A blog on burlesque inspired by boobs.

I was reading the editor's letter of the most recent issue of Love magazine, a glossy UK publication put together by Katie Grand (isn't that a wonderful name?). It was about, well, tits. But also, so much more. And I noted a marvellous relatability to burlesque. I guess because both are a little mad about tits. So. I have taken and edited from the editor's letter of Love magazine and formed a collage of the words into the context of burlesque. Or, what I think of burlesque....;

"...we had all been thinking about tits. A lot. I wasn't the only one with boobs on the brain. A more voluptuous woman. A new feminine sillhouette, a full blooming figure. They are their own ready-made masterpieces rather than blank canvases, so to speak. The thing that unites all of these women is that they each carry a unique sense of themselves. All of them are pin-ups, but not because of their looks alone; they know who they are, and they're not afraid to use their beauty (and their boobs) to express it. "More tits! More cleavage! More bust!". It's all about big (sic) boobs as a celebration of femininity. It's about feminine power as a whole, about women knowing what they've got and loving it, not being afraid to flaunt it...the power a woman can, and should, elicit using the things that only a woman can use. Tits here are a triumphant celebration of the differences that make women powerful."

I can smell rain...

But it smells like spring rain so it's ok.
I'd like some this come summer...

Anemone

"Hold your breath and see the anemone, down by the high-tide pilings in the wharf, a flowerlike, ghostlike, windlike creature, anemos, jelly buttercup whirly and whorling. It behaves like flora in its fauna limbs it floats like helium in its water world. Dulse and ribbonweeds sway with its sea leaps, mussels and whelks sit beside it when it rests. It has few enemies, the anemone; and melts when touched.
The oceans support so many ghosts, many flowers and many winds, but none is more vegetable than this air, none more dancing than this music, the music of the origami umbrella's name, anemone of the ways, translucent breeze.
Anemone, anemone.
Breathe."
- Bradford Morrow, from a book worth $6000.

For poppit

....who I think posted something along the way about men in bear suits.





c/o Chanel.

Gidget

Roseanne

Jackie: He doent even know the real meee.
Roseanne: Well maybe thats because youve been acting like gidget on an aphrodisiac for three weeks.

"Oh that's so arty..."

"Uh..."
I was reading this magazine yesterday when I ran into someone I went to school with. That was her reaction.
You would know, if you had ever have had this said to you that it usually is said by someone who doesn't deem themselves to be "arty" and it's pretty laden with passive aggressive bullshit. The subtext is - "Look at you trying to be so arty and alternative by reading a magazine that I haven't ever seen and is therefore labelling itself as arty and alternative. You know you aren't unique right? At least I know who I am and am comfortable in following what I suppose you would deem as "mainstream" but really with the more people like you that exist the more alternative and unique I actually become... which makes me better than you."
I don't get it. I don't go around telling you that what you're reading is "so mainstream". I don't care what you're reading or how big its readership is. I know I'm not unique in my interests because if I was such a magazine wouldn't exist and I would probably just sit at home writing notes on pieces of scrap paper and read them back to myself and think of how arty and alternative I am by creating a "publication" with a readership of one - ME. Because I'm THAT much of an elitist.

Anyways this this is a really good magazine. First one in a long time I have read from cover to cover. I swear I'm not just saying that because of my love/obsession for Alison Mosshart or because I'm SO arty.

My gut feeling stumbled across the truth.

You wish you had a dollar for everytime he hollared that he's leavin.

"But the only place a man can breathe
And collect his thoughts..."

We were drunk. We knew it was wrong, but it felt good.

"Things got out of control, and it ended up as a mental bingo party."
And so in that church basement The Underground Rebel Bingo Club was born and has since blossomed into the following.




Note to snap happy english punter - "No cameras or photography of any kind are permitted at the nights. Some elements of Rebel Bingo are too hardcore for random pictures to be posted on the internet - we don't want to get busted. Cameras will be confiscated, then frozen, then buried." Apparently rules are made to be broken... by the rule makers... who wash it all down with a mug of hot steaming order. They are stickin' it to themselves, Man.
Anyways I think this is pretty cool.

Hanging by a thread

Stunning images from the Human Nature photography series by Debbie Carlos.
"The murky quality of the lighting and the dark desaturated tones of the exhibits, convey a sensuality and romanticism at odds with the sense of stagnant death that lingers in the cracked skin of 100-year-old taxidermied animals and birds strung up as though in flight with fishing line. Inside the museum, nature is labeled, classified, and static, turned into an object of knowledge. These photos attempt to capture the mystery and romance of this very pursuit—the sincerity of the scientific endeavor, the pathos of its visible failure, and the beauty of the attempt to engage with nature."

Why do you want to know me so bad.

How do you read me

Is it over breakfast and emails

Is it nude, when you first wake up and take to the office

Is it on the lounge-room floor that you nap on

Is it on your bed before you fall asleep

Is it sneakily, while there is someone else in your kitchen.

Is it once a week, all in one go, out of general curiosity

Is it religiously.

Naked & Alone

"What did you want from me."

Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
He crosses himself
And then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice
He asks you how it feels
And he says, "Here is your throat back
Thanks for the loan"







"I dont know"

And you know something is happening
But you don't know what it is.

fantasy bowie

the party
the man
the dress

Revolution 9

"This is the often repeated assertion that today's youth is a new breed, a mutant generation such as never before existed. The remark seems to be based on ignorance of the phasic nature of human development. Youth is, and always has been, a period of restlessness, exploration and rebelliousness. These qualities are necessary and desirable, for they help keep the culture from stagnating." - S. Cohen 1965

Anoushka

Our friend Anoushka is really cool. And has orange hair.
She makes amazing garments and never wastes a scrap.
Sometimes, we live parallel inspirations, and so she makes me things.
We even work together on artistic projects.
We are collaborators. And sometimes I boss her around. But when she's finished uni and/or really famous I'm going to let her boss me around HEAPS and do everything she says.
So this is a blog to show her how much she inspires me, and how much I love her and am thankful for her artistic value and personality. She is the bright spark.

These are things she inspired me with this week:






And these are some presents for her:


Read me:


Look at me:


Watch me (the ending is breathtaking):

"It's ok with me"

"You don't even know who I am"

The honeypies. For a chick who gets paid to cover herself in honey, this band is a dream.

Jon Marco's impersonation of Bowie killed me.

Went in for a postcard

Today a friend and I stumbled upon several kangaroo balls lighters and bottle openers.
As in the animal.
As in the balls of the animal with a lighter head or a bottle opener where the animals penis would be.
We touched them (fondled if you will) and the bottle opener paws beside them. In doing so we established the fact that THEY WERE REAL. HAHAHAHAHA.
Thanks miscellaneous Bondi souvenir store for completely bewildering me.

Like Disney for Grown Ups

i tried to quit smoking

but then i saw this

Middle ground

Just another word for marsh.

My Heart's Desire

a picnic on a hotel floor with poppit. midnight. champagne. all night. clean.
morning breakfast somewhere away. baguettes and cheese. coffee. bagels. walking. somewhere warm.
a holiday. no worries. no ambition. just for a week.
sleeping in the rain. a lover's arms. no cares. even in the middle of winter. even somewhere scary. with threadbare carpet. or somewhere comfy. under my doona. depends on the lover.

No kissing on the mouth

Justify just enough being just not good enough.

Kiki Smith & Paul McCartney

"You see, you're asking questions which are quite serious... and you're not asking us, uhh you know, where we get our hair cut. You can't expect all these sort of happy answers when you're asking serious questions." - McCartney

Completely unrelated but two things I'm loving.
Look & Listen.

Here she comes now