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Small Editor’s Note
When gathering the submissions for this zine, I asked women and non-binary people I knew to write in a sentence what intimacy means to them. They replied: ‘Intimacy is a sacrifice’ ‘Intimacy is big and gentle and scary’ ‘Intimacy is like mixing paint on canvas’ ‘Intimacy is being honest with someone’ ‘Intimacy is sex but with feelings’ Intimacy, for me, is interlaced with trust. At what point do I allow myself to be intimate with someone? My most enduring and significant intimate relationships have always been with my female friends. Female friendship is strong, powerful and necessary. In a broader sense, there is a kind of lineage of bonds between women and non-binary people. We stand on each other’s shoulders through time, lifting each other up whilst anchoring ourselves to our collective present. Intimacy is therefore less a tangible feeling then a shared space [
] a place where boundaries can become permeable.
There is a running question throughout the following pages surrounding where this space might exist, and who is able to claim it. Perhaps this collaborative assortment of thoughts and feelings, sketches and musings are a way to enact such a space. They are by and for women and non-binary people. They claim and reclaim intimacy, for the writer as much as for the reader. Flick through the pages, make the space your own. Always, Kitya Mark CUSU Women’s Campaign Zine Officer 2018-2019
LETTER #6 » ANON DRAWING » SARA POCHER TO-DO LIST » CLAIRE SOSIENSKI SMITH ‘GALLERY OF LOVE’ » ANON HOW TO BE ALONE » A.G. FEMALE FRIENDSHIP » KITYA ROSIE » ELLA BLACKBURN BROWN VELVET » ELLA BLACKBURN TRIAL 6.2 » ELLA BLACKBURN ‘THESE MAY NOT BE MY EYES’ » SARAH DAVIDSON ‘I WOKE UP SAFE’ » SARAH DAVIDSON SITTING WITH MYSELF » KITYA LUAS » MOLLY O’GORMAN ‘I IMAGINED TENDERNESS’ » IZZIE GLOVER ‘INTIMACY SKETCHBOOK PAGES’ » JESS PS CN: references to sex EXTRACT FROM HANGER: ON INTIMACY » EMILY SWETTENHAM
‘UNTITLED’ » MARINA MATEO ARMED » PV HICKSON CELL WAR » EDIE TURNER WEATHER FORECAST » RUTH HELEN DE WIJZE CN: references to sex CROSSFIRE » PV HICKSON SPINNING » MARIA CALINESCU EASTERFOODPORN » TONI ALDER CN: explicit sexual language ‘UNTITLED’ » ANON CN: masturbation, orgasm, anatomical euphemism ‘HOW COULD I BELONG’ » ANON ‘INTIMACY WAS HIM’ » ANON CN: references to sex and abuse DRAWINGS » LUCY WALKER ‘EXPLAIN TO ME’ » ANON CN: emotional neglect in relationships, gaslighting, references to abuse and accusations of abuse, mention of panic attacks SOHO » ANON
// Anonymous // …
Letter #6 I was thinking of actually, genuinely writing to you rather than creating another vaguely relevant entry and calling it a letter. You see, the truth is, I really want you to read all these entries, and unwritten ones besides. I want you to understand me more, I want us to be closer. I desperately want to know you better, our closeness is never satisfactory, as soon as you let go and look away I am convinced you are indifferent… You are so… absent, and of course all this means is that you work hard and have, unlike me, set your priorities straight; but as soon as you go or even turn away I am left empty. I didn’t want to fall in love, I didn’t want to give myself up like this, but you insisted until I admitted that I really do love you, but now where are you? Are you even thinking about me when we are together? Your mind works so quickly, I do not trust that you are present even when we are closer than I could ever have imagined. Of course you do care deeply and I know that you do, but subjective judgement is so very powerful. This is why I want to write to you, to talk to you more, so that we can actually discuss these things that you do not even know are bothering me. Because it is so difficult to express them when I do not think you
will understand. Because I’m afraid of being seen as overly emotional. And it doesn’t help that you are so clever and I cannot, just cannot stop comparing myself to you. Of course, this is something I myself should be and am working on. But let’s just say that it does contribute to the confusion. Especially because of what you said back then – that I also wrote to you about (another letter I never showed you, and of which I never expressed the contents in more than extremely vague and general terms, because I can’t, because I’m afraid of being seen as overly emotional) – your thoughts are logical and rational and as much as I admire and am attracted to them, they are so cold that I can never truly be warmed by your presence. I want to be near you, I want you to talk to me about the inner workings of your mind, I want you to be present, but always, and that’s my problem, again. And of course I am fearful that if I do not work hard enough in correcting my bad habits and reactions, you will one day lose patience. All in all I am happy and well, but these things do haunt me a little and I love you so much that this closeness for me is at once like a vase of fine porcelain and a soft animal which I cannot let go of. I cannot, just cannot be indifferent. It occupies my mind and seeps into places where it doesn’t belong. (I can’t organise every aspect of my life into neat little boxes anymore. That’s probably a good thing.) I miss you more right now that when we were weeks away
from each other. Throughout the day, I have to keep saying goodbye, and I’ve never been good with separation. Part of me hopes that I will get used to it. And yet I feel constantly torn away from you, so far away from you, as if our connection were and had never been any other way than superficial‌
// Sara Pocher //
// Claire Sosienski Smith // to-do list spit on your hands don’t brush your teeth pee in the woods believe in the tarot shave your head bleach your hair grow it wispy long break your stick trying to dig out a stone forget that stone protect your stick throw another log on the fire swallow your torch vault over a river burn some garlic cut half an onion spoil the broth cuff your corduroys spill your white wine shun gin and tonic smoke less but enjoy it more stare at the embers
breathe in the stars blame your ascendant organise a folder of your best selfies tell your insecurity to a twig bury it in the fire stretch out your hand for a horse kiss learn to love barbed wire brush away brambles give up forever to touch you sample some forest footsteps mistake that constellation for Capricorn keep up wildcat let the ash fall right on your tongue question whether gil is hen refute this keep a jar pour too much salt unzip the seventh fleece queue the track eat the second nutrigrain talk to me
lose the battle walk with a truncated stick respect the wild ram smash some ice defrost your hair by the fire lose your vague sense of direction let the words melt into one spit the spiced hot chocolate from your mouth spoon peanut butter get predictably sick open the door for the cat wash the dishes feed the crease bleach the sheep skull in the sink doubt your psychic abilities drop them on the floor trust them again steam the frozen crumble get baptized tag yourself
// Anonymous //
‘gallery of love’
Abundant greenery embedded with bazaar gems. Voluptuous vines stark on lapis lazuli curtains which fall behind above the dense garden. Palm trees stand erect like umbrellas against the matte sky. Tiny birds perch amidst the verdant scenes. Like she is perched in his arms: singing joyfully.
I walk listlessly in the gallery of love, thoughts filled with fretfulness whilst my love fills another. Panic about cherishing the moment. Panic to crop visions that sprout. But each vision is crushing me and budding like the branches of the tree that penetrate the walls,
stripping the bark of my outer armour. I must appreciate the paradise in which I wander.
The light sweetness of sun and lavender ripples in waves into my raw skin and diffuses into my nose. I can taste oranges hovering over the dappled leaves, my emptiness filled with a blissful satisfaction eclipsing even my most acute hunger. My mind strains to capture this feeling, to recall it in moments of worry and sadness. To remember these brief moments of tranquil warmth, for the long days of darkness and bitter winds. With her perched in the arms of my love.
// AG // how to be alone first step: isolate all the things in your life that remind you of the fact that you are alone. you are not alone, you are enough, you are loved and supported and you don't need anyone else, but the world is constantly trying to tell you otherwise. the world is showing you romance films, playing you love songs, showing you people making out in public, reading you romantic poetry, and selling you dating apps. you don't need to go looking for anyone and you don't even need to look AT anyone. when you see someone on the street who you desire / who you want to be with, examine your feelings critically - would you feel like this immediately if you weren't being told by the collective media and ideas of our society that we have to admire, to be swept off our feet, that we need others be happy and complete? it is not your job to attach to someone else, it is your job to learn to have yourself to hold on to. so stop listening to love songs, listen to love/hate songs instead, listen to feminist songs, hype tracks. you can listen to deeply sad songs and deeply lonely songs but only if they make you feel less alone. there are millions of songs in the world. only listen to the ones that make you feel less alone. stop following couples on instagram. stop watching whitewashed love stories on TV. eliminate all media that is trying to sell you something. brands, influencers, every single instagram business account. instead, watch interviews with powerful, inspiring women, watch films about friendship, watch films about people who have achieved great things. follow people who have achieved things that you want to achieve. watch things about philosophy, politics, poetry. read books. read books about friendships and growth. you're allowed to read books about heartbreak, as long as they make you feel less alone. build a world around you where people matter in a way that you want to matter.
step two: change your perception of time. start celebrating your own milestones, your own birthdays. forget when you met someone, when you fell in love with someone, remember when you got into that school you got into, when you went to that concert you went to, when you got your dog, when you dyed your hair, when you made that grade, when you made that resolution, when you hit that goal. celebrate those as anniversaries. celebrate your birthday unapologetically. celebrate staying alive, celebrate how long you have been alone. have a being yourself and being on your own party. ask people to celebrate you, expect people to celebrate you. show people how to celebrate you and they will learn how to celebrate themselves. step three: if you don't know how to celebrate yourself, start by documenting yourself. listen to yourself. write down your thoughts when you're happy. take pictures when you feel pretty. take notes when you're enjoying a conversation. always, ALWAYS, remember compliments for later. collect these things. put them on your walls in your room. put them on your phone background. put them on your mirror. put them in a jar. write them on your tissues so you can see them when you go to wipe your eyes because you're crying. your most inner space should not be dedicated to things you wish you had, it should be filled with things you know you have. don't screenshot photos of people you have a crush on, don't screenshot photos of people with long thin legs or perfect noses or too much money. screenshot photos of celebrities without make-up looking like normal people, screenshot photos of models who look like you, and of people's messy rooms that still look cool, and of people being honest about feeling like shit. screenshot photos of people succeeding despite the system and not with it. don't screenshot quotes about 'hustle' or 'competition', screenshot quotes about selfcompassion and forgiveness and learning.
step four: of course you have to grow and learn and change. you are trying to learn to love yourself when everything is telling you you can't. you have to make a plan to get that done. you have to keep track of where you are and how you feel about it. set small goals - set a goal for how much you want to sleep, what you want to eat, how much you want to work, how much you want to spend time with friends, how much you want to spend alone, resting or having fun or learning or reflecting. approach your life as a design challenge where you are the only judge. but when you go to judge the execution, you need to give yourself time and understand that it isn't going to happen just because you understand that it has to. your brain and your body are not in sync, your brain might understand that you're allowed to love yourself but your body has to get used to it. your body is used to being ignored and pushed away and hidden and if you suddenly start changing that it's not going to believe you for a while. you need to build that relationship of trust all over, all while constantly being convinced not to do it from the outside. you will have horrible days and you will feel like you've gone back to the start but you haven't - you are not the same person you were then. you've changed just because you want to change. and part of that change means you can choose to react to setbacks differently now. if you mess up, you can choose to be OK with it. you can choose to say, OK, today was shit but i remember why i'm doing this and i can keep going. or if you can't keep going, remember why you're doing this and give yourself a break. step five: conserve your energy. treat your energy like a nonrenewable resource. if you've used up a lot of it, you need to get some more of it before you can do more things. if you know you're going to have a busy day, and someone needs your help, think about whether you want to answer that call now or spend your energy on yourself first, and then text them in the evening. think about what gives you energy and what takes it. on difficult days, build a wall
around yourself and only let in the essential things. always let in food and always brush your teeth and get dressed. turn your phone off if you need to cry. let yourself be completely idle, completely bored and activity-less sometimes. looking at instagram for an hour is the OPPOSITE of taking a nap. sometimes it will seem like you can't go outside but as soon as you do it feels easy, sometimes it will seem like you can't go outside and as soon as you do it's still fucking impossible and all you want to do is break down and cry. you have to risk it because either way you will get to go back home. you always have to go back home and lie down and breathe. step six: it's all fine and good that you have to love yourself and we all know that. but first you need to know what you love about yourself. you can love yourself unconditionally but sometimes that's not that easy and you might have to start by loving yourself conditionally, for conditions which are always fulfilled. if you love drawing then you love yourself while drawing and for drawing and for doing that. if you love dogs then you love yourself while around dogs and for being good with dogs and connecting with them. if you love food then you love feeding yourself and taking care of yourself and making yourself strong. if you love your friends then you love people who love you and you love yourself for the people you attract. if you love being inside then you love protecting yourself and you love yourself for existing in your space, which is a miracle. step seven: build yourself up from the outside in. build yourself a whole motherfucking cocoon. make your room into a place where you are happy to do nothing. and then do nothing in your room. cherish your mugs, your teas, your snacks, your soft lighting. clean up after yourself but also let yourself be dirty. you need to be able to be a mess somewhere in your life, and if you can't do it at home, everywhere else will be a bit more awkward. be weird and embarrassing and smelly and honest in your home, so you can put on a face of sanity outside. there isn't much you can't do if you feel
safe at home. invest in this. go on holiday at home. lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling. treat yourself like a very important guest. make yourself comfortable, get yourself fresh towels, ask yourself if you'd like some water, make your own bed. marie kondo-ify your home and do that thing where you kneel down and say hello and thank you to it and then maybe you have to cry. fall in love with your corners and you will fall in love with your insides.
to be continued
// Ella Blackburn //
Rosie
I rang my sister on Sunday because I felt unlovable. She is angry and beautiful and very good at pep talks. ‘Hello. I am sad about love’ I say. ‘Fucking hell, Ella’ she says. She takes a deep breath. ‘You have not lost what you think you have lost. You have romanticised the situation but not the person. I have a small Geordie wife that I met on sports day when I was 11. He is like bread. Your boy is not like bread. Bread is warm and comforting and strong. He is not bread. He is a cunt.’ ‘Thank you.’ I say ‘You know when you come in from the cold after a long walk?’ ‘Um, yes. How is this relevant?’ ‘Just bear with me. You know when you come in from the cold and you get a nice bowl of soup and you feel so full of warmth and contentment?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘And your cheeks are pink and tingly and you let the steam from the soup thaw out first your chest and then down to your toes.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘When you come in from the cold.’
‘Yeah.’ ‘Well did he make you feel like that?’ ... ‘Did he?’ ‘No.’ ‘See.’ ‘Ok. No. It was just kind of mildly stressful and I felt like I had a tickle on the roof of my mouth but it was in my mind instead.’ ‘Then you have not lost as much as you think you have lost,’ she says, ‘Find yourself a Geordie wife and then we’ll talk.’ ‘You’re a lovely couple’ I sigh. ‘Yes, we are,’ she says. ‘We hate the same things.’ ‘He told me I’m not magical.’ ‘No one is magical, Ella. That’s why bread is so good. Because it is normal but purely good. It is better to be purely good than magical. Pure goodness lasts. Magic is a mirage that is fragile and shatters when over-examined.’ ‘You are very wise’ I say. ‘Yes. I am.’ My sister becomes distracted by the cat and hangs up the phone. She is angry and beautiful and magical and purely good.
// Ella Blackburn //
Brown Velvet
I think back to when I was a kid and there’s this smokiness, this earthiness. I can feel the soil trapped under my finger nails and the silkiness of the clay from the river under my feet, billowing up with disturbed clouds of sand between my toes. The cold water that reaches your core, making the bonier parts of you feel naked, wishing for the snugness of the padding you develop over the Christmas holidays. In the summer everything is sharper and brighter, but you feel closer to the ground, braver, quicker to jump from branch to branch knowing that you won’t fall. I smell the tanginess of almost-compost from rotting pine needles and the softness of burning piles of leaves, a smell like brown velvet. There’s the knowledge that no matter how far we explore, or how cold we become from falling into the beck, or how many brambles scratch us or how much blood we get on our clothes, we will return home to warmth and cleanliness. It was a childhood saturated in a grounding combination of excitement and security. And then I look at you. And what I can only describe as recognition dawns upon me. In creeps the smokiness, the sunlight that catches dustiness, the felt-tip pens, the smell of boot polish, the white bread sandwiches. And it’s like I’m sat on a sofa, between Mum and Dad, and everything I need is here. It all goes quiet. I can concentrate on the shape of the tip of your nose, the exact feel of it, and the way that it jigsaws with my eye socket. It’s like moss and nettle-stings and wild strawberries and bruised knees. It’s the smell of hot water in old pipes, but it’s also kissing till your mouth is sore. And I’ve
never been more aware that I’ve grown up. And I’ve never been more aware that this doesn’t mean I’ve grown away.
// Ella Blackburn //
Trial 6.2
My mum keeps all of our smashed mugs.
I must try very hard not to touch you. Or, when I do, it must be precise. To touch you has a different weight to when I touch others. With everyone else, I can slide slightly out of place, or misjudge a step and bump, or knock my chin too hard onto their temple as I balance my head on theirs. But with you, I am careful. I am delicate. When you rest your shoulders on my chest, I can feel the bones in your back and the blood rush under your skin. I must hold completely still, so that you stay just as you are. I watch my breath gently shake your hair. I must be perfect, I must be precise. I am holding the most beautiful bubble in my hands, and I must not break it. I hazard a tap here on your hip. Yes, that was safe. Perhaps a touch here behind your ear? No, I must be cautious. Gently, ever so gently, I lower my gaze and look from your cheek to the bridge of your nose. The light is shining through your eye. My chest is a paper fan opening. My chest is a hair clip closing. Your body relaxes. You sink further into my lap. It is almost unbearable. And yet, you are sufferable.
// Sarah Davidson //
// Molly O’Gorman // Luas*
I like to stand on the corner of O’Connell Street And listen to the trams as they talk together Tocking Like dulled glockenspiels, calling out Across the way. Giving way, saying. “No, you – I only need to get to Jervis - ” Or else calmly announcing themselves Just that semitone higher. “Today’s my day This space my space.” And the others accede.
I wish That I could talk as the trams do.
*Luas is the name of the tram
// Izzie Glover // I imagined tenderness.
Fingertips eddying round a drunk naval, Mists dampening my neck. I would feel our inhalations in my eyes Soundless, our stomachs sunken once more, There might be music, But sonar waves I seldom saw
When I crept from the bed Clothes in one hand Whatever poster, whatever generic band, I tried to forget The off-white sheets, The TV groans, Oh to be far from here, Oh to be alone.
But not truly alone I
Live for this circle This floor gang of chatters, Late night observers, With laughter and duvets I Layer over those murmurs.
And it's not that it was bad, And I wouldn't say as such, There was just something missing from that consequential touch.
Lay that hand on me, as you have lain it previously, But conjure that breathy buzz, And hold me tenderly.
___ [LIGHTS UP] don von We cannot hear the questioner, if there is one. Each number is a new addressee. 1. Honestly, that’s so kind of you. No really! It’s funny, when you get here people don’t say things like that - no really! They just want to grab at you - they don’t notice detail like that when you’re, well. But, yes, your question - what was it again? [pause] Oh, yes, [laughs] yes - well, I mean, it hardly ever feels real - I never imagined I’d be here, to be honest. No really! It’s not the sort of thing you can know, about yourself, I guess - fame isn’t really about you - no really - it’s not. [laughs] It’s not you, it’s me! [laughs] 2. So sweet of you, so sweet - I mean when I’m doing it it’s like, well, let me put it this way - anyone can do it. No really! [laughs] Really it’s not so special - honestly, anyone can do it. It’s a kind of confidence I think. It’s not easy, but anyone can do it. It’s about getting intimate with yourself - no, not like that [laughs] well, actually, also like that, if that’s what you like - really that’s what it is; it’s knowing what you like, and - well, you get it. Honestly, anyone can do it. 3. [laughs] Yes, yes - that’s an interesting way to put it, and it reminds me of a thing - I was performing for, well, let’s just say she’s a very, she’s an astonishing woman, and quite frankly I was terrified! No really! Little me performing for her? She’s like - I mean 4. [laughs] No I can’t tell you who she is - I don’t think she’d want it public that she had me come and perform for her, she’s not very, [laughs] well - but I mean really that’s the point of what I was going to tell you; you see she had these two little girls, and I was in my
dressing room you know getting into myself and, you know getting changed into these tiny little - beautiful pieces - oh my god I’d had this couture corset made specially for me by a friend of mine, like he really knows me, knows exactly what I like and he’s gone to such lengths to find the right shade of burgundy for my skin - he’s just obsessed with my skin - and the right sort of silk, the right slip to it, it felt just beautiful on my skin, the boning and the silk were just, I mean they felt like me inside out [laughs] sorry, I just - honestly I think it’s why I do what I do; I’ve always loved being dressed for pleasure, I love surrounding myself with things that I just find beautiful - and I don’t know why, like I don’t know why I find the feeling of a really well made corset so, good - I just don’t know; it just fits, I guess. 5. Yes, that’s always been a problem; I get a lot of hate for that - I mean it’s so taboo isn’t it? The desire to be objectified - it’s so taboo - but it’s also really empowering to engage with that, in a really, close way; I really don’t think that they get it - that’s the problem with fame is that people forget that they don’t know what it feels like to be you - and that’s what I feel like when I’m doing what I do, I feel powerful when I feel the bones slip off me, because it’s literally like, I mean it’s so close to you, like a really good corset should fit you perfectly, to the bone - taking it off on stage is like blowing yourself up [laughs] sensually mind you, I mean with attention to detail, ‘blowing up’ is too, forceful - I mean, you don’t wanna break the illusion do you? [laughs] 6. That’s really what it is though - a sort of ritual of self, a selfseduction, that you perform all your life - no really! Really! Honestly - honestly! I had no idea what I was doing when I was younger… oh [laughs] those girls! That’s what I mean by a kind of confidence, I think - honestly, talk about practice what you preach, and my god those girls! They do it better than me - no really! They just, did.
7. How? They were just so comfortable! They had this sort of elegance - you know? And there I was, getting dressed, fussing about being, naked! And I was just - I was so embarrassed - so concerned about being, inappropriate, and then she came in and I was just looking at this, truly this god of a woman - a woman I’ve idolised ever since I could turn on the T.V. you know - and I say to her, you know your daughters, I’m worried about them seeing me naked - is it alright? Is it alright for me to be like, this? And do you know what she does? 8. She looks at both of them and she asks them what they think. 9. And do you know what they said? They thought it was silly. They thought I was silly. ___
An extract from hanger: on intimacy, written by Emily Swettenham and performed on the 11th June 2019 as the inaugural piece of work from the hanger company.
// Jess PS //
// Marina Mateo //
Untitled
I should be terrified when you look at me like I am the highest object of your worship like you find my existence to be the purest form of being like I am the most amusing incongruity and you’ve been longing to get lost in contradictions
// PV Hickson //
Armed
I emblaze my talons to shine in all their glory. I gild with war paint to be fierce, not pretty. I adorn myself with confidence my armour. I embellish, the finishing touch, with chains and shields. Weapons against you.
But my embellishments turn manacles, when I see you. You find a chink in my adornments and I am vulnerable. My tears wash away that ferocious paint
to find nudity beneath. My hard as nails talons turn to downy feathers when I hear you speak.
After all this time I am still defenceless. And yet, daily, I will sharpen my talons Perfect my war paint Bolster my armour Hone my shields Until I am armed against you.
// Edie Turner // Cell Wall
I bless my breath
and on
the air the generosity of spring
The heart that holds
my
then watches as it all caves in
I take my step communion the teacher in
my
skin to skin
each cell each leaf my body and the air between us
eye
we spiral on
each cell each leaf my body and the air between us
// Ruth Helen de Wijze // CN: references to sex Weather Forecast After a while of living together, they developed a code for when terms like depressed and anxious became too harsh to be whispered in their home. So weather metaphors became their thing.
She'd come into the kitchen just before work, her hair still damp, her skirt on but her legs bare not ready to be constrained by tights. He'd say over his coffee "How are we feeling today?" 'We' not 'you' because together they are a team. She'd sit herself on the kitchen table and tip her head back with a grin and say "bright blue skies today!" He'd smile the best smile at those words. "I know how we should celebrate this bright bright blue" she'd say and beckon him over, legs open, a smile dancing on her lips. It didn't matter if they were late to work or that they spilt the coffee. They would fuck on the table as long as they wanted because a bright blue sky was something that was rare and deserved to be celebrated.
On a different day he'd come home to a dark room. A figure under the covers. He'd whisper "Are there grey clouds above your head today?" And she'd turn to him eyes glistening with tears and say
"it's pouring rain and I can't get dry." He'd climb gently into bed beside her and she'd pull him into her, damp kisses and gentle love making. They'd keep their clothes on because they need to stay warm and after he'd kiss her forehead and stroke her hair until sleep brushed the grey clouds away.
One day she was screaming and throwing things and he yelled back "THERE IS THUNDER AND LIGHTENING INSIDE YOUR CHEST" and he was right, he did not deserve those fiery bolts. So she took his hand and led him to bed. Pinned him down so she was in control. He was submissive to her, just as she was submissive to the storm inside her head. Afterwards, breathing hard, she'd lay beside him arms above her head and he grinned knowing that all she needed to do to free herself of the bad weather this time was to ride it out with him; on him.
One day she felt bright and things were okay. When he woke she was excited to tell him but it was her turn to predict his weather. He said "I think for me, today is foggy and overcast." And she kissed him so tenderly and said "it's okay. I understand. We cannot not control the weather."
// PV Hickson // Crossfire Isn't it curious how intimate is merely an ID away from intimidate?
Identity dwells in the crossfire of intimidation & intimacy.
Hearts beat. Breathing quickens. Knees get weak. Such similarity between polar opposites.
Maybe this is how we fall
so quickly for the wrong people? // Maria Calinescu // Spinning Getting into the microwave in the bowl you wore cowboy-style, spinning until what emerges is how to manoeuvre between me, leaning, swimming in the sun, thinking roundabout thoughts of blisters popped by push pins left on bedside tables, and Shouts across the street that dissolve. The recorded motion of bow and cello flows into the motion of branches in the wind. I got a text this morning about how Martha found five dead baby mice blown out of a tree and another tree fallen, the broken bit of its trunk so goose-pimpled-pale. The gap between all this and anyway, isn't this all too familiar?
// Toni Alder // CN: explicit sexual language
Easterfoodporn
‌ I eat. Pots of pearly white yogurt Pastel bonbons, chocolate bunnies The old raspberry jam at the back of the fridge Your dick in my hand felt like a tiny sausage I'm not hungry I am nauseous Facing mirrors I get anxious Pinching marshmallowy bits of me O, those Cadbury eggs It looks just like your balls when I pick up a pair
After you, there was me, and this guy that I liked A steaming shower, a boiling kiss And my pink nakedness against his We couldn't be asked to stand still or slow down But suddenly I stopped and my blood was frothy I had the shakes, shakes, shakes And tremors in my knees
Horny bunny got caught in the bright bright headlights I was turned on But I was terrified Talk to me, he said, his voice sticky toffee Shiny forbidden words, memories closely wrapped Glistened, hidden In the dark Forest at the back of my mind All I needed to do was to hold a hand out To grasp them one by one and yet I couldn't; I was in no mood for a hunt And I knew deep inside this guy wasn't dangerous Just plain gorgeous, so As a reply, I insisted To be defrosted Slowly Surely And then cooked thoroughly Until the pressure's high and the steam is released The day is still young, babe, and we have all the time I was a lady who lunch when he came in my mouth We got out of his bed, full English breakfast at the cafe with A slice of carrot cake and its creamy frosting As we were satiated (as well as sextiated)
I tossed my thought aside: I will tell him next time But I broke up with him and there was no next time I would have liked To tell him About you On that night Your fingers under My stained period pad You graze on my two breasts, lick them shiny and clean You feast on my goose bumps and on my cold pale skin I told you earlier, we can't do anything It’s that time of the month Why do you keep going? Pinned down on your mattress Thighs spread out, barely dressed With eyes on the ceiling, blankly staring I think That in slaughterhouses, that's where they hang the pigs To open their flushed throats in one long bloody slit You force me to get wet in shades of red and white But I said it. I said I’m not to be eaten... right? Are you trying to give us the same Adam's apple? There's a lump in my throat
On my neck your hand Chokes Something is (going down the) wrong (way) One crack, one kick, one twist And you would have me dead like those fat birds we eat Early on Sunday, 2 A.M, I leave your house Fast and there will be no Light headed breakfast Because you'd torn away My favourite piece of me The one longing for trust and for intimacy Ever since that I eat I swallow, bloat, and shit I relate to the plate of wibbly wobbly jelly And to the girl who turns into a blueberry I need stuff in my mouth Which isn't your mouth Constantly I touched you on that night so you'd stop touching me It was your desert time Shake before use, pop the lid off Show me how you do it It's not that I'm tired I just like it home made
You lathered your torso Looked like an iced loaf cake Now I know that I left because Your arms, your bed, made me feel so unsafe But at the time I couldn't explain why I had this funny feeling in my stomach.
Now, here I am Hangry ‘Cause I can’t be angry Behind my eyes Ivory fangs Fancy feeding An emptiness that needs filling And I don’t want to think about it So instead…
// Anonymous // CN: masturbation, orgasm, anatomical euphemism
My weary body under warm sun breaks. The weight of stress lays ugly on my skin. I feel estranged from my vessel, she aches. My mind distracted by tension within.
Devoid of focus, I open the drawer, Soft silicone and metal, she awaits. The phallic object, in front or back door, All of my stress she will make dissipate.
Make love to myself, I caress, I touch The buzz of her form, my senses alight Unite pleasure and mind, my sheets I clutch My toes I clench and my pillows I bite.
The one deep sigh I breathe when I climax. My body is light, at last I relax.
// Anonymous //
How could I belong? How could you understand how it feels to be in my place, at my time? Understand how it feels to be not you, not this time. Surely you'd believe me, if you tried
// Anonymous // CN: references to sex and abuse Intimacy was him staying inside me after he comes. Because this is as close as two people can be. And we are in love so of course we want to be one. Intimacy was us smiling in matching bucket hats. Because he ordered one too many and I was the person he wanted to match with. And we are in love so we don't mind looking like idiots. Intimacy was telling guests in his house what cupboard the glasses were in. Because I lived there with him, for moments at time in domestic bliss. And we are in love so of course I like playing housewife. Intimacy was the phone call where he apologised. Because he wasn't really angry, and he was really sorry, and he did really love me, and I wasn't a horrid girlfriend. And we are in love so I forgive him, even if he didn't acknowledge that I was crying down the phone. Intimacy was him crying on my step. Because he loved me so much it hurt and leaked out in yelling. And we are in love so there is a sense of relief that he wasn't screaming at me anymore, even if something still feels wrong. Intimacy was him telling me he'd never hit me. Because that meant he loved me enough not to hurt me. And we are in love so I take this as proof of his affection, even if I'm still scared of him. Intimacy is in bed with you when you smile. Intimacy is a heart react on a Facebook message. Intimacy is fucking you; the first time, the most recent time, every time. Intimacy is holding your handing in public. Intimacy is you kissing me at your door. Intimacy is the world we create hidden under your duvet. Intimacy is sleeping in your t-shirt; your head in my lap in the park; watching you work when you don't know it; looking at your flowers in my
room, seeing your handwriting, making you breakfast, brushing our teeth together, sleeping in the same bed. And we are in love so it feels good, even if I'm scared history is doomed to repeat itself.
// Lucy Walker //
Letter #5 - Extracts - anon … The world is so heavy, and so often I wish I could just lie down at your side and let it all float away: human trial and error, striving and failure, pride and loathing, longing, even. I wish that life didn’t have to mean anything other than this, than loving and being loved. … And until we get there, even when I am as close to you as it gets, I will miss you. Because we are fundamentally limited and flawed. I cannot love you fully. I cannot feel your thoughts, I cannot lose my sense of self, we cannot share minds. And so much more than this of course. The words and thoughts are all so low. Infinity is an eternity away. And all the goodness in this world points to somewhere I cannot ever reach in my own time, in my own power. And I am so small, and as I think about the world, all I want is to lie down next to you and forget that there is a world out there against which my weakness can and must be measured. And of course this journey which I write of is not new in any way; and yet I like to think as I cry in longing at the thought of being near to you again, that this have never existed before, any of it, that You and I are new concepts, that all of this is new; for as a child comes into the world for the first time, it is all new for them, and that is what it is like for me too, as I yearn for things to be more than they are, as I remember your eyes looking into mine. … Oh, how I wish we could be the first instances of something utterly beautiful and new.
// Anonymous // CN: emotional neglect in relationships, gaslighting, references to abuse and accusations of abuse, mention of panic attacks Explain to me again, my love How past partners were wrong How their opinions of their feelings Are only recently so strong They must have been confused By all the talking going on Confused by other people Who thought they also had been wronged How it just wasn’t working How their needs were hard to meet When they asked you to treat them as nice As you would a stranger on the street No, it’s certainly not your fault That they’ve come to feel so sad And feel the need to warn others Of the awful time they’ve had Of course it’s their expectations That were wrong, it has to be How silly to want from a loved one Any sympathy How unreasonable of them To think that you could try To recognise simple physical responses To predictable stimuli To anticipate their feelings To actively pretend to care To want them to feel happy If that’s an effort you could bear
Letting people know It’s not just common courtesy But an exceptional demand And one you couldn’t hope to meet When others state their feelings And their needs, clear as day This is an imposition That you can brush away You’d never have needs yourself That others strive to meet Except for all the time And very consistently How impressive that all your breakups Always seem to go so well How could they not when you believe It’s only lies they tell They have such strong motivation To warn others of your ways It can’t be genuine though It’s a feminist campaign What else is the solution What makes sense but conspiracy Why all the sudden confusion About how things used to be Truth is you remember the good times Since for you, they weren’t so bad It wasn’t you doing the crying The panic attacks you didn’t have The sense of being unwanted Of asking never to receive Of suggesting a small change
Of which could never be conceived “Most girls are happy That I even ask for consent” As if that’s the gold standard Not the lowest bar we’ve set “I have an idea” you said “Since other people had The problems you’ve been facing Finding my support so bad Instead of, as suggested Giving your feelings a thought I’ve decided to elect someone Designated to give support Since what is more important Than me getting laid Not opinions of my presence Not the girls who are afraid Not the feelings of my housemates Who insisted that I leave Not the thoughts of any person Who isn’t currently me Not the person who I’ve caused To burst into tears Certainly not the welfare Of my partner of 2 years” You’re right, I do assure you I’m unreasonable, you see I thought the words “I love you” Meant more than apathy That someone who dates The mentally ill so reliably Would have any idea at all
Of how damaging they could be That someone accused of abuse On more than one occasion Would be extra careful And seek out information On how to be less harmful To the people that they meet Not ignore needs explicitly stated Reinforced in a spreadsheet I made it colour coded It’s not hard to see what’s there But I suppose it is easier If you just don’t fucking care I hope you realise this time How sincerely all is meant Not as an attack just on you But on what you represent The basic social needs That you always seem to miss But hey, it’s no big deal If you just ignore this If you pursue a girl Who you know needs more support In addition to what’s expected Of any romance given thought And you put yourself in a position Where you have power over her Then act like basic welfare Is an insult to endure I’ve just one tiny question Before your ego burns to ash
Did you know that you are Absolute fucking trash?
BLA