Zin Is A Type Of Vin

O' MERRY XMAS FRIENDS!!!

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 ---

----- OKILLAKATZE COMRADES!---------

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

So here's the COLONOSCOPY POEM:

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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 

11-21-16 

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

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?

My Own Day of Infamy: 1 Year on T

FRIENDS,

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.

ARTWORK COMING IN 2017!!!! 

Promise.