Missy Jubilee. 060. You Dirty Little Slut (Background)

Missy Jubilee. 060. Slut 2. You Dirty Little Slut LOWRES

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The babelogue behind the film ‘You Dirty Little Slut’

Sex & sensibility. Silly old prude visions. Silly little sexual prisons

I came to the lost world of typewriters
where the memory dinosaurs go to die
to do two things today –
chew bubblegum,
and tell a story about someone
who gave me not what was wanted, but was needed,
which lead to me living life naked at the edge of an abyss

But I’m all out of bubblegum

My report card on myself. Age 14

Strengths:
-Love doesn’t live here anymore

Weaknesses:
-My flow doesn’t……..flow (it’s a developmental issue)

Describe yourself how you see yourself:
-I am a bundle of nerves in a constant state of babblement
45 kilos of fleshy automation with lo-fi dreams
chasing impulses
while searching for the origin of imitation

Best advice you have received:
There’s a million things to eat – without eating yourself

Most important thing you have learned from a book:
-You can’t put skin on a skeleton

What scares you:
– There are some rabid motherfuckers running around out there that aren’t on the same trip

Advice to your 6 year old self:
-Just quit trying to fill yourself up with things. Like fear of rejection & fear of acceptance

Career ambitions:
-Make poems. Make music. Make love (love between the ears, not the legs)

“Music begins to atrophy when it departs too far from the dance… poetry begins to atrophy when it gets too far from music” – Ezra Pound

One Day. Summer 1994

As iron is eaten away by rust,
as the repressed are consumed
by their own unfulfilled fantasies,
on this day,
my emotional state was overrun by undocumented insecurities

I had taken my foot off the gas of happiness
and could be best described as
an emotional halfling with a shit temper
who needed lessons in dieting

I had been known to hide in my skin due to anxiety, fear, rage
and the pharmacologically prescribed rationalisation of the previous three reasons

At the age of 12, I decided the best way to deal with this was
keep my mouth shut and become small
until I could see around the offences that disturbed me

But at 14, the pressures of being invisible
were becoming visible

I was hiding something & everything of me from the world

I fell in ever decreasing circles that were unfocused, scattered & questionable

This fall would be nourishment
to the ignoble aristocrats of my dark netherworld

They represented my worst instincts

Lassitude/noun: weariness of body or mind from strain, a condition of indolent indifference

I came undone

People break

Until there is a
break-through

A cease-fire with oneself

The peace treaty is written in temporal echoes
along a dark tunnel
of a struggle

In my case, the struggle was a vexing conundrum

Either my mind was sick
Or my memories were real

I would come to my conclusion
that both were true

Fifty Shades of Finding The Bad Me

I had become a chubby little girl with a thorn in her side

I spent a lot of time
staring at things
embedded deep in my memory

My self-manufactured ugly self-image was unfathomable

No it wasn’t,
it was bottomless

Because it could be understood

The ugly
that grew out
of the perceived judgements that came
thick
&
heavy
which
watered my well fed hatred
of myself

Feelings got frayed

The projection of my corrupt state of mental affairs
didn’t do justice to the world outside
the inside of my mind

‘Oh dear, has one lost ones composure’ they asked

They didn’t realise that I would find it right here

An illustrated introduction to Sexploitation

Today would be the day
I would believe
there was a light
at the end
of my black hole

Somehow, somewhere in a box of bad connections and piss poor choices
I would find my particular path
down a rabbit hole with a girl called Dirty

It would be a story of a naked female body,
and the
sometimes blind
sometimes mis-aligned
masculine emotions that carve out of it

turpitude/noun -vile, shameful, or base character; depravity

Up til this day
I never thought about my relationship with the masculine

In time, I would develop one….sex

I would go on to form self-shaming skinships

The cost would be pathological fear of intimacy –
because in the heat of my reality,
intimacy looked aberrant, and sounded painful

Intimacy was my parents where love was acrimony

But my dark heart never knew intimacy, so I didn’t miss it

However, its absence would lead to the corruption of my soul

And to be soulfully corrupt is to be eaten joyously from within

By your own obsession

“What are other women really thinking, feeling, experiencing,
when they slip away from the gaze of men?” – Naomi Wolf, The Beauty Myth

This is a film about one woman in the gaze of men

A digital ode to having a lack of soulage while being under the influence of filth

A body on the beach
A soul floating out to see
Tense and twisted
That would be me

The names they called her

You Dirty Little Slut

Put a finger on the pulse of my adolescence in 1994,
and this what you got

I had some peace about some things
and some pieces of other things that I was at war with – namely my sexuality

By the end of this day,
something so dark in my life would become translucent

My take on sexuality would be
wrapped up,
signed & sealed –
for future delivery

Part 1: The Ground Zero of Slut Zero

The unplanned sequence of events on this day
were nothing more than my life unfolding
in its traditionally non-linear fashion

I sit and tap my temple with the index of finger of my right hand
to remind myself of all the turmoil in my head

I open my eyes and see myself
and an equally imperfect woman sitting on a beach

My eyes stay wide as an image is burned into them
Whenever I close my eyes I am sure to be happy

The beach was pristine, populated by fully clothed stout-hearted souls
when I first saw her nakedly lying there

She was a study in forbidden sensuality for a suggestive time in my life

As a sexually repressed 14 year old girl
with all kinds of psychological damage back there
around the issue of un-healthy sexual self image,
I thought about curious questions;

Was she the slut my mother warned me not to become?

Was she a bad motherfucker?

Was she a failed Goddess?

Was she a human body owner honouring it for form over function?

In what twisted galaxy of thought processes did she lose her clothes?

Why did she have come fuck me eyes that said fuck off?

Was she an shapeshifting temptress looking for anonymous sex?

Did her internal walls have graffiti saying come rape me?

My questions would be answered by the men with the look in their eyes

‘There are four powers: memory and intellect, desire and covetousness. The two first are mental and the last two sensual’ -Leonardo da Vinci

Two hours earlier,
the men with the look in their eyes
left home

‘Have a nice day boys’ their fathers said

“Here comes the man with the look in his eye
The devil inside
The devil inside
Every single one of us
The devil inside” -INxS. The Devil Inside

I heard the man behind me say ‘Look at that dirty little slut’

I didn’t see his face. But judgement curved out of his harsh words disapproving tone.

But as I turned towards him, the look in his eye said something else –

that his devil should go to hell for what his dirty mind was thinking

This was my first awareness of the sometimes blind,
sometimes mis-aligned masculine space around the concept of slut

I didn’t want or need anyone, but I fell into her un-reality so easily

I got there late with the understanding, but clicked onto the subject lesson

Seeing sexuality exposed, but make no sound of shame is loud,
a deafening thing to see

I was afraid of what I felt on this psychotropic trip into the beautification of sexually aberrant shame.

I felt pleasure

This was not a fraught-filled fanny whispering her life into existence like me

She had no issues around sex & sensibility, silly prude visions or silly little sexual prisons

This tripped-out erotic eccentric dirty pretty thing enjoyed the shame and judgement

And she knew what the animal instincts of the male lizard brain desired to an infinite degree

And she knew what she wanted

That was this

Releasing masculinity’s unapologetically aggressive inner beast

There was no second guessing involved

Hallelujah for stereophonic sexuality

She gave me not what was wanted, but was needed

It was to be 120 minutes
abandoned in a sexual sun machine,
seen through an anonymous looking glass,
examining the masculine space between aversion & immersion
being in and out of control –
being controlled
by a naked denizen of a sexual paradise
where no conscience was required

No-ne entered her inner circle

She had found a world where men saw her for exactly who she was

A Dirty Little Slut

I didn’t understand how this would effect my adult choices in later life

It didn’t help

Nobody knew what I did last summer. For a reason

I took this one girl’s sexual warrior moves underground

And a freak show I never knew I had
began directing my life

Over time, don’t do became
Do do
At every opportunity
And I didn’t ask for names
Because
the small print of my life said
anonymity was taking over the space
where intimacy should be

My normal sex
wouldn’t develop into an everyday
buffet

From these learnings
I would have yearnings
Not shrewd
Not slight
And they would form the x and y axis
Of what I would call
The sexual arousal of my worst instincts

Each of my disrupted sexual surfaces
would have a story to tell

It would lead me to become something intolerable
in my own mind

Slut Zero would become the inspiration
for my tense & twisted coming-of-age,
and the solution to my own perceived powerlessness

An Exploration of My Mind over what really Matters

Over the next two years, I would reprogram my sexuality
with a toxic self-brewed formula of
attraction, naivety, excitement, acknowledgement, sex, obsession, perversion, revenge, shame, danger & self hate

I would create a diversionary soup of sexual interactions

The first of these,
was episode 16 1st Orgasm

Slut zero gave me the questions

And I would answer in very different, strange & dangerous ways

Pretty fly for a She-Jedi

Every family would be shocked
Every mother disgusted
Every man curious

Or was I projecting my half-cooked incredulous reality
on a mind without clearly defined positions
on right or wrong?

What was right?

What was wrong?

My capacity to celebrate both as equals would confound me over the years

An exploration of an apprehension that loops & echoes through my life

High
on shifting ground made of sand,
I experienced the first iteration of my
psychosomatic binge self-shaming loop.

To make things worse, I didn’t trust myself
because I didn’t understand
the complex relationship of
the fire of shame between my legs,
and the flood of guilt
between my ears

And every next day would guarantee I was different

Worse

“It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know, or perceive a sense of oneself until it has been reflected back to one in the mirror of another human being.” -John Joseph Powell

My stereophonic sex life of secrets
would begin to find purpose,
keeping boys penises on their toes
with escalating experiments in seaside drone boning

A black hole would start to form around me,
and stuff,
bits of me,
got sucked into its sexual vortex

An experiential circus of understanding was developing

You are only as perverted as your most secret secret

She had her own wisdom which would be forever unknown to me

I made no bargain but that of acknowledgement & praise

Let her be, let her go, move along I said to no-one
Because she fights the pressures of correctness
She exists
In her way
With her rituals & obsessions
perhaps feeling the need to be judged
or that she should be

Sex doesn’t care

People do

She exists boldly
with the only weapons given to her,
and the desire of men
in the land of the sun

Sand, line….sincerely,
You’ve got a place in my memory
for what you taught me

The danger of knowledge that is received, but imparted without wisdom

What we see can be an inhibitor to seeing clearly

From the age of 16, with a set of rules that I was given
and some I adopted,
I tightened my lips
and closed one eye
as my moral compass spun wildly

My teenage sexual wanderlust was now pointed
due south

Slowly,
over the next two years,
emotional pain & shame
became pleasure

I choose the path towards moral implosion

Sexuality became
devoid of love
or attachment
or responsibility
or trust
or morality

“I love it when a plan comes together” -George Peppard, The A Team

The fantasy of perception over reality

At the age of 14,
I thought the question & the answer were self-evident

Who are you Missy Jubilee?
I am a pervert

But the answer was something much more sexually psychopathic

Got a collar
and chain
and
40 ounces of shame

Is sex a way to console the soul?

It’s a bad ritual
but it turns me on
as the fragments of my innocence start to fly

Can I be comfortable observing it…?

No

It is disturbingly unhealthy
and it makes me want to know how to replace
the click frenzy of bad
in the back of my head

But it is me

When I was a child
I wanted to be better

I wanted to not be what I was

I fought it like I un-liked it –
this collective of emotional bad credit
that was accrued through my eyes and ears
as a child

It would manifest in my teenage years
as meditative pre-pervert preparation

And that was a foreshadowing of my tangled sexual future

metanoia/noun – a profound, usually spiritual, transformation; conversion

I bought in to it

It was useful

It ticked a lot of boxes

It got me through

But there was a downside…

It made having a normal sexuality all kind of null and voidish

Why does losing something that was never given, not feel like peaceful wisdom?

‘Now that you’ve found it, it’s gone
Now that you feel it, you don’t
You’ve gone off the rails
And you’ll go to hell
for what your dirty mind is thinking’

-Radiohead/Nude

Categories: Sex

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