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Ars Erotica
October 2004 End Big The woman I am at Dark Odyssey is not the woman I am in Baltimore. At Dark Odyssey (aka perv camp), my posture is better because I'm not so conscious about the smallness of my breasts. Which is weird, because there are so many more bare breasts at perv camp. I do not have to walk defensively at Dark Odyssey. My stride is not as urgent. These are the kinds of differences I'm suddenly aware of, after spending another weekend at Dark Odyssey, the libertine summer camp that I wrote about last year. Regular readers of Ars Erotica may remember my moonlight skinnydipping. This year I dove into the pool at noon. But I'm getting ahead of myself. It was a great honor to go to Dark Odyssey as a presenter. G. and I collaborated on a workshop called "Dangerous Bodies: Cross-Gender Queerfucking" with the intent of taking the discussions about trans sexuality that mght occur at trans conferences and BDSM gatherings a step beyond notions of "gender play," and dealing directly with the bodies we trannies live in. In a multi-media spectacle framed by 1950's "hygiene" films, G. and I each provided a 15-minute sexhibition: I masturbated, and G. got bent over a bench by a butch. And then we ran Q&A with the audience. I'm sure I broke a personal best for smiling through a workshop. While it's still impossible for me to be objective about the workshop, it seems like we did something new and interesting. After all the work I've done on gender and trans identity and embodiment, I felt like I was finally getting through to people, especially those who weren't obviously conflicted about gender - and was having fun doing it. While I let the thrill of it all settle in, I'm making adjustments to the performance for future stagings, and I'm thinking about the increase in both power and vulnerability that comes with increased visibility. The power is attractive and tangible, and it feels great. The vulnerabilities are easily ignored, remaining hidden and unexpected. And this is why I am a different woman walking around Baltimore, where I need to be as invulnerable as I can be. This is why I can't wait for Dark Odyssey to come again. There are the obvious vulnerabilities - my physical safety is as much at risk as my fiscal worth - but this workshop made me aware of how little control I have as a performer over the reaction of an audience. In the workshop aftermath, the question of fetishization was raised: what if an audience member merely fetishized this performance? My blunt answer? Their loss. I wanted to give folks a sexy show, one that really showed how hot trans bodies can be when they are being treated right. But I also wanted to make folks think at the same time, and I am here to say that it is more desirable to be present and thoughtful and sexy at the same time. It seems to me that there are any number of messages I've received to the contrary, that sex is supposed to be so carnal as to be autonomic. Like blinking, or breathing. So if someone left that space having only seen a real live chick with a dick, they only got a little of my flaky, flaky crust and none of my delicious filling. But as I was saying, when all was said and done, it felt like we had finally achieved a goal I've held dear for many years - that of creating a space where persons across the sex-gender spectrum can join a discussion about sexuality that begins beyond the binaries of gender and heterosexism. I'm going to have many opportunities to further this work - in this column as well as future workshops - but circumstances compel me to take my thoughts to the past, to the conditions that have fostered me and made this workshop possible. Ten years ago, when I was closeted, fearful, and isolated, you'd never convince me that I'd be able to strip for a lover, much less a stranger. It was from this frightened place that I started working in Santa Cruz, and it was an early version of Manifesto: that drew me out of the closet. After months of blue penciling every bona fide typo in the gay paper while I gulped coffee in the Casa Nova Café under the watchful eye of Vnes, I got active in queer politics again. What began as a desire for a better queer newspaper became a convoluted queer career. Think about it -- if it weren't for those typos, today I might not be the kind of trannygirl that takes off her clothes in front of strangers. Another thing I never expected then was that the newspaper would morph into something so phenomenal as Manifesto: has been. This paper has been a distinct part of my life for the better part of a decade, and I'm proud of my part in its history. The tireless work that Mark Krikava and his staff has done to keep Manifesto: a fresh and active chronicle of the queer community in Santa Cruz and beyond has always impressed me. I am very sad to see Manifesto: cease publication, because it's hard for me to imagine that such a progressive journal would just happen in the BLTG community, even in a purported political paradise such as Santa Cruz. One of the vulnerabilities we encounter when we start performing for the public is that we lose control over part of our story, and with the loss of Manifesto:, we lose one of the most open channels the TBGL community has had for our stories to be chronicled in our words. And this should concern us, especially since at least one national gay editor has recently editorialized that it is immoral for the LGB community to support equal employment rights for transfolk. I think I will always think of Manifesto: the way Woody Allen thinks of Manhattan - the place from which I originated, the place where I learned the two things you need to know to get the messy work done: you gotta jump in with both feet, and you gotta end big. Thank you, Mark; thank you, Manifesto:, and so long Santa Cruz. See you in the funny papers. Return to Ars Erotica Index |
