Skanky Jane's Ruses of Pleasure

ECT

2009-10-03T22:08:00.000-07:00

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2009-10-01T22:08:00.000-07:00

drawing in progress #6b
after sandpapering

been posting these on the big book of face signs

Skanky Jane
i din' wanna lsoe so much from the top, esp on the left. but i'll try 'n finish it.
3 hours ago · Delete

Emma Sirona-Macdonald
maybe some sandpaper?
3 hours ago · Delete

Skanky Jane
ah
3 hours ago · Delete

gnawing

2009-09-30T22:08:00.000-07:00

drawing in progress #6

drawing in progress #5

2009-09-29T22:07:00.001-07:00

drawing in progress 5

missed 12.57 to the City
Caught 106 home

drawing in progress #4

2009-09-29T22:07:00.000-07:00

drawing in progress

pencil/biro/whiteink/watercolourpencil/waxcrayon/neoncolourpencil/metalliccolourpencil/texta

correspondingding

2009-09-28T22:06:00.001-07:00

we just might have started our errant trajectories
keep an eye out for them at wordpress in the future now

Dear Sir,

Just a quickie to let you know I received, with much pleasure, your cock in the mail yesterday! Thank you! I'm just putting it in now for a random Hollywood Scarlet & Gold ride to the 13th Floor..... (elevators ...mmmmHhhmmmm!) What a nice surprise! And you have such neat hand writing too! Thank you, thank you!

( I am sorry! )

I know I've been a bit....(I don't know what) --- off tap? Maybe too it was 'coz I hadn't drawn anything yet? Soooooooo... (moving on..) how's about something along the lines of the image attached to this email? Same but different? It's all just *so* curious, obsessive. Obsessed. Will you be brutal again do you think?

Anyway, here's deep-throating with ya kid!

Eternally Yours,

syphilis ridden space cadet xx

drawing in progress #3

2009-09-28T22:06:00.000-07:00

pencil/biro/whiteink/watercolourpencil/

drawing in progress

2009-09-27T22:05:00.001-07:00

Leaving the Mausoleum

2009-09-27T22:05:00.000-07:00

drawing in progress

its so clean in here

and its oh so much better than those other places ive been
and your oh so much nicer though, your hands and your eyes are unseen

except in my dream.
in the crystal clear.

its all so barbara cartland.....
wheels are spinning in my heartland.....

striding the big grey black and white
streaking with greasers late in the night

putting it out there
stepping it out
hitting the high street
gone roundabout

its all in the foot move
its all in the walk
hits into the hip groove
all money all talk
its all in the pavement
its all in the soup

its just like a dream in here
fuck i gotta get clean of here

lov/err my tracks!

move along

2009-05-19T22:04:00.000-07:00

@ jacobimages.com

move on! move on!

there's nothing to see here!
move along!

intertextuality

2009-04-16T22:03:00.000-07:00

intertextual
life
time
(or i like heroin and heroin likes me)

i saw bob dylan and patti smith

that name brings a reaction knees sag
eyes roll
waists ribs giwayslightly to one side or the other
sighs

and she, apart
reacts
in response to their reaction
but looking to me

i in turn respond to their response
adulation vibration
it's almost as if i have climed inhabited the text
the patti smith text
warhol new york nico art
patti smith and attachments by skanky jane

i'm oozing it baby
and she apart
senses?
she's looking at me

submission approved

2009-01-06T22:03:00.000-08:00

Editors of the Urban Dictionary recently chose to publish Skanky Jane's definition of: "street skank"

street skank

One who frequents and/or is an inhabitant of "the street" -- that is, a "skank" who lives, or is often seen, in "public" spaces. The term, which is used, predominantly, to describe a woman or girl, can then, apply to one who is "homeless" and/or (especially) one who is a street-based sex worker.

As a term used to describe (or "name") an individual whose employment is that of street-based sex work, whether that individual is homeless or not, "street skank" is often used in an extremely derogatory manner and, importantly, its denigrating meanings are additional to those implied by "skank": i.e. one who is often considered disgustingly foul, filthy, and sexually "promiscuous".

Some women who perform the service of street-based sex work have however reclaimed the term -- in much the same way as "whore" has been affectionately reclaimed by many sex workers in general.

"She's a street skank"

by Skanky Jane (with a little help from her crew) on Nov 16, 2008

have yourself a

2008-12-04T22:02:00.000-08:00

skankopause

2008-12-03T22:02:00.000-08:00

It is written that the act of clearing your physical space has a comparable effect upon your internal space; chucking all that crap that you haven't sighted in a decade can have significant psychic resonance.

Using your material dustpan and brush mysteriously invokes its virtual doppelganger: an interior Hoover that rids you of all those familiarly patterned cobwebs and heavy debris - making room for... more bullshit ...or, hopefully, change. So... with this idea in mind, Skanky Jane went a-rummaging amidst her trashy corners the other day and ended up tossing the great majority of the crap she found there - out.

This rather liberating process pared Skanky Jane's Ruses of Pleasure down to a mere 13 or so posts which might be considered tolerable. And the change? Well, for a very long time now the Skank has had sweet fuck all of interest to say or write - but in future, instead of transcribing screeds of vacuous, mental vomit for the purpose of publishing it on this blog - she'll be leaving it out. You see, she's come up with the revolutionary notion of keeping her personal journal - personal. After all, the internet is a great place to visit, but who'd want to live here?

Never fear, Skanky's soul saving and multi-talented Bbox crew (that's us!) will continue to update the Bbox -and we'll keep showing-off all the great stuff the skank finds in her, or other peoples' pockets, at Found in Pockets. In the meantime, while SJRoP pauses, Skanky'll be stepping out - beyond the front door - in search of real time, flaneusial pleasures.

Remember, wont you friends - if you see her out and about - to Give a Skanky Jane a Break?

me me meme

2008-11-27T22:01:00.000-08:00

While chewing, who better to consult on the subject of bodies and stuff than Mayhem? So, after chancing uponLucazoid's self-imposed challenge and Chris' Net neologisms, and still seeking flesh, I found that Mayhem had been pondering a topic related to change and the Net - having come up with a great question: "Just how viral is the bloggosphere in 2008?" In order to pursue this question Mayhem posted a meme - tagging six other bloggers in order to observe its spread - or stasis. Therefore, being one of Mayhem's (potential) contaminators, I've also posted the meme ....(see below).

Maybe you've been tagged too....?

Here are the meme rules:

Post these here meme rules on your blog.
Tell six quirky - yet boring and unspectacular - details about yourself.
Tag six other folk to follow and post these rules.
Go to each of the tagged folk's blogs and leave a comment that lets them know they've been tagged.

Here are the six quirky - yet boring and unspectacular - details about me:

I can wriggle my ears and dance my little toes out sideways and back without moving my other toes.
Despite being good at dancing, my ears have no lobes.
When I'm not hitting the fags too hard I can vocalise a note that sounds like a bicycle horn.
I have flat feet and a double curvature of the spine.
When I was ten and heard that my cat, Tabby, had died I fainted in my cereal bowl.
When I was a kid, my father, a brick cleaner, would take my brother and I to the ballet and the opera.

Here are the six quirky and spectacular folk that I've (potentially) infected:

I'm tagging Julie ...because I admire her grace and beauty.
I'm tagging Chris ...because he's cool.
I'm tagging Sonic Yootha ...because she's a hot BBox star.
I'm tagging Simpleposie ...because she knows how to ask a good question.
I'm tagging Her Royal Whoreness ...because her polemic bites me.
I'm tagging Chuck ...because you should always remember the folk that rooted for you when you were just starting out.

comic life

2008-10-18T22:00:00.000-07:00

try2 2008 SJ
digitally manipulated image

On the road again -
Just can't wait to get on the road again.
The life I love is making music with my friends

And I can't wait to get on the road again.
On the road again

Goin' places that I've never been.
Seein' things that I may never see again

And I can't wait to get on the road again.
On the road again -
Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway
We're the best of friends.
Insisting that the world keep turning our way

And our way
is on the road again.
Just can't wait to get on the road again.
The life I love is makin' music with my friends

And I can't wait to get on the road again.
On the road again

Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway
We're the best of friends

Insisting that the world keep turning our way

And our way
is on the road again.
Just can't wait to get on the road again.
The life I love is makin' music with my friends

And I can't wait to get on the road again.
And I can't wait to get on the road again.

On The Road Again - Willie Nelson
Nelson, Willie, 'On The Road Again', absolutelyrics.com, retrieved from, 19.10.08.

more concrete poetry

2007-10-27T22:00:00.000-07:00

Pavement Prose [4], composite digital image with found text.
SJ [2007]

concrete poetry too

2007-10-23T21:59:00.000-07:00

Pavement Prose [3], composite digital image with found text.
Skanky Jane [2007]

you never know what you can do until you try

2007-09-07T21:59:00.000-07:00

cigarette box and bus ticket found at tram stop
SJ 2007

Promises Promises

nothing makes people go into debt like trying to keep up with people who already are

2007-09-04T21:58:00.000-07:00

found cigarette box and bus ticket
SJ 2007

ACDC

finding myself here drinking from a well of sad old tears
a light breakfast is good for you

coming to the table and counting my losses early in the day
depression is a thief

looking at my choices and a circle of burnt black spots
smoking is bad for you

walking the concrete path and performing myself at the store
change needs a crack to step into

putting my hand in my pocket and weighing the small coins
guilt is a useless habit

hard rubbish

2007-09-02T21:58:00.000-07:00

PHOTO: Prof. Kurt Stanislaw Jacobi [2007]

For the love of West Torrens hard rubbish collection days if this isn't performance art then we don't know what is.

Keeps folks entertained too. One bloke, bending and reaching out a hand to better inspect a yellow Tonka truck parked crookedly on a suburban verge, fairly jumped out of his skin when Skanky called out from across the street, "Careful or you'll end up like me!". The bending man, hesitating, gestured and half laughed something that said "No way not me!" and straightening, left the toy to walk on with his roll of chook wire in check.

Skanky's 'careful' possibly worried the bending and straightening man as much as her appearance did, or so we guess, because some people (oddly enough), think that rummaging around in other people's hard rubbish is akin to petty larceny. In fact the skank has twice been reprimanded because of her tendency to find good stuff. We think this kind of reuse is what Michel de Certeau would call a "ruse" or what the Zero Waste crew would call "doing the world a favour". Regardless, domestic possessions cast off to the tune of spring birdsong fill a skanks' wandering soul with joie d'vie.

A sedan pulled up in front of a particularly interesting mountain of expired necessity and a young man and woman stepped out from it and on to the warm bitumen. Approaching them so conspicuously laden gave Skanky premonitions of a snickering welcome. "Is this yours?" she inquired, gesturing toward the mountain and asking if it was ok to 'pick through'. The young man answered that it was ok, adding with a casual laugh that they had no use for it. Something with wheels suggested respite to the skanks' aching tenacity and covetous eye. Peering and then tugging at a rope attached to the object, she asked, "Did your Dad make this?"

"No", replied the young man,"my brother. He used it for his model aeroplane". Smiling, Skanky checked once more that it was ok to take it, and reassured, extracted a small custom made wooden cart from the family pile. Perfect!

With a large outdoor umbrella completing this, her last curb side 'purchase' for the morning, Skanky repacked. The small, wooden cart carried the padded footstool and the black attaché case (bound together by the dressing gown sash), plus the stack of plant pots and metal buckets. The lamps, the dressing gown and other small items, packed inside the brown suitcase, and the big umbrella and one corner of the brown suitcase, poked into the already stuffed old, yellow trolley. Duly organised, SJ managed the handlebars of her push-bike with one hand and both the yellow trolley handle, and the tow rope of the little wooden cart, with the other hand then resumed her drift.

Half a block later, veering right, the stack of plant pots and metal buckets slipped through the footstools' short legs announced Skanky's procession, following the curve of a broad grey corner, with a startling percussion. Across the road from the scene of this incidental din, the tram crossing and it's cyclone fenced, three point zig-zag loomed. Home now within shouting distance, the skank rescued her pots and buckets, settled them back in place and determined to manoeuvre, in turn, each of her three vehicles through each of the three turns and over the crossing. A family, composed of one woman, one man and one small child, sat at the tram shelter opposite waiting relaxedly for their ride to the Bay.

The yellow trolley went through first. Crossing the tram-line, Skanky leaned on its' handle, easing the wheels gently over each track with her foot. When she was three quarters of the way across the man left his seat and came to her aid. Seeming disconcerted, he spoke a few quick, uncertain directions and readjusted the brown suitcase on top of the yellow trolley. Skanky said "thanks, that was much better now", and reassuring him with several, bright smiling "I'm okays", saw him return to his family. Finally, the trolley, the bike, the small wooden cart and their cargo navigated the zig-zaging crossing and rails - intact. Walking a final stretch of familiar footpath toward home, a musk lorikeet, sailing a warm breeze, dipped and rose overhead, the green of its' back made brilliant in the sun.

Skanky got:

1 yellow trolley (to match SJs' yellow, plastic raincoat 'n' pants)
1 'budgie blue' indoor blind (fits that window perfectly!)
1 lamp on a stand (with two lights)
2 lamps of ghastly goodness
2 lamps on a clamp (reading in bed!)
1 custom made wooden trolley
2 curtain rods (for the small windows)
2 plastic pots for plants (with water wells!)
1 old enamel bucket (cute)
1 old style brown suitcase with key
1 padded footstool (for flat footed flaneuses)
1 large outdoor umbrella (to go with the outdoor set!)
2 brand new pairs of thongs
1 winter dressing gown (pure wool in tiptop nick!)
1 air purifier/ioniser (for the filthy habit)
1 old style soap saver
1 brand new (still in the packet) pair of white cotton socks
2 brand new men's hankies
3 brand new women's hankies
1 black attaché case with wheels and an extension handle
1 small green metal bucket with floral design
2 boxes of CD/DVD cases
4 unopened ink cartridges (for the printer)
1 old style wooden tray with stand (so Arty can eat his snags in bed!)
6 wooden drum sticks
1 acoustic guitar

To find friendship, offer friendship

2007-08-30T21:02:00.000-07:00

Cigarette box and bus ticket
found at bus stop 11[a] Marion Road [2007] SJ

Found: Ely Street, Angle Park

2007-08-05T20:52:00.000-07:00

The Sting of the Queen Bee Will Learn Ya

2007-04-18T20:50:00.000-07:00

Skanky's been stung by a Queen Bee and is now asking herself how and why she got so close to her in the first place.

I've always loathed that myth about women and how they compete with each other, how bitchy they are, how they can't trust each other. I've always been wary about women who have no female friends or women who say their best friends are men. I've always stepped sideways from the merest hint of competition with other women. I imagine that I sensed, from an early age, that my hide wasn't quite thick enough to survive the reprisals of success. I learnt to savour failure instead because as Dylan says there's no success like failure and that failure is really no success at all. Yet there's another myth, the one about women being great communicators who relate via cooperative styles and means, the one about girls being made of sugar and spice and all things nice.

My first ever betrayal, that I recall, came at the hands of a woman - my mother. Emigrating half way across the globe, from England to Australia, she delivered my two year old self and my six year old brother at the doortep of my prodigal father and six weeks later hightailed it back to the mother country. I quickly learnt to please however I have often wondered if, because my formative years were endured between my father and brother, I missed out on learning some of the other essential arts of female persuasion.

Pre and early pubescence should have finished me. These educative years were spent almost entirely in the company of women. Nuns and boarding school innocents then more nuns and many a good catholic family's shame - their misused and abandoned daughters. Perhaps this feminine immersion came too late or grew too skewed, isolated from the community, learning only to cook, sew and type at the school for bad bitches and misfit maids. All that seems womanish enough yet we were of a sort.

A sort who gathered in the classroom of that suburban-house-come-school with it's barred windows and 'purple room' (for purple mouthed girls who absconded) to learn Monique's technique, jamming the wooden handle of a bread knife against her cunt and vigorously strumming its serrations with a spoon. I learnt the taste of Monique too, and of Monica. Sexier than satan on serapax Monique dominated the Friday and Saturday night realm.

But surely even a bitch licking crumbs from her mistress' lap learns the manners of her table?

On Friday night, in black ripple soles and tight blue jeans, the Forrest Street girls hit the parquet dance floor ofRatz disco. Monique was such a hit at Ratz she was once asked to mime In the Flesh on stage. We plastered new layers onto our emerging identities under Michael Jackson's moonlight and Boney M's mirror ball and the guys we invited back for Saturday night boyfriend night added a few more. There were no such invites during Monique's reign however, not one of us suffered so much as a pinch on the tit in those days. I learned, long after the cease of her reign, that Monique's possession of the lounge room on boyfriend night had been desperately strategic.

If any one of the other girls had acquired a boyfriend Monique would have been obliged to share in which case Anthony Agostino might not have come for he would have been unable to ball her in the relative privacy of the loungeroom. She confessed this to me once, in a hospital bed after having an ovarian cyst, (and consequently one ovary) surgically removed. The Queen Bee had apparently suffered for years under the weight of catholic guilt in that house, imagining that the old nun despised her for her sins. The nun, and others of her christian community had since taken to hearing Father Murphy say mass in that blighted room and Monique's guilt had convinced her that this was an attempt to purge the stain of her lust from it's worn and faded pile.

As any power broker in a meat market knows (even during Lent), the important thing about the complicity of lesser women, albeit a given, is that it must work for your side. Apologies for the mixed metaphors here friends, but the other thing a power broker knows is that there can only be one Queen Bee per hive. Toni was a lass who eventually had to learn this harsh law. Less subtle than Monique, Toni ruled through physical violence. Every girl in the house had at one time or other felt the pain of Toni's fear and thus learnt to politely appease the beast. Toni spent the majority of her spare time rocking her large body back and forth in a favoured arm chair whilst listening to Elvis Presley songs. One day, while Toni was so positioned, and to all appearances at least, safely thumping away in her Elvisian fields, I happened into the loungeroom. Upon my happening, Toni slowly opened her eyes and taking a drag on her cigarette asked me to show her my leg. Like the unthinking fool I was, I obeyed, raising my foot to the level of the seat of her throne. She then proceeded to butt the cigarette out against my bare flesh. Thump, thump, thump, rocking, her back hit the chair, the chair hit the wall and so it was all through the house; Toni thumped and we shook.

It came abou then that Monique discovered her inner union organiser when, having devised a brilliant, if simple, plan to overthrow the totalitarian dictator, she rallied her drones together. Six of us ambushed Toni during a rare occasion when she was on her feet - passing from the lounge to the kitchen - and pulling her to the ground, sat on her. With the balance of power literally off balance we vented our rage, (verbally) advising her that we would no longer tolerate her human rights abuses. Toni retreated to an aunt's house for several weeks and returned a very changed young woman. Funny thing about power, how quickly it can shift given the right conditions. As a result of all this my own ranking altered considerably when almost overnight I was raised from human ashtray to drone closest to the Queen Bee's side. Or "backside" actually.

I had many adventures with my "best friend", Queen Bee Monique. Many of these adventures left me feeling betrayed and inept. Like the threesomes and foursomes with boys I really liked. (She would never really giveherself to me!) Or the time she dropped me in it with the law to save her own neck. And she was quite furious when I decided, at seventeen, to keep the child I was carrying. The price, it seems, of serving as drone closest to a beloved Queen, is that ultimately you are her slave and cannot be closer to anyone than you are to her. Also, you must never, ever, cause her to go too far out of her way for you or upset any of her plans for you or she will kill you in an instant. But these reminiscences bring me back to complicity. My own. Why don't I listen to my guts? Why do I continue to squander my resources on women who disrespect me? Do women ever face each other cleanly through conflict?

Always fearing the limelight, even while I danced in it, it seems that I have more feminine wiles than I give myself credit for, even now, a grown woman, I dance the diplomatic-double-shuffle with aplomb. Scooping friends from the sidelines while remaining on "please pass the salt" terms with more powerful shakers. Or worse. Becoming top drone. I could tell you more...about the nights spent on the street, the purple mouthed absconder who had learnt that it's safer to be alone. Like many others I knew how to keep my secret self empowered. We always know that we are just as deserving of respect and joy as any other person.

I'm glad I got stung coz it made me see. I wont serve you. I'm your equal woman and I believe there is room for both of us to shine. I wont run away at the first sign of strife or get my tough girl out to make you back off. I wont shaft you or betray you or collect you and other women as a battery for power, my ego and my ambitions. I wont put you down overtly or covertly. I wont compete with you. I'll encourage you to be your best and be glad when you achieve that. I'll respect your choices. I wont gossip about you. I wont exclude you. I expect these same things from you. If I fail or falter I expect you to give me credit and tell me I've hurt you. If we part as close friends I hope it will be with respect. All this wont just be for you but for other women too. I hope that my consistency in the way I talk about and treat other women, even those I disagree with or dislike, will earn your trust that I will always behave in the same respectful way to you.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I've never read any of these books but a quick Google of the contents of my thoughts today brought up these interesting titles:

In the Company of Women: Indirect Aggression Among Women: Why We Hurt Each Other and How to Stop by Pat Heim

Mean Girls Grown Up: Adult Women Who Are Still Queen Bees, Middle Bees, and Afraid-to-Bees by Cheryl PhD Dellasega

I Can't Believe She Did That!: Why Women Betray Other Women at Work by Nan Mooney

Connecting: The Enduring Power of Female Friendship by Sandy Sheehy

Mean Chicks, Cliques, and Dirty Tricks: A Real Girl's Guide to Getting Through the Day With Smarts and Styleby Erika V. Shearin Karres