Not only does her voice give me the shivers…the sound of that guitar! It’s perfection.
The song is the shit. Lucinda is my hero, and any time I go to music circle, I try so hard to get into a Lucinda state of mind with my singing. Last time I actually kinda got there, and it felt amazing. Not imitation. But energy. This song is amazing.
Here’s how checked out I am right now - I pulled my earbuds out of my ears this morning when Lila got up, and when I went to put them back in a half hour later, part of one was missing. I looked everywhere and couldn’t find it at all.
I feel as if I am stuck in cement this week, like someone pushed me into a wet cement wall and I’m stuck there on display, naked in every way imaginable. All of my nerve endings are on the outside of my body, and my empathic nature is turned up to 11 with no filter. You feel it? I feel it times 1000. You want something from me? The only thing I have to give is blank reflection of your need in the moment before it falls to the floor between us, unanswered. Don’t worry, if it’s still needed in a few days, I’ll pick it up, shake it out, kiss it on each eyelid. I will love you out loud then.
Where for most of my life I attempted to assimilate during my cycle, to rally and put on a good game face, in recent months I am very clear that I can no longer fake it in order to make other people more comfortable. This change that my body is going through is too big to ignore, and is about more than just a change in how I bleed. This is me aging. This is me entering a new place in the paradigm of womanhood. My body is telling me some deep shit and I’m listening in a way that I must if I want to come out the other side understanding who I am and what I need.
It’s Thursday, and I would normally be attempting some kind of a sexy something or other to post here for SST. I’ve been quite focused on illustrating my evolving sexual nature here, documenting it for myself because I almost can’t believe it’s true.
Here’s the thing - truth is sexier than fiction to me. The truth is I’m looking at sexy from two sides of the veil at once. I’m at a place in my life where I am blossoming and exploring aspects of myself I had no idea even existed, and doing so with the full and loving support of my partner. But, I turn the other way, press my face against the sheer curtain that hangs between us all, and I see that an important part of my body is dying to itself, dying to the world. I can’t fight it and I can’t fight the truth of what it means, even though it terrifies me.
I’ve been staring at this screen for 20 minutes trying to find a way to wrap this up, but I’ve got nothing more. It’s another day. It’s another chance to face myself and find some small grace to forgive myself for turning away from everyone, and another small grace to forgive everyone around me for pushing even the smallest bits of themselves on me.
“Very often we don’t go elsewhere because we are looking for another person. We go elsewhere because we are looking for another self. It isn’t so much that we want to leave the person we are with as we want to leave the person we have become.”—Esther Perel (via thatkindofwoman)
Four women have had new vaginas grown in the laboratory and implanted by doctors in the US.
A tissue sample and a biodegradable scaffold were used to grow vaginas in the right size and shape for each woman as well as being a tissue match.
They all reported normal levels of “desire, arousal, lubrication, orgasm, satisfaction” and painless intercourse.
I am legitimately, earnestly fascinated by medicine’s ability to do this. I’m not personally in possession of a vagina, but I’ve seen a couple up close (how you doin?) and they look pretty complicated. Because they’re human organs, which just seems more difficult from the jump than, say, growing crystals in a jar for a second grade science fair. And vaginas seem to up that already high baseline complication quotient by a couple orders of magnitude, based on all they have to do and all. Yet some smarties at Wake Forest just straight up grew some and hooked ‘em up to some women who would have otherwise had lesser, not-fully-functioning vaginas of some sort or another—and they all totally worked, nerves, orgasms, everything. Lives are better and we get to be gobsmacked—that’s rock-solid science right there. This is fucking moon-landing-awesome to me. And I know we’ve been growing organs and other biological doodads and what-have-yous for a minute or two already. I know this. Still, I have this reaction every time I read a story like this. Because sometimes very real science looks very much like magic and that is god damn amazing.
I just went through my old zines and found this: In 1993 (one year before Live Through This) Rollerderby interviewed Courtney Love with the intention of gabbing about clothes and instead got amazing rants about cheese and how her ex-boyfriends used to fart on her. I violated a few…
This whole interview is incredible.
I love Courtney Love.
Sometimes there’s just too much beauty in the world.