Religion and the Pretty C-Bomb

This post will be split into two parts because it deals with two different but loosely connected things.

When I was religious I didn’t swear much. Well I occasionally said ‘shit’ but mostly just stuck to the fat-free cuss words like ‘crap’. I was so strict with myself that if I even thought the word ‘fuck’ I’d feel guilty for hours afterwards (I wish I was kidding). But I certainly didn’t even go near the C-bomb. No way, nuh-ah. Too sinful. All the soap in the world wouldn’t wash out that sucker. So here’s my story…


Upon my conscious bitter as betrayal uncoupling from religion I ended my cuss diet and binged. My brain stuffed as many cuss words into my mouth as possible. I said shit and fuck in every sentence and called people dicks (under my breath) but I never could bring myself to drop the C-bomb. In my mind it was a painful word that I’d first heard used in spite. It was classed as the worst of the worst. To call someone a cunt was to insult them in one of the nastiest ways possible (unless you’re a particularly laid back Australian teenager then it’s what you call your mates, but I didn’t know that yet, I was more sheltered than a wombat in a burrow. Yes, I really just typed that).

But soon I became daring. I’ve been told that I look innocent, so I began to say it for effect. Then I began to think about it. Why is ‘cunt’ such a bad word? Why does a euphemism for vagina have to be classed as the worst of the worst? Why is the worst thing a person can be stand in for a female body part? Now I’m not going to go into the politics of it here, others have done that and a hell of a lot better than I could. I’m just saying that I consciously thought about why it was that I didn’t say ‘cunt’. Then I began to say it in my head to try and get rid of the negative connotations associated with it. I said it under my breath. I thought it about the middle-aged woman talking loudly in the quiet carriage. I sang it in my head to the tune of Diamonds by Rihanna. “Shine bright like a cunt face… shine bright like a cunt face…” Ok, so that last part’s a lie, but it improves the song somewhat, no?

So what do I do about it now? I still only say it for effect. It’s still considered by many as the worst of the worst and despite my protests I still haven’t quite gotten over the way it sounds in my mouth. Perhaps I never will, but I’m trying. For now I engage in crafty slactivism. By which I mean I stitch ‘cunt’ onto fabric and frame it. We all have our small rebellions. I’m changing the face of society, one stitch at a time. I’m sure society’s views on what is deemed offensive will change based on one woman’s Sunday afternoon craft project. Give it time.


Now this wasn’t an isolated binge. After my uncoupling I went through a spiritual crisis (surprise! I’m still there! Woo! Fun times! – that’s a story for another post), in that I no longer felt spiritual at all. I went from deeply religious to believing in nothing. Not even myself. I didn’t feel connected to anything. When I was religious I would go out into nature and feel this deep and profound connection to god and to the earth. It was euphoric, I used to feel almost high on the country air (later I found out that this wasn’t a connection to god, it was a connection to untreated mental illness. Yay! Woo! Fun times!). After I started taking medication, all connection to god left me and I instantly didn’t believe anymore. It hit me like a train. I felt like my upbringing had been a lie. A hurtful scam designed to make me feel less powerful as a woman, guilty about sexuality, and oh I dunno, guilty about everything else on the planet. I became bitter against Christianity and binged on all the ‘bad’ things. By which I mean I purposely littered, I didn’t hold the door for people, and I called rude customers bitches (under my breath). Did I mention I was a little strict with myself? These things felt like acts of rebellion to me. I felt powerful. I felt how Snoop Dogg (Snoop Lion? Whatever he calls himself now) must have felt smoking marijuana at the MTV awards. I felt smug as fuck. I was sinning and there wasn’t a god in the world to stop me.

So where does that leave me now? I don’t know, cunts, crouched in some dirty alley way tossing Cadbury wrappers on the ground (no I’m not, don’t litter kids, it’s bad for the environment). Still bitter, I suppose. I still can’t bring myself to stand in a church and nature just makes me sad at the loss of connectedness to the environment. But we all have our things to work on. On another day I’ll go into the story a bit more if you’d like to hear it, but for now, let’s lighten the mood with more arty fun times.

Changing the world.
Changing the world.

So my lovely cunts, what’s your small act of rebellion?


Table-Talk Tuesday: I am the god of a tiny world.

Welcome Gremlins!

To the interior corridors of my neurosis. To the land where the sweet little frogs of geometric fixation play nice with the rabid crocodiles of a hyperbolic aversion to rain. Or something.

This week I’m fixated with little things, and no, I’m not referring to your dad’s anatomy. Terrariums. Oh dear god. A fucking tiny garden encased in glass. It marries several of my favorite things.

1. Transparent things – (like glass, water, gin, and your father’s intentions).

2. Things so tiny that they’re hardly functional (except that – let’s be reasonable here).

3. Green.

4. Playing god.

So like some perverted cult leader, I’m going to show you how to make your own tiny world to lord over terrarium.

You will need:

1. Something to house your little world.
1. Something phallic to house your demonic little world.
2. Rocks for practical and decorative purposes.
2. Rocks for practical and decorative purposes.
3. Horse shit (stay with me - it's important).
3. Horse shit (stay with me – it’s important).
4. Dirt (or 'potting mix' if you're going to be a wanker about it).
4. Dirt (or ‘potting mix’ if you’re going to be a wanker about it).
5. Tiny plant/s to lord over.
5. Tiny plants to lord over.
6. A majestic animal friend to marvel at your power.
6. A majestic animal comrade to marvel at your power.

Step One

Locate a jar or little-world-receptacle of some kind. You should probably clean it out or something. Fill the bottom with some hell-pebbles.

This will form your underworld.
This will form your underworld.
Revel in your henchwoman's attentiveness. Have you been drinking?
Revel in your henchkitteh’s attentiveness. Have you been drinking kitteh?

Step Two

Crumble the horse shit into a thin layer over the pebbles, this is because I was too cheap to get any charcoal to stop it all looking like mud. Then throw delicately place in some dirt you stole from another pot plant potting mix.

This will form the juicy middle earth on which your tiny empire will thrive.
This will form the juicy middle earth on which your tiny empire will thrive.
Revel in your henchwoman's attentiveness.
Begin to doubt the sobriety of your sidekick.

Step Three

Choose your minions. I’ve heard that you should pick slaves that like it hot and wet. Since I didn’t have any plants that fit that description, I went with the only thing I did have mint and moss.

I can feel their fear already.
I can feel their fear already.

Step Four (optional)

Seal your tiny world.

Isolate your minions from outside influences.
Trap your minions to ‘keep them safe’ from the cat cruel universe.
Wat? Go home kitteh you are drunk.

Step Five

Marvel at your creation. Let there be a lamp, look at it and feel confident that you nailed it. Ignore the gaps where you need to rely heavily on the suspension of disbelief in order to make sense of it all.

Marvel in your artistry.
Marvel in your lack of careful planning, ability to cut corners, artistry.
Ignore the doubt and rising distrust in you lieutenant's eyes.
Ignore the doubt and rising distrust in your lieutenant’s eyes.

Step Six

Isolate them from free thinking.
Isolate your tiny community from outside influences like free thinking.
Allow your collegue to sleep off their hangover.
Allow your colleague to sleep off their hangover.


Perhaps place them in a spot where they can see their freedom, but never actually reach it.
Perhaps place them in a spot where they can see their freedom, but never actually reach it.
Allow your second in command to resume their majesticness.
Encourage your second in command to resume their majestic-ness (she sobers up fast…)

Congratulations! You are now the god of a tiny world. Now you can sit back and let the minions thrive because you in no way did anything that could annihilate them. Nothing. Certainly none of these things. Your world looks incredible. So there is absolutely no need to compare it to any worlds other gods (like ApartmentTherapy) may have created that may seem for a moment more effective than yours (like these insanely amazing ones on Inhabitat).

For more info on how to be a god of your own tiny planet, you can pick up a copy of Tiny World Terrariums: A Step-by-Step Guide to Easily Contained Life from amazon for about $12.

Or if you have a short attention span like me, you could just watch the video below and learn how to create a terrarium that may actually survive on a larger scale.

Video courtesy of the Burke’s Backyard YouTube channel. You can also view the full facts sheet on the Burke’s Backyard website.