Missy Jubilee. 052. Praise

Missy Jubilee. 052. Praise


Damocles to Missy – bow your head woman

Missy to Damocles – get fucked*

*Not an actual conversation between myself and the figure featured in the moral anecdote commonly referred to as ‘the Sword of Damocles’ -260BC


My name is Missy

And my mother doesn’t like me

But I’d rather free myself from this story and live with the consequences

I make erotic films that look like a collision between a 60s Bond title sequence and the Midnight Cowboy party scene – long story short, they confuse the internet.

And that’s how I like it, because it means people have to think, or press next

My writing is alfresco in style and some of the best words I never said are still in my head as I travel North East by Hard West across my sexual history

I try not to pull my punches while I hit myself with brutal memories about my dark facade as they fill my parable on the shame of my sex addiction

I’m a million different people with a million well orchestrated distractions, from one day to the next.

I am a night person in an abstract sort of way. When I do sleep, I sleep badly. Regular working doesn’t suit me, it interferes with my flow.

I work in the dead hours while you sleep – just like vampires and garbage collectors

-a person in quest of something dangerous but rewarding

For me, making films is a sickness, an ailment, an addiction.

When I’m not making films about my dis-empowered hedonistic adolescence, I’m thinking about what I created that day and, when I do go to bed, I lay sleeplessly thinking about what I am going to create when I get up and start again the following day.

This is my journey down my own personal rabbit hole as I make space for teenage kicks

It is a lullaby of emotional self encouragement, and an exploration of the transformative, shape-shifting qualities of nudity that I have experienced perversely with my doppelganger, and the hidden truths about my relationship with clothes while on a digital cross-platform journey searching for skin deep memories of why and how this all started

There is no way a person can remember
the events of ones life precisely

Events are experienced

Then they recorded in our brains
in a highly subjective way

Our only truthful memory
is narrative truth

The stories we tell ourselves

My descent into perversion started on the top of a hill

It was poetic, if nothing else

Someone once told me, if you loosen up a screw
Don’t act all weird when dangerous shit comes loose

In life there is an enjoyment of doing things with the edge of danger, and then getting the fuck out of the way before you fall in the void

Unfortunately, or fortunately, I didn’t get out of the way in time

On a daily basis
My mother made me feel
Like the woman of tin
Smacked up with a body of sin

It’s big field of weeds to navigate
When you’ve been
chasing a sexual fixation
based on revenge
through an orgasm
that never comes

And a pain that never goes away

At a price you can’t ever pay

I wonder if it will ever leave me
This complex fantasy of mine

That means the opposite of so many things

Allegiant: adjective/from the word allegiance
loyal; faithful; adherent: relating to religious cults

Young adolescents almost inevitably get into conflict with their moms and dads over much of the business of daily life.

But this was something different. Very different

The need for attention & acknowledgement
was a form of warm comfortable addiction
and I inherited it like the child of an addict

My parents spent their lives
Not saying shit to me
At least nothing new
Nothing like an intelligent point of view

Arguing was their only method

When they did find words, they were hook words, words with barbs that the recipient could turn on themselves with the power of self doubt

If I had been born as an animal, I would have chosen coyote – because they will chew off their own leg to get out of a word trap

Word traps, emotional absence, convictions without conviction, sentences with no other
purpose than to crush

Fucking words

I wonder if it was easier with grunts and clubs

I have a back
I have a back bone
I have a back story

I have a back story?

Was that an echo?
Or the same thing said twice for two other people?

Four ears
No listeners
With a million points of view

Just the same fucking crew

Me & my mother

Praise is the film where the back story starts at age 6, and my mother ends at 14

It’s a film full of colours

The kind that will blind you

And it has a family having a roast dinner

It’s got something for everyone

Or not

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Categories: Sex

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