I'm Not Dumb I'm Counter-intelligent

I always wanted to be an asshole. It's sad but true. I always wanted to be that guy who feels entitled to strut around like he's God's gift.

More recently I've yearned to be the internet version of that guy--the Troll. The one who feels entitled to instigate and antagonize because he's just that confident he will come out on top if any sort of intellectual showdown breaks out. 

The rooster who feels entitled to wake the world.

Now I'm afraid I will become one of those rooster-guys if my T-levels ever get past the 400 mark.

I went to the T-Doctor yesterday and she asked why my voice hasn't changed yet. My voice has gotten kinda scratchy & raspy but not deep. She thought it didn't seem right. So after my next injection and blood work, she's going to see about increasing my dose.

I'm writing today just to keep my beloved blog active. Not because I have anything to say. Certainly not because I have done any artwork lately. I know you all are CLAMORING for The Adventures of Shelter Cat & Trust Fund Baby…

…but my brain is operating in strange ways these days. My brain used to be this quick-flickering always turned-on thing. Now my brain works at a slower, more deliberate pace. And it's definitely turned on by things other than lyrical phrases and clairvoyant images.

Shelter Cat & Trust Fund Baby are the best of friends.

They go for walks in their wealthy gated community.

They find things on their walks.

They misinterpret what these things are and hilarity ensues. Their naivete is priceless.

I've written the script for the first episode. But I haven't found the will or concentration to sit down and draw it.

***********Speaking of Penises,

How did we go from the 20-oughts

To the 20-tens? 

I know history moves in little backward crescents, then surges forward in larger arcs

But the back pedaling of the past 2 years has been atrocious

It is the first time in my life that I would use the word

FAITH

To describe what I'm feeling rather than HOPE

I have (secular, humane) faith that the world will move forward again

Because I can't find hope anywhere inside me

And I guarantee you, I guarantee 

My dick is smaller than yours but I'm still grateful for what I have

I miss 2004 -- 2008

The Bush years, which made the Reagan years look like Utopian bliss, are looking

Very peachy under Trump's fluorescent-brassy-gumboesque lighting

*******************If we're not talking about penises

Then no one is listening.

So, what can I say about it?

I'm afraid to die in the public restroom

When I was a girl, a sad angry little strumpet

In my black skirts & flannel shirts

With my long ebony locks & privileged goth complexion

I would go in the Men's room without blinking

Without caring who saw me or who I saw

It was usually fine. Usually no one saw & if they did

They laughed, or corrected me "This is the MEN'S room, hon"

Once a guy got angry though

"Hey!!!! Get outta here!!! You don't belong in here!!!!"

Crouching over his pissing dick, making me wonder if he had warts or

Some deformity ...

That was at Denny's.

And I did belong in there. It was 1993.

But now???????? Now that Transgender is on everyone's radar

And I'm not using the Men's room ironically

I know the rules have changed

And I could be slandered, or killed, or worse PREACHED at.

I think we should have separate restrooms for Pooping & Peeing

Not for Men & Women  

Nothing I hate more--besides violence & terrorism--

Than someone farting & shitting away right next to me in the public loo

Women don't have dicks. They suck. Yeah, they suck OUR dicks. Bro!!! Women deserve to pay more for health care. They deserve a tampon tax. They don't have dicks. How do they live with themselves??

I don't know, man.

Is this a poem? Yeah let's call it poetry!!!!

This is poetry of the highest artistic merit. 

Yurrr Majesty.

Starbucks on Beneva & Bee Ridge, FUCK YOU!! You are poorly laid out and the most uncivil engineering I've ever tried to navigate. What the fuck am I doing here?? Oh, TAXES. Hopefully not death.

What if I dropped a PUSSY bomb? Would riots break out? Would our faces contort in plasmatic disbelief? Let's try it…

Oh no…I can't…too gross….just kidding…

PUSSY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

>^..^

=========> dickretaliation

(*) chocolatestarfish exit plan

Kalashnikov Dysphoria

HEY!!! Friends!

I wanted to add this to my thoughts on 'PuberSpace'---

I get a little flipped out when I read accounts of people who transition (genderwise) and have somehow been deemed gender dysphoric but claim they have not experienced any distress about being born in the wrong body.

????????????????????????????????????????????????

Whaaaaa??????

I know this is the new THING in the transgender narrative. "Sure I felt the need to medically transition, but it wasn't because I felt bad about my body." I struggle to understand this, because….if it weren't for how bad I feel about this body I wouldn't have sought help to change it.

If I felt okay in a female body, but felt a little masculine-of-center, then I would be just fine "dressing the part." Carrying on as a tomboy or an unlady-like lady. (<< all things I've been accused of anyway)

But I've felt so bad in this body it has held me back in life. I don't even like going out of my house. I don't want to interact with my fellow humans because well…all interactions between humans are gendered & my body was a big flashing sign that said "Treat me like an inferior object!" No matter how I covered it up or acted detached from it---there it always was.

[On the flipside, I've also tried to enjoy being treated like a female--like an object. Pretty! Sexy! Nicely dressed! It was a game. It could be fun, but felt like such a clown-circus-lie-fest.]

Now I think I'm starting to understand why we would want to remove being Transgender from the category of being Mentally Ill.

We want Transgender to be something more like IBS. Something is not quite right, so we take our medication for it. But it doesn't mean we're Craaayyyyyy-zayyyyyyy! Or depressed or distressed or incapacitated in any way.

Right now, as mentioned in the previous blog, to receive medical treatment for gender dysphoria you need a note from a Mental Health Professional. Thus, being transgender is a mental illness. 

I was labeled mentally ill before I even started Kindergarten. But I have to say--I've always felt like I was the sane one in a world full of crazy, stupid people who weren't seeing things the way I was.

It was very frustrating. And it may have driven me to actually BE crayyy-zayyyy. I understand why it would be beneficial to all trans people moving forward to remove the stigma. For gender identity issues to be nothing more than a technical glitch---

Oops, we designated you female at birth because of some trifling anatomical features we detected on your neo-natal flesh.

It's hard for me to grasp being gender dysphoric without---the DYSPHORIA!!! 

It's also hard for me to take the lead of a younger generation. Because that's what I'm having to do. My generation & the generations before me were not allowed to have gender identity issues. It was more than the medical field or polite society could handle. So we sucked it up & became crazy people.

But now the world is listening, and people way younger than me understand how to communicate things I had to keep silent about. I am humbled by these kids. Why was I not brave enough to speak up?

Well…when I look at my whole life I know I was as non-conforming and outspoken as I could've been at the time. I have the scars to prove I wasn't just an accomplice in society's fairytale…

so…if we have to use sanitized phrases like 'designated female at birth' and 'gender confirmation surgery' to make Transgender more palatable to our fairytale society…

then I will do my best not to scream "Get me the fuck out of this vagina nightmare!!!!!! Aaaaaaghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Okay. Now here's a poem about something truly insane---guns.

*********************************************************************

3rd poem in trilogy about guns: WHICH CAME FIRST,

The 2nd amendment

Or your balls blue from edging

All day in your chamber?

Lady trigger finger done in 

Two minutes flat while you

Enlist the help of concubines

Somehow this fetish gives 

Birth to the great equalizer

Death on a leather harness

God in your pocket

From the humble prototype--

Ornate barrel 

At the spear's  tipping point--

To the lubricated void

Of the A-K

The infinite loop

Of assassinations

William the Silent was the

First to be silenced on the shores of 

His own bloodline

History looped endlessly

To repeat this sound

In Lincoln's, Garfield's, McKinley's, 

Ferdinand's,

Gandhi's,

Kennedy's, X's, King's, Kennedy's,

Milk's, Lennon's,

Sadat's, Gandhi's, Rabin's, Bhutto's

Eternal ear drum machine

To repeat the question

Which came first

The chicken or the bully?

The sperm or the egg?

Which came first

The dick or the pussy?

The happy or the tragic

End?

The answer never comes.

The answer is celibate, ace

Frozen in bed

The answer is suicidal

The song holds the answer like a newborn

Quickly letting go

Of its divinity

A Cobain or Shakur,

A Hemingway, Thompson or 

Joan Burroughs whose angelhoods

Dead-ended in glory 

Whose persons turned to ash

While their legends grew bigger wings

Than middle management angels

Or arch enemies' unbending

Arms

2-9-16