Stamping on lesbian dreams

It’s no secret that I’m partial to poetry (laugh and suffer the consequences) and although any inclination/inspiration I ever had for writing it has evaporated of late, my appreciation of this art is as strong as ever. The reason I mention this is because last week, I was reminded of one of my favourite poems, Aedh Wishes For The Clothes Of Heaven, by William Butler Yeats. I haven’t read this for far too long…

Aedh Wishes For The Clothes Of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.


And just so you know, this is not solely the soppy love poem that it appears to be at first glance. Aedh is the Celtic god of death and everyone knows that if you allow someone else to use your dreams as a glorified doormat then it invariably leads to all sorts of bother. That said, it’s the ultimate romantic ideal, isn’t it? You give everything up for someone else and they the same for you, with the result that you both become the sickliest most happy people in the world ever. But…

Have you ever known anyone to tread softly on dreams? If you’re feeling anything like WBY was when he penned this for his mistress (unrequited, I believe) then I’d advise against giving some bird free reign to walk over your dreams. He freely admits he has nothing but his dreams – which, incidentally, pale in significance to nature’s beauty, etc – and knows that by allowing some girl to trample he is vulnerable. One dodgy move by her and he will be crushed; suddenly seamlessly dreamless and destroyed. Death by dangerous dabbling (with lust).

Unfortunately this poem reminds me of all the bad things about lesbians – being trampled almost to death by the heavy hooves of the abhorrent and left to pick up the remains. It makes me feel cynical and aged and skeptical of all the things that should be fun, carefree and ultimately fulfilling. And as for my dreams – at the moment they are all mine, mine, mine. And while I wouldn’t hesitate to let others in on the details, I’d draw the line firmly before the point of co-ownership. Some things should remain sacred.


A new wave of lesbian crime

As I casually perused some of my favourite news rags at work this morning I stumbled across a rather alarming little story about a relatively new phenomenon known as ‘cyber crime’. Those bastions of public safety protection, the Daily Telegraph, The Sun and The Metro all stepped up to warn the world of this new trend, and the associated impending doom. Apparently, nearly two million people were victims of computer crime last year. Eeeck.

Now before drowsiness causes you to fall off your chair, I should point out that I’m not going to start talking about ID fraud, credit card fraud, downloading kiddie porn or any of those other boring stories that you read my blog to avoid. I’m talking about something called ‘offences against the person’, which (in normal speak) can include defamation, character assassination, bullying and harassment and my old favourite, stalking – all via the Internet. Phew. Needless to say I felt a bit of a cold sweat developing as I thumbed through the press cuttings this morning…

And not just because of my penchant for Facebook-stalking. One of the findings of this new research was that, “the nature of the internet and its relative anonymity enables individuals to behave in ways that they would consider to be unthinkable in the physical world.” Too right. Had it not been for My Blog over the past year all my ex-girlfriend related angst, hurt, anger and torment would have remained firmly pent up, or even worse, unleashed upon my beloved Homies.

God Bless the Internet – not only has it has revolutionised the way we date, it has also provided a whole new range of coping strategies for dealing with being dumped. Think Gaydargirls for those rapid rebound shags, MySpace for finding out what your ex is up to and Facebook for unearthing that cute girl/guy you knew at school and who you always thought you might hook up with, if all else failed. I think it’s a healthy thing – the relative anonymity of the net makes people ditch their moral boundaries, allowing them to unleash the untold wrath/despair/desperation/whatever that would otherwise never see the light of the three-dimensional day. Better out than in, I say.

Interestingly, it also suggests that computer users don’t consider any such actions to be immoral – and I’m inclined to agree – I see nothing wrong in a bit of light-hearted venom spitting directed at my Evil Ex. Until I read the news this morning, that is. Now I’m questioning my own criminal record! God knows what Daily Mail columnist Liz Jones is going to make of all this – her well-publicised and blatant naming and shaming of her love rat husband is surely a Category-A offence here.

Anyway, back to me. I know that My Blog is all meant in good humour, but does everyone else reading it agree? I sincerely hope so…in particular, the Evil Ex. That is, assuming she has read/reads/ever reads my pearls of angst-ridden wisdom.

Computer geek firm Garlick who did the research that spurned this story, may take a slightly different view to my good self. Their research is firmly bedded down in the Guardian reading PC (see what I did there? PCs are computers too…) tent – everyone’s a victim, if you think long enough and hard enough about it. So much as cough and you’re offending/discriminating against someone. Exercise freedom of speech at your peril.

As I said, the definition of cyber crime includes ‘offences against the person’, which despite sounding horribly serious (in some cases, I don’t doubt it is), could feasibly include such trivialities as the occasional sarky comment aimed at one’s ex. Hence the minor discomfort I’ve experienced since reading about this story. Those who’ve followed My Blog since time, sorry, it began, may have noted a slight underlying current of ex-bashing. All meant in the nicest possible way, of course. A close inspection will reveal that not once have I wished her ill.

However, ‘offences against the person’ includes, and I quote Garlik here, “posting of derogatory information online.” Oh dear. That said, I seriously doubt that my Mac and I have ever, “caused an individual some form of personal harm such as anxiety distress or personal harm.” But, seriously, it does concern me that my blog could be (mis)construed by some as being a vehicle for ‘online defamation’. After all, it’s just a bit of good humoured jesting.

And to be fair, she doesn’t have to read it, does she? And she certainly isn’t invited or proactively encouraged to do so. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that she would need to invest a fair amount online time to enable her to locate My Blog. She’d then have to devote a reasonable amount of time to reading it. Which some might say constitutes Internet Stalking. And I think you’ll find that that also qualifies as an ‘offence against the person’. Ha.

Realistically, I suspect there are far worse crimes out there and there is a strong chance my good-humoured ex-bashing will get lost among the staggering 1,944,000 estimated cases of cyber crime that occurred in 2006 (if it doesn’t there’s always 2007’s efforts). I’m convincing myself that screening My Blog wont be a priority for the PC Police.

That said, it’s a good thing I didn’t post a link to that naked picture of the Evil Ex with her leg over her head and her hand up her arse then, isn’t it…?

Spiders or lesbians – which are more scary?

Annoying Grauniad columnist Charlie Brooker (not jealous at all about how many comments his blog gets) makes a very good point here. Check it out – I think you’ll find he’s right – spiders are the scariest thing in the world ever.

They are worse than terrorists, dog shit, aeroplanes, the Pope, great heights, slugs, snails and puppy dog’s tails, Prince Phillip, and definitely worse than mice (never understood why mice were supposed to cause young ladies to squeal so much).

Someone once suggested to me that it was the legs that made Arachnids so terrifying – something about there being eight of the hairy little (or not so little, as is most often the case) fuckers. I’m not sure about that – Daddy-Long-Legses have lots of legs too, as do centipedes and millipedes, and I’m fine with those bad boys – I’d even pick them up. Spiders, however, are a totally different kettle of fish, as are (speaking of fishy kettles) lesbians.

Spiders and lesbians are the only things I can think of that are capable of making me do that silly girly floppy-arm-waving open-mouthed dance on the spot that’s designed specifically to relive the cold-chill and spinal shiver only they induce. FYI: This routine is routinely performed in total silence – spiders almost always render my voice box useless, lesbians too, although not so often – I pride myself on my ability to scream at girls on the rare occasion where I’m sufficiently provoked.

God clearly gave both of these creatures very special powers, powers which can be used to devastating effect on those unfortunate to be on the receiving end. Guess it’s lucky spiders don’t have bigger brains. Guess it’s lucky lesbians are a minority group. Just imagine what a lesbian spider would be like…

And as Charlie points out somewhere in His Spider Blog, perhaps the most frightening part of Spider Fear is the bit when you know (or are almost certain) that a spider is in your room but you are not quite sure where, or are unable to access it with the weapon you are brandishing, primed to kill it. It’s exactly the same with the lezzers – I’m sure I’m not the only one whose had that horrible feeling that ‘something isn’t quite right’ with a (lesbian) relationship.

As painful experience has told me, if you think she’s up to something/losing interest/not answering the phone fast enough (and I’m talking hours and days, rather than minutes, for the stalkers among you) then it’s all about to go tits up (and not in an erotic way). And, as soul destroying as this may be when it actually happens – it’s not nearly as bad as the preceding period of limbo where you teeter on the tightrope of uncertainty, questioning yourself because you think you’re going mad (while she says, ‘why on earth would anything be wrong?’) rather than channelling your energy into giving her the beating she deserves.

Yeah, I’m not a fan of spiders, or lesbians. In fact the only thing I can think of that might even come close to challenging these two species for the title of Scariest Living Creature in the World, is my ex. Yes, she might claim to be a lesbian, but I can assure you that she is something else altogether…


The utterly terrifyingly fearsome Ex-From-Hell. Needs no introduction, does she?

Oh, I’m only kidding – I’m so over that ex-bashing blog thing now (but just for the retaliatory record, she is pretty fearsome). No, let’s leave it at spiders and lesbians-in-general. That said, I’d be lying if I tried to say I wasn’t a tad preoccupied by a particular lezzer at the moment. Oh.

Lesbian photographs

I’ve acquired a new toy, courtesy of one of my football team chums. Check this puppy out:

Yashica A

The Yashica A, twin lens reflex (TLR) medium format camera. Circa 1957. Fit.

Anyone who’s anyone who knows me will know that this is a cause for untold amounts of excitement, as I have long harboured a desire to get my hands on a medium format TLR camera. And, although this little beauty still remains very much in my friend’s ownership, I have spent the past blissful week in its company, shooting my first couple of 120 rolls.

Developing the first one, last Friday, was a very, very exciting experience. And pleasingly, the initial signs are good – nice balanced negatives with a full range of (black, greys and white) tones. Can’t wait to print those puppies, which involve an eclectic selection of towerblock architecture, K-Town still lifes and the odd portrait, all taken last week when the Yashica and I spent a sunny Sunday wandering around K-Burn and Q-Park (that’s Kilburn and Queen’s Park, for the uninformed).

Equally exciting are the portraits I took yesterday when chilling out by the Ladies Bathing Ponds on Hampstead Heath with a select bunch of lesbians. Some well-positioned sunlight and willing poseurs should make for some hot shizzle pictures (with a backdrop of out-of-focus mass nudity).

Swimming with lesbians

Today I finally got my arse in gear, took the plunge and went for a dip in the lovely Ladies Pond on Hampstead Heath. This was (amazingly) just the second time this year that I have managed to make it to the pond. This is surprising given that it has long been and continues to be, a veritable Hive of Lesbian Activity, as those in-the-know know.The pond is just like the rest of Hampstead Heath – not full of lezzers (unfortunately), but completely timeless.

It looks (so I’m told) the same as it did 50 years ago – and plenty of the regular lady swimmers from 50 years ago are still showing up on a weekly, if not daily basis. Even infrequent visitors like myself cant help but notice the familiar faces of those hardened prunes who plunge everyday regardless of weather and water temperature.

Take for example, the slim-but-saggy French lady who stands tall (and stark naked) on the bench in the changing room soaking up the sun as she gossips about trivialities for hours on end with her fellow bathers. I’ve seen her both times I’ve been this year – same place everytime, keeping that weather beaten leathery coat an autumnal shade of olivey brown. No doubt she’ll have excellent camoflage when paddling around the pond in a few weeks time – as soon as she swims through the bits where leaves have fallen in, she’ll be invisible.

Then there are the Life Guards – all of whom, in my opinion, must be lezzers. Can you imagine a man-loving straight lady wanted to watch semi-clad women wander around in varying degrees of wetness all day long, all week long, all year long…I think not.

One of the aforementioned Life Guards now plays for my football team, when she’s not safeguarding pond dwellers from inopportune cramp, reed entanglements and other such life-threatening swimming afflictions. So, today my pals and I got a cup of coffee after our swim, on account of us being ‘in’ with the staff, innit. How pleasant to enjoy a warming treat after lowering our body temperatures by ten degrees in that deceptively icy pool. And how even more pleasant to lay out soaking up the sun (and the girls) in The Meadow apres nage…

This makes me like the Ladies Pond possibly even more than I already did. Why on earth was this only the second time I went this summer?!

(Lesbian) opportunity missed

Last night a three-piece rock band called The Gossip came to K-Town. ‘So, what?’ I hear the less-well-informed among you say. Well, for those who don’t know, The Gossip are fronted by a large lesbian called Beth Ditto and backed by a not-so-large lesbian called Hannah Billie. As a consequence of the band’s well-above average lezzery content, K-Town was positively awash with lesbians. Oh, the excitement…

Normally this would mean me strategically placing myself in one of the fine K-Town bars, within close proximity of The Forum (where the band were playing last night), and getting down to some serious Lez-spotting with my homies. Alas, events conspired to prevent me from doing so, much to the disappointment of my homie, Jo. (I got an angry txt at about 7pm asking me why the hell I wasn’t checking out all the Wah Wahs that were by now, swarming around K-Town station and threatening to take over our local pubs for the evening. ‘Are you crazy, Shaz?’).

Yes. The rainbow flags were, by all accounts, flying loudly and proudly in NW5 last night. Well, I suspect, more precisely, the fake oversized Arabian scarfs that the modern lesbian seems to have adopted in favour of the more traditional multi-coloured banner, were out in force. As was, no doubt, the Superdry, low slung jeans and obligatory brown belt – the only choice for the discerningly homogenous lez. Gutted I missed out. I bet the fresh K-Town air is still harbouring a lingering essence of CK One.

Instead I spent the evening in Gipsy Hill (I know, where’s that? SE34785 or something, apparently) listening to poets and writers performing their work as part of Signals, the Crystal Palace arts festival. More on that later – suffice to say for now, this wasn’t the most hetrosexual gathering I’ve ever been to, either.

The closest I came to all the K-Town lez action last night was in my mad dash to the tube at around 6.30pm – where I found myself fighting through the crowds of young lesbians who had descended upon my (usually tranquil) K-Town for the evening’s ents. I nearly ‘clotheslined’ a young spikey-haired blond of below average height, whom I failed to notice loitering behind the rubbish bins near the tube hole. And, in the spirit of reciprocation, was nearly wiped-out myself, by a couple of Beth Ditto-lookie-likies who happened to be taking up the whole entrace of the station. Fat people can be so selfish sometimes.

My trip down the escalator was no less eventful, as I allowed myself a moment’s pause for lesbian-related thought and with a deep breath, took in my surroundings. L-E-S-B-I-A-N-S as far as the eye could see. Fat ones, thin ones, mingers, spikey-haired, long-haired, generic and fairly generic, Superdry, brown belts, Converse, Levis…Everything Lez. I almost felt sorry for all the straight people, gay men and other non-lezzers who clearly didn’t get a look in when the tickets for the gig went on sale. My only slight concern was the lack of stunners. No Hot Foxes – although, my foray into Lesbian-Infested K-Town was sadly, fleeting.

Anyway, enough about my misfortune at missing out on what was probably the most exciting lesbian event on the K-Town calander. (FYI – The Gossip are back in K-Town tonight for another show at The Forum, so lez-fest mark II is scheduled from 6pm onwards. Hmm, I wonder where Big Bad Beth and her Band stayed last night…the thought of a lesbian rock band bedding down in K-Town is almost as exciting as the thought of Kirsten Dunst stopping over in The K, as she did a few month’s ago when her boyfriend, Johnny ‘Knobber’ Borrell’s, band Razorlight played at The Forum. Anyone who says K-Town isn’t The Place To Be is either wrong or thick.)

However, any misfortune that may have been associated with my inability to check out lezzas in K-Town last night was washed away by my little trip to the southernmost tip of the London peninsula (Gipsy Hill). Despite the six hour train trip (OK, slight exaggeration, but is was FAR) the evening spent listening to some edgy poetry and short fiction was refreshingly good (if not a little lezzish). My chum Shaun Levin read a short monologue about being Jewish and Nina Rapi, another of my more refined acquaintances, read some ‘faction’ (see what she did there?) based on the so-called ‘piano man’, the guy who was found wandering around on a Kent beach a few years ago and caught the collective attention of the country for a few months. And then Cherry Smyth read some of her superb poetry including an appreciation of the lovely Sarah Lucas. All good shit. And all part of a shameless plug for a cool new magazine called BRAND, which I may be helping to promote…*Read it!*

I’m not sure if you can tell that I had no idea what to write about when I started this…other than lesbians, but welcome to the Shaz Stream of Consciousness and it’s new home. What tosh!

Welcome (to the blog’s new) Home

The McFly Rockstarr

The time has come to upgrade and if that means leaving the safety of MySpace then so be it. So I hope you’ll join me in welcoming The Blog to its new home on

Don’t worry, this is even easier to access, and if you want a nudge every time I write something (can’t imagine why) then just click the RSS option (you wont even need to go into MySpace to get reminders then)…

Peace out.