Dessa

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2_aY9gYTF0

Have you seen what my clan can do

Of all the things that we might ever become a part of, a family is the most strange. The most confusing, most transient and most consistent. A shabby collection, a crucible of ideas, a mismatch of personalities. Characters that might jar under natural circumstances find themselves closer than lovers ; the binds that hold us to our siblings and parents are extraordinary mechanisms.

A few years ago my Mum and I visited my brothers in Hong Kong, we took a boat trip to a lagoon and spent the day jumping from the roof and lying in the sun. My big brothers still exert a strange force over their little sister; for the whole trip I had been eating man size dinner portions and stopped wearing any decent kind of make-up, all for fear of their hilarious girl taunts. This resulted in a stunning collection of photo’s from said boat trip of yours truly in a bikini; chubby, shiny-faced, with a bright red belly courtesy of my conceding to my brothers’ belly-flop dare. The question worth asking is why? And I know I’m not the only one. There have been numerous times when I’ve witnessed my sweetly spoken better half transform quite unexpectedly into some kind of cockney cheeky chappy around his older brother.

Younger siblings will probably always be checking for acceptance, but i don't think that's really what family is for. It’s what you’re growing from, it’s mistakes you might make, it’s obligation and it’s guilt. It’s the first people you meet, and just as survivors of any great disaster, you’re united through what you have experienced together. To feel part of a family is to be part of a powerful machine, and nobody cares if you’re rusty as long as you’re ticking.

Worn and Torn

Go peek at my articles written for WornandTorn

http://www.blog.wornandtornmag.com/2011/07/bon-iver.html

Been spending much too much time carrying coffee and not enough reading and writing.

More to come.

An Old Flame.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLIuzSss_Jw&feature=related

Women.

Some situations are solely possible because of the ridiculous nature of women. Occasionally one might be fooled into thinking they are grown up enough, masculine enough, wise enough, to not unwittingly fall into one of these situations. But one would almost certainly be wrong. Make no mistake, women are ludicrous creatures.

A few days ago I found myself encapsulated in one of these solely female situations, I felt hurt by my fellow female, I felt irate, but I wasn’t hugely surprised. Take a look at any playground, failing that, take a look at twitter, it is how we work. It’s no big news that women have rules and regulations which if broken give way to unfortunate repercussions; confusing and elusive not only to men, but to many of us too. Yes, unnecessary, absolutely counterproductive, but apparently unavoidable.

I recently read an article about a couple in America who have decided to raise their third child, Storm, without a gender. The preferred subjective pronoun for the baby is Z (as in Zee), as opposed to ‘he’ or ‘she’, and the only people who know the real sex are the parents, siblings, a family friend, and the midwife who delivered the child. The parents say it is “a tribute to freedom and choice in place of limitation, a stand up to what the world could become in Storm’s lifetime”. I hope it is a short-term tribute. Gender equality is a good thing; we should be equal, but we should never be the same.

And why on earth would we want to be? Certain female behaviour is without question, baffling, but my goodness is it scary. There have been too many times in my experience when anger has given way to tears, when I have sworn at myself for being a girl. These times are frustrating beyond belief, but for every time I’ve wept with frustration, it has been followed by letters, by game plans and calm, concentrated discussion. If I had been a man, I might have fought my way right out of those opportunities.

In our moments of weakness, we might wish ourselves something that we’re not, I think we forget what we can be. I might occasionally curse womanhood, but it is with concealed pride. I really hope that Storm is allowed a gender, it will be missing out on a lot more than action men and high heels if it isn’t.

100 Days

Mims played me this a couple of nights ago, absolutely love it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ouI5KcyHfE

Brilliant.

Wisdom.

Sometimes toilet doors have very sound advice. When I was 16 I worked a few sample sales in Brick Lane, and whilst weeing in one of the ridiculously fashionable bars i noticed a beaut of a sentence; “Don’t sweat the petty things, Don’t pet the sweaty things”. Sometimes things hit you at just the right time. Troubling myself over little things, and the troubles surrounding heavy petting, were two things featuring a lot in my mind as a 16 year old. Scribbled on the back of that door I had a mantra, something to repeat and recite every time either one of those things became a little overwhelming.

I was having a wee in a similar Brighton establishment on Saturday night, and a couple more sentences struck me. “Be yourself; because those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter”, again, really nice timing Mr Door. Nestled underneath were a few more words of wisdom “Do everything you said you’d do whilst drunk. This will teach you to keep your mouth shut”.

Basically all these things are true. For however many nice well balanced moments of certainty we might have in our lives, there should rightfully be a few moments of absolute panic. There should be moments when who we are, or were, or want to be might feel like it’s slipping through our fingers. Moments of complete fear at the realisation of our abject insignificance, when the prospect of any other being understanding where we might currently be seems painfully unlikely. It’s at these moments that we should keep our eyes wide open, faith can be found in the most surprising places.

I wanna be yours.

This is very maybe my favourite poem in the world.

We drove down to Hastings last night to see John Cooper Clarke, it was a treat of a night.

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner
breathing in your dust
I wanna be your Ford Cortina
I will never rust
If you like your coffee hot
let me be your coffee pot
You call the shots
I wanna be yours

I wanna be your raincoat
for those frequent rainy days
I wanna be your dreamboat
when you want to sail away
Let me be your teddy bear
take me with you anywhere
I don’t care
I wanna be yours

I wanna be your electric meter
I will not run out
I wanna be the electric heater
you’ll get cold without
I wanna be your setting lotion
hold your hair in deep devotion
Deep as the deep Atlantic ocean
that’s how deep is my devotion

Why cleaning is like wanking.

A good clean can be a very sweet thing. I’m not talking about a mundane every day kind of clean, I don’t mean washing up, or having to pick up clothes to see the floor again. I mean an all out scrub, clearing out your drawers, ‘my new life is going to always be this clean and tidy’ clean. This kind of clean can put things back in their place, into proportion, and back in control.

Now I am well aware this all sounds a little obsessive compulsive, maybe a tad catholic, marginally 1950’s housewife. I am none of these things, but I am a woman. Occasionally things have been known to build up, muddle me up and come pouring out of me like a confused and hairy psychopath. It is at these moments I realise it’s time to whip the Hoover out.

The subsequent clean extends beyond my home to my body, to exercise videos and face masks; quite frankly there’s no better solution to morning after guilt than a little self-improvement. But this is where I’m faced with a contradiction, if I am to believe Tyler Durden’s cheeky little mantra in Chuck Palahniuk’s ‘Fight Club’, (and of course I’m going to , because I flipping well love Fight Club) that “self improvement is masturbation”, than all this cleaning and washing and running on the spot is, surprisingly enough, going to get me nowhere. Hmm.

If I’m honest, I’ve never had an issue with masturbation, it might not get you to Cambridge, but I’ve heard it can be quite pleasurable. And if a clean kitchen is going to relinquish some of the mental attributed to my sex, then I’m ok with that too.

what matters.

I’ve been loath to write anything much lately. Considering recent events in Japan writing much about clothes or music or daily occurrences hardly seems worthwhile. Unnecessary, and insignificant in the extreme. I think it’s worth remembering that the end of the day, the actual subtext of our days mounts up to a collection of inconsequentiality. The return of some sunshine, a tasty meal, an interesting film, these things don’t matter. But they are important. Amongst the debris of their homes, and the lives they might previously have had, those affected by the Tsunami have lost the privilege to enjoy the pleasure of triviality. At least for a while. Maybe it can remind the rest of us to notice the significance of our insignificance. And treasure it.