Wild, Weird and Wonderful: Trip inside my vagina

Okay, so it’s not my vagina, much to the disappointment or relief of my readers.

So much to be said here but the video says it all. What every growing girl should know, beginning with honest names about body parts, celebrated not shamed. Had I been taught about orgasm as a child, or at least exposed to the concept  pre-understanding, I would not have had to go through unnecessary anxiety and sexual misgivings affecting my relationships.

Why is this such a difficult matter, educating ourselves and our children about their bodies so that they may be more responsible and responsive adults? Why must the idea of a “love your body” explicit video be so revolutionary?

Huffpost’s Poussy Draama’s Mobile Doctor’s Office is Challenging Sex Ed Norms in America merits a reading even if only for the video and colorful pictures injected into an investigative journalism piece on wacky personalities with the right message.

Author Priscilla Frank introduces Poussy Draama, a performance artist, gyno specialist and educator who roams the country introducing those ready to learn to love the beloved female body (enough loving of men’s has been the story of HIStory, she claims), not the one that merely makes babies but the one that has so much more power and pleasure.

She enlightens youngsters through her bizarre videos and also appears live to help groups of women take pictures of their cervixes when she is not celebrating all of the names for vagina. Hey, why wasn’t my personal favorite, twat, on that list? Must be a French thing.

 The bizarro TV show, aimed to teach kids about sexuality and consent, features tripped out vagina suits, lots of rainbows and even more body positivity. Poussy Draama — the babe on the right, in the video above — is a performance artist, a sexologist, an alter-gynecologist and a witch. Not witch, like, black hat and broomstick, though. Witch like witch doctor or healer. “What I do hasn’t much to do with magic,” Draama explained to The Huffington Post. “It’s witchcraft, in the way of empiric, experimental and politically engaged healing.” 


Although in medium and technique Draama’s work is all over the map, her subject matter consistently revolves around educating others on sexuality in an un-authoritative, open-minded and, duh, feminist manner. “Womxn are overrepresented and underrepresenting,” Draama said. “You know what I mean? And as an artist, I don’t wanna play the ‘male-gaze game’ so I have to be careful, cause everything tends to drive you to do so.” (Note: The spelling of “womxn” is intentional, per Draama’s choice.)

The risk takers who challenge the “norm” by exposing sedimented attitudes expose themselves to ridicule even as they gather fame. You know those insecure ones (you know who you are) who do not like to be discomfited will doff off old Poussy as a whack rather than appreciate her creativity and spirit for a good cause.

Fingers crossed for her (riffing on the article opener there).

Secret’s Out

  

credit: http://edge.neocha.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/huzi@neochaEDGE_01.jpg

I saw her picture first

cut off head, breasts
ample, pink spandex
clad, gathered at the
neck, accentuating
her rack so shapely.
She saw my photos
and thought to meet,
she and I anywhere.
But she turned out to
be a fashion maven
adoring all the latest
and I have no style 
but my own practical
to the bone and spare.
And I told her so, that
we had no center, no
common denominator
as I cared a whit for
what she cared a lot
about and so, what
kind of conversation 
could we dream up, 
impossible to sustain?
She revealed nothing
more than color and
fabric galore, for sure
a goddess of cinched
waist and good sense
of season and tricks
to enhance features.
For me, choosing the
day’s attire wears me
thin and ragged with
choices so few as I
keep a cry-cluttered
chaos of t-shirts and
jeans, no belts of any
kind, scoop necks or
v-necks only, turtle
necks producing a 
sweat and strangle
merely imagining a
collar so high up to
a neck’s constriction.
So with clothes only
we could not share
enough experiences.
I told her so, that she
needed to seek her 
own since I could not
compete, never get
beyond intimidated.
But the truth is, she
revealed her secret,
opened to me and I, 
unable to configure,
to examine fragment
instead of a shortcut,
a whole composite of
what she potentially 
could be, a mind not
reacting rationally or
flexibly without data
computable as usual
designation of man or
woman or somehow
tangibly identifiably a
sexual orientation that
would posit me in a 
known position, how
to act and what to 
ward off, defend or
protect, how to play
games, wait and see
properly, knew not 
what to say, how to
be. What could he
presenting as a she
expect of mere me?
Fear of falling free
of label safety just
dismantled me, a 
gaping loss of words
and thoughts of how 
to be only me with a
human:  he/she/we 
I skulked, hung it up.