where did these thin arms come from? where did the soft fleshy arms go? why do all my pants fall off me? whose ribs are visible through the skin of my chest? whose back is reflected when i strech and catch a glimpse in the mirror? she cannot be me, this tiny creature of muscles thinly concealed under skin and held tightly agains the bones in my back.
misstrish found me right after i had come home from Mx's place. i was near a breaking point. i had weighed myself at Mx's.
the number blinked in red.
LIES! i cried. don't be such an asshole, you fucking digital scale.
YOU RAT BASTARD MACHINE! i knew you were lying. i weigh 135. tell the fucking truth. i am your master. i can remove your batteries and wipe your mind.
step off step on
step off step on, hit reset, step off step back on
"MissTrish, i lost weight! it's gone! where did i go? i miss me! i didn't mean to be careless! i want it back! i didn't mean to loose it!"
"shhhh, baby, love, darling, it's ok. it's all okay. you didn't loose it. it's gone, but you're still here. you're ok. that scale lies. you didn't loose that weight. you traded it all. remember the crazy? The Fear? remember the brain candy crazy meds you're taking to keep it all away? you traded a little flesh for sanity. only a little. you're stronger. you're still so beautiful. stay away from scales. you're fine now. i love you"
she was right. and i could tell by the way a little comfort and reasoning pulled me back so fast from the edge that she was right. it was the meds. spoiling my appetite, increasing my metabolism, making me a little skinnier than before. and keeping me sane, holding me further and further away from that awful edge, keeping The Fear away. i should have known better than to step on a scale.
the real reason i was there was Art.
i was at Mx's to pose for his art, a stop motion photography project. it was so much fun, and even in it's rough form it was delightful and beautiful. we giggles and laughed. i tore off my clothes and jumped on his bed. he swore at his battery. bitched at his camera, demanded they obey him. finally the machinery complied. he adjusted the lights again.
"ok, i'm finally ready. oh man, that was almost the least successful naked-girl-in-my-bed event ever. but you can't actually be naked. i'm only in second year. naked doesn't stop being pornography and start being art untill 3rd year."
we laugh again and plan out the scenes. i end up sitting motionless in his bed with my arms outstreched over my head for almost 20 minutes. he's never done this kind of thing before, and we have to keep stopping and resetting. but it turned out beautifully. and my right nipple is only visible for 3 frames, so we figure it is risquee enough to shock and awe his prof and class but not too sexy for school.
in the movie, the sun slowly dawns across my face. i yawn, strech and smile. i sit up, and watch as all my clothes crawl up the bed and onto my limbs! i stand, and drift across the floor and into the hall. i drift into the bathroom, and a washcloth jumps up and vigorously scrubbs my face. i float down the stairs, and my shoes rum over to my feet and lace themselves up.
link to be posted as soon as he makes it available.
then i posed for spacejack. i think it still may be a top secret project. you will probably recognise me when the time comes.
and becoming art made me feel better about my body.
and then last night, we went out for nuit blanche. an all night, city sponsored, ridiculous art thingy. the highlights:
counting sheep, fog in toronto, roy and silo's gay divorce, ball room dancing, electric night
i participated in roy and silo's gay divorce. i became art. it was a video intallation at a very old bathhouse. the kind of bathhouse that was intended to alow people to get clean first, and only later became a gay haven. it was from before bath houses were designed specifically with gay sex in mind.
the videos were pretentious and boring. i began to walk through the shower room, breaking the queue of passive observers and and turned on the showers. suddenly one of the organisers was beside me. his broad shoulders blocked me in against a wall.
"was someone having fun with the showers in here?" he scolds sharply in a stern, demanding, yet strikingly homosexual voice.
"oh, i'm sure i wouldn't know. maybe someone did it by accident..." i more than played coy. i laid it on impossibly thick, mockingly arching my back and sashaying my body towards his in the dark, steamy wet room, as the video played and pretentious art crowd stared immoble at the brightly lit screens.
i pouted, blinked cloyinginly, and licked my lips.
he almost lost it. he managed to only smile a little as he tried to regain his dominant position over the situation, and not giggle uncontrolably.
"i cannot alow the showers to be turned on..."
i looked hurt and slightly outraged.
he finally cracked a smile at me, became my co-conspirator in this strange public yet totally intimate setting.
"you can't do it. it's the air exchange in here and the electronics, and everything..." he trailed off then held my eyes locked into his, "but i suggest that you leave this room immediately, (because we dont' want any trouble) and go jump in the pool!"
he winked and whisked himself away.
i grabbed 256, ni, and Driusan. i explained that i almost got kicked out for playing with the showers but that we were alowed to go swim in the pool. we pressed through the herd of art fanciers and into the next room.
the pool was lit only by the video projected onto the back wall, and a ring of candles around the pool. the lifeguard chair was fully stocked with giant fluffy white towels, and the pool was filled with frisbees and balloon penguins. 2 hippies were already in. they began throwing frisbees at the crowd and laughing.
"who's coming with me?!?"
ni and Driusan declined.
256 and i sat down on a bench and began to disrobe. i wondered if we could go in naked, the other 2 guys seemed to be wearing boxers. we decided to go in our underpants.
we dove in, topless and laughing. the crowded room stared at us and at the crappy art film. they were forced to dodge frisbees. it was difficult to tell if they were having fun or not, they seemed too stunned by the unabashed joy we four were experiencing to do anything.
ari and brain paddled over and shook out thier dreads and we laughed nakedly together through our introductions. we spashed the crowd and each other. we threw frisbees and balloon animals. i pulled 2 penguins over my hands and a third over my right ankle as water wings. i floated effortlessly breasts up in the glorious warm pool.
"now that's the fuckin' piece! that's the REAL art!" ari exclaimed, "topless woman in gay bathhouse has fun floating during contemporary art exhibtion!!"
i was art. naked and famous.
the ball room was unreasonably fun. a huge gymnasium lit with disco balls and coloured spotlights, heavy dance and top 40 music blaring out of the speakers and the floor was covered in thousands of plastic multicoloured balls of various sizes. hundreds of people were frolicking, picking up the balls and throwing them at one another, laughing and yelling, kicking the balls, ducking, getting hit and falling over. over hand volleyball serves for the large ones, two handed dodgeball style throws for the meduim ones, and the smaller sizes were easily palmed and hurled with violent delight one handed. it was a total chaos, a riot of sound and fun and colours. we were strangers, but a weird comraderie and maniacal delight overtook everyone.
"it was the guy in the orange shirt who got you! the guy in orange shirt!! get him!"
"come on!! over to that corner where the balls are collecting!!"
"cover me!! i'm going after her!"
we didn't know these people, there were no rules, and we were throwing play balls furiously at each other. you got so used to the feeling of being constantly pelted with plastic balls. it was crazy, you barely paused to aim, hurriedly bending down to pick up the next ball, shrugging off the 3 or 4 that hit you in the body and head as you leaned down, leaping up to smash someone across the room again. it was sweaty and ridiculous, exausting and an amazing spectacle.
soon, "counting sheep" began to take on a deeper meaning. the looped video of 3 sheep grazing in a field by the ocean was projected onto the outside of the planetarium dome. the artist's statement said it reperesented art critics and patrons, art fanciers and artists at galeries, standing in thier favourite spot, revisiting the same area over and over.
the others were shocked at the willingness of some to actually engage the art. horrified that anyone would break queue and rush in past everyone and immerse themselves in the art. appalled that anyone would go out to an art show and actually have fun. art was meant to be quietly and pensively appreciated from a proper distance, showing resrtaint and blah blah bla.
they were the sheep.
we were the rebel artists.
we were the art itself, laughing and shouting, yelling and touching, interacting and expressing ourselves.
half naked and joyful. because it was too warm for clothes, and more fun.
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