behold:

what's going on with that one in the first row? suggestions? anyone?

there he is again. it's like he's sticking his tongue out at something.

art. there's no accounting for it.

and finally, i couldn’t not post this without the a Golden Erect Penis candelabra.

class.

i must say i am quite tickled by this curious desire to cast genitals. the other day a plum sent me a link to a site promoting a book detailing how to cast one’s vagina… but now i can’t find it. poop. will reblog if i do find the link.

Check out more of tailor’s work here [clickety click].

if you want to cast your own penis, check this out [clickety click].

oao
dot
x

try getting that out of your mind

certainly THE most bizarre postsecret i’ve read in ages. so i had to post. that and the fact the card is numbered 33, which is my fave number in the whole unknown multiverse.

otherwise.

not that much else to say i’m afraid. this weekend was, well, more of the usual lovely awesome summer stuff in cape town. saw mr hardman by chance at a club. knees buckled a bit, realised it all still felt a bit weird, so high-tailed it out of there. ran away really, is what i did. very grown-up.

still. probably better than getting drunk and putting my tongue in his mouth. or humping his leg (not far off though). or hurling incoherent hostile gibberish at him. or all three. guess i’m winning in some small way.

oh and i got a warning from facecrack for posting a link to a pic of a man with his penis hanging out [this post clickety click], which pisses me off for two reasons:

1. someone who followed the page probably complained. to you, fair plum, i say FOAD.
2. that facebook listens to crud like that and has ‘obscenity’ clauses that cracks down on perfectly harmless nude pics but still allows violent sexism and outrageous political bullshit pages to continue is beyond me

ya feelin' me?

reminds me of the whole hetzner debacle last year. but let me not upset myself, it’s enough that my tap’s washer  blew on a sunday night and we’ve had to close off the water before i’ve had a chance to wash off all the beach salt and tantra sweat.

on the other hand, that’s not such a terrible thing either.

oh, a joke from swissy: mondays are like penises — long and hard.

he’s a funny little swissy. do you know he’s 23, has had three long-term relationships, has been in the army and has a 2-year-old son. these swissies get around.

good morning stranger! here is my penis!

The question: Dotty what does it mean why shy girls send nude photos and it’s unrequested … I never asked or anything. From confused.

Listen to the answer on 5FM > I’m getting unwanted nudies from a girl

***

hahaha this was a cock-up on the question, but totally funny… i was going to post some of the pics i’ve been sent, and then thought better of it. now, here’s a poll:

You would think, given what I do, that overshare should come as second nature to me. If you’ve read my column and blog regularly enough, you will know when I first had sex, how many people I’ve slept with, what I think of one night stands and how I like my oral sex. Among many, many other things.

You would think, given that I share so much about my private life that it would be easy to say that I was sexually abused as a child. But it isn’t. (In fact, it’s taken me 48 hours to type just that.)

So why talk about it now?

A few weeks ago, a plum tweeted a link to a small tumblr blog with photos that shook me: people of all ages, races, sexes and sexual preferences holding posters with quotes of phrases that their sexual abusers had used against them. The site, called Project Unbreakable, was started by artist Grace Brown as a way for survivors to take back the power these words had over them.

Some phrases horrified me. Some were too familiar to be horrific. Those I recognised have stumbled around my head for years, refusing to lose significance.

We don’t realise that there are words used against us that take our words away and keep us silent in fear and in shame

When you think of sexual abuse, or of rape, it is easy to visualise for yourself an action. There is a thing that is done, a violation of space and body, within a visual context. We don’t often think of what is said as an abuse. We don’t realise that there are words used against us that take our words away and keep us silent in fear and in shame.

The words that were used against me seem so innocuous, so ordinary, as they stand alone: ‘See? It’s not so bad.’ ‘Do you like this?’

Do you like this.

I was five. There are worse things he could’ve said. Others did later. But the real clincher that sealed my lips and closed my voice that day came later, when I tried to tell my caregiver. Her reaction: ‘Don’t say anything.’ (It wasn’t so bad, it was nothing really, you’re only trying to get sympathy or get attention). ‘It’s their family’s business.’ (You’ll be fine.) ‘Well look at what you were wearing.’ (I was wearing a blue jumpsuit).

Slut-shaming has no age-restriction.

Do you like this. Scrolling through the photos of survivors with their posters, some defiant and some hiding, I was surprised by how much of a relief it was to realise that I was not the only one walking around with words like vultures in my head.

that 'we' terrifies me.

But more than that, I realised that the person who had trapped them there, was the woman who had told me not to tell anyone and to forget it. It made me think of all the times I had told people to be honest about themselves and to be open about how they were feeling. Looking at this site and admiring the bravery of the women and men who had offered up their experience to the collective, I realised I could not write about it and honour their survival unless I honoured mine.

When you violate a child, you change their lives forever. You kill the person they could’ve been

And it is survival. When you violate a child, you change their lives forever. You kill the person they could’ve been. You set in motion decades of harm, whether that is self harm or a perpetuated harm. And if you silence a child who is trying to speak, or pretend nothing is happening with your silence, you become a conspirator in that crime.

Survivors who have made it to a point of peace and who find a new, stronger, more compassionate person to become, are to be admired.

I am both alarmed and amused by parents who think the way they dress their children will prevent sexual abuse. They are like people who think men and women are raped because of what they wear. It shows an appalling ignorance of how mental illness violates and damages for its own benefit.

In my personal experience and having spoken to many who were abused as kids, it is the child who has not been empowered to question everything, who has been taught to obey blindly against their better instincts, whose boundaries have not been respected and who does not have the support and trust of safe adults, that is most at risk. Unfortunately, this is only a very valid generalisation.

It is the child who has not been empowered to question everything, who has been taught to obey blindly against their better instincts who is most at risk

They say shame dies on exposure. Exposure cannot happen without acknowledgement and honesty. It cannot happen without speaking as adults what we were forced as children to be silent about. An honest voice breaks down what silence perpetuates. An honest voice is able to say ‘Fuck you, I made it anyway.’

I salute the men and women who are taking part in Project Unbreakable, and Grace for having such a clever idea. So. This is my poster. And I like it.

If you would like to speak to someone about sexual trauma that you have experienced or if you feel you may be in a position to harm others please call LifeLine’s 24-hour number 0861 322 322 or visit LifeLife.co.za.

***

here’s how i actually started this column:

My mouth has gone dry and a familiar knot of low-level anxiety coils itself around my belly. I run through a list of reasons why this is a stupid idea.

In my head, I start: This is not what you’re expected to write, no one’s really going to give a toss, a million people go through the same thing all the time, why do you think this is the platform for that, don’t be ridiculous, this isn’t something you need to write about here, it wasn’t so bad, it was nothing really, so who will care, people will say how it’s not surprising you turned out the way you did and you’re only trying to get sympathy or get attention, just shut up about it and ignore it and write about something funny, something that isn’t this, something that isn’t this, something that isn’t this…

here are some of the other photos that made my tummy hurt and my eyes cry…

The idea that I should be afraid of my abusers (yes, both of them) seems absurd to me now. I live in my own apartment, in a secure neighborhood, with a rifle for home defense. But when you’re five years old, you’ll believe anything an adult tells you. I didn’t tell anyone for fifteen years, and the first time I told anyone, I vomited from panic and nearly passed out. Over these last few years I have slowly chipped away at the amount of fear and control my abusers spent so much time cultivating, each in his own way. My therapist tells me that male victims are generally less likely to come forward, and that is a trend I would very much like to see reversed.

All of these pics, barring mine are from Grace’s Unbreakable tumblr. Go check out more people and their words, some Q&As and general support at Project Unbreakable [clickety click].

This column first appeared on Women24.com. [clickety click]

I once happened upon an ‘intro to BDSM’ meet where this dude was tying a perfectly pleasant looking lady up with rope, in what seemed to me to be a very unnecessarily finnicky fashion.

what i was watching was the downscaled PC version (fully clothed) of shibari, an ancient Japanese artistic form of rope bondage. then the other day a plum sent me a link to a site featuring pretty cool shibari photography from david lawrence which i think you may like. checkit…

go to david’s site to see more photos from his books, BOUND and reBOUND, here [clickety click] and find out what shibari actually is here [clickety click and in god we trust etc etc].

titled: and i will

i spent most of my 20s feeling like i was not the girl men chose to marry. i was always ‘too difficult’ and ‘challenging’, among a list of other descriptions. the two men who did propose i didn’t love and the men i loved, never proposed.

for a long time (before the days of morla), i viewed this as an indication that i was defective in some way. not girly enough to warrant a gentlemanly invitation to enter into lifelong wedded bliss, not pretty enough/thin enough/smart enough/manageable enough to want to attach mrs-relevancy to.

marry me.

things changed somewhat – at least with regards to the self-esteem issue – but i guess i simply wrapped a lot of those thoughts into one manageable ball, which was: i am not the woman men commit to.

but it was a sentence that still sat uncomfortably with me. i didn’t know why and, as my career shifted into focus for me, i didn’t give it much thought beyond post break-up snivels.

and then the other day jk dropped a comment into a convo that really put it all into perspective: YOU will choose to commit when you feel YOU are ready for it.

i never have.

i have never met anyone i wanted to make that commitment to. i have not been, until today, the woman that commits. the greatest commitment i’ve been able to make is monogamy and sunday breakfasts in bed. it’s not that i don’t want to meet someone that i want to marry and set up a home with, it’s just that … well, it’s a pretty scary vulnerable place to put yourself in i think. it’s a lot of hard work. so i guess a more appropriate sentence would be, i have never trusted anyone – or myself – enough to want to commit. and also, i’m pretty lazy.

YOU will choose to commit when you feel YOU are ready for it

so i keep choosing to enter into relationships with people who are unsafe for me, unavailable and don’t value me or the relationship. i set myself up to be disappointed and unfulfilled. also, i keep choosing people who can’t keep the fuck up either. so. that’s a problem.

is blood too much to ask for?

anyway. i’m over it, plums. just really fucking over it. it’s such a bore being a cynical romantic who is a victim of circumstance. so my focus over the past few months has been learning to value myself and my own company, instead of bumping into hearts and beds because it’s simpler sometimes to focus somewhere else than on your own shit.

that’s why this valentines, instead of being disappointed in a failing relationship or sitting alone at home, i’ve organised my first anti-valentines piss-up with some mates. and i couldn’t be more excited if i’d been asked out by clooney himself.

i'd love to george, but i'm otherwise engaged for the evening of valentines with a group of my closest reprobates

check out last year’s valentine’s postsecret [clickety click] and one from a few years back with a link to particularly funny valentine’s pics [clickety click].

and this last one, because this ACTUALLY HAPPENED to a friend of mine. you, sir, are a cunt.

happy moonday my sweet little purple fruity balls,

dot

xx

She then gave me full permission to sleep around with other woman until she is in a position to do so again. At first I thought she was joking but she said she has no problem with it at all.

This has really shocked me. It’s made me question why she would be happy with something like that and also how serious she is about our relationship. I also now question if she is so easily comfortable with me sleeping with other people how likely would she cheat on me when the opportunity comes her way.

I am at a loss and not sure how to react to this.

Listen to the answer on 5FM > My pregnant GF is letting me sleep with other women

why? i hear you ask, bill. because at home i work on a PC. and on a PC you to need download a million little gadgets and megoeters to do the simplest fucking thing. and all the free downloads don’t merge and all those that do cost a million ronds. and that movie maker thing? what the hell?! how does it make sense? I need timelines, bill. With little arrow things for clipping and simple layout. Didn’t you get the freaking memo?

i thought about making it simple. and then thought, 'nah. fuckit.'

read a fucking book, bill.

so now, bill, now i’m going to buy my first mac.

i hate to say it – i can’t believe i’m saying it, i know how lovely you are and how much you and melinda save the cheeldren in Africa – but screw you and windows and the PC you both rode in on. i’m going to the bling side.

...and i'll love you, and hug you, and pet you and call you bunny

dot, out.

you see that pretty little house? that's you and your life. see that tornado? that's addiction.

The question: my childhood sweetheart and I have been on and off for the last 8 years, we’ve had a consistent relationship for about a year, got engaged and got our own place… everything was perfect and i was happy…

but then his mother and her boyfriend decided to move in with us, it was supposed to be short term but on the 6th month i was worn thin, my boyfriend travels a lot for work and is away for weeks on end, but i would be stuck with his alcoholic mother and her drug addict boyfriend.

when something went wrong, i was always the one to blame and he always took his mothers side…

toward the end of our relationship we were broke, so we called it quits…

i feel like he was my true love and i constantly think of him and miss him. i dont know why i still feel like this after 4 months of being single, what should i do?

Listen to the 5fm #thedotspot answer >>His mother’s addiction tore us apart