Dear Journalist

quite some time ago I ran across an article written by a supposed hirsute journalist. the article angered me. so much so, i sat down and wrote her a letter. i never finished said letter, but came across my notes for it the other day.

i was angry because she went on an on about the right to be hairy but she shaved to please her boyfriend.

she said why should he have to endure her armpits which were an aesthetic assault to those around her. especially her man.

she then went on to say how liberated and furry proud she was. her decision to be hairy was declarative, a feminist act, an aggression of sorts

but for him she shaved

does that make sense??

dear hirsute journalist, i wanted to write to you to acknowledge your recent article, it’s interesting to me what becomes news today. I like you am a hirsute female. I have a long history of trying to fit my natural presence in an unnatural society. i feel perhaps more seasoned in the battle. it’s one thing to personally wrestle with having more hair than those around you. it’s another to find the internal courage to be with it. even more courage to be out loud about it…your article made no sense to me. How can you declare a personal i am hairy victory and shave at the will of a boyfriend?”

that’s as far as the letter got….i remember feeling like the topic of hair was really bait for some whiney article that wasn’t about hirsutism at all.

it made me dislike her.

when i braved growing my legs and armpits out 10 years ago. i was actually VERY brave. when the hair growth was in it’s full glory – it was beautiful. I fell for it as much as you did. The reality and day to day world around me? Not so much. I was shunned. I was verbally assaulted. I was misunderstood.

TODAY — a decade later, and this is why i am writing this post. my pit hair is not nearly as abundant. it’s thinned, it’s not very dark, its certainly not what it use to be. same for the hair on my legs. even my pussy hair is different.

the hair on my face is where the current abundance is.

try that one on dear journalist.

Flower Power

I dreamt last night that a flower and succulents were growing in my groin.

( how’s that for an opening sentence?)

there was a single flower, short stemmed with a blue crocus like blossom – it’s center was yellow and button like. it’s petals fat and juicy, much  like that of an engorged jade. it looked like a pussy.

next to the flower there a large cluster of pure white plants. each had three small leaves. unlike most succulents they were soft to the touch. almost mossy.

all of this was nestled in the spread of my legs. specifically, in the crease on my right side


the examination room was huge. pure white. gleaming, with tile floor to ceiling. the room was brightly lit. i was drenched in white light. they guided me to an oversized rocking chair. the doctor, garbed in all white adorned a lamp of sorts on its head. all I could see was the Dr’s eyes.

i showed the Dr my flower power

armed with oversized tweezers, the removal of the flower revealed very short roots.

the succulent removal was trickier. the individual  leaves would pop and their juice would burn me.

the dr was very careful.

once all was removed

my wounds were treated.

at one point i thought the Dr might have been my mother.

but there was no vibe of judgement.

later, i saw that the Dr was a man.

with a mustache and a warm smile.

noone spoke.

( take in 2011. when i had way more hair )



All Over The Place

a few things.

i made an art piece last week. i had come across imagery that triggered a memory

turns out i once shared the story about that memory here

i’d forgotten how many stories/poetic commentary i had written on this blog.

since my words seem to be of value to you

this makes me glad i wrote a thing or two

many of you leave a comment or email me and say that you have been following my work for years.  i love that.

yet somehow you’ve never shared your fandom before.

how can years go by with no word from you?

is it a privacy thing? a she won’t reply thing??

and then,

something compels you to write to me.

i love that.

tell me what has you write to me.

you can ask anyone. i always reply

sometimes i wonder what specifically makes someone write.

what thing did i perhaps say?

what image did i post?

or was it a courage thing.

i’ve had some of you say it takes courage to write.

i don’t bite

i do have boundaries.

more lately.

lots mre

i vet who i give my time or personal thoughts to

i have become good at knowing who needs me to say stop

and MOST who do write

are fleeting.

i’ve said that before.

a few stay

a few write often

a few  find we are different yet get to the other side of those differences and become friends

others i find i have little in common with.

some just have to be let go.

Many of you know that a year ago my little canon died.

can’t believe that was a year ago already


someone at that time gave me a little lumix

a camera actually that someone had given to them.

the lumix and I didn’t have a good chemistry

i struggled.


i tried another canon

it helped define me as a canon girl.

good thing to know

mr texas — ( gosh not sure i’ve ever mentioned you as a mr before – there have been a few other mr’s from texas – they aren’t around any longer. you are though!! ) he bought me another little canon. wow – right?? he also treated me to a pro flickr account. he and I are creative peers. we mutually admire each others work. i encouraged him to post again for the sense of community it brings. he did.

with the little cannon i am back to feeling like i have MY expression back

it feels so good!!

so, this week i payed forward the little lumix

the gal who i gave it to brought me flowers

she’s giving the lumix  camera to her daughter.

full circle

there was inquiry re: panty sales this week. inquiry. not a sale. takes a certain sort of person to ask about panties. one said his interest was to smell my essence or was it to experience my essence. ??? something like that.  he said more but that’s between he and I. there was no sale with him, or with the recent inquiry. i sell panties for additional income. that’s really why i sell them. i offer distinction in what i sell, and i don’t really want to negotiate or banter. if you buy my panty we are not all of a sudden best friend

i do share that i have things i am saving for. car repair fund, a new lap top fund, and shoes. currently i have had some layer of fiscal fluidity. but then something knocks me flat so I have to start over

this weeks  inquiry had me revisit the category of panties and stories around them. here at the panty gallery

many of you have gifted me panties.

i keep them all in this. a cut velvet bag. my second wedding dress was made out of this fabric. its a delicious bag. it was a gorgeous dress.

truth be in my day to day i don’t often wear panties

which is why so many look new.








below is what is left.

the “inventory”

the nude pair was a free pair. it’s a skimpy thong. super soft fabric

the hot pink one i bought myself. they have a hole in them where the tag once was

the patterned pair – is the pair that i am wearing for the header of this blog. super silky. from mr detroit

A black and lace pair are also from mr detroit. he was the first ever to buy me panties. at that time i had lost all that weight, and was wearing very old granny cotton panties. yikes. he buys me socks too.

he was also the person who changed my life forever by sending the first little canon – that camera made me look, and still makes me look,  like a rock star!! my current version is the third version of it.  i have over 70,000 images in my files that I’ve taken with those cameras.

mr bahrain also contributed — my fancy panties are from him. the ruffled ones. the prop shoes i couldn’t keep any longer. my feet and all, hate that.

why am i saying all of this??

just feeling really grateful.

it’s been an all over the place week

i need someone to talk to

its the weekend.



No Agenda

it was a no agenda weekend.

a bit of this

a bit of that

in no particular order

and nothing that needed doing

with perhaps the exception of dishes.

i masturbated.

( i have some good images of me doing that )

i ate well

i created.

i finished two books

on saturday the evening light was so saturated and so very gorgeous

it made me cry.

i was sobbing.

and laughing.

both actually,  as i watched the sun and the light dance all around me.

more leaves are unfurling. broader displays of leafy self. of green. trees are fuller.

i like it.

makes for extra long cat ear shadows. super cat!!

way back on the top shelf of one of my closets

sat a bag

a bag of long forgotten sexy attire.

much of which does not fit me.

it fell when i was getting something else

OH — i remember some of this stuff.

i do not actually recall this skanky fish net dress of sorts

although notice that if you photograph it just right

the skank is less.


the illusion of cropping and all.

i played with mirrors because someone gave me an oak one.

now i guess i have one for more mirror work if i want.

my face beard is i think longer at three months than the last time i grew it out.

i will have to go see what my files share

the wonder bra from forever ago was so small that the breast billowing actually hurt

not sure why i keep it except that i know that if i ever need a good billow …well there ya have it

my poor poor reverted nipple in that hot pink fish net halter.

i lost my patience trying to erect it

it was a good hair day. the hair on my head hair day. it’s gotten long.

she still attacks my feet.


i have a long awaited art opening this evening. the idea for the installation sprouted with a share and tell, a mock up of sorts. I thought perhaps 36 pieces. the gallery owner said MORE. Triple it. oh my gosh — there are officially 94. two sided. 188 collages all told. the hanging is impressive.

the very very newest element to my paper collage art is stitching.

it happened mid 2018 at a time where i know the distraction happened for a reason.  the stitching had me bury myself in learning and in new ideas.

all i wanted to do was stitch. and then, the hand me down sewing machine died. I called her Fiona, for her fabulous moments and for her finicky moments. and of course she didn’t work any longer. that’s how things go with my life.

but then, in the new year, a new hand me down sewing machine found me. new meaning. used twice. sat in a closet for two years. oh my gosh. new!!  her name is Kendra.

now hear me when i say sew. or stitch. to clarify. i do not sew. i zag and i zig because i love the look of that, and it’s super forgiving.

i made a birthday card for a gal whom shares the same birthday month as I

when she received it she said my stitching was like me stitching my life back together.

what she said felt so TRUE

the reveal my art provides amazes me.

i think that is why i make.

it’s like seeing my life, both the good and bad, on a platter of sorts

i describe this particular installation as FLUID

in its making

it just poured out of me.

I could have kept making and making.

I love that.

Here is the next reason I titled this post BREATHE

Early January i had a panic attack. I wrote about it …I think. ( couldn’t find it )

i had another one yesterday.

and for what reason??


I declare that moving forward that I ask others to do the math parts.

i am done.

when that little girl in third grade said, i don’t do division ….she had the right idea

i don’t do math.

my second husband said he’d do the dishes if i did all the cooking.

perhaps a good trade,  IF he did the dishes properly.

makes me sound like a bitch, but i’ve done a volume of dishing for hire

if it’s not clean they dock your pay.

his intent was perhaps in the right place but the man was a slob.

the entire area around said clean dishes was like train wreck

at one point he said. just let me do the math. by that time i had an inkling of mistrust of the man. i believed with all of me, and i still actually feel this way now — it’s better for me to do the math and fail. oh and am I EVER good at that. But i do the math somehow. I do.

My panic yesterday was more because it involved math, and it involved my good faith and my pride. part integrity, part wanting to make an impression.

my challenge in speaking about my art here. is blending my self/self with my alter ego self.

this is why when a provocative magazine found me, I tore apart the parts and did some collage work with it. the thing is, the work is just not the same as my work/work.

which is REALLY hard to explain.

fine lines i guess. fine lines.

perhaps i will stitch some of those?????

( if i leave conditioner in my hair and french braid it all – it makes it super wavy/thick feeling. except that the conditioner is still in it. so there is that ) 




Freedom And Abandon

perhaps i told you that i rearranged my apartment over new years weekend.

turns out its new arrangement makes for better self work.

who knew.

i found myself saying DUH, sure took me long enough to discover how to play with the light in here.

it use to be in my life that weekends included languid lovemaking

love the word lanquid

like the idea of lovemaking with a total sense of freedom and abandon

nothing but time and intimacy


i have been thinking about how i’d ask someone to work with me and my ideas around my nude art photography. photographs of coupling. nothing blaring. conceptual. artful.

putting that out there to strangers would probably not be a great idea.

i met a young guy recently through our beards, he recognized me from a photography group and introduced himself. how sweet. he’s married of course, but a confident enough sort to just be a really nice guy to converse with. refreshing.

he was nice to look at.

his beard is amazing.

we laughed

simple stuff really.

it’s hard to meet an ordinary male human.

i met another man who lent me a camera

that later broke in my good company. ( the camera ) can one say mortified?

he was cool about it. it was an old camera

when i asked him if he dated. like went out on dates.

he said, oh i gave that up some time ago

he said, I got a dog instead.

he was serious.

the dog was the answer to the stress of dating he described.

we can be friends he said.

have yet to hang out with him.

i think the dog thing is too much.

thats just my opinion.

with the increase of emotional support animals out there perhaps i am wrong.

he said once that his dog was a chick magnet

i thought, hmmmm does that mean you want to meet chicks?

thats actually what had me ask me if he dates.


when i get my cat. ( which at this rate will be never )

if i become a crazy cat lady will you tell me?

i played with myself today.

these panties are too small

they have a nice sheer to them

which is what i wanted to show off my pubic hair

looks like i had them on inside out

oh well

i had trouble being on my knees like this

shit, shows how long it’s been.

wonder how i get that agility back.

i am open to tips/stretches/practice


i was playing with myself

and looked up.

my reflection was across the room

TOO fun

gotta love the everydayness feel of the shot

i really like it