Saturday, February 11, 2017

A Comet & An Eclipse Walk Into A Bar...


It’s that time again—time to check in at the Octopus Front Desk Diary to let you know how I’m surviving the current era.

By staying really really busy, that’s for sure! You all know I love my solitude & my downtime (and I still do of course) but I feel compelled to stay connected, aware & active these days. So that’s what I (& Moonface) have been doing. We get out more. We’re rerouting our neural pathways to be more engaged with an external world we’ve shunned for over a decade.

It’s hard work, but it needs to be done. 

Also been working hard on creative projects like the long-awaited


Friends, I have an exciting announcement: I’ve finished pencilling the first episode of SC & TFB! And pardon me if I say—it’s ALL RIGHT. I do comics the old fashioned way—pencil first, inks & colors later. None of this electronic shit where the computer helps you draw & color your shit. I don’t even understand that. And no disrespect to those who do their comics that way…I just…don’t understand.

It doesn’t mean I don’t admire people whose style differs from mine—quite the contrary. But I like the act of story-building panel by panel. Figuring out which actions & dialogues will go together, what shape the panels will take, how it will all flow. I’ve been “insulted” many times by people who consider themselves to be FINE artists—“your art is JUST cartoony stuff.” 

And to them I say—there’s more to comic illustration than just doodling stick figures. But I understand that their haughtiness comes from…not understanding.

Anyway… I’m not even a good illustrator, but I enjoy doing it (sort of) and it adds color & pizzazz to this otherwise grey & peach blog.


Friends, last year I spent money and time filling out stacks and stacks of paperwork & then I entered a courtroom and stood before a judge and pleaded to have my name changed,

and the judge granted me that wish. And I was happy & I announced it on Facebook & everyone hit LIKE and all was well. 

But then, friends, my computer started asking me to update its operating system. Please, it said, update me soon or things might start going wrong. And I ignored my computer’s requests because, honestly, it seemed to be working fine. But then it started threatening me—if you don’t update me I will no longer “support your applications.” 

And my computer even crashed a few times because I didn’t answer its pleas for an update. I hate updating my computer because “updates” are usually “downgrades.” They fuck everything up and I have to go in & relearn all the shit I took so long to learn in the first place.

So one of my New Years resolutions was to update my computer. It was a big deal because I hadn’t done it in 5 years & I had to do some intermediate updates & I was on the phone with tech support for several hours. Which I hate. Phones, technology, talking to strangers, yuck.

But I got it done. With only minor hiccups [boy do I hate what Apple has done with their Photos!!]

The only thing is—now all my “communications” are blatantly, loudly marked & monogrammed with my DEAD name!!

All my emails & FB comments & perhaps even somewhere in this blog my computer is deadnaming me so disrespectfully. 

That atrocious name I wore like a slutty Halloween costume for the first 45 years of my life has risen from the dead! And I don’t know why, because all my email & FB settings are on my new, LEGAL name. 

That means it is embedded somewhere deep inside my technology and I will have to coax it out and stab it in the heart. I’m afraid this is going to be another “dangerous process’ like upgrading. I’ve already looked into how to do it & it’s one of those things that risks destroying all your files, or at least your access to them.


***************EPIC OR NOT??**********

Friends, I was actually going to share my latest long-winded verbose unconcise non-economic poem with you, but I’ve gone on & on about comics & technology downgrades

SO…I’m deciding…right now…out loud, on the page…do i want to share the poem today? Because next time I’m sharing comics…

So, yes, POEM TODAY!! You’re welcome…

First though, I have to bring up this one thing. It’s really important so pay close attention: 


In fact, most of the lesbians I know wear T-shirts and cargo shorts. OR long, flowy dresses (yeah, lots of lesbians are feminine). Or tank tops. Lots of tank tops. But not a lot of flannel.

HELL & DAMNATION & SULFUR FUMES & BRIMSTONE & TREACLE! Kurt Cobain didn’t even wear much flannel. He wore fuzzy cardigans & striped T’s.

But me, I’ve been grunge since 1989 and I’m not going to change my comfort-first flannel-flying ways just because of this persistent Lez-Lez Bean stereotype I keep hearing about. Shut up and look around you—

—even lumberjacks don’t wear flannel anymore. There’s nothing to stereotype here, move along.

And in case you’re wondering my flannel affinity came from being a homeless drunk person. Flannel was my couch-to-day look, my sleepless night uniform, my hangover woobie, my outdoor pajamas. Nothing less.

Haha! i’m glad I got to rant about that. Now here’s a poem as long as The Iliad that you will skim over for 2 minutes but never read all the way through, then reread to make sure you got it all…

13 mos on T

***********TREMENDOUS GIBBERISH**********************

This File Is Currently Empty, all wispy & appropriate

Would I advise any species to trace
Its anger back to its origins? Octopus, jellyfish,
Seahorse in prickly skin?
It's not for the feint invertebrate
The Social Networking Sickness of 2014
Tallest wave of sensitive geniuses under the spell of internet sorcery
There will be many more ’15 ’16 ’17

Profane & volcane! The big Facebook serpent quo
All the harlequin pretext covering

A Litany of Tentacles—
1. Family
2. The Government
3. Gender/Sex
4. Science
5. Humanities
6. Friends
7. Enemies
8. The Higher Powers

And now 9. The New World Order

All hints of 33rd degree masonry once leaking through
The seams of architecture now smeared with stucco, Chinese drywall approved by Trumpo 

I am the most special spectral agent forced to spy on our own hot dog flavored corpses
I vote for your sainthood w/ a boogery finger swiping right 
Artificial lifeline swooping too perfectly
Over radial artery—that's how saints get elected!

St. President  please polish the whole internet w/ Q-tips before proceeding to friend me on Birdbook because friend is not a verb it's an onamotapoeia --the sound of a lone microbe radicalizing—tweet

Is it safe to have everyone's mind wandering all over the sky?

Who's the real Army of Me—
You, the bulbous many-headed? 
The tongue wagging the crowd
Through rumored cattle chutes?
Or the Me you're wagging about?

Tom Robbins said we humans were invented by water as a means of transportation
And as noble as that sounds, I believe we’re actually some kind of data storage unit
Each of us a drone here to collect our lifetime of data &
Return it to the great base in the cosmos
The great meme generator of our time

I think I just plagiarized a bumper sticker

My mother's conditional love lasted til I was 3, my doctor died after he touched me twice (appropriately) Knocked out by
My father before I was one

De-spider Efforts!

I ripened
In her asphyxiating suitcase
So I'll branch out through
Black holes and
Cradle the old lady
Like she's a fresh stardust baby

Dorian Grey days crayoned despondent male 
Alternating happy sad female tear-years
If boys don't cry neither do mermaids, dragons Pokemon & whales
If girls cry then senators astronauts bounty hunters & trolls do too

Never suspecting the other side's green grass was toxic mold

Alone in our human/ant colony’s war/miasma crooked line dance icy whirlpool scorching debriscape  Robot Tea Room

It's too sunny out today  We're leaving rainy season & entering dry, slanted sun season
Cherry-dominant suicide
An ideal spot for a metaphysical reunion
Victim Culture 
7 of Swords  a journey by land?
Exhibitionist Culture? The Foreseeable Culture Act of 2037.

Geranium Radio Party
Finite Digest  Levity's Rainbow  Uriah's Crib
Does Sophie dream of electric twins?
Unfair in height, five-foot-one
Gun fart, intrusive muse

Skeletons in the closet getting ready for PRIDE

When Amanda Palmer says "You have a dick,
You always win" we know the 4th wave of feminism
Has crashed upon a glass shoreline & imploded
Into all the shards that break us & reshape us

Been there, done better than the ones who never came back
A chain is only as long as a dog's ego

Misery loves Atari
                 Second Life
                the pharmacy
            the cable company
                     quit it

The posture concave, shoulders parachuting in, head down legs strutting in vain, dragging your heart behind like a bag of blood

Imprints don't just disappear
Scary concrete blockwork
Stare them down w/ your opioid coping sensors
You work hard to ignore them
But that first default moment in the morning?
How fast can you chant, caffeinate, network them away?

Incomplete failure…(excited phosphor dots) Yap Co copay procaine 
Product of iatrogenic labeling —label scars more than the thing it describes—
Opposite of bandAid covering bullethole

My feminine IQ
Wild from tears
A jellyfish memory outlined
Whiskers of DNA--these are my people
But they are the next wave--better at being me
Than I ever was

The planet's collective endocrine system
Finally realizes the perils of overpopulation
More & more young people embracing
My old world androgyny; asex, anti-natalist views
Catching on w/ the new Nationalists

But I want to save the big Earthy testicle not the sticky white human race

Never go to Walmart in January — the most depressing coordinates on the time-space continuum
Why would I from my ivory tooth-like tower?
The world is so unmysterious now
Not just standing naked before us, but spreading
Its buttcheeks
Stunt poetry in action

Bone bunny Man village
Desperate Living Theme Song
Empty zen French dressing?

I love these words for I am their God. Bedlambic pentameter!

Wholesome helpmate, infernal bang theorist
Crack the window w/ my head
If I make it out of the bathroom alive
I promise to piss on the moon

Used to be we spoke up for what we believed
And the gov't would visit things like AIDS and 9/11 upon us
But now that AIDS & 9/11 have happened
Who will dare speak out?
This is what the Illuminazi wanted
33rd degree burn victims Skin canker and a bold chess movie plot
Insert the demagogue dialogue & watch the social experiment
Backfire--it's time to start erasing history by installing new code into the Hardware of familial Zillennials
1 generation gone since 9/11 and all memory has been sanitized by
Angelic heroic patriotic jingo lingo jumble jargon word pardon

You left me alone w/ all that country music!!!

Unfurl your phantom plans!
Holy traffucking! Paranoid MayDay Rave!

Guns are black magic just as much as gibberish is
Vowels are the true music of speech
Verbs are the music of poetry
I use words like numbers, doorless frames
Adoreless fame

I have a blog because I don't have a talk show

We’ve cut the Humanities 
In favor of machinities
And the purple artichoke, impaled
On all the pointed buttery details
We won't tell ourselves, a lame dick joke now

Without blazing hard-on verdict, without sudden wet-fingered synthesis
Senatized counter-attack, playgroundian Intelligence

Hobbies: writing, believing conspiracy theories, reading books, ice skating, doing a radio show, worrying about the karmic price of words sent out over the airwaves  Surely not as heavy as this ink  Or as instant as a full frontal automatic FB assault
(curiosity made the cat vid go viral)
Millions of meek Donalds sold
Virgin uncooked meat

A needle plunges &
Strikes the sidewalk's vein

A lark beneath
The mask of ether
Cries like a streaky pane

She walks onstage 
Like a glaze



Did you make it? Are you okay? 


Well, I’m going to see if I can still post pictures of old art from my new Photo system. Next time I’ll have new art, if I can figure out how to post that…

I love you fuckers.

Sunday, January 22, 2017

The Ninth Tentacle


I am with you 1000% in your assessment 
That we are in the clutches of a sociopath
Who's more interested in comparing

Than establishing a healthy bond w/ Intelligence

This isn't just scary, it's not just odd or offbeat or Trump being Trump and that's why we like him

This is pure ignorance. Pure jingoistic juvenility, and I'm not just being alliterative because it makes me jolly. I really mean that.

His XTREME-of-consciousness makes my poetic streams look like dry riverbeds of legalese. In other words, my poetry would make for more presidential commentary than what was said yesterday at the CIA.

I am embarrassed by this. I am embarrassed for us. This is not cute, people. I would love to find humor in it but I just can't this time.

I am terrified of the masters behind this creepy clown-puppet. And of the hate that has bared its teeth on the internet & on the walls of the mosques & temples & soon perhaps biting into our own skins.

We watched footage from the Women's March on FB live before going out to SRQ's own march. The one person who really got through to me and made me feel like nothing regressive was going to happen on her watch:


Look her up if you missed her very short speech at the March. As a disabled Asian-American combat veteran, she has so much intersectional cred she might as well be God right now.

If things start going eggy, she is the person I will reach for. I will google her name if I'm feeling hopeless. I will write her a letter if I'm afraid. I will stalk her at her home & end up in jail if that's what I need to do. But I've chosen her as my person-in-power to hitch my wagon to.
(lovely schizoid metaphor going on here ^^^)

And hey COMRADES, especially you anti-Trump libtards (aka my people),

Please remember to go high. Don't jerk your knees so hard they come back to fracture your larynx. Think it through before you start smashing windows or plotting assassinations. The alt-right conspiracy theorists are already projecting a neo-liberal feminazi assassin…

…well, heh heh, I'm not going to tell you not to do it, but just…think it through…

[Speaking of alt-right nazis pretending to be good ol Johnny Appleseed rootsy folksy shucksy mankind is my mission I can save you all cuz I saved myself from the flames & my sizzling synapses hold all the answers Spreading the…not love, but TRUTH! TRUTH, that harsh tough gristly gift that's so different for each one of us! 

I like everyone, but all my black friends live in Africa where they belong, see?? 

Speaking of them and their lonely white dicks, and their fear of the pussyhat, and their hatred of what they can't own as property--Tthey are still here, living among us. 

Those guys who hate that my femininity went rogue on their exclusive chemical cocktail! The fear that they may give me a Very Good, Sir when I deserve only a Nice <3 i="">

Where Sir = bro, I am the weird zero, and you are the hypocrites addicted to your own mathless myth]

All right. I am a poet so I'm allowed to be all cryptic and mystical and kind of you know um…quirky solopsistic navel-picking shoe-gazing cherry-lickking jack-offative narcissist. But not our President, not our fearless communicator our impartial father figure our big old Uncle Grandpa Mohommed cartoon conjugal Jesus visitor! Not him! Oh please, not Him!!!


All right, again. I started doing my daily stream-of-consciousnesses

I really need them now…to get my brain farting again

Stabbed in another dimension! A hallway in my heart I never knew I had. Ever dreamt you found a room in your house that wasn't there before? You peek your head in--"Is this real?"--and the room goes from closet to attic to mezzanine to subconscious palace. But you can't make yourself enter--"Here it is inside my house but is it mine?" The property of dreams unrecorded on the table of elements. Ever dreamed you've grown new body parts? A limb, a genital, a slit in your side that vents when you start to feel fear? In my dreams my body always belongs to me for it's not property. We've grown a new president, a ninth tentacle. I no longer recognize this octopus I've analyzed for ages. We've grown apart, as legal aliens often do. Another midnight master who wakes a sunrise student, bereft of the lessons in a wet cartoon.  1-21-17 


AND HEY COMRADES! I hope you enjoy this crappy art--The Pre-Inaugural Nerve Doodles. I am out of practice. Obviously.

Thursday, January 12, 2017

Pathological Pravda


Happy Goddamn Fucking New Year.

Unlike most of you who eschew new year's resolutions because you won't keep them anyway, I always make resolutions & stick to them.

For instance my resolutions last year were A) to forget more things B) to submit quality writing and get it published.

And I did that! All year long. I got more stuff published in 2016 than the previous 2 years combined. And boy--did I forget a lot of stuff. I can't even remember all the stuff I forgot last year!

[For my new friends (and Russians) who are wondering why I would want to forget stuff--I have one of those perfect biographical memories like MaryLu Henner and I really needed to clean out my brain, make room for all the highly classified data that's incoming

But I can still remember everything if you ask me by date---ie, what happened on Oct 9, 1985? (It was a Wednesday & we were working on the play 'Antigone' in my high school theatre class). But as far as remembering the painful details from each calendar square of my life? I'm purging some of the hurts & judgments & emotional propaganda I've been feeding myself since…1985.]

So what's on the docket for VT in 2017?

A) Retrieving my sense of humor from wherever I left it in 2014. I'm sure I won't find my sense of humor in the condition it was when I abandoned it, but I KNOW I will need a funhouse lens through which to view the nouvelle regime. I am scared shitless and know that is when levity is most essential. But I don't know how "leviticous" I can be about it. Plus I'm so unfunny now, I worry that I may be getting Alzheimer's. 

[Alzheimer's is my new thing to be unreasonably paranoid about. It's always something--sinkholes, blood clots… This year I will find every reason to believe I have early onset dementia. Is this really happening? Maybe not.]

2010 character: The Majestic Text-mouth Sparrow

B) This doesn't need repeating but --Writing, submitting, seeing more work in print. I actually feel really weird whenever I have a poem published. At first it's thrilling--yay, someone appreciates my words! But then it's a scary out-of-comfort-zone heebie jeebie vulnerability. I'm not cut out to be a person, let alone a person with a name. And cred. But I've worked my whole life to occupy this out-of-comfort zone, so I won't give up just because America isn't great yet, or I'm losing my mind.

C) Do more art. I don't need to say it but sorry I did no art in '16. That will not happen again.

D) Weaning off as much single-use plastic as possible. We were doing pretty good with this for awhile, then our cats destroyed our cloth grocery bags one by one & suddenly we had a cabinet full of plastics again. If we are saying good-bye to environmental protections for awhile, I want to contribute as little as possible to the shitpile.

[Of course transitioning means--syringes! Plastic ones! Unreusable disposable waste that usually gets incinerated. But I refuse to throw them out. I've been using them for watercolors and other constructions. So expect some needle-art this year : )]

E) Owning my transition. I'll never be super masculine, but I want to feel comfortable thinking of myself as male. I was such a boy when I was a little kid, and even up through high school I dressed femininely but was gruff & tomboyish as ever. And then something happened after high school…life without a net…and I felt this horrid obligation to play the role of female, and pretend to enjoy & be fine with it. And now that I've been released from that obligation it is still hard not to feel guilty when I think of myself as "he"--I let everyone misgender me because I don't want to be one of those militant "delusional" trans people who disavows all gender constructs.

I just want to pass as a guy and live a quiet life w/ my mate. I don't want to demand anything from anyone, but I need to demand of myself that I FORGET the forced femininity. And the guilt and the hatred and the overflowing misogyny I drowned in for decades. Once I do that, I know passing will come naturally.

Other than that, I have no "trans chores" this year! 

What else? Right now I'm training to do a run. I'll probably start with a 1K or even 5K if I'm feeling strong enough. Back in the days when I was crying so loud & uncontrollable that i thought it would scare the neighbors, I started running around my house, trying to calm myself down. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes I was running for hours. Hours, friends & Russians.

It felt awful at the time, but now I'm a pretty good runner for an old curmudgeon. I ran a 9 minute mile this morning and next week I hope to do it in 6, 'mmmmkay?

All right….that's all I have to say now. I hope everybody's year goes well…I mean, really well. If we all need to join forces we will. Until then, I'll be doing all that stuff up there ^^^

Saturday, December 24, 2016

Zin Is A Type Of Vin


I hope this Xmas Eve finds you all drunk, stoned, in love, or at least not trapped at work with a heavy cold and 17 inches of snow between you and your yule log-infested hearth.

I've been meaning to check in at the Octopus Diary sooner, but friends… I have been getting so many hits from Russia that I'm downright paranoid about it. As you know 2016 was my 10 year anniversary of being an Octopus Diarist (you can read about it here). And I don't plan on quitting just because the Russians are either spying on me personally, or routing a fake news site anonymously through my blogspot address ---


but you know. These are silly fragile egg times. And though most of you shun diaryzing as something adults don't do, I will diarize the fuck out of 2017 because we face the reality of having our freedom of press taken away and 

I would rather die pressing freely than live w/ only freedom of speech as my means of getting across…

I have for you today an Epic Poem--now that Moonchild is officially a senior citizen he is eligible for colonoscopies. He is also eligible to be called MoonSenior. This long poem is about my time in the waiting room while he got his colon scoped. I've been writing such long poems lately & they get rejected by the presses for being too long. 

Small, economy-size poetry is in vogue these days. Long elastic odysseys are not. So I will share them here. Feel free to give me feedback if you can manage to read the whole thing.

Also--I have ART for you!!! Yes, I spent the Winter Solstice getting reacquainted w/ watercolors. But don't get too excited--they are just experiments. I literally made something from the rorschach stains on the palette paper leftover from my last painting (of Shelter Cat & Trust Fund Baby). But it was good to get the hands & wrists & brushes coordinated again.

Rorschach experiment #1  Pixel Pisses Off the Puscine Priestess



We are traffic drooling over the lip of sunrise
Who leaves these big gaps  2-3 car lengths untightened at lights
Texting "out of fuel" perhaps?
We turn and signal parkway pique;  once auto immunity's 4-door wall breaks, usually a surge in the stream of concrete
But speedy's distracted by copilot's 3" French caresses, cranking flow valve
To carb and nozzle to
Slow drip 

Now we've broken walls & laws no one saw
I agree to wait  [?]  hours in this snug McNugget box
Within  [?]  minutes
2 Trump cards shuffle in and slap gnarly hands on my arm rest/privacy fence
One believes her volume's set to Indoor but I endure this: 
I don't write anything from my own head,  just regurgitate content from 
Nooz-sites I believe in. One today re: Reagan calling from the 80s to put prayer back in school & she responds with a long thought from her own head! As if she knows everything!

To paraphrase, poor libtard network kin so brainwashed, reciting all the godless scripture of the classroom, babbling about progress when what we need is a brake pedal, a retraction

I mustn't misconduct this War on Conduct, wherein I'll need a brochure of trigger warnings after every intake of breath, that sublime feline tip off I'm about to claw your flipside to bits  Wherein sensual assault is no mere tone crime 

Bandaging my former armor's spastic knees, strengthening my anti-social core, softened turd-like by lack of use

I clutch my book like a steering wheel, words roll by my eyes but they have pirated one whole 
Brain hemisphere, filled my throat w/ fossilized frogs, 
All sphincters from anal to mental clenched around my spinal flagpole
Because these G-mas would have me carry stones 3K miles from home
To build a border so concrete in the franchise of consciousness
One could only stand before it & try to order tacos
Try to classify rapists, or outline some of the good ones in chalk

These old clucks muted by their own lack of authority, deafened by their
Blocked cockiness, silent bowels waiting to take the exam, 
Can't stop their liquid whisper's confluence 
Live-streaming into my well

Watch towering overprotective over families overvalued
But not appreciated
As if she knows everything!

These G-mas would stack pixels to add VIP room to the Constitution. They'd say it was the divine occult will of their departed Daddies who served 

Heroes, honey, forced Hitler to his hemlock hive

God's own image said the flag was sacred and not to be burnt in red-skinned blue-flamed white-hot protest
While those involuntary vaginas call it Symbol of our fatal design flaw, our flow of scoliosis, our unclasped, neckless genuflection, Daddy rises for the post-mortem anthem

For Him the new fascists cut coupons and throats, cut themselves off at the pituitary knees,
If you were black I'd color you all over & have you drink from the leaden fountain! 
If you were brown you'd be raptured back to Aztec temples, sacrificed to America's
Overnight jungle, to its overgrown honey-do, listing like a ship off a cliff!
And were you queer, you'd plead for Pentecostal boot camp--Make me in your atomic-saxon image!
Make *nameless genital configuration* swell!

O little old lady tilled by the patriarchy when America was ripe for
The pickin' of slim cotton dresses, linen winging it between fucks, 
When America was so well-fluffed everyone had a donkeyshow! Everyone had an acre of virgin g-spot soil!

Now general admission is an admitted mess
But these angels don't even sing in the shower
Before gassing the rainbowed gutter 



Congratulations on reading that. You're good. I really hope this weekend is filled with love & joy for everyone.  2016 was one of those years that really rattled the scaffolding and threatened to collapse the structure, the jagged mystical steeple of an Illuminati that reached the pinnacle of its erudite elitism. Not the structure you were thinking, right?
Rorschach turned into self portrait

Anyway…I shuddered w/ dread to face the news of my world, my country each day…and yet…my life, at my house, in my head, was terrific. Fucking grand. I am happy to have my mind back, and I promise more art & less jacking off in 2017. But I am on alert, ready to take action or fight or flight whenever the time is right. No polite nazi here. Intelligent anger, no artifice, 'kay?

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

My Own Day of Infamy: 1 Year on T


A year ago today I began a journey I would never believe. (And please don't think I'm a new age meme-hippie for using the word "journey." It's too early to think of a better word.)

You all know how awed I've always been by the power of hormones. Why, being a lady is nothing but a hormone journey. Each day a new mix of hormones & you never know what you're going to get! I absolutely HATED living that way, and THEN…as if thirty years of unamusing rollercoaster dips were not reward enough for being born w/out a dick…along comes menopause…PRE menopause…PERI menopause….whatever name you give it, it is nothing short of being thrown from the wild carnival ride you've been bravely strapped to for decades….

But as I've said, I was afraid of playing with the hormones. The God juice. (Please…don't think I'm a magic jesus Xtian because I said "God juice" -- I just didn't want to say "higher power elixir." It's too early in the morning.)

In 2012 I stumbled across a blog by a young homeless trans man who could only afford his testosterone part of the time. So he was really on a hormone rollercoaster! It sounded like drug addiction. You have your T--you feel great! You can't afford your T--you slump into estrogen depression.

Until I was completely pinned under the bulldozer of perimenopause I wasn't ready to fuck around w/ hormones.

But oh my god how I wish I'd been braver! How I wish I'd known when I was 12 that I could do this! 

But…scratch that…I wouldn't really want to change anything about my life except how badly I felt about my feminine exterior…how that exterior trapped me in humanitor's binary loop, but kept me separate from the ladies, and the men…

No I wouldn't change the life I've already lived. It is a work of art. It is just right for me, no matter how crappy it looks to you. 

So enough about hormonephobia! I know all you guys want to know is-----

How big is your penis now? 

And I'll get to that in a moment. I want to mention some of the other changes, or lack of changes, first.

You may have noticed I did no art this year. Zero zip nada art. I didn't feel at all like making any art. This is a new thing--usually I crave arting as much as eating or drinking or sleeping.

But all I did this year was feel horny & jack off. [Sorry, I know that's not what you want to hear]

Except--just in the past week--I feel the art imperative rising up against the new hormone order! So get ready for some art in 2017.

Voice = getting better. For about 9 months I've sounded like I have laryngitis. But now I sound like an actual teenage boy w/ deeper pitches than I've ever had. I still have most of my female range too. I kind of like having a voice with so much range.

But it is not helping me pass as male in the world.

And that's another thing. LOOKS = still very feminine. Seemingly more feminine than before starting T. Except for my slight mustache & a few invisible chin hairs…not very much facial hair to be found. I'm of Native American stock & we are not a hairy people. But this is ridiculous.

I'm happy that I haven't had the ferocious outbreak of acne that usually precedes facial hair growth. But a year later, I'm ready & willing to get through that rite of passage.
I think this was right after my 2nd T shot. Who can guess which restaurant we're at? 

I broke down & got a haircut the other day. I get so frustrated that I'm still read as so feminine. But my experience at the barber shop was even more demoralizing--the (female) barber couldn't BELIEEEEEEVE I wanted a short/men's haircut. She kept saying "Are you sure this is okay? It's going to be very short."

Like what do I look like--a fucking Disney princess to these people????  I think I made her very uncomfortable, and I hardly said anything…

So my plans to be a long-haired freaky hipster dude were thwarted by my own insecurites, my fragile masculinity. Now I just look like an older lady w/ really short butch hair. Not even a real butch lesbian. Just an unfeminine unattractive ciswoman who has no sense of style.

Oh speaking of style---I have none right now. I can't find clothes that fit. Mens' shirts hit my upper thighs. The pants get trampled under my feet because they're so long. My manly cargo shorts are just too big & look like droopy diapers. I'm a mess. I will work on this. If anyone knows where a 5'2" 120# girly man can get some clothes, let me know.

I LOVE my chest, scars & all. This is my most masculine feature right now. I took a shirtless run the other day & my god it was gorgeousness & gorgeosity made flesh like a bird of the rarest spun heavenmetal or like silvery wine flowing in a  spaceship…yada yada, you know the rest… 

Anyway, I can't say how great it feels to not have boobs. Again, a part of me wishing I'd never gone through the wrong puberty because those boobs were the main focus of my self-hatred. I knew they were the most glaring attribute of femininity, the thing guys considered my "sex organs." Gross.

The testosterone makes me feel happier & stronger & more confident than I ever did despite how silly I look. This is nice. I was so used to judging myself on my looks & feeling bad most of the time because well…I didn't like how I looked. Now it's not so important.

Hormonal stability is …bliss…peace. I mention T-rage kind of casually here & there, and it's true I had more angry outbursts this year than I had in '14 or' 15.  But I'm really not sure if that was the T or just me getting back to my normal feisty self.
Mostly I just feel good all the time. I get a little sluggish & sleepy when it's time for a shot, but it's NOTHING like PMS was.

You guys don't know how lucky & privileged & advantaged you are. Don't argue w/ me until you've been on estrogen for a year.

How is Moonchild doing with all this? He seems fine--ever the golden lunar presence, the wise orb. I haven't changed overly much, but he has noticed that I am happier & that makes him happy. It doesn't seem like he's about to bolt for Heteronormative Cis-landia. We still speak of our future plans as enthusiastically as ever.

OH, and yes, my dick has gotten bigger, though it's still not as big as yours & I'm all right w/ that! 

So yeah, I can't believe it's been a year on T!!! I remember those 5 grueling months of waiting once I decided this was the path I wanted to take. In those months I studied every nuance of my upcoming identity on the internet. I followed Trans podcasts & blogs. I scrolled thru trans Tumblrs & Twitters & Youtube videos. I even posted my own videos of me singing to my cat because that's what all the trans guys were doing & my god I wanted to do it right!!!  [Note to self: Take down those stupid vids!!]

I had no idea how to "be trans." I knew I was older than most people who were transitioning, especially female-to-male. But I still thought there was "a way" to do it. Certain words to use, specific steps to take. And I was looking for those footsteps to follow.

Now I don't worry about that so much. I'm just doing it, man, winging it. I've taken all the big sanctioned steps, and the little steps are up to me each day. I am thankful & thrilled & transformed & enlightened. But not perfect. And not passing yet, but I'm patient, so, so fucking patient.

I had an epic poem I was going to share, but this T anniversary thought was much longer than expected. I'll share the poem at a later date, like the considerate motherfukker I am.



Sunday, November 20, 2016

'Twas the Day Before the Election

Hey Friends,

I want to take you back to the day before the election. Mon Nov 7, 2016 was a rather strange day for me. I'm usually a peaceful little hobbit minding my own business at home & rarely do I seek the noise of "out there." But every once in awhile a day takes a wrong turn and you find yourself walking far, far from home to get away from the ominous drone in your head.

Drone of one's own sudden locomotive urge and a sense that something is so wrong in the world you may kill yourself if you don't walk out the front door & keep going til you reach the sanctuary of your youth…

…the place where you spent so many hours trying to feel like the sun & the trees & the stars & even the blood that ran through you belonged as much to you as to the people who claimed it all freely & loudly w/out ever questioning whether it was theirs….

…the place that's undergone its own drastic transition since you last took refuge there in your 20s….

I walked an hour to get there, among the people and the beautiful banyans…and I continued to feel "weird"--no words for it--not my occasional T rage, not the excruciating anxiety of 2015, nor the overflowing sadness of '14---but a sickening combo of all that plus a dollop of some new ingredient I didn't recognize.

Of course now I recognize it as that psychic ailment I get when big weird things are just around the corner.

Here's a …..poem…..I wrote while out of my hobbitzone


Not the infinite coda of worry
Premature electorate
Orange death rattle softens to static
White noise left over from all races
Popcorn hisses & licorice whacks

I had to leave the house today
AWOL from my hermit stronghold
Painfully detached from self, others, breakdown, recovery
All that work to piece my stained glass facets into a parable
Worth a new gospel, grown up coloring book wax on shrieking alabaster
White house of padded worship, isolationism

I volunteered to be a one-way sensory overload; a listener for life
All around the thrust of voices, pistons striking my whole organic amphitheater temple
No congregation shall be powered by
Sick children
Nail polish bitch bishops taking over private homo church
And its secretly sick adults
Sports w/ balls or politics
Poker Pokemon Pox VOX POP
Broken A/C rescue dog nipping sick sad children under vestments
Histrionic bitemark appears to be a somatic apparition deacon

Banyan canopy above my picnic

So I walked
Far from all those memories of WHY
Why I remain a) alive  b) alone  c) unable to reach my closest primate relatives without plugging into
Streaky blue small talk chakra / direct current here but alternating in afterlife transactions 

My larynx smashed against my jawbone

The dragonfly thought it was a dog  I begged it to heal my flattened heart
I begged for its contempt but it smiled and went to have drinks w/ a helicopter
International airport lifts the lonely cat-free child-heavy crowd so I can pass

Now I practice
Giving no shits "HELLO!" I shout at the rough hewn mister whose home is in the permanent sun
Or was red from crying at a severed phone service, or who just paid a boy still fuzzy & equine for a
Right swipe reach around in Starbuck's upstairs shit pantry.

Not overthinking his precondition how "HELLO" will hit him
Like I always overthink a thing and end up unfriendly
Most words never make it past my teeth and flow through my fingers instead
But I shoved my voice in his face
Like all voices & opinions are shoveled at me faster than I can
Dig out of my reverie 

Of course I got no response which flicked the
Sarcasm on/off on/off on/off til it caught fire & I belted at the grey-collars
Driving their golf cart down the sidewalk "Get the fuck outta the way!" aka "Punch me!"

I never would've begged for rape's pink slip
But I'll put in a request for a black eye
Who the fuck is my new hormone boss?

Stuporvise me. I enter the newly gated & scaffolded Xingxing Xxxxxm Grxxnds where 
I once freely walked & sat & sketched & danced & fantasized & kissed the naked rears of statues 
But where I am accosted by elderly wXmXn more afraid than I of home's resounding hive-silence

Telling me I need to check in at the desk before I can sit or walk or sketch 

"WHAT FOR??" I say w/out over or underthinking or caring or worrying how it will reflect on my upbringing or if anyone will want to hurt me for it

"We need you to leave your zipcode at the desk"


I proceed right to the outdoors and no one volunteers to stop me.

Octopus colony of banyans beyond rose garden thorned with babies & sunlight. I try benches for thrones, picnic tables like a fairy princess. I am not at home. The world reeks of oysters but not my own.

Moment of clarity: I'm not so separate from others as I am from my own greatness.

I never met that clone. When you see no end to loneliness your sleight of overthought comes to the rescue
My privilege to be lonely for no common you's & they's could corrupt my program
Crude as a lite brite, future spirograph flower more angelic than 011110010110100101110000
The lips that drip like hoses, the faces unzipped for every needling notion
Too patterned for my wild genius

Right. No one flowers after eons of clarity lead only to
Intellect w/ no angelic emotional oversight
You haven't clenched that moment and stretched it into a terminal masterpiece
Your claw-machine loosens its grip
On that fuzzy little chicken-beats-egg thesis 
Lost to sick kids, dogs
Broken hunger nail polish chipped window enamel rectangle hacked

A great oboe-blast of wind and children barking me away to a new spot where i write, pelicans splash,
German tourists drag their sandals What would Hitler say? 
Fussen auf! Marz! 
More children drawn to my angry genderless personal space
I offer a gentlemanly 'hi' to the boy in glasses
Who hovers like a mosquito too close to my nerves
And like a charm my acknowledgement disperses him
A flock of tiny molecules who need their mother
More than a sweaty stranger on a harsh covalence of bench

[I need liquid. But which restroom will I use?]

I could feel Satan within a 10 mile radius
So I ended up in the men's room first time since over saturating news w/ potty mouth debate
Made me a glaring error  A room for emperors w/ no mirror
To watch your plastic lunchmeat genitals leak

I almost hoped for a run-in w/ a gender nazi
A sausage inquisitor or heart-attackable G-pa
But I was alone in there with all my power




All right. That was a poem about my Hobbity little adventure before the election. I'm sure there will be more days like that one…I can feel it in the air, oh lord. But I'm ready for whatever comes, whatever I have to do to survive it. I found the courage to use the men's room unironically, but now I'm back to being scared again. I wish bravery was something I had all the time, but no…I only get it when I'm jacked up on adrenaline and cortisol and metabolized T.

I'll be back sometime w/ more adventures.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016


Congratulations America, you are now a reality show. 

And I'm playing to get kicked off.


Wow. What a shocker, huh?  You may have noticed that I was quiet throughout this whole debate/campaign/election shitshow. Sure, I'd post a silly meme now & then (Vlad & Donnie riding shirtless and bareback anyone?) And I think I might've written a scathing Adventure in Reality about Donnie's extravagant and supernatural ego.

I had intended this blog to be a reprimand for all the social media *noise* that preceded this election--the puff-chested posturing, the vitriol & name-calling & bullying, the histrionic doomsaying, the desperate lecturing that became threatening at times, the ignorance of "how America really works." I wanted to line you all up, smack your skulls together like big meaty dominoes and shout "America is not a dictatorship! Or a monarchy! You're all right-fighters and pissing contestants! Just shut the fuck up and vote!"   

Politics is such a sporting event and that's just how the media plays it. Just like someone who will call the Seattle Seahawks My Team!!  despite having never played for the Seahawks, we do the same with our political candidate of choice. We over-identify, we see them as an extension of ourself, a magic wand who will swish into the White House and abracadabratify all our wishes into laws. Overnight even! 

And we try to force others to see how magical & effective OUR chosen candidate will be, and how destructive & invalid THEIR candidate!

But the President isn't endowed w/ all that magic. We do ourselves a disservice to get so lathered up about something that is ultimately an individual privilege and responsibility.

NOW though, I want to swirl back in time--not too long ago--when I voted in my first election. I was 31 years old and had been eligible to vote in 3 previous elections but had CHOSEN not to. In fact, the very first election I could've voted in, I instead drank a cup of Drano and spent the next month in the hospital (long story…gender dysphoria much more severe than any elected official could fix) That was 11-8-88, the Bush/Dukakis snoozefest.

Trump cartoon from 2005

But on 11-7-2000, I decided I was officially a grown up and I needed to get my ass to the polls. I demanded it of myself. I had always lived life so far inside my head that politics couldn't reach me. I hated whispery old red-face Ronald Reagan with a passion whenever he appeared on my childhood TV. I could just see the phoniness of him, how he helped shepherd all the born-again sheeple into a "moral majority" along with the scummy tv evangelists of that era. 

But despite Ronald Reagan's efforts to be Big Brother around the world, my thoughts remained my own at home. 

My dedication to not voting continued through '92 and '96. I had trouble taking Bill Clinton seriously because he had fucked a tawdry stripper w/ my dead girl name!!! I didn't care about Washington in the '90s, I cared about surviving my own life each day, and wiping my mind clean with alcohol before bedtime. 

In the 90s there were no issues on the ballot that were "socially relevant" to me.

But in Y2K my life had taken a  surprising turn for the better, and I was able to care about things beyond the base of the survival pyramid. I had caught some of the debates between Gore and Bush & was frankly disgusted, nauseated by Bush's gibberishy aw-shucksy dumb redneck display. I was frightened by how much he appealed to so many people! He had that familiar Reagany sway over the lowest of brows furrowed into the limelight of corruption!

Couldn't people see how clownish? What a buffoon? I mean, Gore was beige as hell, but he could put words together in a sensible fashion. I had to do my part to prevent this re-Reaganing of America. So I pulled myself together to vote in that fateful election. Ironically, I was living in Bloomington, IN at the time. I got to see Florida in its full frontal ugliness from a geographical distance that made it look all the uglier.

And I thought the Reagan 80s were bad until I lived to see the Bush 00s. I think we will look back on the 00s and find few other eras in American history as monstrous. I won't go into my thoughts on election fraud & who pulled off 9/11 & exactly why the banks collapsed right before Bush left office -- I AM YOUR CRAZY UNHINGED TOTALLY UNREASONABLE CONSPIRACY FRIEND, LIVE WITH IT OR UNFRIEND ME NOW!!! --

But I voted in Y2K and the world went to hell in a Dooney & Bourke bag anyway. 

Orange angles, green skeletor

So were the Bush 00s the absolute worst years of my life? No. They were actually the best years of my life. It saddens me to say it, but 2000--2009 were absolutely magical for me. I was not untouched by the events of that era---quite the opposite. I was devastated and very psychically linked to 9/11 and the wars that followed. Not a day passed that I didn't mourn or relive or rage against Bush and his fraudulent administration. 

And one thing that was painfully clear to me was--this dumb redneck who couln't even pronounce words with more than 2 syllables was not running the show all by his lonesome. He was too dumb to conceive of and execute all the madness. I recognized his key players--Cheney, Rumsfeld, Ashcroft.

These were the seasoned, well-oiled men pulling the puppet strings. And I had not voted for them. None of us had any choice about them.

BUT, I was young & in love, we had lots of cool friends, we lived very creatively & collaboratively, I think I was at the peak of my creative genius in the 00s! How fucking awesome is that no matter who is in office? No matter how many bodies are dying in a war you never would've chosen for the world? I lived the most authentic, most thoughtful life I could EXPRESSLY FOR those who sacrificed themselves for the Bush admin's lies.

I know….I can hear you all screeching about white privilege. But what did you know about white privilege in 2004? That wasn't a buzzword until we got our black(ish) President a few years later!

I knew it would happen. Moments after my heart ballooned with pride & Star Trek arias fast forwarded me into an all-inclusive future, on 11-4-08 I knew that the great white underbelly of America would surface from its soggy lair & expose itself in some perverse manner. And surface it did. Obstruct it did. Disrespect it did. Demand birth certificates it did. Undermine it did.

And until last year it was all pretty passive/aggressive. Until the vermillion billionaire rode the escalator of the Apocalypse into our midst and announced his own plan for world domination. Hope & change gestapo-style. Law & order without either. Walls. A WALL!!! A wall? To keep rapists out?

Sorry, I'm still reeling from things he said a year ago. And this is not just a gibberishy aw-shucksy redneck. This is someone who has said things I never even heard people say before PC code rearranged our everyday vernacular. Not even so disturbed by the obscenities as by the hatred.

ANYWAY, here we are. The day after Election Day 11-8-16. This outcome is still shocking to me and I've been typing this across the hours, trying to make sense of or find some sort of comfort in what America has chosen.

Because that's the hardest part for me--the people have spoken. And this is truly not what I expected them to say. I expected a tight race for sure! But not a Trump win. And I can only blame…people. Us. YOU!!!

Let's get one thing straight. I began as a Bernie supporter, and switched to being a Hillary supporter w/out too much misgiving. I don't think Bernie Sanders would've had much better luck than Obama has had with Congress. He's considered such a whack-a-doo lefty, he would've been obstructed at every turn. But Hillary is moderate, experienced and (I thought) fairly respected. 

I will admit that at 8 o'clock last night I was expecting her to win. And I had no illusions that it would be a proud Riot Grrl moment for me. This was not, for me, like the Obama election. 

Obama was a junior senator who had captured the nation's attention when he gave a speech at the '04 DNC. He rose from obscurity on his own merit. He was no one's partner or relative. He had a weird name & he was black (enough to be black).

Hillary is someone's partner or relative. She has been circling the Presidency for years, waiting for her moment to strike. She's been around a long time, working hard & even doing a great job in some areas. She is not a rising star though…she has not risen all by herself  like I would want my first female leader to have done.

I think I wrote a blog last year about this country not being ready for a female leader. We are still a nation of immature frat boys. And this is something I meant to reprimand you all for--your inner frat boys have been revealed. I have a few friends who supported Trump, who were able to sum up in an intelligent FB post why Trump was working for them & why he had earned their support.

That's fine--I can respect that. But I did have to unfriend a few really vocal, dickish guys whose Hillary hatred trumped their Trump love. These guys were not as hard for Trump as they were against having a GIRL be the boss of them. 

And that's sad for me. It reminds me of the sign that was posted at the hardware store where I used to buy art supplies. The store was owned and operated by a woman and the sign said "A woman must work twice as hard to be considered half as good as a man." 

And I feel like Hillary has worked AT LEAST twice as hard at being a public servant as Donnie Trumpo has. But….the people have spoken….

I really did think we were past that idiotic level of sexism. Just like I thought for a moment in '08 that we could finally get past racism. Now I know Barack may get gunned down the first time he has a broken tail-light back in Chicago…

And I know now that backlash against an authority figure is often more powerful than the authority figure itself.

THAT, my friends, is probably the only thing that comforts me in these hours directly after this election.  I have no real idea what Donald Trump will be like as a world leader, as a commander in chief, as a …god forbid…lawmaker. But I do know that if he fucks up left & right, we will let him know about it. WE, the People, will rise up and put an end to it. Demand an end, an impeachment, whatever it takes.

This I believe about us. I saw where the backlash against Bush led us… I am witnessing sadly the "whitelash" against Obama. There will be a backlash against Trump, and I think it will be tremendous. HUGE.

I just watched Hillary give her concession speech through my own unexpected tears! Then Obama spoke about unity and a peaceful transfer of power. I want to say how much love and respect I have for President Obama. I have felt honored to have such a kind, eloquent, composed person as my President and I'm sadder than I could've imagined that it ends this way!

Peace, friends! Love!