All my father’s are dead or in fantasies as I seach for the absent father in adoption literature

Tags

absent fathers, adoption, Cinderella, fairy tales, Fantasy, Father John Misty, Fiction, Heaven, Maggie Nelson, magical thinking, Silvia Federici, Snow White, Sylvia Plath, V.C. Andrews, witches

I want to thank my lovers
for introducing me to fantasy husbands

These are true stories
Not fairy tales
Cinderella Or Snow White
I didn’t drink a magic potion
But I sing to birds, talk to ravens and crows, and I swear
A fox Said, “Help me.”
When I saw the rein of the crow’s full power

Were they there to replace the absent father?

I need to find a way
To say their names without saying them
I give away too much
in my writing
And yet
I’m fiercely private
I swear

Ask Maggie Nelson
She writes autotheory
join the party if you want
Her writing gives an invitation
And when I listened to the Red Parts
On the day I packed for our trip,
I said, “I love you.”
And I meant it

What a pleasant surprise
I projected my all onto you
But not nearly as much as I projected onto my long-lost mothers
And the guilt I felt
For not seeing
There is work in love
And care
in raising children
And not getting to play

DAD! Mom should’ve got to play like we played
now I am angry for a lack of play
white guys with long hair are saying they’re shamans
That can fix my woes
And predators want you to call them Daddy

You heard it here first
But someone very special told Meso first
Before I was ready to hear it

To my first love
You know men write songs about all the girls they loved before
Well, here’s mine

You are the one
The one who showed me ghost gods,
And dream spaces
Come to life

Jim Morrison entered my dream space
Pushed me against the wall
In a black-and-white dream

And kissed me.
There’s truth in fairy tales.

This is all your fault.

You gave Me the most intellectual introduction
And when I tried to introduce my new lover to the ghost god
He cringed
But he’s known to come unhinged
When he loses his clothing at festivals, we are too cool for
Even MDMA cant save us from acid-trip monkey highs
I don’t like my skin crawling, either
I haven’t climbed a tree to find myself yet
I remember my legs being compared to tree trunks
When I was just a little girl
And being fucked by that white trash hillbilly
In the woods
Who raped by stealthing
Before there was a word
There’s a place in hell for monsters like you
Meet me in the hospital room
Hear the sound
Of screaming
“I hate doctors!”
As I heard
Felt
Smelled everything
And they burned the witches, they say

But WE had beautiful sex.
So good, so good
After a night of no sleep

Insert here (another Father John Misty lyric)

The breeze came in
After we hallucinated in a hot tent
This must be where Papa Misty wrote some of those songs on Fear Fun

I’m not the only one.
To search for the father
Or have a thing for Daddies
Some scholars made him Infamous
You made him famous
If even in my dreams
Come to life
Right in the backyard where I walked the dogs

Kitten the PhD and a bag of speed

Who is this man standing before me?
With a blue satiny shirt
Dress trousers
Getting on his knees
Like some blessed saviour,
I’ve been touched by gods before
I’m learning the tropes
But magic is real

They sing dance songs.
We tell true stories
Taxi Taxi give me a ride

Vodka and orange
In a glass
With ice cubes
On a date

Was it our first date?
It was my first date.
Thank you for treating me like a gentleman
To teach me what it’s like
To be a gentle man

To this day, I still LOVE date night
Yes, there’s a song about this too
I didn’t write it
But I love you
It was written for all of you
That is cliche
But there is truth in tropes

I do know you.
I met you.
In university
Remember?

After we kissed at the bar
I tasted salty, you said
You looked at me and said
“I bet you are spoiled.”
I thought,
I am not
But boy, do I LIKE this guy
I think he knows me
He sees the real me, too

Am I not supposed to say any of this
Am I?

Fuck your friend for liking Zepplin.
I was right all along.
He deserved to get bitten for arguing with me
I know sexism when we didn’t no rape culture
I lived it
Did you know?
I tried to tell you.

You wore glasses
And read in front of the class
A girl objectified you
As you read
I wanted to rip her face off
For disrespecting you
I am no groupie

Hey, hard drive, Daddies should wear glasses that match their prescription.

Roses in a heart on the bed
Lingerie inside
From where we led
Making love
With your clothes on
And your mom walks in
Your dark cave of a bedroom

Your letters

I will never forget you.
I will always love you for loving me so gently
I will never forget

Angels exist
In darkness
I was possessive and jealous, too
I will do my best to find humility
The next time I write
About a fantasy husband.
So please don’t die.

I have a scholar cave now.
It’s where Foucault meets me at night.

And my pants are off under the sheets
You welcomed me as if I were your own

ten years to get past the goodbye
To even say goodbye
Was this, all along, about my father?
I saw you in his eyes
Or was it the other way around?
Didn’t you say you visited his grave?

You like psychedelics
You never should have had shame
Thank you for loving me so gently
When I was a vicious kitten
Wild
Untamed
I can’t be contained
Not sure I want to be

made out with some disgusting rock guy wanna be
you did something to my safe room
Never do bad to my safe rooms
The cat of rage will wreak havoc
Morgan will unleash you

Nobody likes rock n roll.
And no one played it like Lemmy
This is for you, too, Joey Hatred

And for the musician, too
I loved music Tuesday
Writing songs
In the red room

Witches spoke to me through the pipes
Remember?

‘I’m in over my head’

You’ve got Daddy Issues.
We all do
It will take me some time to get to you.

you know me well.
And magical thinking brought you a magical little girl
For a magical man
I always knew you’d be the best father
That’s why my heart was ripped out of my chest before we said goodbye
Remember?

A monster came through the bedroom window to rip my heart out of my chest
And eat it in front of me
I clutched my chest

Even when I saw my ghost godfathers,
In new fantasy, husbands
Who never replaced the face I will never forget
There is truth in fairy tales
I will never forget
If even I try to make him real

And if it’s meant to be
He will fall on top of me
And below me
Worshipping the witches, they tried to burn
We live in the magic they tried to destroy
Only those who know witches know us
Silvia Federici, I love you
When I meet you
I want to give you a hug
I’m still kinda afraid of Butler
I know someone who met them!

There are good and bad ones.
Even my therapist knows this.
He asked me who I was On Halloween.

“I am a good witch today.”

he and my HIIT teacher are rooting for me
In the fantasy space
where
Writers and fantasy husbands meet

“Are you ready to go back to the real world?”

“No, I am not.”

Is this something you say to all your patients?

I have a strong fantasy part, he says
And my academic part is strong, too

I got no sleep tonight.
Because I was awake while dreaming
Something that only happens once in a while
When I’m writing an album
A memoir
Or a paper

A dissertation proposal?

Can someone please tell me what the fuck I am doing?

Sorry, Mom, I’m cursing.
But you said my name.
I will keep going.

And no
None of my mentors replaced the absent father.

Not even the least famous one
when we missed a goodbye
The fires flamed from a reading
Met us in reality
And in my dream space
And I met my dad there
And my brother, too

A novel was written for Chloe, and an album, too.

Josh Tillman, this one’s for you.
Dave Mustaine
For you, too
You have similar backstories, and I’d like to write more about you

Bob Bickford, Caves in the Rain, and Little Rosie Girl, too
What have I got to lose?

Professor Hardy
I seek the object of desire
I am growing tired of being an object
And more hungry
To object ify ideas

I am HUNGRY
Dakota Johnson, YES
Maggie Gyllenhaal
Sarah Polley
Tell the stories
I LOVE your stories

I can’t lie to you.
Professors are knowledge keepers.
And I love and hate them
But not as much as disillusionment
When learning is no longer an ethic
And the university sheds its neoliberal skin
To reveal late-stage capitalism
And the NEED for magic and connection

No more old white men
like my academic part chanting about Chaucer
Insert eye rolls here
But he has a place, doesn’t he?
Just not in this place
My blog space

reunion life writing and memoirs are my bag
So are books
I don’t care if it’s cliche
I’ll take on academic tones
if I don’t find a connection
If I can’t sing your songs and write my own
I’m not sure there’s a life worth living for
Because trauma requires reconnection
It’s why I sing
And cry when I sing a song I need to sing

I Believe in You
I Believe in You, Too
Magical thinking before we knew
Or maybe you knew?

Hello to my cousin
For teaching me about the golden child
And telling me subversive stories

I had a visceral reaction to Britney Spears’ memoir
Her abortion in the bathroom
I told all of this to get to the father
Except for the part about me singing
despising the little hell, I learned of the music industry
Show me your dicks, assholes
Fuck you, Motley’s through
I could not wear red latex that night
And I cried
Distracted myself with thoughts of the father
His emotional support lived in giving medicine, too.

Who is a Foucaultian
Whose work made me angry
“We are not ready for this,” I said
And I told him so when I met her
Now, my thinking has changed
Or not changed at all
And here I go
Entrapping myself

Identity is a trap.
It’s why I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my hair
And I don’t want to go there
Not today
I want to feel
But I’m scared like hell when I do.

I am not a poet. I Just Like Writing Poetry.

Tags

adoption, Fantasy, identity, imagination, Internal Family Systems, Parts Work, story

Internal Family Systems Parts Work with Deanna, Morgan, Control, and Little Dee.

Identity is a myriad of forces that shape you,
it is not one “real” thing
you can attempt to find, to better understand the self.

God, what a long, boring sentence. I should stop thinking about it, but I can’t. I’m not even sure it makes sense.

Control scribbles in his notebook, blowing a long-displaced hair out of eye. Morgan thinks he needs a haircut, though loves the shade of white. Morgan shifts into form, joining our scene.

I think she’s going to take the notebook from Control. Uh-oh.

“Morgan, academic work is important too.”

“I know Dee, I’m excited to get to the good parts though.”

You’re lucky she shared that with you, she rarely shares with anyone, unless in protection of me, or in love or hate with you.

Which one shall it be? If you’re reading this, you’re most likely a friend. If not, pick a side. Make the right decision, but let go when you do. Be sure to be true to you, whoever and wherever you are.

Control steps up to the podium. Book in hand. Hair dishevelled. Glasses small. Maybe too small for his face. Shall we fix this?

Slight cough to clear throat. Opens book.

Why is my academic part an old man?

I think we found a kitten!! She will play with Control, sitting on the podium, but not on his notebook. Good girl. Everyone loves Kitten, but seldom of you will meet her.

An octopus arrives, certainly uninvited. How did he slip into here? Morgan lassos him out of the scene, deep into and far by water.

How does
adoption
construct the
family
through division?

“What a paradox.”

“Great insight, Morgan.”

Love is loss, defined in the pain we know, losing what we thought was ours.
She was mine. She was mine. She was mine. I was hers.

You’re so right, Little Dee. You belonged to her. She belonged to you.

“Well, at least you’re not writing about the father again. Fuck the father. I mean the patriarchy. Isn’t that what you call it in school?”

I didn’t say that, Morgan did, and she doesn’t like you, anyway. She certainly doesn’t like the ideas you have about fathers. You all have Daddy issues.

“DEEEEEEEAAAAAAAANNNNNNAAAAA!”

She said it! See; she is still saying it.

I’m still making you proud, Mom, doing my best to live my best life so you will say my name as you did, as you always will.

I still wear ridiculous clothing and a lack thereof too. I’m excited for the summer. Dancing with raver Sean and getting high on the beach. I hope there’s swimming and floaties too.

We will meet you there, with all the parts, at the lake. It’s ours now. Little Dee is surrounded by safety, protection and love, and boy does she have fun.

We will set up a chair there where you can lounge in the shade. You will love it, Mom, as we love you.

Sorry to interrupt this fantastically real parts story…

Why do adoptees struggle with fantasy?
Is it because we have no clear lines drawn in the sand?
No location found in the water.

Just keep swimming.

I love the water, don’t you?
I love you. I will love you forever.

I am the monster.

I awoke when you fell asleep, thinking me stupid and kind. You wanted to uncover and use me, but I can’t be found. Foolish little girl. To believe In coming through connivance. You can’t sell a story to a stranger, or a person that prints the gossip rag.

I hold the keys to the unknown.
We write and tell all the stories.

Cast aside your stone. It has no power here.

I grew tired of the display that hides who can never be;
Someone you, yourself, could love.
You can’t fool me. I am multiple and missing.

I never wanted to belong. I feel bad for those who think they fit in. What pressure it takes to shrink the self through other people’s ideas of who you are or what you should be.

Do you really think I care about family?

After saying goodbye. We sorted through the past. The garbage too. Lots of bags were thrown out. No more baggage.

Three Ravens met us, there, on the roof, at Value Village, in Sydney. Of all my days there, I never met a Raven.

What you assume is fantasy, I assure is true.

They followed us to the liquor store and back again, to the roof where we first met. I was so excited for the meet-up and conversation too. I had never spoken to Ravens like this before, not while in their actual raven state. They make the most beautiful sounds!

Weren’t you excited, Little Dee? What a gift! I hope you found and kept some treasure.

They came to be with you.
We are always there for you.
Always with you in our love.

Love is in the in-between.

Caw!

Signed in part by the Crow of Sadness, Striver, Distraction, Cat of Rage, Pain and Fear. Though we don’t fear, fear, we do our best to sift through it in love. Sometimes we fail, but we try again. That’s where you will find us. We hope you try too. We will meet you there.

Tell us a bedtime story composed of all your parts. That way we can dream without falling asleep.

On our way. In between.

As long as everyone is well.

Goldie says hi. He doesn’t care if you think it’s rude and dumb to pick fights with Canadian Geese. What do you know about geese or ducks 🦆 anyway? About as much as us, and that’s not a heck of a lot.

Goldie, the dog from Vaughn

Tags

adventure, dogs, rescue dogs

This gallery contains 7 photos.

Here’s a tidbit you might not know about Goldie.

He found his way into a pound and our hearts, after wandering the streets of Vaughn.

Continue reading →

The Meaning of Family

Tags

family, identity, Loss, love

I’ve been posting lots about my Mom lately, not surprisingly so. She suffered a severe stroke/brain bleed on February 14, 2020. Mom was air lifted by helicopter from Sydney, N.S. to Halifax for medical care. I flew from Toronto to Halifax with my partner to be with Mom and my family. Things did not go as we hoped. We were all with Mom when she died on February 19, 2020. My instagram, facebook, and twitter has been flooded with words from me, for her.

I’m also singing again. I need to express unintelligible feelings, love, and loss. I want to express my love and loss for my Mom. Writing and singing has always been my means of expression. Mom knows this.

Mom’s memorial picture.

I’m writing now to express my deepest gratitude to Roy for being the best father/father figure/friend to me, and husband to my Mom, Cecilia.

My birthday was just a few days ago. Roy called me and I didn’t have the courage to answer the phone. I wasn’t sure I could talk without crying, that the words wouldn’t come out and I would make him sad. I don’t want him to be sad. I wanted and want to be strong for him, not like the child, Little Dee, that missed her mother and felt so terrible when Mom lost her first husband.

Mom called me every year on my birthday. I’d answer the phone, she’d break into song, singing every word of “Happy Birthday”. I dreaded this day, this year, because I knew she could not do this and I wouldn’t hear it.

• 

Dad when he was sick. My sister Boo in the shot. I think that’s a cabbage patch kid.

You see, when Dad died, I needed to be strong for Mom. My father died when I was 11. Seeing my Mom sad was too much to bear. I could not add to that grief so I remained “strong”. Perhaps the blessing here is Roy’s resilience and unwavering capacity to be such a remarkable father to me.

*Now to my adolesence* My high school graduation held anxiety for me. Dad would not be there. He was my everything. He welcomed me into his masculine adult world; helping him in his auto body shop, going on adventures to the dump and liquor store.

I worried I would cry during the “father daughter” dance. I fought to have the name of the dance changed. Some of us graduating didn’t have “fathers” to dance with.  

Roy was my dance partner that night. No tears were shed. Roy had me laughing the whole time. He’s always been there for me, for all of us, and he is one of the most dedicated, kind, grounded people I know.

Roy

In my 20s, while living in Toronto, I sent Roy a Father’s Day card. I felt a strange hesitance mixed with love because the card said “Dad” on it. I struggled with the word “Dad” but wanted to let Roy know he was a “Dad” to me.

I had a nightmare after I mailed the card. My Dad, Danny, that died, joined me in dream, and he was upset with me. Afterwards, I felt this unexplainable guilt. Was I an ungrateful daughter to call Roy “Dad”? Was Dad-Danny actually upset with me? I love Roy but wasn’t sure how to navigate father’s day. I haven’t been good at navigating anything ‘normative’ in regards to family, but this felt significant.

Looking back, with what I know now, and my interest in family (multiple and shifting, created and non normative) I assume my guilt, fear, and confusion was my struggle to understand “family”. I feel differently now.

Both Roy and Dad are my fathers. I am adopted, so there is another “father”; he is unknown to me. That part, that biological mystery/curse/fantasy is not so important anymore. I will still research, to uncover, as best I can, why biological fathers were absent from that closed adoption period. Mostly, I love the idea of having multiple fathers, mothers, and family members. My existence subverts societal constructions of the heteronormative-nuclear, biological-essentialist-“family” and all the roles that comply with that.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Daniel (my brother, also adopted), me, and Sean (Roy’s son, my brother, also adopted).
Daniel and me.
Me and Daniel (though adopted we look so much alike!)
My sister, Jennifer, me and Michelle (aka Belle Belle-Roy’s daughter, also adopted)
My girl Whiskey, our family dog, and my sister Arleen (aka Boo)

Roy, though, my heart, it just breaks thinking of him losing his first wife, Valerie. You couldn’t meet a more sensitive, giving, wearing her heart on her sleeve person. Valerie and I would watch all the sad shows together. Mom and Roy would come into the TV room laughing at us balling our eyes out to Highway to Heaven. Valerie was also a mother to me and because I am adopted, I have a biological mother, who is also a part of me. Her, and her family are also my family too, and in different ways than the “norm”.

• 

• 

Valerie and Roy

There hasn’t been much “normal” about me. Mom reiterated my ways back to me often, with her narrative of laughter and love, “DEEEAAAAANNNAA, sometimes, I wonder about you.”

I miss that the most. Not hearing her say my name like that. Whenever she did that, and it was often, because I told her most things, I knew I was living my best life.

Me, Mom, and Roy. I sang songs for her that night. I’m so glad I did. and Look at us snuggling. When I saw her on that hospital bed with too many tubes attached to her, I wanted to snuggle her, feed her squares, and sing her songs. I fantasized getting into that hospital bed with her. When my nephew Nick found this picture and handed it to me, it was a gift I needed.

Family is more than biological connection and/or a formal or informal adoption. Family is what we make of it; the people that care and are there no matter what. That’s Roy. These are the people that welcomed me into their worlds, and families too. I cherish these connections.

I haven’t been my strong self lately. Not like I was (or thought I was) when my Dad died, and I needed to be strong for Mom. The hardest thing for me then was seeing Mom so devastated when her husband died. She went on though, she kept on, with difficulty, and I know I get much of my resilience from her, from Roy, from much of my family.

Mom and Dad

• 

Roy’s brother Leonard, Roy, Mom, and me at their wedding.

The Need for Self with Other, The Conflict in Meaning

Tags

Butler, Connection, D/s relations, Existentialism, Fantasy, Loss, love, Psychoanalysis, Queer Theory, Reality, Reflexivity, Spirituality, writing

I’ve been feeling something with me these last few nights. I’m not sure what it is exactly. But something is happening with an awakening affect.

Last night I woke and felt an energy I knew shouldn’t be there. I started erasing the sticky paper holding reminder of my conflicted love. I smudged my room. I went back to sleep.

I woke this morning gently holding my father’s ring in my hand. It is kept on a chain around my neck. I don’t always wear it, but I do these days especially because I am aware some of my hurt with men relates to the loss of my father. It is explicitly and implicitly connected with the loss of Him.

This lost relationship aligned with the love and loss of my father and I was and am explicitly aware of this. He was too. It was part of our energies, connection, and love.

Something is slowly awakening inside me reminding me of my own transcendence.

The energy outside me, or maybe it’s inside me, may be manifesting outside too. It feels like a connecting with my psychic, intuitive side. I’m welcoming it back in.

Back to the real ‘ish’ world: I’ve only known this type of love one other time in my life. It took approximately 10 years to get over it. This healing won’t take as long, I know this, but I think a part of Him will always remain with me. And that hurts because I’m not sure intentions or energies were all good. And maybe that’s ok. I don’t know. And maybe our pain makes us act out in such ways that we consciously or unconsciously inflict pain on the other, our closest love, to push them away in the way that will hurt them the most. We do this because we are scared. Losing yourself to the other is scary and it’s aligned with my thinking, reading, and writing these days.

You may find yourself in the other, but you will also lose yourself in the other, so that wholeness will never be contained. I’ve been aware of this and have stepped back because of it which created more conflict. Because the love began larger than life, all-encompassing, and stepping back couldn’t contain it or maintain it either.

You and/or the other consumes the other, defines the meaning attached, the meaning is lost, (in transcendence there is no meaning), and the self destructs, again. There is always a rebuilding of self.

This is also helping me think about writing I am working on in relation to the impossible act of writing the self into being. The self needs recognition from the other to be, and yet, in that recognition meaning making changes. The self is not defined by the self in the imaginary/transcendent space, but by the other and in relation to the other in the social realm.

I’ve shared space with self in between sleep and awake often, but it hasn’t happened in a while and it’s interesting it’s happening now. Especially because that connection with Him was so strong, was a part of me, like Frog, my best friend in dog form.

A part of Him came up in therapy visual a few times. Most recently though, my Cat of Rage consumed that part of Him for my protection, and we are happy for that. Also, another part of me has that Cat of Rage on a leash and we are happy for that too.

And because this love connected with all the parts of me that I’ve become aware of, it also aligned on intellectual, emotional, and spiritual plains. It aligned with all my known senses too; so, touch, sound, taste, smell, and sight. And I know I can’t figure everything out in life and sometimes that wonder is what keeps curiosity alive. Maybe it’s what keeps me alive.

I’m not sure if negative energy or intentions are part of my needed discovery or pain. Or if humans are all flawed. I’m sure we all are. I’d like to place blame, but I can’t, though a part of me, in protection, wants to. It makes you wonder though if negative energy from a strong connection is a reminder of the need for self-protection, but love requires letting go too. So, it’s certainly a contradiction without any stabilizing affect.

Unexplained nighttime awakening is helping me hone in on my psychic self much more. Because He brought that out in me and I know we brought it out in each other. When we were aligned it was transcendence.

I’m grateful for awakening and for my unconscious finding new and creative ways to reach me. It’s got to be good to reach me. Either way, I’m listening, having more frequent moments of quiet, and it’s good. Slowly but surely.

I haven’t blogged in years either, so there ya go.

Toronto’s Trove open’s for metal legends, Anvil!

Tags

Anvil, Lips, Music, Rockpile West, Toronto, Trove

Trove and Anvil at Toronto’s Rockpile West, October 18, 2013

Trove is a Toronto based rock n’ roll band formed through friends that worked at HMV. Matt “Chewy” Chaitram, and Matt Bellissimo were practicing lead singer Aryn Powell’s original material when bass player and only female member, Alexa Pavao got word of the collaboration. Once a guitar player and drummer, Alexa wanted in on the action. She bought a Yamaha RBX, and explained her mission this way: “it was a relatively shitty instrument; I started playing, sounded pretty bad, but kept practicing.” Alexa has played in other bands and projects, but mentioned she always wanted to play with musicians who were established and “capable”.

Trove is beyond capable. Lead singer and guitar player Aryn reminds me of a young Jeff Martin from Canada’s own, The Tea Party. Aryn’s voice is not the deep, channeling darkness that is Mr. Martin’s, but comparably reflective and now. With intuitive and introspective lyrics, and spontaneous utters of heavy screams, there is something being channeled here. It was felt within the crowd who attempted moshing for a short time, getting into the primal urge of the heaviness that is metal.

Anvil truly delivered and Lips was, as I thought, larger than life. I met him prior to the show and he was all smiles, somewhat shy, and truly happy to be there. He is one of those people who radiate a feeling of being blessed. The energy was contagious; I was beaming too, and giggling, as only the best metal can bring out in me! Hearing “6…6…6” being sung repetitively made me laugh. Like a heavy metal cartoon, Lips exudes joy. He made me think of Slayer’s Tom Araya, who screams of Satan, while grinning ear to ear.

Anvil is the corner stone of the Canadian heavy metal scene. The big bands of today that rose from metal’s past all recognize Anvil’s contributions. Finally they are getting the recognition they deserve. A fan from Tokyo proved his devotion too. He found out Anvil was not playing the “Loud Park” festival, as mentioned in the Anvil documentary, and traveled to Toronto to see them play. That is dedication. Long live metal and the Canadian music scene!

Dee, Lips, and Joel

Bi Notes for a Bisexual Revolution, Review

Tags

biphobia, bisexuality, LGBTQ, monosexism, Oppression, Shiri Eisner

The B in LGBT is seldom theorized in the context of oppression and invisibility whether through Lesbian and Gay circles or in relation to heteronormative culture. Bisexuality is named by those that are not bisexual, but barely voiced, written, or expressed by bisexuals themselves, until now.

Bisexuality is promiscuous, deceptive, and a phase. What happens when an activist, author, and genderqueer, bisexual feminist deconstructs the myths and stereotypes, reversing them from sites of shame and secrecy into revolutionary freedom?

Shiri Eisner’s “Bi Notes for a Bisexual Revolution” is a must read for sexuality and gender studies, but also compelling and ground breaking for anyone who knows minimal on the subject. The text is reader friendly with side notes breaking down words commonly used in theory. Eisner also gives trigger warnings when discussing anything that could be difficult or problematic for readers.

This book is for those that do not fit the binary of gay or straight with desire for only “male” or “female”. It is for those of us that see love, sexuality, desire, gender, and sex as fluid, ever changing, ever evolving, and always questioning. Shiri Eisner takes the myths and stereotypes of bisexuality and turns them into sites of revolution and empowerment. Add this to your gender and sexuality reads. It is well worth it.

Reading this book proved very valuable for me. I had a difficult time coming out and was afraid to identify as bisexual due to the stigma I was receiving. Eventually, with lots of support from loved ones, inner self work and love, and this book, I see my identity as revolutionary and positive. I, too, take the stereotypes and reverse them as empowering. My blog “Coming Out Queer” addresses some of my own personal feelings regarding my identity and so I will add it here. I am grateful Shiri has dug so deep into biphobia and monosexism (terms I never knew existed). Having vocabulary to explain experiences brings much more awareness and knowledge.

Coming Out Queer

Summer Reading: Book Review of Ellen Harger’s, “Strong Enough”

Tags

Ellen Harger, feminism, Music, Strong Enough

Ellen Harger’s novel, “Strong Enough” unravels the lives of women with music and feminism. It is a story of new beginnings, making choices, and the people we love and loathe along the way.

Female characters drive this fun, unique story. Right from the meet up of protagonist Whitney and fellow musician Gabe, it is impossible to not root for this heroine fire cracker. Along the way, Whitney shares past heartbreaks and successes that squash normalized, small town traditions. Past secrets reveal her courage and non-conformity, yet plot twists still surprise. Take character Sadie for instance, she is stubborn and impossibly likeable, and her path towards Whitney seems inevitable, though the growth of their meeting, unexpected.

Music throughout, with Whitney as a DJ, connects a main theme of starting over with harmony and structure. Whitney takes some of her over-the top analysis of life and puts it to creative use with coinciding musical content. Expect lots of music references and trips down memory lane. A mere mention of Samantha Fox made me jot down notes and get excited.

I wondered how feminism would be portrayed in this novel when reading the summary. Would it be watered down feminism or a backlash against it? At least one commonality I have with this novel is music, the other my background in women and gender studies. As the story unfolds I understood the way Harger uses both in the novel. Instead of theory, the lives of the characters play out the complexities of independence and being strong. Nothing proves this more than the pregnancy of Whitney and the pro-life agenda.

I highly recommend this book. It has been years since I have read a ‘chick lit’ novel. Much like Sophie Kinsella’s Shopoholic series, the mood is welcoming and anticipatory. Add “Strong Enough” to your summer favorites! I did.

For more information on Ellen Harger and “Strong Enough” check out her blog:

Ellen Harger Blogspot

Book Review: What Are You Doing Here? A Black Woman’s Life and Liberation in Heavy Metal

Tags

Heavy Metal, Laina Dawes, Music, racism, sexism

Laina Dawes is a writer, photographer, and heavy metal fan that lives in Toronto, Ontario. Dawes brings a critical lens to the punk, metal, and hardcore scenes with her book: “What Are You Doing Here: A Black Woman’s Life and Liberation in Heavy Metal”.

Heavy Metal is known for its alliance among members and fans, providing a place for the disenfranchised. What happens when you are a black woman in a white male dominated scene? Dawes unravels the racism and sexism barely discussed in an underground subculture. What happens when the scene is dug deeper, unearthing the layers of heavy, dark, somber, speed? What if you are a minority amongst the outsiders?

Laina Dawes grew up a black woman in a white family and neighborhood. Adopted in a rural setting, steeped in racial and gender inequality, heavy music helped Laina release pain experienced from being silenced and alienated. As a teenager she learned that black women should not show anger. In a society that normalizes women to be passive and agreeable, black women’s anger brings to the forefront a past of exclusion and stereotyping meant to limit social and economic equality.

During high school, Laina’s white male peers didn’t think twice about her love of metal. It was her black friends and extended family that disapproved of her obsession with heavy music. It was assumed that she denied her blackness by not listening to a type of music that should represent her culture. Expectations of how Laina should behave, look, and act were hard to live up to. The heavy metal music scene best represented her emotions and experiences, but not without its setbacks.

Laina spoke with fellow black women involved in the heavy music scene for the book. They are leaders of bands, players, fans, and journalists. Some have been verbally and even physically assaulted at shows. Though metal is known for the mosh pit, and a communal type of aggression, Laina expresses the injustice of race-based verbal and physical assaults at shows. Typically, white female fans have not experienced such violence. In fact, they note an almost patronizing chivalry at shows, even ones assumed to be dangerous like death metal.

Laina Dawes and her peers still attend shows, buy the merchandise, and work in the scene. If anything, metal is known for its members never backing down from a fight. With all its pitfalls, metal is still the genre that allows the most freedom for expression, emotions that women, especially black women, are expected to hide. Heavy metal is dysfunctional and violent, welcoming and unifying, and filled with contradictions. “What Are You Doing Here: A Black Woman’s Life and Liberation in Heavy Metal” is a powerful, eye opening musical journey that has more adversity and accomplishments on its horizon.

Coming Out Queer

Tags

bisexuality, coming out, queerness

I originally posted a Facebook status about coming out as a queer woman. I did this about a month ago, before Valentines Day. I felt this important to do because I was back with my best friend, who is a man. Being back with him, certain people wanted to talk to me again, after disappearing from my life when I came out queer.

The last year and a half of my life was spent being in a monogamous relationship with a woman. I loved her very much. Coming out with her, as my partner, was a big step for me.

More difficult was the initial coming out transition. This was when I needed people to talk to. I had my first crush on a woman, and also had my heart broken.

We cannot expect people to be supportive when they do not understand. I know this. But it does not help how hard a time it was for me initially.

Some people in the queer community were also judgemental, wanting me to explain what exactly I was: “gay, straight, or bisexual”. I found these labels limiting, but more so, learned the ways bisexuality is misunderstood and condoned by many.

The attraction to both genders is not promiscuous to me. In fact, I find a label that names desire for more than one gender to be discriminatory and limiting. There are more than two dichotomous genders. There are many ways to express an identity.

I am posting below my original status. I am blogging this as a thank you to all of the people that responded kindly, showing me support. The response was over whelming and reaffirmed my faith in human kind.

To those that have not yet come out, you are not alone.

When I came out as a queer woman certain people were no longer interested in me as a person. As if my “choices” were wrong and unspeakable; in certain cases not meant to be seen or talked about. A few people disappeared from my life. Now that I am back with my best friend, who happens to be a man, there’s a sudden interest in me and my life again. Me being with the love of my life, who has been my support and light through it all, does not erase my queerness. What is queerness? To me it is not identifying as gay or straight. It is a fluidity of self. Throughout my life I have tried to be the best advocate of equality I can possibly be. I am not the perfect feminist; I am imperfectly human, as we all are. I have a pre-Valentines wish to those who choose to not care about people they consider abnormal or unspeakable: if you’re not into equality, I’m just not that into you. And if you chose to label me, with an identity that comforts you, that didn’t work for me then and it doesn’t interest me now. And to everyone who has supported me, loved me, talked me through things, and accepted me through it all: I love you!! Thank you.

Pallor Mortis

Tags

Clifton Nicholas, Death Metal, Montreal, Music, Pallor Mortis, the Katacombs

Pallor Mortis is a death metal band from Montreal, Quebec. They played the Katacombs Friday, November 9 with opener Impalement and headliner Paroxysm.

All photos taken by photographer and videographer, Clifton Nicholas.

Pallor Mortis, Latin for “Paleness of Death”, are a death metal band from Montreal. They are comprised of Vince O’Leary on Vocals, Jessica Simard on bass, Peter Lountzis on guitar, Anthony Bourque also on guitar, and Luc Lauriault on drums.

Heavy metal is a misunderstood genre, death metal, even more so. Pallor Mortis deconstructs some of the stereotypes and myths of this genre with lyrics that reflect political situations and darkness that is a part of our society. Instead of promoting violence, they shed light on issues, while keeping that foreboding music throughout songs and stage shows.

The band is built around the friendship of guitarist Peter Lountzis and lead vocalist Vince O’Leary. When bands are founded on friendship, you feel that energy in the audience. They began their music together in high school, growing and collaborating to find the band they have now. Having already opened for bands like Marduk, Lock Up, and Goatwhore, it should be interesting to see where this band goes next!

Pallor Mortis is perfect horror, a picturesque back drop for chilling film, where sound meets visual in nightmarish gore.

Lead singer Vince O’Leary is the evil look alike twin of story told Jesus, with thin sculpted body and long curly hair. His black high boots were worn on top leather pants that hung low on waist. His sinister smile creeped through screams.

Screams were few, high pitched, and eerie. Orders for pit thrashing were given with the same guttural voice: “I wanna see a fucking pit! On my signal! … Give me the fucking pit!”

Music ended for a split second with complete silence. I realized in this moment, how loud the band is, and how obediently they had the crowd in rapture.

Vince let us know it was their last show.  Unawareness and surprise filled the air, “until we get back in the studio to record our next album!!”

The crowd thrived for that, cheering in response.

Everyone was thanked for coming out, the audience, the band that opened, and the band about to go on.

The song of the evening that left the greatest impression was “Feces of Fear” followed by  “Dominus Et Deus”.

The crowd raised their fists in the air, a farewell gesture of unity among death metal.

Peter played a gorgeous guitar solo making me anticipate more.

The crowd was brought back to the moment. We were again reminded it was the last song of the night. The audience yelled for one more song. They would have their request, granted, they “fucking scream!!!”

A sinister laugh chilled the microphone.  The song got heavy, the band broke out into head bangs, and the speed intensified. The set ended this way; glorious and grotesque. I am pleasantly pleased and death metal changed. Fun was had by all.

Chuckie the Cat

Tags

cat, cat and dog, cats and water, dog

My partner and I just moved to Montreal from Toronto. It is our first time living together and the move was big. We both lived in Toronto for over 10 years.  Stuff was accumulated. I own lots of books and shoes. Mel owns lots of albums and skull memorabilia.

The most interesting part of our move is the joining of our sons. My dog Coffee, aka “the Frog”, a Boston terrier, and Mel’s cat Chuckie, aka “the owl, duck”.

I am considered Mommy 1 to Coffee and Mel is Mommy 2. With Chuckie, Mel is Mommy 1 and I am Mommy 2. We both play significant roles in the lives of our furry friends.

This is a story about Chuckie the Cat.

I awoke abruptly from noises one night not sure where they came from. Since Coffee and Chuckie are sleeping in the living room together now, I assumed it was my misbehaving Boston terrier making the racket.

I walked down the long dimly lit hallway worried my dog got into no good. He has a habit of breaking into the fridge and helping himself to pasta, cheese, and ham. At my place in Toronto I had to install baby gates because he had gotten so good at helping himself to his favorite foods. He hasn’t tried this at our new place but there was always a chance he would still.

I arrived at the living room realizing it was our upstairs neighbors making the noise and turned my head to see Coffee on his bed with red blanket wrapped around him. He was sleeping and quiet, unaware of my presence.

Now was as good a time as any to go to the washroom.

I am among the opened boxes scattered in the newly moved into space. Chuckie, the cat, comes in to greet me, quacking softly. I pet his body that is thinning from kidney disease looking into his big green eyes. It feels like the first time we’ve looked at each other like this. My strokes are gentle, barely there, but enough to please him.

He looks toward the tub; I ask him, “Would you like some water?”

“Quack”

“Okay, Mommy 2 will turn it on for you.”

He jumps into the tub. I turn the water on to a drip. He gets in; putting the top of his head under the tap, paw below to catch the flow. Chuckie licks his paw drinking the water, happy to be practicing his routine in the new place.

He comes closer to me, big pools of green filled with happiness and love. I realize again the simplicity in the best moments of life. I see it clearly in my partner’s aging, thankful pet.

His meows are quacks, one of the traits that make him unique. He meows again. I grab a Kleenex and softly wipe his forehead. Mel told me he loves this. I consider it part of his grooming and am glad to oblige.

I am sitting at the base of the tub looking at him as he stares up at me. I wash my hands and he saunters into the spare bedroom that has become his.

I recognize this moment as our first bond together and go back to the rooms that have become the bedroom for humans. I want to tell my partner but decide to let her sleep instead.

The construction workers are setting up outside, it is already 6:00am. I get into bed beside her and soon enough grab my phone to sketch out my morning with Chuckie the cat, aka “the owl”, aka “the duck”.

Back to sleep. I say a soft prayer. May Coffee become Chuckie’s new comfort, a protector like he has been with me on our daily walks.

Heavy Metal Connects Serbia to a Dark History

Tags

Forever Storm, Heavy Metal, Kragujevac, Ryerson Free Press, Serbia

originally published in Ryerson Free Press

There is a city in Serbia where heavy metal is loved by youth. They are a younger generation of fans that keep metal alive. Most of them are in high school and they attend local shows and buy the albums of their favourite bands. One of Kragujevac’s metal ambassadors is Forever Storm. Their music tells stories of past wars and battles.

Their first album’s title, Soul Revolution, sums up the over-arching theme. Forever Storm asks for a revolution of the soul first, to solve the problems of the world. Lyrics from the song “Storm” describe the feel of the album in one sentence: “we’re here to belong, not to destroy”. The mood and content of this album speaks of forgotten history;  a time when children, like the ones who love Forever Storm, were taken out of their classroom, to be killed, in an atrocious act of war.

During World War 2 the Nazis killed innocent children attending local schools in a town outside of Kragujevac, Serbia. This time in history is memorialized in story and poem. One story is told in Serbian citing the words of a teacher. The poem Kragujevac contains the final lines ‘Pucajte. Ja i sada drzim cas.”  The rough translation means “Go ahead. Shoot. I am giving my lesson. Now”. These words reveal the re-telling of tragedy shared among Serbians.

Because there were no survivors to tell the story that day, folklore lives on in remembrance.  However, there were letters written by children, left on pieces of paper, found in the classrooms, to express last words to their loved ones. Robert Burns, a poet and writer who lived in former Yugoslavia tells of a letter from a 17 year old student, addressed to his mother and father: “Dear mum and dad, hi for the last time. Ljubiša.” The massacre during October 19 to 21, in 1941, was justified by the Nazis with the notion: “that 100 people should be shot for every German killed, and 50 for every German wounded”. Children became a part of this killing spree.

Presently, in Kragujevac, there is a place of alliance for youth that love heavy metal. On the steps of a local high school, fans of metal meet and listen to music. Heavy metal fans and players in Kragujevac are outcasts and non-conformists. Stephan Kovačević, of a local heavy metal band Forever Storm, shared his views on Serbian musical majority. The most common genre is folk music. Thus, writing and playing in a metal band, can be frustrating and alienating, due to popular trends in music, though, heavy metal provides a place for fans and players to belong.

Soul Revolution, Forever Storm’s first album release, connects to a history in Serbia rarely discussed in Canada. Songs reveal epic battles, alienation, and oppression on personal and national levels. Lyrics of the song “It Rains” read: “We’ll keep fighting on and on / just let your heart lead the way…/ on this holy ground we’ll forever stay”.

The most passionate fans of heavy metal and Forever Storm are youth living in the city. In Kragujevac, specifically, heavy metal is loved immensely despite being a misunderstood genre. Heavy metal addresses issues of war not often shared. In song, there is an emotional resonance that connects the youth of the city to the bands and music they love. Forever Storm is a heavy metal band with a social and political message. Their younger fans have a place with heavy metal and the band. It is a place they share common ground.

Shawn Hook with Lights at Salle Andre-Mathieu, Quebec

Tags

Bruno Mars, Lights, Music, Quebec, Salle Andre-Mathieu, Shawn Hook

Shawn Hook is a Canadian EMI artist and philanthropist with a smoldering talent. Watch this young star erupt slow and steady.

I’ve seen him play live for the second time, most recently at Salle Andre-Mathieu in Laval, Quebec. After this show he performed at Fashion Cares with Sir Elton John. Most assuredly, Sir Elton will notice Shawn’s piano, guitar playing, youthful good looks, and strong singing voice.

Cosmonaut and the Girl is Hook’s first album release. The songs are catchy with a conscience. They are great for a club setting and musically solid, backed by a full band live. I caught him performing last year at Canadian Music Week in Toronto. He was my favorite performer and an unexpected surprise, making me appreciate up and coming pop music again.

Salle Andre-Mathieu is an interesting venue. The show was filled with adolescents. The electro pop of Lights and her introspective lyrics brought passionate screams from fans.The dim lighting and mood was at its peak during Lights’ song “Saviour”. Lyrics with keys felt intimate, with fans singing every word perfectly.

Hook played with enthusiasm, revealing a falsetto comparable to Bruno Mars and pop rock vocal of Maroon 5. His set ended with radio friendly “Red Light” showing the crowd his potential for more moments like this.

Shawn makes teens go wild. Girls scream when he approaches. He played to this, shaking hands and singing close to the lucky ones at the front. His independent charisma steers him from the boy band genre, with an older fan base acknowledging his talent at the end of the set.

He was available for pictures and signings. It was nice to have an in person chat, more personal than our online correspondence. Kind and friendly, he is a true Canadian talent who soaks up the respect given by fans and media. I gave Shawn a hug and told him how well he played, yet again. I’m looking forward to seeing where he will go next.

 

A Kiss From Chloe

Tags

A Kiss from Chloe, Bob Bickford, writing

Bob Bickford is writing his latest novel called “A Kiss from Chloe”. I love this passage; the references to cigarettes, the way she walks like a line in a song, the romance and anticipation, the wanting to kiss her but looking instead.

This is a dream come true for me in written word. 

At last, the boisterous cars, the squealing tires and blatting mufflers were gone, and the giant machine that was the city groaned and sighed and settled itself into real darkness. Occasional lost ones rippled the quiet, creeping out into the street’s light here and there, then blending back into doorways and darkened recesses. Yellow police cars drove slowly by at intervals, their blank windshields looking at nothing.

It seemed like a night for cigarettes. I wished briefly that I still smoked, but I had none, so I watched the city’s uneasy sleep instead. The concrete beneath me got cold, but I didn’t move.

I saw her coming from a long way off, in the last hour before the eastern sky lightened. She came toward me, passing in and out of the illumination of half-lighted storefronts, walking like the whole night belonged to her. She stopped in front of me, and I reached out and touched her hair. I didn’t say anything.

“How long were you going to wait?” she asked.

I wanted to kiss her, but settled for looking.

“Longer than this,” I finally said. “A lot longer.”

 

Forever Storm’s new single “Mother”

Tags

Forever Storm, Heavy Metal, Music, Serbia

Heavy Metal from Serbia

Strange

Tags

Kill Devil Hill, Strange

Kill Devil Hill

Kill Devil Hill, August 17th, Toronto’s the Rockpile

Tags

Dewey Bragg, Heavy Metal, Kill Devil Hill, Music, the Rockpile, Toronto, Vinny Appice

Kill Devil Hill is a hard rock band with seasoned metal gods supporting and driving a burly front man who looks like Jim Morrison. Dewey Bragg has a style similar to Zakk Wylde with a voice comparable to lost but not forgotten, Layne Stanley of Alice in Chains.

People say certain bands have a little something for everyone, but there’s no exaggeration with history and sound describing this band.

Vinny Appice, the drummer of ever beloved DIO has played with Black Sabbath and Heaven and Hell. With his drum solo the crowd remembered the little man with the big pipes. DIO moved metal heads of the world. Appice echoed the mourning of DIO’s fans with the love and respect we still carry for him.

Bassist Rex Brown moved the crowd in an entirely different way, with applause that was loud and rowdy. Playing for Pantera and Down, it’s expected that fans will be eager to yell.

Mark Zavon, formerly of Ratt and W.A.S.P, plays a skillfully beautiful guitar. The solos reflected his eighties past with a new sound brought to this hard and heavy band.

Lead singer Dewey Bragg is a combination of each member’s background. His voice is strong and powerful with an impressive range needed for the melodies he growls, sings, and screams. Bragg mixes hard core, melodic, and nineties grunge to satisfy every fan’s needs.

The show began with a huge opening of lights and sound. Bragg resembled Morrison in rock, Lemmy in punk, and DIO and Pantera in sound. “Strange”, the song release with self-titled album, is grunge and heavy enough to keep head bangers happy.

Dewey reflects the band’s mood with a cross on microphone and respectful pot smoking banter with audience. He asked: “How many people in here smoke weed? Throw your weed up! No, just joking! No, I’m not… throw it up, we’ve got a long way to travel!”

No one can refuse a man of this stature, with long braided beard, and patch worked vest. Sure enough, pot ended up on stage with Rex Brown smoking as his bass pumped the whole venue.

Dewey called us “ladies and gentleman” throughout the night, though the number of men outnumbered the women. And like my favorite metal shows live, I loved this crowd.

“Gates of Hell” was a further reminder of DIO with themes of darkness and light and good and evil. Drop D guitar and dark metal gunshot riffs spoke injustice with politically minded songs like “War Machine”.

Together, this band is a super group of epic proportion. The crowd went wild at the Rockpile and not a fist stayed by side. Horns were raised, heads were banged, and respect was given from band to fans and vice versa.

For more Kill Devil Hill, go to:

Kill Devil Hill Music

Florence and the Machine at Toronto’s Molson Ampitheatre

Tags

Florence and the Machine, Molson Ampitheatre, Music, Toronto

Florence and the Machine opened with “Only if for a Night” from Ceremonials. Florence Welch stood in the middle of the stage as a seraph in black. Her smile lit up the audience as she looked towards the sky channeling a higher power.

 

As she moved to the left of the stage the audience responded in applause. Gliding back to center she looked right through us with a command only a singer of her stature can evoke so sweetly. Her arms rose like a pop prophet singing “What the Water Gave Me”. The right side of the stage met her acquaintance screaming. She ran back to our centre channeling our subservience. When asked to jump or sing, we did, without hesitation.

Posing like the voguesque super model she is, she spoke in the sweetest, most polite British accent: “Hi Toronto, we’re Florence and the Machine”. Her waves reached those in the upper levels and even in the grass, and like Bruce Dickinson unifying a crowd and making them feel connected, she reached all too.

“Cosmic Love” brought holy darkness to the surface; the angel in black cloak. With a flick of her hands she turned off the music and lights to chat with us about Canada and how good looking the girls are. She asked for human sacrifices through the raising of people on shoulders. Giggling she said “hundreds of Canadian sacrifices!” leading us into “Raise it Up”

As Florence joined us on the floor level, she mysteriously blended in, disappearing, while I wondered if she came near, would I be able to stop myself from attempting a humble kiss upon Pre-Raphaelite cheek. The smell of pot filled the air and I craved a cigarette.

The encore gave us what we needed to take us over the top, beyond bliss. The band came back with “Never Let Me Go” and Florence giggled quietly into the microphone. I swear the song was written for me, and with that nod good-bye, I felt it was played for me too.

“Southern Ontario”

My favorite song by Dog is Blue so far! Off the album Tortoise.