I'm a corn-fed girl, and by corn-fed I mean drag queen fed. Around age eight I was introduced to the world of John Waters; I must have been about 6 when my mom showed me Rocky Horror Picture Show and told me that all men wore high heels in the 70's-- it was just the thing. My mom would talk about 'typical girls' in a disparaging tone, if others girl did it, it was fucking lame. So, in some ways, I access my own feminine side through female performers...I guess all gender norms are mitigated through the white patriarch, so fucking whatever anyhow.
Recently, I decided I was gonna take this shit on the road, start performing out as Orris Butter and it'd be awesome. I made this video in January, I'm gonna post it here.
The plan is to perform live, I'm also working on a photo project with Lotta Studio that explores the gender juncture, but that has less to do with the video below. So, give it a watch: Is it that bad? Is it uneventful? Is it so good it's rendering people speechless? If you've got criticism or pointers, please let me know. If they're really scathing, please private message them, because my mother reads this and I'd hate for her opinions to be validated.
More details on Orris Butter soon, btw.
Also, I dedicate this song to a special someone.
Each generation goes through the trash of previous generations, looks for overlooked beauty and meaning in the refuse that might lend understanding to the present. What's left?
I told my dad I went to MoMA, he responded: "It's all garbage." #rubbish
Edit 3/ 19/2014: Even this commentary is recycled, I'm sure. Hear it elsewhere? Heard it better? Please enlighten us with a comment below.
I wish I were a ballerina. It's like another species, another sex. It's like an angel without the responsibilities.
Hibernation is heavy on me like a sand blanket in a sensory room. I've never actually been under a sand blanket in a sensory room, Ruby told me about the one at North Adams regional psychic ward when I visited her there, next to us was a woman strapped to a bed singing 'My Way'.
A friend goes off to jail this week for a crime he committed in a past life. I imagine he's gonna be hanging out all day drawing, reading books, eating snacks, meeting cool people, finding god, is gonna emerge a changed man like Malcolm X- although my friend doesn't need any readjusting on the path to righteousness. I'm jealous, I could use a vacation. Plus he'll be forced to quit smoking.
'Winter as incarceration' is one weak metaphor at play here. I wish I were in New Mexico. Love and prayers to Vitamin D, and maybe they'll let him out of his vacation early.