Biscuits

Jun 29

Dearest Inmates,

I shared Biscuits a few days ago on the old IG (did it, sharing art/music/other secret artistic projects because anything more seedy will be placed here alone, but I do have a trick: I never post from my phone, but from the very large screen computer that I use for recording, because I usually don’t know where my phone is, but really because then I don’t lose my wide vision of reality and goodness and truth and compress my focus into a tiny little screen which makes me spiritually nauseous—I highly recommend this).

I shared Biscuits, which was begun whilst we were traveling to location scout recently (this is why starting projects on an iPad before going to physical is so bloody nice), but I hadn’t been ready to say anything about her or what she might represent.

I think I might be now, or I may (probably will) delete this post in five minutes.

Biscuits has no tits and neither do I at present. I’ve lost them, along with my arse, and most of my muscle mass, because that’s what happens when you’ve got an auto-immune issue and it hurts to eat because your body is attacking itself. (I never say auto-immune “disease” because it’s an ugly brown and I don’t like the way the “s” that is really a “z” feels in my mouth, and it also sounds unnecessarily dramatic and that embarrasses me). I prefer not to talk about this. With anyone. I will fix it. I am fixing it. And I will be able to sing and dance. And that is all.

Biscuits has all the trappings of femininity, except for her actual body, which is clearly missing a few things, and that’s how I feel. A woman but not. And it doesn’t make me sad, but it makes me curious, because there is something beautiful in each layer of identity that is peeled off, or flakes away on its own without anybody’s doing, as we go down this path of life. I suppose what I’m really settling into is that I am not my tits, nor my womanhood, nor my ability to fit into my fabulous pink wardrobe, but am rather just me. I have not changed, because the “I” that is “I” can never be anything other than what it is. But I could do with a few more calories.

Biscuits needs a biscuit. Biscuits needs a few. I hope someone gives them to her.

To see more of her, tap away:

BISCUITS - FINE ART GICLEE PRINT

I’m going to go try and digest some keto ice cream. It’s salted caramel. May you do the same, dear friends.