Prayer

Backstage, dressed as Hamlet

I made the art I wanted to make. I went home at the end of the night when there was a home to go to. There were hours and days for making love, but I spend my mornings happy and alone. My voice, the imaginings I tend, ideas wrestling to be articulate — these are the demons keeping me up at night shifting stones, divining numbers, picking apart the sticky matter which is life. Bread digests and leaves me empty again.

Once upon a time I was a farmer. Each day I rose at 4 am and swam in the ocean alone. Naked and salty I watched the sun rise and headed back to less solitary land in time to take fistfuls of dirt and a hoe in hand. This soil we stand upon is made from our bodies. Matter of our existence, dark Earth we return to. It is our burden to share, and our only task is the whispered word, “tend”.

My worth was measured in string lengths given to the God of Stories. What right I have to speak is the same as yours, the breath of having become. Chosen temple, My Stage, I offer all that I have: Word and Action. Until I crumble into dirt once more I will mutter in tongues foreign to unnatural law. This is my dedication and my oath. The body is meant for war, a heart placed center anchors our need for peace, and my head navigates human’s unearthly tradition of spitting lies in order to control, teaching folly, and profiting off harm to a universal law.

I am no holy, no clean minister walking one town to the next. I am complex rhythms. Mosaic of worms and light, terrible genius, struggling and eternally short. I will be gone in a moment, remembered or not, so I offer this now: it matters not, my intent. What nurtured or destroyed all the other worms-in-light was my “doing”. I skipped ugly. I danced fevered with soul. I fell times, tripping others in the tangle of my angled limbs. I vow to rise each time though, salty and naked, knowing more deeply the many faced force of Grace.

I made the art I wanted to make. I went home at the end of the night when there was a home to go to. There were hours and days for making love, but I spend my mornings happy and alone. My voice, these imaginings I tend, ideas wrestling to be articulate — these are the demons keeping me up at night shifting stones, divining numbers, picking apart the sticky matter which is life. Bread digests and leaves me empty again.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

Adult Playground

Still from “NO SHAME”. Photo by Jennifer Bennett

I’m in the middle of an East Coast tour performing my solo show, NO SHAME, I’m appearing in a few other shows, and teaching workshops along the way to help pay for food, gas and expenses. Like this blog, my message across mediums is about finding and owning one’s self. NO SHAME is a shapeshifting half-hour event where I tackle stereotypes, the metamorphosis of one’s character and identity over time, what it’s like to be institutionally afraid to be out in the world, and the intersection of these experiences with the power of thought and the force one’s words. The piece is essentially about the will to be.

Today more than any time in my life I think, the words that we dare to use, artist’s messages from all over, having conversations about taboo subjects, and the willingness of individuals to claim their space and speak up against oppression, against repression, and against the narrowing of ideas into boxes easily manipulated and controlled by the elite (political and/or wealthy), are enormously important. We must feed ourselves, as we would be further starved by the system. Continuing to gather reliable and objective intelligence, community building through acknowledgement of need and actioning to provide, choosing observation and action over despair or overwhelm, cultivating openness to new and different POVs, and the use of questioning instead of attack: these are tools for change, vital in this historical moment we are sinking into like the swamp of sadness… We must move our blood. We must speak, exercise, be!

I am teaching workshops in kink skills — a smattering of rope classes, my “Radical Gender Theater” curriculum, and an intro to various types of kink play pertaining to sensation manipulation. I’ve had the pleasure of teaching groups as well as privates; the classes are meant to empower people to better communicate with one another, and help navigate through the vulnerability that desire requires through fun, curiosity, challenge, and skilled playfulness. This “adult playground” we have matured into having control over (our bodies, emotions, and minds), is a gift we get only one chance to live well within.

Human animals are capable of far more than we recognise or are taught. Having been enculturated as a female person, and eventually finding kink — rough body play, needles, bites, whip marks, and scratches — has proven to me over and over again that my body is resilient and capable of processing pain and healing from damaging activity in a way my perceived gender is institutionally protected from finding or knowing. Having been surrounded by the sensitivities and open expression of emotions, pains, fears, and lostness of those enculturated within the masculine lie proves to me too that us animals are whole underneath. It is the powers that be, not the world which would have us be lesser than our true potential strengths and understandings.

I love my art. I love my audience and my students. When I act out or speak up, I learn so much about what people see and feel in response. I want to be an affecting force. I want to help people reach their inner truths and desires against the powers that be. I want to exercise this animal body, this universal intellect, this natural heart to their purposes while I live.

Play On My Friends,
~ Karin

If you like my blog, please check out my Patreon Page and support me. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist

~Thank you.

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