I’m getting married in the morning

Ding Dong, the bells are going to shine.

Or not.

It was a pretty classy debate on some levels, and then again, not really.  Nothing like having your love compared to bestiality to make you feel like you live in a super sweet country. However, despite the Australian Senate’s recent decision not to support marriage equality legislation in Australia, I am choosing not to lose hope.

For whatever it is worth, I identify as a bisexual woman. Some of people I have shared my heart and love with in the past have been so kind and so loving towards me that I cannot believe that there will not be a time in the future when we are all recognised equally. Is that so terribly naïve? Quite possibly it is; I still know many people who are struggling to come to accept their own sexual identity and others who fear the familial, community, societal backlash that can emerge from publicly acknowledging that you’re not heterosexual. And yet, because my heart feels nothing but hypertrophic joy and wonder at the people who have loved me, who have shared their time, their bodies, their dreams, their politics, their families, their old t-shirts, I just keep thinking that it cannot be wrong, or even just anyway “less”. Even if it seems that way to some people.

On some level, there is probably something professionally risky about acknowledging my sexuality in this public forum. Over the past few years, my “personal” or “poetic” persona has begun to displace my “professional” persona. These days, if you know my name and you google me, you get poetry me, not community worker me. And poet me is queer/gay/bi me. Now, I don’t like to believe that those entities are separate people, I believe that my poetry is informed by many of the professional ethics that have driven my entire life, that my personal values have deeply shaped the work that I have chosen to do. I do not see a separation of those values. In all the contexts that I spend my time, I try to live these values.

But I know that sometimes work would like to see a separation in those values, and I remember that fear of not being able to be “out” certainly affected my decision not to practice as a solicitor. Arguably, I should just have changed firms. But hey, we live and learn.

Anyway. ALL OF THIS RANTING, was in fact meant to be inviting you to International Lesbian Day. Where Betsy and I will be launching a new iteration of the She Stole My Every Rock and Roll story, around the idea of those people that we chose to be our family.

6 October, details on the facebook here.

But I began thinking of this ranting, because I was listening to the soft, mellow Frank Ocean, who fellow poet Darkwing Dubs alerted me to recently. There’s been a great deal in the media recently about homophobia in hip hop and much of it interesting, thoughtful and thought-provoking. Because I have been ranting on hella long here already, I am going to stop and not weigh into that next debate, but thanks Scotty, it’s been a lovely evening cleaning my house in preparation for Chosen Family Christmas, and good strong men are gifts from Hologram Jesus. Who is probably a Buddhist.

 

By Eleanor Jackson

Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet, performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal about town, feminist, freewheeler, and friend.

1 comment

  1. Bless you, E.
    I have worked my second career as a strangely shaped peg in a square hole, and so I empathise with you a little.
    Culture is that thing which rejects those who do not fit, or at least it used to be. Nowadays not so much, which is a good thing.
    Haha (he laughed derisively at himself), I keep expecting the poetry clique to viscously eject me, but no – these people are far too nice.

    on-on.

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