ALMOST PUBLIC / SEMI-EXPOSED 10
19/12/25. 8 AM TO 7 PM. 6:30 READING.
STROKING (MY) IMAGINARY DICK
8 am to 6 pm: Sculpt, Stroke, Stamp, Sand, Repeat
6:30 pm: Poetic Dick Reading
Artist Television Access
992 Valencia Street
San Francisco, CA
Come stop by and touch my poems, interact with the tools, and grab little poetry surprises to take home.
If you love what you see, get the poetic dicks for your art or book collection. Pricing upon request.
The POETRY SLUT RODEO Origin
Stroking My Imaginary Dick originated from my sensual self publishing project, POETRY SLUT RODEO, chapter 4 obsession: DICK.
Let’s go back to the beginning before my Dick took shape or carried the weight of social, sexual, & hierarchical identity.
So the long of The Dick is this…
(scroll to end for the short of The Dick)
My imaginary dick is noble, it is strong, it gives me pleasure and brings me confidence each time I stroke it and think: I’m gonna cum all over the state of Texas, fuck it, I’m gonna cum all over the world.
My inner dick has always been a part of me.
I’m a pretty tough cookie with a deep love for manual labor and all work that requires muscle, sweat, grunting. Testosterone levels, high.
I’ve built cabins in Texas. I can lay tile and stucco your home by myself. I’ve raised goats in Upstate New York, been a butcher’s assistant in Austin, and worked as a cabinet maker in Red Hook. I wear my cuts and scrapes with pride. I secure 2 x 4s in the bed of a truck with confidence.
I’ll mow your lawn and drink the tea your girlfriend offers me.
Now Fast Forward. A year ago. Divorced, horny, lonely.
I thought I wanted Dick.
But really, it was mine I was searching for…
not that unnameable fool’s lyin, cheatin, cold dead beatin, two-timin, double dealin, mean mistreatin, body part.
Cut stick, make dick.
It all starts with a good piece of hard wood.
September 23, 2024, Poetry Slut Rodeo
Excerpt…but get in there and read the whole thing.
A stick, my dick, a poem, my prayer,
hold it, stroke it, cum with confidence,
be obnoxious again, step on some toes,
find the holes of ease and pleasure, insert
my presence without worrying:
Will I be a good enough woman?
…
Day 1, September 17th: Fell and Size Up
Find an erect, hard Juniperus ashei branch.
Cut with a handsaw and bring back to the house.
Peel back the bark with a draw knife to reveal the smooth interior.
Voila. A page for my poetry.
I’m taking my time with this dick because the more I work it, the more I discover my own stories of both power and impotence, truth and lies, and who I really am in connection with myself and others, with pleasure and my ability to express it.
Also, I realized it’s very difficult to shape and carve wood when you are the owner of rough carpentry tools. I am NOT a fine carpenter and have no experience carving wood (besides making spaces for door hinges on the frames).
But this is what I do. I create literal and metaphorical challenges for myself in order to learn. It brings me joy.And once again, I love to suffer because when I finally find the opening…it’s bliss.
So the short of The Dick is this:
After a month of pondering the dick, imagining the dick, asking the dick questions, going within and finding my own… a series of wooden sculptures that merge poetry with tactile and performative processes came to life.
Each phallic form, carved, shaped, and stamped, letter by letter, with a long form prose poem, sprung up from the month long process of obsession and introspection.
The practice of making a book of poetry out of phallic sculptures became an intimate and ritualistic way to uncover my own connection to The Dick: Destruction, Creation, Deviance, Disturbance, Bliss.
Language became texture, form, a reflection, and the actual dick began to hold a new kind of meaning…impotent in its previous assumptions and stronger than ever in its evolution.
As a horny poet who has struggled with identity as a woman, and who had often lamented having been born without a dick, this piece marks an important moment in understanding creation, desire, and identity from a cuntry woman’s perspective.
