I wrote a show with a silly urine joke title, and now people frequently call me “Piss Queen”, DM me with pee puns, or straight-up ask me to indulge their urophillic fantasies.
I wrote my first solo hour Piss Be With You from a place of existential disappointment. As a queer woman, I felt I had been sold a false promise that once I came of age and ‘found my people’, I would have an easy experience building a life and finding romantic connection. This dream is common among us Zillenials who grew up outside of liberal luxury, in working class suburban families, living in the shadows of conservative Christian indoctrination. Many of us felt we were doomed to a lifetime of repenting, before the advent of cultural milestones like same-sex marriage, RuPaul’s Drag Race, and the women’s AFL.
I dedicated my teen years and early adulthood to seeking safety while trying to live openly in Newcastle. There were rich pockets of queer community who helped me survive, but my compass pointed due south to what I believed to be Australia’s queer utopia – Sydney.
Alas, when I moved to the big smoke, like many in my situation, I found perhaps one of the most universal queer experiences of all: isolation. It turns out, you don’t leave the decades of shame behind in your small town. You carry them with you on your carabiner and call it a “personality” in order to cope.
Despite decades of progress, and what rainbow capitalism might suggest, queer and trans folks are still nowhere near the level of liberation we deserve. For me, this presents most apparently in our sex lives.
I truly believed that as a former midnight ballerina, a muscled-up movement coach, and openly queer woman, I was as sex-positive as they come. Sensuality is sacred to me.
But, after so much personal struggle, for a long time, I was too fragile to ask for the things I needed. Too scared to inconvenience my lovers with what I wanted, or did not want. Instead, I laid still and stayed silent when I should have laid boundaries and spoken up. What should have been divine was dismal.
Laying in that piss puddle might be the loneliest queer experience of all.
Ultimately, ‘Piss’ is about the journey we face in releasing our shame, relieving this pressure, and returning to our bodies. I ask the audience to physically assist me and participate in the pleasure activism. And they do, enthusiastically! They call and respond, flex their muscles, revel in a communal raindance, perform kegels, and of course, drink my piss. Together, we subvert the familiar spiritual service structure to generate a rich sense of community, pride, and pleasure.
‘Piss Be With You’ is a comedic call to release. It rejoices in a shared build up, commiseration, and liberating relief. It is an invitation to embrace personal honesty, sex advocacy, and communal care. It asks, “how will you make peace with your piss and reclaim your power?”
For me, it turns out, writing over 200 urine jokes was step one.
Piss Be With You runs at the Eternity Playhouse on September 11 as part of the Sydney Fringe Festival. Tickets are available here.
