I started my birth control pills today. The beginning of one more cycle. A friend asked if I was planning to have kids. I sighed. Hmmm… There is a huge hype about motherhood. Somehow I’m convinced that it would fulfill me as a woman, and that without it, I am still just a little girl.
But when I think about the child, and the responsibility of caring for it - and I know myself! I’m too selfish. I’m not sure I want to stop being my own child.
“They say that the devil is a charming man… and just like you, I bet he can dance…” - Kate Bush
Performed on video for a friend’s piece. I played a pre-colonial Filipina woman opposite her conquistador beast. She brought me home to a beach centuries ago. I kissed the sand, rubbed it all over my body. I am ocean, sand, wind and electricity. My spit created the sea.
I was there when the beast was born, tail shaking between its legs, red hard cock and an appetite. What jaws! She bit and sucked on my flesh. She roared and fucked. I pined for her touch when she left. But now the beast has returned, grown upright. She wore a big helmet on her head and hid her cock in civil society.
Tonight, the beast and I rolled around on a mat. First, she on top, her feet on a bamboo wall, her weight on my chest. I took her hat, and upon examining the pointed contours of it, showed her the awesome power of the warrior woman in me. The helmet was under control in my hands, going swiftly down toward her neck once, twice, the third time melting into a kiss. I thrust upon her body underneath me, my hair pouring onto her bald head. She composed herself, and took control once more. We danced tenderly. Then I took her and myself by surprise. I undid the red tapis around my hips and wrapped it around her neck to finish what I began. The blood of my ancestors, the headhunters, coursed through my veins. I planted my knees on either side of her, my cunt in her face as I broke her neck.
I found myself at Mission Street in San Francisco with my man, handsome in his black coat and hat. It’s a costume ball after all. Where is the Badlands Mission Gallery? Could have missed it, if it weren’t for the clown at the door. Immediately, stairs led up to a video projection of a dancing indian. I find comfort in two dimensions. The music was really loud, and I was a little nervous about being in such close proximity with people. A yenta with feathers in her hair snatched my man and married him off to a cute biker girl in leather. Throughout the course of the evening, I got married, watched weird characters moving to the beats of “live rocktronic opera music”, won a prize for the fetish fashion show, and got smeared with a slab of meat down the front of my black vinyl dress by an irreverent indian. My prize for the evening, though, was meeting Guillermo Gomez-Pena.
