Plz excuse all my butt/thigh bruises but I done a .Gif.

Late 60’s - 70’s Italian deadstock two piece from savers that was $4.99
It’s fully lined (awesome, as it’s white based) with a high cut, mid rise brief and underwire, halter neck top. My favourite thing about it is the texture and three dimensionality of the fabric. The rows of rainbow colored diamonds making up the pattern have an almost quilted feel to them and the material itself, is rather thick and sturdy.
With proper care I don’t see any reason why these won’t last me the next 10 summers.

I just want to sleep with someone new
Someone I’ve never met
Knowing it’s a foolish thing to do
And sure to cause regret
There is no reason to do our love wrong
When we’re together it’s sweet and strong
It’s where I belong

But I just want to sleep with someone new
Who doesn’t know my name
Who comes and takes my hand out of the blue
Just like in a dream
Pass any doorway, ride any train
Walk into any room - beauty stakes its claim
And drives it home again and again and again

I just want to sleep with someone else
Touch some different skin
To do or not to do is both ways false
But one’s a greater sin
I’m not about to tear this house down
And I couldn’t stand to sneak around
And lose this love I’ve found
So daily, I will make her someone new

– Paul Kelly

Stat.

My love,

my lovers
are not
numbers

you try and distil my history
the word player rolls over your tongue
you’re trying to get a taste of me
but my history is
not whiskey or rum

my love,
my lovers

are not
static statistics
sadistically spelling
this past of me out

they say

the average person
has 12 partners
in their lifetime

I say
the average person has
just less
than
two legs

i tried to count them today
(my lovers, not my legs)

but the figures got caught up in the
crisp clean sheets of hotel rooms in Notting Hill
the cum crisp sheets of ratbags
covered in paint stains and old pain
i lingered in a logcabin in whangarei
that burned down
taking love letters like casualties
of a class war
hushed bush fucks that ended in utter desolation
for two souls seeking to fill more than just black holes
belated heart breaks for those ill-suited young punks
that left my heart sunk
and the rain-again pain that
turns me into
Christchurchian drains

and you
lover,
you are no number

how many of your lovers
were just a figure

because for me
you are like no other

I wonder if the people of your past, you could say
are like the faces in the window
when the train pulls away

and if you believe me
if you believe
I’m not the player you paint me
jokingly

I wonder if you think my heart
is a slut
that my feelings go down
when the numbers go up

lover,
please

feelings become cheap
when you count them like sheep

and statistics will do
what you tell them to

please

put your ear to my lips
and hear me

the only thing you share
is that one word

that no one says for fear of
of being misheard.

Fury - 2013.

I absolutely had to find and share this piece read by Fury at Slutwalk Melbourne yesterday. Delivered with more mastery than the most oratious of rappers, more lyrical efficacy than the wiliest wordsmiths and more showmanship than the most audacious performers.
Her words were still ringing in my ears long after she’d torn that shirt off and I hope it makes your knees as weak as it does mine.