New Year; Same You, But With Added Shine, A Slicker Rhyme…

A belated happy new year!  I have just handed in my coursework today and have lots of news to share.  Christmas, by the way, was wonderful – the best ever!  Here’s me celebrating family-style with some of my new clothes (Primari aka Primark).

The first news story is a sad one.  I write this blog for my website but I also post it in other places, and one of these places, Inked-In, is closing down because some company is taking over and wants all the rights to the content.  Totally out of order.  Not happy.  I’ll probably stop writing on there now because I want to have the rights to my content thanks.

Anyway, onward and upward!  I have found an amazing function on Excel that means I don’t have to use this Smartsheet thing I was using that ended up being a free trial and asked me to pay for it.  As if.  So yeah, genius that I am, I figured out you can sort a to-do list on Excel; my list is sorted by the ‘status’ (i.e. whether it’s been started or is complete) then by the due date, and then by a daily ordering system, should I need to do work on something that has a due date way in the future.  It’s not a waste of time either, as I have now completed 44 tasks, and started it maybe a couple of months ago.

For new years eve, Matt and I popped round to my friend Jo’s house for a bit because she now lives about 20 minutes walk away from me!  She used to live in Hammersmith so it’s great she’s so close now.  It took us a bit longer as I took a wrong turn, but good to know for future reference as last time my mum was my taxi.  Jo had fireworks and it was a bit scary but also very pretty and overall, amazing.

Matt and I celebrated our 6 month anniversary on January 2nd at Los Amigos and it was delish.  We also saw a ‘Havana Club’ sign which was cool because we met at a club in Norwich called Havana (now called Kartel).  It was a bit quiet but we had a lovely time.

On that note, I’ll say a little about new years resolutions.  Now, I’m the kind of person that’s always trying to self-improve… a kind of perfectionist, I guess.  So, new years resolutions are something I try to do at various points in the year anyway. That said, my main aims for 2012 are as follows:

– Read more poetry.  Well, read only poetry, aside from non-fiction books used for study, and the occasional fiction book for if I want a break from just poetry.
– Resume my exercise routine.  Try to go to the gym 1 or 2 times a week, and do at least 15 minutes of exercise in the morning before breakfast.
– Keep up a regular beauty regime.  Cleanse, tone, (exfoliate), moisturize.
– The last two points means I need to get early nights.  And wake up early-ish.  If I don’tget enough sleep I get lazy.

And now, for some poetry news.  Firstly, I wanted to say how great it is that Dean Atta has shot to fame, so to speak, after posting ‘I Am Nobody’s Nigger’ online.  As I stated on Twitter, I guess I’ve been “deeply immersed in the world of spoken word,” (quoting The Guardian) because I remember Atta being a regular name since I started out in around 2006.

Not wanting to draw too many comparisons, but, I had previously read Carol Ann Duffy’s Stephen Lawrence tribute poem and been disappointed.  I actually began to have a go myself but am yet to finish it.  I just found her poem too obvious, and lacking emotionally.  And it is a great shame because I have enjoyed Duffy’s work since my GCSEs (though I was disappointed at her reading at the AQA Anthology show).

In terms of my poetry news… I’ve been shortlisted for a £1000 fund on IdeasTap.  My idea may be more suited to another IdeasTap fund I’ve applied for since, and I feel unlikely too get the one I’ve been shortlisted for as it’s quite a long shortlist!  I’ve also been accepted to be a Peer Mentor for Shake the Dust for the Eastern region.  It’ll be really great to give younger poets advice and support, and take part in the regional finals – and I’d love to be a judge!  I probably should have mentioned my judging experience with Scroobius Pip!  It’ll no doubt be a great experience anyway.  I may not have been accepted as a Poet Shadow, but I’ve got the next best thing.  I’ve also applied for the Charles Pick Fellowship at UEA, starting in October.  Thinking about the prospect of being accepted for that excites me too much!  Wish me luck on my endeavours!

xxx

We are the 99% We are the 52%

The last couple of weeks has been great.  My lovely boyfriend greeted me with a beautiful bouquet of flowers.  This may not seem like a big deal to you but I’m not used to such romantic gestures and it is, in fact, the first bouquet I have ever been given by a boy!  Well, at 22, he is a man.  But this had me all overwhelmed and girly. Although I always say my favourite flowers are Antirrhinums, I don’t think they do bouquets haha!  These pretty Roses are a such a classic and it had me smiling for days to receive them.

Last Tuesday I saw Billy Bragg for the first time.  I wasn’t familiar with his music but I knew Sound of Rum, having supported Kate Tempest, and was recently familiar with Akala from the programme Life of Rhyme.  I listened to some Billy on spotify and decided it was unmissable!  I tried to get some friends interested but had no luck, so I went on my own.  I went to Nando’s first and annoyingly the girl who served me got the table number wrong so I basically ended up missing most of Sound of Rum which sucked, but what I saw was amazing, as ever.  Both Kate Tempest and Billy Bragg’s words were so inspirational that I welled up.

The whole event was really empowering and there was a great sense of solidarity.  I would have loved to be in the standing section but I had my laptop with me and that wouldn’t have been sensible.  I met a nice Billy Bragg fan though and so that was cool as well!

"Hi, how can I help?"

I have been working hard at Sainsbury’s and have done about 11 hours overtime, woop!  It’s pretty good working there, I’m an even bigger fan of the company now, especially finding out they do a lot of funding for the arts.  Also, can you believe it’s been about 11 years since Jamie Oliver started his partnership with Sainsbury’s?!  That’s like, half of my life, argh!    The only thing I’d like to change is to work two days and not three, and not to work Saturdays!  I’m probably going to miss Million Women Rise because of it!  Plus, I was late for Reclaim the Night because I finished work at the meeting time. I attempted to take the tube part of the way but ended up walking to the Camden Centre and being around half-an-hour early.  I contacted the other UEA Feminist Society committee members and eventually, I heard a roar from around the corner and saw some people looking.  I had found the march! I ran past two guys making gestures and spouting something nonsensical.

Adrenaline rushed through my body as I heard the chants clearer “Whatever we wear, wherever we go yes means yes and no means no!” and “Hey, Hey, Ho, Ho, Sexual Violence has got to go!”  I managed to meet up with the group pretty quickly and was so happy to be able to join for the last five or ten minutes of the march.

We gathered in the hall of the Camden Centre and before I even had time for the toilet, the speakers started…

  • Women against the cuts – Eve Featherstone
  • Abortion rights – Kate Smurthwaite
  • NUS National Women’s Officer – Estelle Hart
  • NASUWT Officer
  • Million Women Rise – Femi Otitoju

Although the reality of things like the cuts, particularly in relation to violence against women, were daunting, it was another inspiring evening.  Cutting billions of pounds of funding for organisations that help victims of violence, stopping free contraception and abortions… it is all making steps backwards.  This was illustrated shockingly by Kate, pulling out a wire coat-hanger.  The fact is that forced pregnancy will also bring the country down economically, and will be extremely harmful for those from low-income backgrounds because they will not be able to afford unwanted pregnancies, financially, let alone emotionally!

I ended the night with some jerk chicken and a cheeky bit of rice from the nice man serving me, for £2.  And with that, I’ll wrap it up. xxx

Savage Messiahs of London City

I have just updated my status on TweetDeck that I am “craving drink and fancy dress. instead i’m attending talks and blogging. oh, how grown up i have become since time/money have been eaten up”.  I am actually too tired to write this blog now so I’m going to start/finish it on Thursday, if I remember…

I’ve got a spare half an hour at the moment, so am updating in chunks.  On Halloween, I went to a discussion about Laura Oldfield Ford’s Savage Massiah; a book where her work from 2005, in the ‘zine of the same title, has been collected and formed into a linear format.  I travelled straight from work and so had to eat dinner out.  I went to a Thai restaurant called Mae Ping which was a welcome change from my frequent Nando’s trips (much as I love them, I had eaten there the three days prior to this).  I ordered pretty much straight away, from the ‘express’ menu, and it took a mere five minutes before a steaming plate of Prawn Pad Thai was in front of me.  It was quite spicy and had nice big prawns, and absolutely delicious, and cost just £7.15 (including a 65p service charge).  I was able to pay quickly, and had a lovely little after dinner mint. I was disappointed that Laura didn’t give a reading from the book, but it was an interesting, thought-provoking discussion.  I had wanted to see her since in my undergraduate Creative Writing modules, I had been compared to her in terms of writing.  The book is set out like a graphic novel; with Biro drawings alongside poetic musings.  It is definitely on my Christmas list.

…Another chunk.  I liked the ideas of Laura showing her work on different levels.  Something I had been thinking about starting, and will experiment with soon, is hand-made poetry booklets.  I was inspired at the talk to try out fly-posting, and one idea I have had is to go on walks around residential areas with photocopied poetry sheets, and post them to different houses, as it’s always nice (and rare) when you get something actually interesting through the post-box.  I agree it is important for art to be communicated with all kinds of people.  Laura also stated that her views tend to polarize people.  This is where I felt conflicted.

I have been irritated by one of my friends who always comments on me being ‘middle class’.  It is not so much me having a problem with the label, but just the assumptions that my friend makes of people with this label, that just make it appear that she has a chip on her shoulder… herself and her partner are educated to a high degree, and she has lived in a nice country house, and is in a financial position to live out of her family home.  Middle-class-me is very fortunate to be able to live in the suburbs with my parents, but I cannot afford to move out and am working in a lower-ranking job.  Here, the boundaries of class are mixed up.  This is why I think that Laura was talking about this subject without acknowledging these elements of confusion – the students that are all in debt (and the future who will face more debts) and the classes where “Daddy” doesn’t pay for everything .  I’m not complaining about my deal, as I said, I think myself very lucky.  I’m just saying that the reality is that if I or my friends (including the one I mentioned) wanted to live in London, we would not be able to.  She seems to consider herself ‘working class’ and I ‘middle class’.

Laura referred to ‘yuppies’ but, essentially, there is nothing wrong with working hard and doing so in finance, or what was called the ‘creative industries’.  She later rephrased this term by stating she meant ‘the rich’ which makes more sense to me.  She spoke very eloquently throughout, yet this term ‘yuppy’ took her backwards because it is, basically, a derogatory term, poking fun at those better off.  In fact, very few people are rich, and she would be faced with a lot more understanding if she used the simple term ‘rich’ because it includes the majority.  Otherwise, like my friend, she appears to have a chip on her shoulder.  What she was really talking about, it seemed to me, was opportunities for artists to work in the system we have.  That is why she is criticizing Capitalism.  I agree with her opinions on Capitalism, but, we need to work with what we have got as well.  She is aware of it, as shown by the fact that her work does operate in galleries as well as the street, and that the audience had to pay £10 to attend the discussion (£5 for me, being a student).  This point was brought up in the questions section and although I thought it was quite clever, Laura seemed defensive… then again, you would be a bit because it does kind of undermine your opinion in this case.

Well, I’m just going to wrap this up quickly because I have actual important stuff to write, like one of three 3000 word essays in for January that I’ve only written under 400 words for after over 3 hours of work.  With just two days free, and those mostly taken up by seeing my boyfriend, I don’t really have that much time on my hands.  Not that I’m complaining, I love my boyfriend.  It just means I need to work out how to stop writing so much in my blog entries whilst still saying everything I want to!  I went to a talk on the relationship between poetry and visual art on Wednesday.  I didn’t know of the artists (should probably look these things up) but it was interesting and I made some notes on it.  The picture above is by the artist in the discussion, Simon Lewty, and the poet was Peter Larkin.

I’ve bumped into a couple of people recently on my way to my MA. One was a guy from college, and the other was my friend Tom.  It was great to bump into Tom, and we ended up having dinner at Woodin’ Shades which was nice.  It’s my dad’s birthday today so, happy 44th birthday to him!  Now, off to do a bit more essay, call the boyfriend, and have a take away, hopefully watch some TOWIE!

xxx

How To Be a Woman

I was really excited to start reading Caitlin Moran’s How To Be a Woman, but I wasn’t sure what to expect. The tone is very accessible, which isn’t something I am usually keen on, but I think that’s her point. For Moran, feminism isn’t something that only women should care about, or even a certain type of woman. And damn right. I’m sick of women not knowing they need feminism and this book’s appeal to the mass market means that maybe the women who aren’t interested in women’s issues will realise it’s nothing to do with men-hating and maybe they will be able to see the inequality that still exists in the world.

I wasn’t expecting such an autobiographical text. However, on reflecting on the discussions within the UEA Feminist Society, I realise that this is a great way of communicating feminist topics – through recounting experiences and assessing the problems. In reading this book, it is impossible not to have an opinion. Due to disagreements within feminism, there is not a hard-and-fast manifesto of feminist utopia. We all have to come together and offer our opinion, to come to a compromise about what is best for both women and men of every race, culture and class. We have a long way to go. So, I thought I’d attempt to give my thoughts on some of the topics Moran covers. I imagine this will be longer than a blog post should be, yet shorter than a book.

Moran was inspired by Germaine Greer’s The Female Eunuch and so from one generation to the next, I will be using this book as an inspiration to give my two pennies worth. Although the age gap between Moran and Greer is almost triple that of mine and Moran’s, it would be too complex to do this with The Female Eunuch, which I have also read. Moran’s ideas are all easy to follow, whilst, when reading other more ‘intellectual’ writers, such as Cixous and de Beauvoir, there can be parts that go over my English-Literature-BA-(Hons)-2:1-head (I recently graduated – yay!). A little less high-brow than Butler and Appignanesi, this is a book you would enjoy reading on the beach or by the pool on holiday; this is a book that will make you run up to the diving board and shout ‘I AM A FEMINIST!’ before taking a big plunge.

Speaking of Greer, Moran comments on how she doesn’t agree with all her views. This reminded me of a poem I wrote in response to an article Greer wrote.

Germaine Greer

Germaine Greer writes about Mrs O’s dress
As the USA gets its first black president.
The Guardian call this news that they press
But it’s worth about as much as 50 cent.

It’s like taking one step forward and then two back
And demeans the event for the sake of controversy.
As the world celebrates the result for Barack,
Germaine Greer points out the bits that we failed to see.

The dress looked like a butcher’s apron
And the children were not girly enough.
Glad that I’m not one of them;
I wouldn’t be caught dead in that stuff!

Oh, Germaine Greer, as an academic scholar
Are you trying to tell us feminism is dead?
If this is your idea of irony, it isn’t worth a dollar,
If it’s a joke, I’d say be serious instead.

Germaine Greer what is feminism now, in your books?
Should we judge what every other woman wears?
After all, a woman’s role is shown by how she looks
And her importance equates to the number of male stares.

Germaine Greer did you not know we still fight
To be considered equals to men?
Should I be ashamed to say I’m a feminist and want my right?
It bleeds out through the ink of my pen.

Anyway, back to Moran. She begins on what many people would see as the first step to becoming a woman. Periods. Now you can (technically) have sex and reproduce, and you are open to the complexities of life and a have to plan your life around the damn thing. Luckily, my periods haven’t been as traumatic as those described in the book, but it’s still an extra pain in the arse, or rather a pain in the vag I guess. So, on top of my number one annoyance (hair removal – both especially annoying when it comes to sex) that women have to plan their life around, the period is there to disrupt things and I’m sure everyone would wish it didn’t exist. Because even if we are glad to be a woman, it is not something we can ever be ready for (and certainly not at age 11 or whatever) but we get used to it, like THAT customer that comes in every so often on your part-time retail job “not you again” we think. Things like counting down the days to realise it’s going to clash with a festival, or holiday, or anything that we actually want to look forward to. So, the first sign of becoming a woman appear to be that it is annoying, unfair and, as Moran put it, BULLSHIT. But, we can’t blame the patriarchy for that, so, let’s moves on.

As I have said so many times, I have given in to the pressure of hairless airbrushed images and try to remove as much as possible whilst still retaining an element of “womanliness” (I’m not going to spell it out). However, rather bizarrely I haven’t been for a wax since reading itMoran, what have you done to me? (Edit: I have had one since writing this as I took so long to get on with finishing it). I’m pretty sure it’s for practical reasons (time and money) rather than brainwashing. I did find this section very funny though, because a lot of the time, I don’t think men understand that woman are also born with hair all over our body and that ours is just generally thinner and lighter in certain places. One friend, describing these dilemmas says ‘I can’t budget correctly with all these “Random Fuck Factors” in my week. No wonder everyone’s a slag these days. Even if you don’t like anyone at the party, you want to get some return on your wax” (p. 49).

Even though this is humorous, I personally disagree with the term ‘slag’ (it’s too long to go in right now) and I also feel it should be noted that not all women get waxes “for” men – it helps with confidence (in addition to during sex), cleanliness (being “groomed”) and makes you feel like, not just a woman, but a strong woman. I got my first wax when I was 21 and it was a sign of being a woman prior to getting it done, but afterwards, I thought ‘wow, that was worse that any boy has broken my heart; now I can cope with anything, I am a STRONG woman and I can take on the world.’ Though it’s partly funny, it’s also rather tragic, and this is pin-pointed by the idea that these thousands of pounds we spend on hair removal is ‘just to look normal’. It is then my thoughts escalate to thinking that sanitary towels and hair removal should be on the NHS. It’s just not fair!

Moran makes it clear that men can be feminists too, but she does confuse the point on page 79, when she states that working out if you are a feminist is determined by asking yourself ‘Do you have a vagina?’ and ‘Do you want to be in charge of it?’ I wouldn’t say it that way myself, but it makes clear that her target audience for the book is female, and to be fair, she’d be right – not many men would read a book entitled ‘How To Be a Woman’. So, time to move on again.

She mentions ‘Girl Power’ which I know has been criticised for different reasons, but, thinking back, it was the Spice Girls that made me aware of any vague notion of feminism, so it can’t be all bad. My favourite was ‘Sporty Spice’ and as I’ve always been quite “girly” really, it probably helped make me who I am today – happy to be “girly” but uncomfortable with stereotypes and equally happy to challenge the idea that my gender stops me from doing anything, for example taking up boxing, cutting my hair short, drinking lager, and being an internet nerd (stereotypically speaking again). I saw a boy drawing flowers and his older brother (or someone else who should have known better) telling him flowers were for girls and I said ‘no, everyone can draw flowers’ or something to that effect.

Forgive me if this is all a bit slap-dash, I read the book a while back now and made notes in my phone and am writing this very sporadically and trying to make sense of notes. At the moment I’m trying to work out what ‘pc words, bitching hmm, underwear, nt all about men’ means. Okay, I have now found the point in the book about political correctness. Personally, the whole thing irritates me; the fact that people need others to tell them about what is right and wrong. And Moran states that ‘people keep using the phrase without really knowing what it means’ (p. 84). This is true, but more so, that people hear the word feminist, and misjudge what it means.

She moves on to the topic of bitching. I find this difficult because I believe that bitching is not nice, and that as a human being, and not ‘as a woman’ I believe niceness is underrated. However, I am now reading Odd Girl Out by Rachel Simmons which is largely about how women are expected to be nice and these expectations lead to alternative aggressions, which are usually psychologically damaging, as opposed to physically damaging. This whole area is complicated, as there is a difference between letting off steam, and bitching, which is the intention to hurt someone. And I believe that the whole idea of setting women up again other women is very dangerous. I know women who have been scornful towards women, and I find that shocking and unpleasant. Women need to be supportive of one another and inspire each other, because men are already in competition with us on an uneven pegging field. Plus, Moran’s whole ‘being polite’ (p. 87) is kind of contradictory when you take into account the acceptance of bitching.

I found the part about over-eating interesting (p. 117). I know I’m mostly healthy but I think maybe I could be healthier (okay, and that would correlate with being a tiny bit slimmer) and this is mainly due to the fact I eat too much. I can be sensible in the day, and count my fruit and veg and water intake, but when evening comes it goes downhill – if I am not eating a 2-person portion and having a compulsory chocolate-based dessert, then I would be piling on the pounds with alcohol. Perhaps this is why I am able to talk about how much I ate in the same humorous way Moran describes a shepherd’s pie indulgence; because I am only fat in model terms. I remember when I did feel I was overweight, which was likely just a bit of teenage puppy fat, and I would never tell anyone how fat I felt, because ‘the only people who aren’t talking about it are the only people whose business it really is’ (p.118).

I find it hard to pinpoint where I have encountered sexism because I feel it is so engrained in society, and throughout my childhood it has been somewhat acceptable. When I hit puberty, I didn’t even know that men’s making me feel uncomfortable by “cat-calling” was a feminist issue, it just seemed it was another part of life you couldn’t control.

Relationships and the subject of love are also complex because of the different areas that come up; it can seem like a power struggle when there really shouldn’t be one. From monetary matters to those of sexual behaviour, to the idea of adhering to ‘rules’; women’s relations with men are bound up in these issues.

Another subject matter I find interesting is that of performing as a pole dancer or burlesque act. As I have performed a few times as a pole dancer and I have watched a couple of burlesque shows, I know there is a fine line between the seedy strip bars, and the more artistic performances. Moran states her ‘rule of thumb’ is as to whether gay men flock there because ‘they are up for glitter, filth and fun – rather than a factory-farm wank-trigger’ (p. 176) which makes sense but is a hardly scientific measurement. It is also about the intentions of the viewer. I have performed my pole routine in front of a large audience at a talent show, and although the judges tried to remain unfazed, there were still innuendo comments about male students’ responses. This made me uncomfortable as it was about strength and confidence, and the creativity behind the dance, rather than anything sexual or seedy. I have an idea for an event, at this stage (being in my head) called ‘Poetry and Poles’, whereby pole dancers can perform beautiful routines alongside poetry in a space other than trashy clubs and bars. In the same vein as pornography, women should be free to choose these paths, but without the derogatory and demeaning contexts.

The section on marriage is another good one. When I was at secondary school, and had no contact with the opposite text other than teachers and family, I thought marriage wasn’t for me and that I would be a “career woman”. Although my aspirations for a successful career have not changes, these things some call maternal instincts have kicked in and I have recently found myself wanting a family. Not now, but, at some point, probably from the age of 25 (although this is not something anyone ever has a choice about, obviously).

The religious reasons for marriage would not be my reasoning, but I would like a celebration of love and unity. I find the cost of weddings horrendous and I would want to keep my as cheap as possible, going for an understated but beautiful ceremony, with practical presents. I do also like the idea of a fun hen night with my girl friends, the honeymoon; the whole shebang. In terms of guests, I can’t stand massive family gatherings where I find out I have relations I didn’t know existed, or don’t remember what they look like; I’d want close friends and family only to avoid this awkwardness. After years of shaky birthday plans, I can understand the huge pressure the day would have to be ‘the best day of your life’ (p. 182) which is why it would need to be a simple and small as possible. Moran reiterates this by stating ‘the quickest and easiest way to kill the fun good-times is to put a massive pressure of expectation on it in advance’ (p.193). I also wouldn’t want to change my name. I do that thing when I’m with a guy I like, try out their surname, and it never sounds right, not that I would have the intention to do it. I would like to include it in some way, but who knows how, my name is long enough already!

Next up, fashion. Again, the fashion industry is flawed, with all the horrible size-zero malarkey. But, blame the Barbies, whatever, I do love a bit of fashion. I’m not a great follower but I think it’s easy enough to keep up to date just by shopping, as I don’t just blindly follow and like to pick and choose what I like. Starting with shoes, I tend to wear the same ones and am a massive fan of the mini-heel. The last attempt to wear this great pair of platform black heels ended up with me (amongst all of my friends) changing back to a lower heel five minutes later. People tend to associate shoes with me and buy me presents connected to them, and I have always enjoyed drawing them in art classes. I think their just beautiful objects and by owning different shoes, I can beautiful myself. Though never wearing nice heels defeats the purpose somewhat!

In terms of handbags, I am a big fan of Chanel handbags. The only problem is, I can’t afford them. Therefore, I try and get the nearest possible high street version – the best being from Marc B (at Topshop). However, I use bags to death, and like my favourite shoes, I tend to hold on to old scrappy items. As for clothes, I frequently encounter the ‘I have nothing to wear’ (p. 211) problem, despite my bulging wardrobe. I still look at clothes and want them (to the extent that it is too painful to look at clothes because I know I can’t buy any). On a more serious note, I find the idea that ‘a woman is still to blame for being raped if she dresses ‘provocatively’’ (p. 209) disgusting, and that is why I support things like the Slut Walk.

Moran states two cases for having children, and not having children. As I state previously, I used to not want children, but now I would like children when the time is right. I think it is a personal decision, and that’s why the argument about an over-populated world being a positive about abortion exists solely as a comfort for those having an abortion (i.e. not the other way around). On the topic of abortion, I am pro-choice but it is never something which I would personally do, because it is a personal matter. For myself, I know my parents could have aborted me but they didn’t, and although it was hard work, having children is never going to be easy and always involves sacrifices. There are all sorts of complex reasons for a woman having an abortion, and I have friends that have had abortions. If I think more deeply, I would consider having an abortion if there were tests for a life-shattering disability because I believe the child would not lead a pleasurable life, and I would not want to be a carer of a child with such an upsetting disability.

The points I don’t completely agree with are as follows. Firstly, there is the idea of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ abortions (p. 272). Although I agree with the basic idea of it, in that one should not be judged for their actions, regardless of the reasoning, I disagree with the ‘repeated abortions, late-term abortions, abortions after IVF’ (p. 272). In regard to repeated abortions, if an abortion becomes a regular occurrence (common amongst teenagers) then this is an education issue and that person needs to take responsibility for their actions and take precautions in future, or they are not learning from their mistakes. Late-term abortions, I can have some sympathy for, because this decision is extremely difficult, and at times you may not even know you’re pregnant until very late, but this is also very dangerous. For example, the experience Tracey Emin has described, which was through no fault of her own, sounds devastating. As for abortions after IVF, I don’t understand why anyone would do that, unless there were other factors. Secondly, I find it unusual that the grief and guilt ‘never arrives’ (p. 283) for Moran, post-abortion, as I think any human would be emotionally changed afterwards, and someone I was friends with had an unemotional reaction and it just strikes me as cold and strange, but, that said, a woman is perfectly able to be so. I can’t help but think there would be some underlying emotions that are not being dealt with, even if it was due to outside opinion.

Overall, the book does the job it intended and has friends of mine who once wouldn’t have called themselves a feminist, doing just that and it makes me so happy. If this book can do that to a mass audience then it will do a world of good. One large point that it does not tackle is the issues of the wider world, as there are countries where women face horrific injustices. But, we do have to start somewhere.

Art Attack

So, I’ve been really busy at the moment.  I’ve been craving some free time because I’ve been so inspired by a lot of art I’ve seen recently, amongst other things.  I went to the Joan Miró exhibition at the Tate Modern with my parents.  My only knowledge of the artist was from postcards from my dad’s dad, Juan Antonio Masoliver Ródenas, a well-known poet, writer and translator in Spain, whom, sadly I haven’t got to know very well as a grandfather.

I had been out the night before at my friend Gordon’s house, where we ate a Chinese takeaway and drank until about 5am.  I went home at 7am to avoid snoring and discomforted sleep, woke up still tired around midday, had brunch and went to meet my parents at the gallery.  Despite my tiredness, the exhibition exceeded my expectations and as it showing until September 11th, I recommend going along.  It made me proud of my Spanish heritage.

I loved the way he used poetry and the flowing imagination present throughout the years of his career.  There was an amazing variety, with pieces of intricate details, simple serials of lines and shapes, and burnt canvases.  The work is both personal and political, surreal and yet thoughtful, and experimental, evolving through time.

I recently watched the programme Graffiti Wars, which was incredibly interesting.  I’ve had an interest in Street Art for a long time, my Gran often buying me little books and sending me articles about it.  The documentary centred on the feud between Banksy and Robbo.  Prior to watching it, I have been a fan of Banksy, and watched a docu-film directed by him, called Exit Through The Gift Shop.

A lot of people have taken sides, with graffiti writers tagging ‘Team Robbo’ alongside their work.  Robbo claimed in a book that he was introduced to Banksy and said ‘oh yeah, I’ve heard of you’ to which Banksy replied ‘oh, well, I haven’t heard of you.’  Robbo responded by slapping him and saying ‘well, you won’t forget me now, will you?’  Since both artists keep their identity secret to protect themselves from the law, and this exchange could easily not be correct (Banksy denied ever meeting Robbo) it seems ridiculous to take sides and stupid that the whole thing escalated the way it is.

My opinion is that, Robbo was aware that retelling this story about Banksy, whether it happened or not, would raise his profile.  Maybe Banksy was wrong in defacing Robbo’s 1985 piece, but it was clearly already defaced by smaller tags and I thought it was a witty piece, which ultimately helped Robbo establish himself as a Street Artist, and not just a graff writer – of which I do believe there is a difference.  A Street Artist is intelligent and thought-provoking, creating aesthetically pleasing works.  A graffiti writer is less about the talent and ideas, and more about vandalism and ego, with the kudos of getting to hear-to-reach spots.  That’s why the police leave Street Art and clean up ugly, meaningless markings.

Throughout the documentary Robbo came across bitter and jealous.  Okay, Banksy may be a ‘sell out’ but I believe it does come down to a resentment for the success and money that Banksy has made for himself.  I want to make a career out of what I love doing, and there are many jokes about the poor poet, but by me doing an MA in Creative Entrepreneurship and wanting to make a living out of what I love doing, does that make me a ‘sell out’?  Making money is just one element of the Capitalist society we live in.  We can’t beat them, so we have to join them.  Banksy himself stated he believed his work was ‘overrated’ but if you’re offered over £100,000 for your work, are you going to turn it down?

At the end of the day, Robbo’s success was down to Banksy, and on the documentary, he admits that himself.  And Robbo does have talent, and really, the feud should just be forgotten, so other graffiti writers can be inspired to turn to Street Art and do what they love for a living.  Sadly, Robbo was said to have ended up in a coma, which was a shocking statement to end the documentary on.

I have also been to see the ‘Love is What You Want’ exhibition by Tracey Emin at the Hayward Gallery.  As you can see from the website, it compromised of her trademark blankets, along with neon signs, films, collections of memorabilia, drawings, paintings, sculptures and her writing.  As I said to my friend, Siobhan Belingy, I could have lived in it, it was so good.

I feel really inspired by all this work I’ve seen to get into my poetry and get more into art and illustration alongside my writing.  I’ve been meaning to do a painting for ages and hope to get round to it soon.  I’ve got a big sketchbook that my boyfriend Matt drew in whilst drunk and I’m going to get back into a good creative practice.  I want to create text-based stuff, but with visuals, like these artists, and those such as Jenny Holzer.  I gave a painting I did during my art foundation at Central Saint Martins to my Gran, and she told me her friend had really liked it and often asked if I’ve done any more artwork and that I must carry on doing it.  Sometimes I think of that and think maybe I should keep doing it.  I must have some morsel of talent to have been at CSM.  I think it’s just that I lack confidence with it, and I know my technical skills are not the best, and the reason I didn’t pursue it was because I didn’t see it as a practical way of making money.  But maybe, combined with my writing, working with my hands again could be something positive.

Here’s a bit of my work from my foundation year, starting with the one my Gran has.

piece for a friend
final piece, installation

xxx

Tooting is the Epicentre of the Universe

The other day I went to an event held by the poetry collective Dirty Hands, in Tooting of all places! I grew up in Tooting… well, slap bang in the middle of Tooting and Earlsfield.  I walked down my old street (Garratt Lane) for a trip down memory lane.  There was a new place called Mel’s Cafe Bar which said something about “vintage beats” and looked quite cool!

Although it was a bit strange to see Amy Acre and Keith Jarrett performing in the middle of Tooting market, it was lovely, and is a really positive thing.  Much as I love East London, as I don’t live there (who actually does?!) it can be annoying having to trek there for anything creative and unique.  Tooting is moving up in the world.  And I want this badge really bad, because it says “Tooting is the Epicentre of the Universe’ and it reminds me of my childhood home.  It’s nice to have that because my parents moved the year before I went to uni, and then I went to living in two places (i.e. my Norwich house) and I can’t complain, but it’s just not the same as your childhood home.

I was with my friend Chi-Chi, and we then went to Wimbledon because Tooting isn’t posh enough to have Waterstones or The Body Shop and I needed to buy my mum’s birthday present.  I got her the cocoa butter she loves, and they gave a discount so even got an extra thing free and the whole lot was cheaper.  I also got her some clear nail varnish and a book token.

I got the NME for the first time in aaaaaaaaages!  I haven’t bought magazines in years.  I’ve been quite excited that it came out so recently and on Tuesday there’s a playlist of a few new songs… I am so out of touch!  I flicked through and saw a bad review for Sound of Rum, which I found really upsetting.

I haven’t heard it but it’s pretty ignorant of Noel Gardner to comment about her lyrics and ‘poetry slams’ when I’m pretty sure he hasn’t got a clue.  Calling her accent ‘mockney’ is taking the piss, because that’s just her fucking accent! 

Some people don’t seem to understand that there is no such thing as just one “Londonaccent” – the beauty of the city is the different sounds you hear, the diversity of accents that creates such a range of accents that stand for the city.  It brings me back to Charlie Dupree’s poem from a couple of weeks ago that was just so fucking spot on!  It’s something that pisses me off, because I don’t fit into a rigid category of what non-London people think of as a typical London accent, I don’t know, people can’t work it out?  In Peterborough I spoke to a perfectly nice man, but it annoyed me that he said ‘you’ve lost your accent then!’ as though I had developed a Norwich accent in three years of living there!  It’s quite insulting as I have grown up in London all my life (with a brief stint in Reading, perhaps before I could talk), I’ve loved living here and am proud of where I come from. 

My accent is a product of growing up to a Northern working class mum who constantly tells me to put the T’s on the end of my words, and a middle class Londoner dad, who himself makes fun of my Gran’s loud, enthusiastic and “posh” voice.  It is a product of having grown up in South London, going to local state schools, making friends with people from a great mix of backgrounds and cultures.  It is a product of listening to the Spice Girls, and watching American imported TV (I say ‘like’ waaay too much) and having my dad play bands like Blur, Coldplay and The Beatles.  It is a product of being shy and building the confidence to project and accentuate my words.  And sometimes, it’s the product of drinking too much and getting a bit lary and slurry.  And I hate to bang on about it but it riles me up!  As I’ve stated before, a frex off mine from the “cockney” band The Ruskins makes fun of me being a ‘posh git’, yet another guy I know from the amazing band Grenouille has referred to me as ‘cockney’.  The point is – I am neither of these things… my accent is just pretty normal and not strong in either direction, so there’s no need to put me in a box!

Matt, from Grenouille also said something about a mix of strength and vulnerability.  I really liked that, cause that’s what I’m about really, and that’s why I was saying earlier about my version of feminism.  To be a feminist, you shouldn’t feel the pressure to be this perfect emblem of strength and womanhood – it’s about being yourself, whoever that may be, and finding the strength to show the world who you are, and having the support of your sisters (and feminist brothers) to grow in confidence and love for humankind.  It’s why I’m inspired by the rawness and honesty and passion of people like Brody Dalle, Courtney Love, Alanis Morissette, Kathleen Hanna… and bringing me on to my next point… Kate Nash.

I already knew most of what the NME interview told me but I thought I’d mention it.  Ironically, it was the frex I mentioned earlier that was really into Kate Nash, here’s a pic of us at her gig. 

  

I think I’m actually a bigger fan of her than him!  I loved her last album and, whilst the old one reminds me of when I went out with my friend, this second one has more positive associations for me as I can feel like it’s just for me, and I love the way she takes something negative and turns it into a message of hope… epitomized in the lyrics ‘take my life… to a higher plane’.  Anyway, I think it’s really positive what she’s doing for young girls and I wish I had someone like that when I was younger.  I’m a bit wary of writing too much about her, because I know she knows a lot of poets and if I ever bumped into her it’d be a bit cringe to come across as some major fangirl!  But, I do have a lot of respect and admiration for her.

To end this post, a sad note.  I’m listening to TV on the Radio atm.  The bassist died of cancer last Wednesday.  My dad had emailed me their new video whilst I was in Norwich so it was really shocking and I had no idea. RIP.

xxx

Love

I just wanted to share some Bob Marley quotes I came across.  Although I don’t share his religious beliefs expressed in some quotes, and I don’t smoke weed but I can see partly that ‘herb is the healing of a nation, alcohol is the destruction’ yet I know a big fan of his who did smoke and treated me really badly, and it is strongly linked to schizophrenia.  I do believe the part about alcohol though, and the drugs classifications are a load of rubbish, reflecting the perceived threat rather than the real threat.

“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.”
 
I think this is such an eloquent description of love.  Sometimes I feel like I have loved once and it’s so persistent that I will never be able to feel it for someone else, but sadly that love was not reciprocated so it is not the same as this description… and so it gives me hope that one day I will find a love exactly like that.
 
“Who are you to judge the life I live?
I know I’m not perfect
-and I don’t live to be-
but before you start pointing fingers…
make sure you hands are clean!”
 
I try not to be judgemental.  I don’t think it is always easy, especially at times when I have felt jealous and acted out of character and just basically out of order (usually alcohol fueled).  The important thing is to be aware of negative thoughts and try to have love and compassion for everyone.
 
“The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for.”
 
This is something I really connect with at the moment.
 
“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect – you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break – her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.”
 
Something I wish a few of the men in my life would have read.
“None but ourselves can free our minds.”
 
Something to remember when feeling trapped by emotions and events we can’t control.
“Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.”
 
I think that’s a beautiful sentiment and one I shall leave on.  I could stay up longer and listen to more Bob Marley but I have to wake up tomorrow and would rather not be as tired as I have been today as I haven’t been on good form at all.
  
xxx

Aisle16: Poetry Boyband

This weekend my oldest friend, Hannah, came to visit me in Norwich and I made her come with me to celebrate 10 years of Aisle16 at The York Tavern, a pub on the end of my road.  Luke Wright hosted the evening, tying up the loose ends with poems about the poetry collective.

I was familiar with most of the performers individually, but not the first two.  Joel Stickley was on first and I remember enjoying his set but looking back the poem that really sticks out in my mind is the one about fish: clever and witty – both boxes that need to be ticked to be a member of the group.  Archie Macjoyce was next and although I feel like I should like everyone who performed, I have to be honest, and I could either leave his name out, or admit I was less keen.  I think I may have preferred his act without the music background, maybe that was it.  Anyway, then there was Tim Clare who I’ve seen perform a lot recently and am quite frankly sick of him… just kidding!  He was obviously enjoyable as always.

In the break, me and Hannah began to turn into teenagers, and Aisle16 were simultaneously morphed into a poetry boyband.  We admitted over our fourth drinks that we actually both fancy Tim a bit.  And later face the dilemma of who’s hotter – Ross Sutherland or Chris Hicks?  Sure, Ross has amazing hair, but look at the arms on Chris!  If only they did posters we wouldn’t have to choose.

The feminist in me is a bit begrudged the group doesn’t have any girls in it.  Then again, maybe that’s why I turned into a starstruck teenager in their presence.  There was an a’cappella performance from a token female so that’s good enough for me. 

Chris Hicks was up next, with a voice that would be sure to seduce my Words & Music lecturer.  Oh, and his poetry was good too.  Jason Raper and John Osborne carried on a good show through to the next break. 

During this interval, Luke Wright came up to thank me for the review I did of his live show.  I was still a teenager. Well and truly starstruck.  I didn’t know where exactly he saw it as it’s not out in Concrete yet, and I post this blog in three other places than here.  Anyway, that was really nice but I was such a loser and shy despite my drinking.  Straight afterward Tim Clare said “hello Carmina” and I had no idea he knew my name so I had a double whammy of starstruckness and pretty much acted the same way.  I’m really going to have to work at being a normal human being.

Anyway, next up was Joe Dunthorne, who I met at an event I was working at for Penned in the Margins in the summer.  Again, I really liked it, but the highlight of the night was when Ross and Chris joined him for a poem together and it was AMAZING!  Proper boyband stylee haha.  Ross was last up, another favourite after constantly reading over his latest book prior to publishing whilst on my internship.  Luke then finished off the night to the sound of party poppers and me and Hannah rushed off to try to get the bus to go from one birthday party to another.  We had to wait an hour, but that’s another story.

I did notice Ross was wearing what I only assume are my lost trainers.  If they are a size 8, then they are most definitely mine.  I post the following poem as a plea: give them back!

Adidas Trainers

 

Two sizes too big,

cosy and warm,

bought in Camden

at a second-hand stall.

You walked away from me in the night

and I don’t know where to look.

you were dragged from place to place,

having to call each one home.

You have been trapped in wardrobes,

only to be taken out occasionally,

mostly on rainy days;

you did not enjoy the puddles.

So you left me.

You left me to look for something.

A truth and reality

amongst the confusion.

You went outside without me,

you went outside alone,

perhaps you’ve gone

to find your first home.

xxx

The Petty Concerns of Luke Wright – Norwich Arts Centre

Luke Wright is as close as you can get to a celebrity in the world of poetry, and when one sees him walk around, it can be easy to assume he is something of a moving statue of bravado and one-liners.  He introduces Tim Clare as warm-up act and tells the audience he fears he will be up-staged by the support.  Having seen Clare at Word of Mouth recently, he pretty much made the crowd fall in love with him; however this time he was noted as slightly less impressive so perhaps this was an attempt to place Wright on top.

After a break, Wright appeared again, heading over to a nearby laptop to fiddle with leads as his computerised introduction was soundless.  He went on to describe this show as an exploration of ‘ego, ambition and humility.’  The statue was about to show his cracks.  The show began with a familiar tale of his skinny jean days, number one of seven, kicking off the telling of his journey to success and wanting to be a ‘star.’

Mixing in comedic anecdotes with sympathetic story-telling and, of course, the poetry; he comments on MySpace fame culture with Thanx 4 the ad, the importance of Manchester mentor Mr. Blank, and his own failures and frustrations with self in Luke’s Got a Joke.  There are enough jokes to keep you laughing, yet still poignant moments of beauty and vulnerability, for example, as he tells the audience of fellow performance poet David J asking him ‘what you trying to forget?’

The evening progresses like a scrap book with photographs on the backdrop, alongside comments found Googling himself; he reveals ‘under the chipped nail varnish of my life, were the same bitten fingernails.’  In an attempt to grow-up, with a wife and baby on board, we get Mondeo Man and a recital of a section of Philip Larkin’s Dockery &Son.  Wright concludes that you can’t change who you are, but maybe you can dilute it, asking the audience to Raise a Glass with the final poem.

Perhaps the best way to judge a performance of poetry is whether, when lying in bed, about to close your eyes, you reach for the alarm-clock-cum-phone and type in lines of your own attempts at poetry.  Whether that happens, well, you’ll just have to see for yourself.

The Social Network

I saw The Social Network  with one of my frexes (a word I made up for exes who are still friends) – oh shit!  I just looked it up, and it is a word already, well that’s good then! So yeah, I got way too much pick ‘n’ mix so have enough to last me until next week’s film (Exit Through the Gift Shop).  Anyway, the film was really interesting and entertaining.  I guess it was true to real life, and captured the hilarity of depressing situations.  I was disappointed by the role of women who were just there to have sex with in toilets, snort cocaine off and tell the anti-hero of the film that he’s actually not an “asshole” (he is).  However, I can’t really see female characters playing a major role in it, especially as it’s meant to be a true story and the founder of Facebook is meant to be a “computer nerd” so an absence of women is inevitable, ha!  The whole creation of the site was shown to stem from being dumped.  Okay, so there’s some positivity about life in there; though typically success = money, here.  The bottom line was said from the beginning by ex-girlfriend Erica “You are probably going to be a very successful computer person. But you’re going to go through life thinking that girls don’t like you because you’re a nerd. And I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, that that won’t be true. It’ll be because you’re an asshole.”  By the end of the film, he is told by another minor female character that he is actually a nice guy.  Are we meant to sympathise with him?  I don’t know, but I still think he’s an “asshole”.  He screwed over his best friend.  And did it all the while making him believe he didn’t actually care about money.  Youngest billionaire.  ‘Nuff said.

After that I went to HEADcrash Cabaret at The Birdcage.  I won’t mention all the usual acts as there were a lot of UEA CWS members performing.  I enjoyed Christine York’s punk rock granny act, and she kind of reminded me of my own Gran, in the way that she referred to other older people with their slippers… something my Gran had commented on recently!  I’m actually going to be basing a short story for my Children’s Literature module on her because she’s such an inspiration.  By the by, I got a 67 on my last essay which I’m quite pleased with as I expected low 60s, and was scared after hearing the marks ranged from 55 to 75!  Anyway, I also enjoyed American poet Angela Robinson, who presented an interesting postcard poem that I really liked the idea of.  Lastly, Amy Nicholson, who is a comedian, was amazing and probably the best act of the night, and she did a poem at the end which was great! 

The evening made me think about confidence and how much difference it makes to performance and how I really wish I had more of it.  I’ve had a lot of people say stuff about how there’s so many people who are less talented and more confident.  So yeah, it doesn’t make sense but my shyness is part of me and I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of that element but I do wish I was more confident.  I am quite self-aware though, and have enough confidence in my ability to know that confidence is the main issue I need to improve on.  Though saying that, poem quality and memory also need much work!

I’ve had about 3 or 4 hours sleep and am feeling a bit hungover so this is probably not a good day to start coursework but I hope to do something productive other than buy a toaster and fruit which is all I’ve done so far.  I went on a Dance Squad and Rugby social last night.  It was Noah’s Arc themed and me and my new mate Charlotte went as pink butterflies.  She arrived first and when I got there it was just us and a load of Rugby guys.  As the alcohol flowed it got less weird but still felt like a bit of a school disco. 

We then had to get attached to a member of the opposite sex.  Charlotte got a bad vibe from one guy and as sod’s law would have it, I got attached to him!  To be honest, I was wanting to be attached to someone more attractive, so I was gutted for that reason.  Then Charlotte told him I needed to change my tampon.  I cannot imagine someone getting out of duck tape faster!  It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic that a guy could be scared of periods.  It became apparent that a lot of the rugby guys have menophobia, as the rumour circulated.  Funnily enough I had just come off my period.  I got a new partner and that’s how I knew that people were talking about me, and obviously, it was embarrassing… nobody wants to be known as ‘period girl’.  I’ll put it down to the fact this boy was 3 years younger than me that he bothered to ask if it were true, and when I told him I was on it the day before he said to someone ‘she’s on the blob.’ Nice.  Found out via Facebook (haha) that he has a girlfriend, so my logic that the guys cared about the period issue because of the possibility of getting laid is most likely wrong. It really is pathetic that these guys reacted like this to something that’s just a natural part of women. I mean, grow up!  The chants they were doing on the bus to town were pretty damn offensive to women, but Kat, one of our committee members made some really funny comments whilst making a point about their sexism.  It made me feel more lighthearted about the situation and off I went with my partner to the back seat of the bus… my first time piling on the backseat to the tune of “there was one on the backseat of the bus…” etc.

Anyway, this night has no relevance to anything but I feel like writing about it.  I’m meant to be keeping a record of what I drink but it kind of went out the window, and it’s kind of making me want to lie, which is bad.  So, I spent the night dancing, mainly with Charlotte.  We got laughed at for be refused champers from this guy because he didn’t know us by a group of black girls.  Their race only being relevent in this case because we both were pretty much made to feel like stupid white girls who can’t dance.  So, it felt a bit weird dancing next to them but I just tried not to care, I pretty much feel stupid dancing anyway but I enjoy it.  Even when Charlotte left, I went downstairs and then back up and danced on my own.  I got some funny looks, some guys flicking my antenna and a lot of pervy guys thinking they have the right to just touch me.  I guess because it is kind of weird dancing on your own, they probably thought I was too drunk to care.  Wrong.  It felt pretty liberating dancing on my own.  I was aware it would be funny to the outsider but it’s good to feel free.  Though, to quote Rousseau, everywhere we are in chains.

# One day we’ll float, take life as it comes #