Sub(stantial) Stack of Hot Takes

 FRIENDS!!!

I don’t even know what I can tell you about the past 6 months. I told you some of it, but as always, not all of it. The word ‘katabasis’ comes to mind. 

And with any katabasis, there can be no recapturing, recounting, retelling of the descent in all its fulminant horror. The rage, the violence, the fights with construction workers, the residual shame, the daily grapple for inner peace as brain chemistry operates at F5 levels… 

So…no Labor-to-St Patrick’s Day pipeline of information JamesJoycing in your direction at warhead speed.

But I will let you know…regretfully… I did have to go back on the medication. I tapered off it too quickly…and at the very wrongest time ever…when loud construction noises were about to erupt on the horizon [aka my backyard].

I can’t tell you all this harsh, unflattering truth without telling you about MISOPHONIA. This is something that has been tormenting me for years & I never knew it was a real thing—I thought it was just because I couldn’t get past a small-but-large trauma from a past neighbor & so I never really mentioned it to any doctors.

But I finally learned that having sound sensitivities that make you angry is called Misophonia. Not only is it a THING, it’s pretty common. And funnily enough, the most common sound sensitivity, the one that makes people so mad they could shoot up the whole…dining room? The sound of chewing! Chewing, slurping, gnawing, chomping, wet, moist mouth sounds.

Sounds gross, huh? I’m actually glad I’m not too sensitized to moist mouth noises. I’m infuriated by the loud, droning combustible industrial noises of machinery that never change pitch, just fart flatulently in atonal ignorance all day.

And there was plenty of that in the Autumn of ’22, while I was unshielded by my tiny pharmaceuticals.

There is still plenty of atonal flatulence going on across the street. But I am shielded now.

**********ANNOUNCEMENTS***************

Since the collapse of the bulbous-headed Octopus Review in 2019, I’ve been grappling daily with my future as a blogger. I’ve known that Blogger (the platform) was a ghostly wasteland & I didn’t even care, I just kept blogging away like a pretentious hipster c. 2008.

I would rather blog than talk. I explained that to y’all long ago & it still holds true today. I would rather pretend to be an important journalist than actually do all the hard work required to be an important journalist. I pretend I’m someone to listen to, and that feels good enough for me. You all seem to enjoy it too.

Since my very first blog series in the Summer of 2011 you all have been captivated by my gritty, deeply entrenched, darkly-webbed belly lint.

I went on to do other blog series that kept you equally enthralled — the one about my search for spirituality (w/ an impromptu psychic safari as an addendum), the one about detransitioners and autogynephiles, the most recent one about your Rx and their special F/x.

You can’t tell me this shit ain’t important!!

That’s why I’ve decided to transfer the entirety of The Octopus Diary (including Octopus Reviews 1— 8) over to SubStack, which is evidently the thriving blog center of the moment. Or the thriving blog moment of the center. Who knows anymore how to say anything??

You can find the newness-in-the-old over at https://valentinetremens.substack.com

I’ll be using my blogger name Valentine Tremens more. Vin Whitman is my super serious poet name. Val Trem is my fake important journalist name, Val Trem will be giving you his hot take on the hottest in haute culture, the bravest of subversive venturing. 

My latest idea for a series has to do with my relationship with technology and how it has evolved over the years. Most of you know there is no love lost between me & the digital world (aka technology). I coined myself a ’Techno-phobe’ before I ever saw anyone else call it that. I did my best to ‘opt out’ of technology altogether — you can do that, right?

No, Valentine Tremens, you cannot. Technology will hunt you down and force you to reckon with all its versions & upgrades. Like deep genuflections to the left-brain gods, you will perform the agonizing rituals that finally come to represent literacy in a foreign language. Sending an email will become recording an EP will become ruling the globe with your Blog Empire.

HaHa!!! HaHa Haaaa!!! Anyway…I’ll keep you entertained with the most artfully edgyistic non-fiction, memoir, Vogon poetry & other very important prose. Just have patience with my handling of the technicalities.

I don’t have much more to say right now… and unfortunately I didn’t do any artwork while I was off-meds. That’s another thing you’ll see in the Substack-zone — new art when I find the reserves to create it! More fine dots, more quintuplet comix, more of whatever else snags my eyeball threads & yanks toward the canvas.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, btw. Happy St Patriocks Sobriety Day. SING!!! Ride your bike!

Confessions Of A Tree Falling In A Forest

FRIENDINISTAS,

The other day I bought some plants for the yard. I know, that’s so unlike me. My relationship to any living things that aren’t cats is pretty questionable. [ask me about bamboo & pumpkins. No, don’t]

But we’re trying to create a lush green wall between us & the neighbors—just for our own privacy & comfort—no problems w/ the neighbors in this ‘hood.

So I scouted out a nice spot for the new plants—a sun dappled area between two large pines. I stood there a moment, picturing the potential lushness & fertility.  Moonchild joined me & we remarked what a nice part of the yard it was, how we should bring our chairs over & spend more time there.

Then we went inside because it was noon & too hot to start digging & planting. I planned to return later in the afternoon. So we did our indoor stuff for a few hours, which included binge-watching Kimmy Schmidt Season 3. We started an episode around 5 o’clock & after that one I was going to head out to the yard.

Well…about halfway through the episode we heard a loud boom. Moonchild asked Was that thunder?? And if I hadn’t caught sight of a shadowy figure that looked like one of Danaerys’s dragons flying through the yard I would’ve said Yeah, that was thunder.

Instead I ran to the window to see what the flying shadow was. And there, right where we’d been standing earlier, was a big chunky limb that had fallen from one of the pine trees. 15 minutes before I was scheduled to be standing there again. It was big enough to do some serious skull, neck, or shoulder damage. Possibly a fatal blow.

As we stood there in shock & puzzlement, I had three rapid-fire thoughts:

A) wow, our guardian angels are hard at work today

B) wow, what vengeful deity is out to get us??

and finally my inner Zen master came through with C) wow, timing may not be everything but it sure is something

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

Friends, I promised I was going to start a summer blog series called Adventures In Spirituality. And I am going to do that. I’m looking forward to doing it actually. I’ve been very busy, and…I must admit…

….I’m falling into a GREAT DEPRESSION again. I’m not (too) ashamed that I struggle with depression. I know a lot of people do. But I don’t like to go on & on about it in my sacred blog space which I reserve for fun stuff like stream-of-conscious poetry.

When I went through this in 2014, I only told a few close friends & didn’t write much about it. But I’m seeing lots of folks going through some size or shape of depression these days—and surprisingly, it’s mostly GUYS who are talking about it. So it feels kind of gender appropriate for me to join in.

Usually when I’m feeling depressed I stay busier than usual & refrain from bothering people; I do art therapy, I write, sing, read awesome books; I talk to Moonchild until he reminds me I’m not any worse at being human than anyone else. I seek professional help if needed.

I’ve already done all of those things ^^^^ this year and I keep spiraling down. Being “busy” doesn’t really cure depression—it often adds stress & anxiety to the equation. Or it holds it at bay until you’re un-busy again. But it’s impossible to sit still when you are deep in the shit, as I seem to be now.

The thing I didn’t get until recently is: if you struggled with depression in your youth it doesn’t necessarily get better with time, it usually gets worse. The more you know about the world, the harder it is to distract yourself. The more medications you’ve tried, the harder it is to find ones that work. All medications lose their effectiveness over time.

And some even leave you feeling worse over time. That’s why I tried so hard, for so long to manage without medication. But I caved in 2014 & latched onto the big pharma-tit…It was a necessary evil at the time. I felt relief from the indescribable anguish that was plaguing me, but I also felt exploited, gauged, monitored & profiled by the corporate health care beast.

[Oh, did I tell you I lost insurance coverage last week? They (United) decided my “condition” didn’t meet the standards of approval for coverage of the medication I’m using to treat it. I suppose this will be happening to many of us. It feels very violating to be reviewed as unfit for coverage.] 

I miss the days when the liquor store was my pharmacy.

The death of Chris Cornell really hit me hard. I’ve read a lot about his struggle in the week since he passed & I marvel at what a valiant fighter he was. Especially in light of the nihilistic movement he was part of. He was the one I’d assumed had found that magic combination of strength / love / creative talent / medicine / realistic expectations.

But even with that auspicious alignment of elements, depression can kick you right into the abyss.

Suicide has been a big presence in my life lately. Last summer a friend committed suicide & it left me questioning everything I’d assumed about “pushing through it” or “staying busy” or “not bothering people with your personal shit.” Because if anyone was able to push through & stay busy & not burden others it was her. 

Until she couldn’t do it anymore.

Then I read the Tiptree biography and found yet another literary hero who ended his(her) own life. So many, many literary heroes end their own lives. I used to take comfort in knowing this author or that one had been as depressed as me—that I at least was in good company. Now it scares me, and makes them much more human to me (though no less heroic).  

The show 13 Reasons Why slunk its cold tentacles around my heart in April.

And this week Cornell’s passing has me just … just….what? Asking for strength? Striving for clarity? Willing myself not to do the same thing to my own loved ones?

It’s a precarious time for me to be delving into Spirituality because I feel vulnerable to the temptation of Big Answers. I sometimes yearn for Bigger Answers than I’ve already received on this plane, but I’ve also come to terms with knowing that I’m not supposed to know everything. 

[Like why did a tree limb narrowly miss falling on my head the other day??]

I also know it’s risky to talk (write) about “religion & politics.” And for good reason—peoples’ religious & political beliefs tend to define the core of their beings. So I will try to tread carefully & not use my dickish Blog Emperor voice when relaying my personal stories.

So get ready! Next time in The Octopus Diary—Adventures in Spirituality: Xtianity Part One! 

I’lll also keep you updated on the “medical situation” if I can bear to write about it.

I’m also still accepting submissions of personal, political, heartfelt, newsworthy, ranting & surreally raving poetry.

Also….if you are not a Friendinista, you are not required to read this. You CAN look away.  

Now Is Not The Time For Psychobabble

Oh, but it is!  And here’s why:

1) Everybody’s doing it. Get on board or be left behind.

2) For me, it’s just pre-sense. It may not mean anything right now, but it will next year, or next century. You just wait!

3) Instead of calling it psychobabble, let’s just call it poetry & see where it takes us…

FRIENSKIS,

How are you? I am doing better & better. I had a couple of rough months. Somehow I managed to be jolly & positive through Dec/Jan, but Feb/Mar were a little aftershocky.

Don’t worry. That is going to happen here. It’s okay to have feelings. Even BIG ones. Even irrational ones. Irrational feelings are often intuitive timebombs going off prematurely, kind of like psychobabble may just be memories from the future.

I’ve been googling Sen. Duckworth (D-IL) regularly, and I fact check everything that comes out of the great American blowhole. And as soon as I can walk again, I start my “chosen activity” on the frontlines…

…oh did I tell you I broke my foot about 3 weeks ago? I’m so bummed because I had my mile down to 8 minutes, and had wanted to do a 5K in Apr/May. I’m trying to enjoy this convalescence, but …I feel like now’s not the time to be side-lined.

But maybe it is. And here’s why:

1) I did all the hard work already

2) Now is the time to gather strength

3) I’m still in a “period of transition”

*************** A PERIOD OF TRANSITION**********

So, VT, how is your transition going? I hear everyone ask me all the time.

Not. 

No one asks. No one wants to know about it. But I’m going to tell you about it anyway, because that’s how generous I am w/ my experiences on this planet.

Toy Village 2003

The truth is—I haven’t changed much. If you had told me on 12/7/15, the day of my first shot, that I would still look pretty much the same 16 months later…

I would’ve been really disappointed. Once I made the decision to start T, and waited 5 months to get in to see the Endo, and imagined myself as a guy for the first time since I was 19 & almost died because i was really a girl in the world’s eyes…

I was so looking forward to this wonderful transformative journey (which I expected would take about a year). I was anticipating (& fearing) being unrecognizable in the mirror. I was anticipating (& fearing) the loss of my mezzo-soprano singing range. But the excitement was definitely greater than the fear.

Being an older trans guy (46 at time of 1st shot), I’m on a lower dose of T than the average 18 year-old would be. I was in that hormone range where i wasn’t making much estrogen anymore so I was okay w/ the lower dose. Plus I had to think of Moonchild’s comfort level too…

Even though he understood gender dysphoria from living w/ me for years, he was not looking forward to having a husband instead of a wife. I was okay with transitioning slowly if it would help him acclimatize.

Of course, I told you all that from the moment I made my appointment up until the start of this year the “Ma’am bombs” began—

the world called me ma’am so many times, just so I’d never forget : ))

Baby Eloise—she's sitting in the windowsill chattering at birds now 14 yrs old

But I do want to forget. And the world doesn’t call me ma’am so much anymore, but I don’t exactly pass as male either. I think since I had top surgery I’m read first as “teenage boy” but people figure out pretty quickly that I’m older & that means I must be female…

My moustache is trying so hard to be more than a soup shadow. But it just hasn’t progressed much. Even on my lower dose, the doctor thought I should have more facial hair by now.

My voice also hasn’t really changed all the way. Sometimes it is deeper, sometimes it’s just scratchy, and sometimes I feel like I sound just like my old lady-self…

I don’t think people even remember that I’m trans & some of my friends who were so good at trying to use my name and pronouns have just gone back to she-ing and I feel like I might have to come out all over again…

I had been waiting on the changes that would make it easier for my friends to switch pronouns. I know it feels delusional to call someone ‘he’ when they still look like ‘she.’

So...in Feb/Mar I was lamenting my slower paced changes (I’m used to being around younger guys who have goatees & Jim Morrison vocal ranges in like 6 months) and feeling left out, and wondering what should I do about this??

But now I’m feeling a lot better about my failure-to-trans. I feel so much better on T than I did my whole life as an estrogen monster. That alone makes the leg-stabbing worth it. Plus the changes that may not be so noticeable to a casual observer—muscle mass, “downstairs growth”—are enough to ease dysphoria to functional levels.

I have some of the changes I wanted, and none of the ones Moonchild didn’t want—so it’s a win-win! I just have to keep it in perspective, and stay on my own path. Any time I dare to compare myself to the younger guys I come away feeling quite hopeless.

I don't know what this is—2015

And yes, it’s true that I pee in a cup in the car. It’s actually a coffee thermos. I am not a fired-up trans activist, and I don’t want any bathroom drama.** So I practice avoidance. I know some people would say this makes me “not a trans ally.” 

But to me it just means I’m used to being self-protective over confrontational. I recognize that the world has trans compassion fatigue and I’m trying not to push any buttons.

Just reading the room as they say…

*******************READING ROOM: AS THEY SAY************

I read a book a few months ago that I want to delve into in one of my serious Octopus Diary entries. It was the biography of Sci Fi author James Tiptree (who was really a woman named Alice Sheldon). I had never heard of Tiptree before reading the book, but a friend thought I needed to read about him and sent the book to my mailbox.

This was way more than a story about a sci-fi author with a pseudonym. It was very misogynist-feminist/trans-masculine. Not to mention Alice Sheldon, the person, lived a jaw-droppingly privileged & introspective life***, in which she managed to do great things before ending it all in a murder-suicide. 

Unfortunately I finished the book right around the time of the election and it got shoved aside in the sideshowery that ensued. But I’ll write more about Tiptree when I have some art to go with it! Yes! I want to do some Tiptree-inspired watercolors to go with the article. 

Today, you’ll have to recycle this used art with your purple irises.

************   ** & *** ********************

**although I almost had car drama when we were up in Ybor City—I was peeing in my coffee cup & some guy banged on the window. He was the paid parking attendant and I don’t think he saw what I was doing but it was a close call.

***speaking of introspective lives, in response to my FB post about “utopian societies of the future” someone asked, VT, what do you think a utopian society IS? 

And I said, A society that’s more introverted. 

More on that serious topic

Later

In the Octopus Diary

I don't know what this is either but I made it during my nervous breakdown 2014