Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Signs of the times

They say pictures are louder than words and SVG is a virtual coffee table book.

1. In the last couple months, there was a splash of yellow across the country as the underground promotion of the NDP raised its head. Signs popped out all over the place....and not your usual tacky political poster...no pictures, and embracing of colloquial dialect and of course the $1 million dollar question.

But then, some one decided to deface the huge billboard at the Sion Hill intersection, covering the words with white paint. And I thought to myself, somebody is going to be pissed about this and replace this poster...Lo and behold, the sign still up. Every time I see it, I think of the crazy person(s) that would have done this in the dead of the night, practically shitting their pants every time they hear a car coming near.

As I was driving by this week, I realised that it is better for the NDP to keep the defaced board up rather than bear the cost of re-doing it. It is a constant reminder to the public that a government supporter would have allegedly done this...a resounding cry to the road users to "Vote them out" better than any platform address, any galvanize sheet and even the continuation in the recent series of "Government Blunders"...Season 2.

2. Have you seen the bitchin signs on the road to Georgetown? As you approach the Byrea area, there are these gigantic "SLOW" signs painted on the road...I could not figure out what the hell I was slowing for but I did. Then I came upon it....


All in yellow...all on separate lines. I looked, peered and peeped...there was no merging traffic..just one dry gap to turn into some side road. I thought "Impossible, I must have missed it. When I was returning now, I come upon the signs in the opposite direction...Slow slow then BOOM


The sign was longer than my vehicle and I was driving a jeep. Then a friend told me that the dry gap leads to the PM's farm...yeah the one he planned to retire on after two terms. But I figure even though he talking about a third...he reckons that he will most likely lose and he will need the signs to direct him where to turn in, since he will have to get accustomed to driving himself again.

3. Well, Aunt Jobe's is getting there and they painting bright bright hues...lighting up the place, especially since the banner has started to rip and look worn. And guess who following behind, Greaves Supermarket. I see man on machine last week bluing and yellowing the entire building...some spots left back still but boi oh boi...I bet that paint job was not because it appeared on the maintenance calendar since they used the drabbest shade of grey for the building before. Or maybe they testing out the shades they going to use on the Buccament branch...yeah one special special for the resort. Anyway, Aunty better lower she prices if they want me to go in there for anything more than ice cream.

4. Me...getting an expensive phone...sigh. I get cussing from all over...what's your PIN? Pin...common pin, a button pop or something? Don't I feel like the greatest ass? Anyway, I can gladly say I did not give into the social pressure in deciding to buy a BB but the last one I had fell and it occasionally falls apart in mid-coversation. I am the only one who thinks it to be amusing. Dear God, please let it not fall.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010


I was tempted to title this post..."reclaiming the cunt", inspired by Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues but I know that regardless of my personal perception of the word, I may spark harsh outrage because of someone else's understanding and prevent the message from going out.

Female sexuality....I speak from the perspective of a Vincentian, West Indian, black/black carib, youth-who-grew-up-in-an-era-where-porn-is-the-normal-and-accepted-means-of-educating-oneself-about-that-carnal-pleasure. Not as a therapist, but as a friend that has spoken to my girlfriends and guy friends (never boyfriends) about sexual desires/experiences.

I speak as a woman...I do not dare to speak for women.

WARNING, THIS BLOG POST IS GRAPHIC,if you hadn't realised.

I am convinced more and more that our society and the culture has robbed us (all genders) of the ability to truly and freely embrace who we are as sexual beings. Women are expected to be coy and shy about their cravings for the touch of another (whether it be a caress at the small of your back or the tug of your hair from the man stroking into you doggystyle while you are bent over the couch, where your friends are expected to sit in a couple hours.)

We are to be silent on the numbers that we have racked up in bed partners (or maybe you didn't make it to bed with a few). Let us not forget the same sex yearnings....taboo, outlandish (oh my...were you abused as a child?)

And it is not to say that men are marching with placards displaying the names, times and places of sexual conquests...but no one can deny that the expression of heterosexual male sexuality is more acceptable...easier to digest...simpler for us to remove ourselves from the conversation if we are offended.

Bring on the opposite...let a woman in the company of her peers, smile with relished memories, and nod in the direction of a man, followed by the words..."He moans and likes me to spank his ass when he is cumming" and our political correctness may prevent us from screaming bloody tramp in her face...but it would be the subject of whispered did-you-knows for sometime to come.

This over protection of the expression of what we want has led to repressed women who have never experienced an orgasm, women who are unable to voice the desire to be ravished, women who think that the genitals are part of the domestic duty package and women who simply do not think that there is any pleasure to be had for them in sex.

It has also led to the hush hush on abuse...the fact that your little girl/boy has been touched in her/his special place is not enough for you to pursue justice...rather than protect their future outlook...too many people protect their present image of okayness.
Not to mention the abuse suffered by women...records would show that the areas on a woman's body that is often battered are the parts that represent attractiveness, and sexuality...their faces, breasts and vaginas. Even the verbal abuse between women target those areas, as well, "that ugly bitch", "and she has no ass" etc.

As I looked in horror at the dance thing that occurred in Victoria Park some weeks back and then tonight, SVG TV aired an interview with the principal of SVG Grammar School and he talked about the fact that young women need to respect their bodies...no mention of the young men gyrating in their own fashion or with a girl's legs wrapped around their waists...I forget...the expression of male sexuality, either by themselves or with a female partner is accepted...normal...boys will be boys.

It is not to say that I am against the use of dance to display all manner of emotions and experiences...sexual as well...I have seen at least one well choreographed piece where a sexual act was beautifully portrayed. The difference was the respect and awe with which the act was treated with...it was abrasive and gentle at different moments, reflective of a mature grasp of sexuality. Not the throw-my-ass-into- the-air-with-an-itty-bitty-skirt-on.

God knows I have 'backed it up' more than a few times in my life but never did I do it with the aim of disrespecting my body...neither did my partner ever think that. (I hope). The fact that young women were willing to do this to themselves speaks of a lack of awareness as to who they are as individuals.

Because one of the realities that I have arrived at...is that no matter our assertion as to who we are as women and what we are capable of achieving...there is still a social misconception that our bodies are to be used as flagons of visual lusts...mere vessels holding the ability to quench of male liberties. No matter what is said about women taking over..we are still to men and to ourselves...their pussies. The irony is that even though we have attained the position of sex toy, rarely are we told how to wind ourselves up, how to ensure that we are properly "played" with.

That is another reason why I hesitated at titling this "reclaiming" because I have to wonder if we ever had it at all...and if we ever will. I am not talking about individuals...I have met my share of women who are strong in their sexual desires, and have partners who love this. When will our society see us as equal partners in sexuality? Maybe then, we would see a fall in unwanted pregnancies and AIDS babies, rape, child abuse, and bitchy women who had to endure the humping of a sweaty man the night before.

Imagine, if girls were taught about their genitals from young, the knowledge and awareness increasing as the years pass...child molesters would think twice before reaching out to fondle. Imagine, the happy women who realised that they have a G-spot.

I long for the day that I am able to simply and breathlessly whisper into my man's ear "I want to be fucked...hard" without having to wonder if he would think me 'thirsty' (the colloquial word for a woman who is known to like sex or so I have been told).

Frankly, about two years ago I got over the female lib theories on sexuality...and developed my own. I have been seeking complete comfort (not perfection), which I will describe as the ability to just be me with a guy and let him be himself...no stress, impression, uncertainty or drama, along with all the other trivial and serious elements of attraction.

To be that will allow me to be totally free of inhibitions, because sex is one of the most vulnerable moments that we have in our human experience. My theory is that if I am totally free, then I am open to experiencing what the French call "la petite mort", ecstasy at its greatest peak, womanhood in full bloom.

My theory has remained simply that...a theory...an untested concept...not even a trial run. And the best part is that I am not bothered at all by it. I am presently and peacefully awaiting the day/night that I shall reclaim my cunt.

It will not be blogged about, I will say that much.