying Safe

I don’t often talk about what killed my brother. While I don’t shy away from talk of suicide (my mother’s death) or bowel cancer (my father’s), somehow – despite my job and my blog – I don’t often talk about AIDS.

My brother caught HIV, six years ago. He died from Kaposi’s Sarcoma, a cancer many AIDS patients get. He sucked the health lemon, getting sick fast, and dying in under a decade. And I should probably talk about it.

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Attack of the tchotchkes

Just as I like the labels I choose to wear, I also like the stuff I choose to own (which seems obvious, but really isn’t). They aren’t the all of what I am, but looking around at my material goods you get some idea of the person I am, the relationship Apollo and I have, and the life we live.

Let me tour you through the house of us. This was our last house, this is our current house, this will be our next house. First was books. Now it’s ornaments:

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Books are life

We’re moving house in two weeks. Life right now is a whirlwind of sorting, packing, cursing, labelling, and occasionally even going to work in-between it all (writing, alas, has moved so far down the must-do list that it’s been quite neglected).

It’s been four years since the last move, and it’s the first once in over a decade where the currently-owned stuff is larger than the place it’s going to be moved to. When means downsizing. Do we need this? Will we ever read that again? What in the hell was I thinking when I brought that home? One mother of a garage sale is going to take place before we shift – and won’t that be fun?

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About Dee

Exhibitionist with words, skin and sex. Free with kisses, compliments, and friendship. Open with heart, passion, and laughter.
Labels I choose for myself: pansexual, polyamorous, fat, kinky, New Zealander, writer.
You can keep my partners and close friends not-mixed-up by reading more about them here.
I write fortnightly for GLBTI magazine Express, for whom I am also the sub-editor. I also write upon occasion for other publications!
If you want to get in touch, send me an email: curvaceous.dee@gmail.com.