Posts tagged self

There was one time, in a swamp, where I struggled to bring myself to hit the “delete world” button. Back home, where I come from, the land has been drained for a century, but the soil remembers when it stood under water. A piece of crown land attached to my family’s property hosts one of the most notable seasonal swamps in the district. I suppose not many people get nostalgic for the scent of drying clay, the whine of mosquitoes and the sticky black mud and pollen that follows you home. But I do. There was one little shack I built in the spreading arms of a great mangrove, torchlight wavering in the corners. In the evening, in the rain, I could squint a little and pretend to be somewhere so much more beloved than my overpriced, roach-infested inner city rental.

Break up

I’m moving away in November, likely to rural South Australia, and since long distance isn’t working too well for my partner when there’s only a short hop between us, we agreed that we’d need to break up.

Only… she didn’t want to wait. And that’s fair enough. If we have no future, she’s wasting her time with me - especially as she’s not the type to do things casually, and since she’s already pretty fond of me it seemed likely that dragging it out would make it pretty painful for her.

It was all very grown up, sensible and amicable, and we hope to remain friends as there’s no anger or resentment, but we’re taking a little break from contact. Which is sensible.

I miss her dreadfully and my heart aches when I think about not being with her any more. I keep having these little moments of wild confusion where I wonder if I really need to move away - why don’t I move closer to her, and wrap my life around her, and keep us both safe?

Pause for tears and wine.

I could do. It would be remarkably easy. She’s a generous and self-aware person, and we could make it work.

But to do that I’d be giving up all my plans: to forge connections with my family, to touch base with the things that matter to me, to foster my mental health and to focus on my career. Neither of us want that to happen - me because I’ve been in this position before, and her because she’s been on the other side before. We both know how it goes.

I’m thirty years old, and I’ve spent my whole life running backwards and forwards chasing relationships, never doing anything for myself: I don’t have a career, savings, insurance, property, superannuation, and if nothing changes then I also don’t have any any prospects to acquire any of those things, ever.

I need to make a place for myself, a safe and stable place, where I can figure out what I’m going to do for the next ten, twenty, thirty years. Until I’ve done that - until I have some constants in my life - I can’t give to another person in confidence, because some part of me will always be frightened and waiting for the axe to fall.

Oh, I miss her though. I am so unused to putting myself first that this first foray into it is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.


Last night I dreamt about lions and I
Woke to the sound of Machiavellian scheming.
With fingers of flesh to my bones I am tied
But there’s never a good time for ending the dreaming.

I’d like to go walking, just you and just I,
But you over there, and me over here roaming.
Separately somehow but but still side by side
At arms length, at finger tip, into the gloaming.

Last night I dreamt about lions and I
Buried my face in their warm feral chests.
I woke with the feeling of family, and pride,
And the knowledge that no one knows me at my best.

Havin’ a real nice time in my home town this weekend.

The Adelaide Fringe is a gosh darn fantastic festival and I’m so glad I could make it home for a tiny slice this year.

Last night I saw a show called Pretty Peepers and it was just everything I love in performance art - sexy, challenging, subversive, staunchly feminist, hilarious, serious, queer as fuck.

Adelaide is jam-packed with art and life and food and love and nature and friends and thought and fashion and architecture and design and culture and history and science and philosophy and I love it so tenderly.

This is a city in which I feel settled, centred and complete - and also not covered in weird sweat and grit, ahem SYDNEY.


Although nobody’s yet told me what the issue is (nor should they have to; it’s not their job to be always battling ignorance and educating people) I’ve been told, second- and third-hand that my article about Deep Down contains cissexism and transphobia.

I’m quite distressed at this because that was far from my intention, but intent isn’t enough. I’m ignorant, and with all the good will in the world I may have made a dreadful mistake.

I’m reading back over my own words - written in haste and anger - and while I still stand by all the things producing MRA freak outs I’m looking at the phrase “slap some tits on” in reference to a character model and things like “men in skirts” thinking oh fuck, what, Brenna, what are you doing, reducing femininity/femaleness to these physical characteristics?

If it turns out that’s the problematic part, I apologise profusely. I have never ever thought of transwomen as “men with…” and I’m horrified at the thought that my stupid mental image of a developer lazily making a new character model could be in any way likened to a human being’s incredibly brave and strong journey to live as they truly are. If these phrases upset somebody I can’t take that back. But I can acknowledge the error I made, apologise for the hurt caused the hurt that I caused, remove the offensive elements, work to educate myself, and leave this post up.

I’m not on Twitter which makes things hard but after I’ve posted this I’m going to find a way of reaching out through various channels to see what edits I can make to the piece (and also to my own thinking) to ensure it is inclusive of transwomen and transmen, as well as other kinds of human being who might be affected.

I think the fact that I mention a third umbrella gender category (edit: in the article, I mean) for those who do not identify as male or female shows I’m sensitive to non-binary gender issues - although obviously that’s very far from the same thing as cissexism or transphobia, even if they often get lumped together. I mention this because I hope this helps the people I speak with see that despite my privileges I am already capable of absorbing the kinds of lessons I obviously need to learn. (I also hope my tone there did not come across as dismissive, because I didn’t include a third category as a joke. I meant it very seriously. I don’t want to represent the world as a gender binary, because every bit of representation counts.)

As I said, I’ll be proactively reaching out, but if you’re informed on these issues and would be willing to talk to me about this and help me, my email address is easily obtained - and many of my games media peers have it along with my phone and IM details. I’d love to hear from you because I don’t want to cause hurt, and I passionately believe.

Please don’t get in touch to tell me I did nothing wrong, though! I am pretty sure I did, if people whose work and social justice stances I admire found something problematic, and while I’m not very happy right now I don’t need my hand held because I’m sad I offended somebody. I need to make it right for all the people I have offended.

Edit: I was lucky enough to get a really helpful response from the first person I contacted, so I can get the edits done and write a proper apology to go with this one this afternoon. I feel much better now I know I can do the right thing about it, you know? Hooray for learning!

Woman gets mad on Internet, does not receive death threats - news at six

Yesterday I got very angry about sexism in the games industry (again). Normally I tone down my editorials and angle them to try and disarm comments from weird sexist males, which I hate but feel much safer doing, but this time I did not. I just ran with it, and we switched comments off.

My reasoning for switching comments off is that there are very few places in the world and on the Internet where sexist asshats don’t feel safe yelling at each other. But there are almost no spaces I feel safe pointing out their asshattery, so I created one for myself. Let them go yell at each other somewhere else; they have no lack of choice and are certainly not being violently silenced.

The result has been excellent in two ways:

01) Normally I receive no feedback or only negative feedback on my work - that’s the way of the Internet - but with comments closed, several people took the time to email me and show support, something that has never happened before. I only received one negative email. I have a couple of theories as to why this is.

02) A thing exists on the Internet challenging sexist asshats and while there are no doubt plenty of forum posts and personal blogs scattered around raging about it none of them are directly linked from the article itself; there is no reinforcement of sexism to defray the original piece.

There have been multiple studies and reports recently about the positive effects of switching comments off. Switching comment offs altogether is never going to work for us as a business, I expect, and to be honest I wouldn’t actually like it. But the ability to selectively switch them off on particular pieces is super enabling. I’m glad I tried it.

02) No! It cannot be!
03) Aha good friends I knew you would not fail me
04) Noooooooooo, why ibuprofen why

A collection entitled, Have I Been Mistakenly Eating These As Candy

I just wrote the most beautiful letter to my ex wife and was having a little moment of “when they publish my/her collected correspondence in 100 years this will be a highlight” and then I remembered the letter hinges on a Skyrim analogy and my face did that comical slip thing

I call it the Goldilocks Loop

My porridge is too hot

I wait

Now it is too cold

I microwave it

Now it is too hot

I eat ice cream instead

Now I am too cold

Fuck everything

I’m going to go live with bears

May or may not have just ruined my dinner and dramatically set the kitchen on fire


Does anyone want to take me out tonight

Last night I dreamt about a team of Marvel heroes breaking into a super villain conglomerate HQ staffed by Frankensteins and tiny baby girl Frankensteins. Infiltration was eventually achieved by scattering copies of Lolita about, which feminist manifesto (??) turned the tiny baby girl Frankensteins against their masters, who in turn became the slaves. Villain HQ was thereafter covered in doilies and all the villains sat around meekly drinking tea with dollies. This was genuinely frightening, although looking in a tiny baby girl Frankenstein’s wardrobe I suddenly segued to a dream about not having a date to my senior high school dance, because my heart had been broken by a composite of the last two women to break my heart, which was even more frightening.

The worst bit, however, was when I, as Spider-man, faced down Deadpool, and suffocated him with web. Sitting shaking and weeping over his body. “He could have killed me, man,” through spider-tears. “He was going to kill me.”

Peter Parker is what, 20?