Granny's back-green with Glen

Snot

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Alright Calamity, brace yourself...!!!

time now, to turn oot the pockets, of yer
flarey old Levis. To turf oot yer pen-knife,
an' yon ooze covered apple-core. Get shot of
that minging old crumpled hanky and shards
of blue stone. Chuck it all on the
mantle piece, leave it behind.
Hopefully then, by the morrow,
yel' wake up, an'
no' be of yer heid
or totally mental, anymare!!!

Looking for Tomboys

Trees

Tuesday

At some point
you have to stand
alone in your
oddness.

Throw Like A Girl!

As a girl, whilst walking around Woolies with my Mum, bored and trailing behind her, I used to practice my bow-legged swagger I had mastered by watching Starsky on the telly. My Mum, fully aware of my shenanigans, left me alone to explore and grapple with these notions of gender-bendering. And so, I wore Starsky, if you like, as a loose garment, for some months to come!



Ah Starsky - I loved Starsky. I even wrote him a fan letter telling him over and over again, how much i loved him. The letter was later returned to me. Contained within an envelope bearing my name, was my letter to Starsky - all chewed up. It had never arrived. Starsky never received my letter. I was totally devastated, whilst at the same time, secretly happy to receive my very first letter ever in the post, all the way from America. Even if it did contain my sad chewed up confession to Starsky of undying love - I was eight.



It was a few years later, one day whilst sitting at the back of the class, chewing on my tasty red pencil, staring out of the window at those prefect hockey girls, with big thick woolly socks on, I realised that I had not been in love with Starsky after all.........................
I don't want to shag Starsky,
I want to be Starsky!



Basically I am looking at the language of femininity and masculinity as a construct in western society and the codes and signifiers used to communicate this definitive. I am particularly interested in the transition girls experience from girlhood into adolescence and then womanhood. I am looking at how girls who are not yet (fully) conscious of issues surrounding gender difference or sexuality express themselves; carry themselves, their body language and perhaps who or what they identify with.

WANTED : TOMBOYS

Okay now I have gotten out from under my emotional slumber,
it's well time to get on with my new project.
Thank fuck for time...time, time, time; that what I absolutely do
not understand, cannot comprehend, and neither, incidentally could
Darwin, Einstein nor Galileo...oh well, perhaps my good friend Eddy
will come up with a feasible theory of time!
Those Romans may have compartmentalised this notion of time, but, they give little about what time actually is, how it works, how it travels, where it goes, where it comes from...WHAT IS IT?

Well enough of time for the minute..boom boom..time incidentally, has nothing to do with my new project, or does it? who knows? EDDY!!??

My new project picks up where i left off
before 'my teratoma experience' shook me into another direction.
But there is always a thread running hey...so they tell me.

I am looking for tomboys to photograph.

Know Any?





Explaination to follow shortly!!

Fucking Phone

For thousands upon
thousands of hours,
she'd stare at her phone.
She would just sit there,
pick up the phone,
look at it,
put it back down
and stare at it.

That cold, flat, slim,
slice of matter,
hovered there
in the corner of her eye,
urging her, pressing her,
calling her (you wish).



Ever aware of the swelling
between the inner walls of her mind,
the static of silence - ears rapped
around her head, like a dog
intent on hearing it's call,
whilst at the same time, aware
of a distant cry.

pick it up.
look at it,
check last sent message
then last recieved,
put it back down.
Just sit there,
stare at it,
pick it up,
look at it,
put it back down.
Just sit there,
satre at it,
pick it up.....



ONE TUESDAY WITH EDDY.