Stand in Awe

by Creature Karin Webb

Stand in awe.
Not so that you can feed off
The misery of an inferiority complex or
Nurse the wounds of your
Slighted reality for
All of time eternal,
Stand in awe because
Awe inspires one to do better.
To grow
To learn
To love more deeply
Than ever could have been conceived of prior.

Stand in awe of women, in all their shapes and forms
Stand in awe of darker skin
Indigenous Nations
Experience of color, ethnicity
You can not comprehend
Stand in awe of LGB
T, queer, intersex, questioning, kinky
Non-normative, authentic
Claimer’s of personal truth:
Their hearts are lighthouse
For your freedom too.

Stand in awe of people with disabilities, visible and unseen
Stand in awe of foreigners, immigrants
Navigating new tongues and streets
Stand in awe of poor and homeless humans too
Stand in awe of sex workers—controlling body and their grind
Stand in awe of people who survive
Each story a whisper
To overcome.

These holy strangers are
Family
Therapist
Teachers
Builders
Street sweepers and
Caretakers of the mud
We call home.

They raise fists and host a party
Because never to dance
Is Death studied—
Life was meant for wonder
Hearts heal
Bodies resilient
Minds unimpeachable
At finding enough meaning to continue…

They show us how to love deeply
Differently
With lesser reserve
And when we listen
To their voices
We matter increasingly
Than at any moment prior
We matter more
Engaged in the fabric
Of interconnectivity
Deeply
Seeking to understand another sibling.

We matter more
Embracing Love in our listening
Releasing misjudgment, suspicion, fear, pejorativity.

Earth spins on an axis,
Hurdling through space
Victim of momentum and tension
Gravity and fate.
We exist
Between breath and Death
On our own axes too
Turned, curbed
To the corners by
Socialization, privilege, wealth
Yet tempered undeniably
With the significant gravity
Of choice.

It is Law that we grow
How tall
Left to action and etiquette
So be curious
Brave
Open
Understanding
Stand in awe
Of this life
Built by others
Including details
Such as you.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art.
Please visit my Patreon, offer one time Support or email me for other options. Thank you.

Costuming as a Genderqueer Artist

Working on my costume for Dracula. This is my first stab at some of my concepts.

The first company I co-created after graduating college was “All The Kings Men“. We were a drag performance group of 7 (at the time identifying) women who performed mostly male characters on stage. We played all the roles in the 15 years we were together: men, women, nonbinary characters, queer, straight, pets, objects, kids, old nursing home residents… Our troupe excelled at storytelling through dance and physical theater, while twisting and reworking the meaning of those very messages utilizing overt gender-play layered in meta realization about who was on stage.

After spending a fair amount of time performing predominantly in male drag, I started creating more female drag pieces—what we (somewhat inarticulately) refer to as “Burlesque”. I brought characters like “Rico” to my troupe, and eventually was performing on stages in collaboration with the burlesque community in the Boston area and beyond. I still performed male roles regularly, and steadily added female and high femme characters to my résumé. It’s been an interesting personal and artistic journey, reflecting on gender via character creation, in my three decades creating performances for the cabaret.

This coming April I’ll be performing in a production of “Dracula” produced by The Slaughterhouse Society. I love performing with this troupe and getting to work my art into their productions. The character I was cast as is a thing, not a whom. I’m delighted to take this assignment on, and am having fun finding the sexy-non-sexed intersection between my identity, my changed-because-of-HRT body, and the ultimate goal: to shine as the character I’m playing without apology. Celebrating my own body unapologetically is still, even after all of these years, something I stumble on.

All over the world people are executed for being gay, and are treated as property and denied basic rights and mobility because of their sex and/or gender identity. I’m an United States citizen. I’m white, college educated, and very privileged all things considered. I categorically reject the idea that some human beings are more valuable than others. It is my job as an artist and as a world citizen to share in the burden of changing these things in whatever ways I may.

The first time I remember having “gender feels” was around age 7, when I was told to put a shirt on as I gardened with my father in the mid-summer sun. He was not wearing a shirt. I remember being furious. It was unfair and I felt betrayed. Not only was I being told to do something I did not want to do, I was being told to do so by a man hypocritically enjoying the privilege of his station. I didn’t understand sex and gender double standards at that age, but I very clearly felt them from that moment on. This is my first concrete memory of being told I was a second class citizen.

I am a human being. I am not an “ess”. I am not “Mr(‘)s”. I’m no more or less physically threatening wearing a shirt or not than my breastless or “male nippled” friends. I reject every law putting a restriction on my body due to the “F” on my birth certificate, not because I don’t love being a woman and celebrating my female body, but because that “F” stands for “(F)ailure to live a life without appealing to (M)ales. The male gaze, the male boss, the fallout from male fraternization, the male authorities… Understandably it’s been a long (still unwinding) journey learning to love the (F)em within me. I am as masculine as they come when it comes to shoveling snow, fixing my van, washing dishes, sewing costumes, or any other non-sexed task requiring a keen mind, some heart, and a reasonable amount of physical exertion. I am as feminine and as androgynous as well, tripping through my daily chores and interacting with people meaningfully.

I came out to myself as non-binary trans a few years ago. Since that time I’ve started taking HRT, enjoying the results of testosterone shots weekly. My body has changed in certain ways, and in some ways it remains the same. I’ve been refiguring my understanding of how I read on stage, whether I’m playing a male, female, masculine, femme, or character representing somewhere in between. It’s been a mental and emotional battle to perform some of the older pieces of mine, especially ones which require me to embody high femininity. I haven’t settled my feelings on that side of things yet. I want to rework costumes and look anew at how I say what I’m saying. I feel more and more clearly that my years of “playing” masculine characters was a way to actively “be” myself more wholly—a release valve for the tension of being read and treated predominantly as a woman-female-femme-person-thing in ways which have never resonated comfortably for me.

When I catch myself in the mirror as I walk around naked in the morning, or as I dress for the day, I see a collision of soft curves, and female body parts. I see facial hair, increased body hair, and a more (than before) masculine thickness to my body. I love this view and I think it’s sexy. I want to frame the both and the all and be seen like this publicly. I want to see this character represented on the stage. How does one get cast as a non-gendered creature possessing clashing and bemusing qualities of femininity, masculinity, and androgynousness on stage—and strike that discord effectively and/or pleasantly?

The obvious answer is that I just show up and do it. Be. I am myself, and genderqueer is a part of my public face and simple reality. Whoever I’m cast to be will be these things too, unless I change my appearance to read more binary. I’m excited to be more aesthetically myself on stage these days, and to work less at physically transmuting into something archetypically gendered and other. “Showing up” is the first lesson I teach my performance and creativity students. I feel it’s time that as I show up for myself in my personal life by embracing my fluid identity, I also show up for my audience and the stage in these ways too. Visibility.

It’s hard. Very scary. I’m learning anew about how I might or might not be accepted and appreciated by my audience these days. There have definitely been growing pains—but I’m growing. I’m excited to take Dracula by the fang, and show up for the role I’m creating and playing as I want to be seen. I will always want to play all the things, just as I have always wanted to be all of the things, brilliantly.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art.
Please visit my Patreon, offer one time Support or email me for other options. Thank you.

The Dangers of Hair

The Dangers of Hair

I whipped up this photo in response to the banning of the painting “Portrait of Ms Ruby May, Standing” by Leena McCall. These days, thanks to Testosterone, I am happily even harrier.

by Creature Karin Webb

Hirsute.
Nape of neck
Top of head,
Armpit, crotch, lips,
Ears, feet, crack.
Perfume locked tresses
Scent-ers emanating out and around
Attracting animals.
Primal hedonistic invitation.
Soft breasts and back,
Treasure trail, chin, and jowl,
Arms, ass, legs,
Backs of hands,
Bits.
The dangers of a mammal
Are in its ability to communicate
So stealthily.
Pores leaking nonverbal come-hitherance
And “no tresspass”
Seeping up the stalks of mane
Expanded by heat, trailing sweat.
Other bodies warm in response.
Filling this room
Full of oils
Personal dirt and
Putrid-sexy stench.

I couldn’t sleep the other night and so wrote an art piece for performance. It’s meant to live in a gallery for a stretch of time.

I imagine a field of razors, scissors, and clippers covering the floor throughout. All shapes and sizes of haircutting implements blanket the room. Perhaps there is a pond of Nair in one corner, boasting waxy shores and electrolysis tools piled high on threading discard sands.

It is a familiar wasteland. One imagined from the piles of waste garnered from decades of upkeep, with an undercurrent note reeking of shame.

At the room’s entrance stands a soap and hand sink station. One by one (or small group by group), people are invited to enter. Winding through this sharp and dangerous setting is a path. The path leads to a tent I sit in. I am unshaven and soft. Nude. Available to pet, explore, and caress. One may look at my body covered with hair, even stare, should they like. Both masculine and feminine are the current patterns of my design. My audience may speak, question, command that I show my nooks and crannies. They may ask to breathe in my clean, natural fragrances should they wish. Witness.

I hold court loving my natural body—struggle as it often is to do so. I’ve fought a lifetime to hold onto this rite|right to the hair which I grow daily. Free to display my mammalian self uncensored, I look forward to sharing. Radical naturalist reality.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art.
Please visit my Patreon, offer one time Support or email me for other options. Thank you.

Age Verification: www.ABCsOfKink.com addresses adult sensual and sexual information, including imagery associated with a wide variety of BDSM topics and themes. This website is available to readers who are 18+ (and/or of legal adult age within their districts). If you are 18+, please select the "Entry" button below. If you are not yet of adult age as defined by your country and state or province, please click the "Exit" link below. If you're under the age of consent, we recommend heading over to www.scarleteen.com — an awesome website, which is more appropriate to minors looking for information on these subjects. Thank you!