REVENGE OF EGGKIND

OH HELLO FRIENDS!!!

How are you? 

I am feeling much better, thanks.

I’ll tell you all that I’m much better at handling the noise-of-the-world than I was before.

But the world has become noisy in a different way.

It’s a visual noise, a spider-eye lens crudely smeared w/ Vaseline.

For a moment, following Trump’s teleprompted speech which prompted such praise from the likes of the enemy-media, and which was followed by the publicity tour of one folksy little war criminal named George W Bush…

I felt like I was back in that dystopian world I entered as a sentient toddler—

an ugly place. 

I let fear and anger build up, and because I have no zippers in my skin it had nowhere to go. It burned like a 4th degree mushroom cloud, obscuring all libido, consuming all creative resources…

So I sought some spiritual counsel. I won’t go into detail, because goddammit, that’s private. But I got good news.

I’ve been wondering and planning and strategizing about what I can do to help the vulnerable demos I see losing support & protection all around me. And I finally have a plan of action [that is also private]. 

But the good news is—I don’t really have to do much!! I’ve already done the hard work—and just as I suspected, the work I did was on such a deep level it looked to all of you like I was doing NOTHING. And just as I suspected, I was …doing A LOT.

Aside from the one action I’ve chosen to do, I’ve been counseled to just stay in my cozy Pisces bubble & use words & pictures to activate others; to document the shitstorm as our systems come crashing…

…oh, that’s another thing. We are on the brink of systemic collapse. And this neo-nazi formation may be the catalyst, may be the first domino flicked, but it is not the end result. We are fully cruising in the Aquarian Age and headed for that promised utopian society where things actually make sense. Where class systems have been replaced by social altruism…

…and things are as EQUAL as they can be on a planet of BILLIONS…

But the bad news is—it won’t happen in our lifetime. It will be a bit of a mess until we get it figured out and it will be the social and civil structures that take the longest to phase out. 

I know I’m supposed to be examining how I failed the poor white uneducated population of this country by educating myself and embracing scientific advances and valuing people over profit…

…but it’s not my job to empathize with them and wonder what I did wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong. And my only job is to keep creating the wold I would like to live in. That’s what most of us do anyway, without putting too much thought into it. That is another thing that’s changing…

…people are living with more mindfulness & insight. Which sounds kind of …artificial. But we are creating a new way of being, of communicating with each other. We have way more information at our finger tips and we’ve been observing our human behaviour online as we’ve never been able to observe ourselves before. We know ourselves well enough to become an actual Collective of consciousness.

That both excites & scares me, for I’m an older model humanoid who doesn’t necessarily want to mindmeld w/ your precious grandchildren. But I’m willing to try it if that’s what we’re doing…

…mostly I’ll just write about it though…

SO YEAH. I’m feeling better—not all the way good, but far from bad. MY LIFE, as always, is great. I work hard, I play hard, I still believe in the power of the Humanities to get us through the darkness.

But what do i know, I’m just a tranny pervert who pees in a cup in my car because I’m afraid I might hurt your feelings if I use the public restroom. Or that you might kill me.

*******************************WRITING UPDATE

Contrary to what youre thinking, I do not have writer’s block. I’ve been submitting lots of work. Still getting mostly rejections, but those rejections are coming with more constructive feedback, more compliments from editorial staff, even for my long rambling coma-inducing opera-poems.

I’m so excited that poetry is enjoying a moment in the spotlight. A pretty long moment, too. I always dreamed of being a part of a poetry revolution. I was waiting many years as a lonely poet on the internet—asking Where all the poets is?  

And suddenly there they all were! So many of them, so very, very many! And I read dozens of poems everyday from all around the world. Dozens. Some brilliant, some dull as dry turds. 

But I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to read so many minds in this particular format.

I’ll be sharing more poetry, streams of consciousness, and ART here in the Octopus Diary. Soon, and more frequently. I just had to be serious for a moment. I’m going to try to be more serious, as well as comedic. I found a bunch of serious blogs I wrote in 2015 & never posted, and guess what?

I should’ve posted them. I always chickened out & posted some creative writing instead. Because I thought that’s all you wanted. But I know you need the serious stuff too. You’re hungry for it.

And I don’t mind regurgitating it right into your eyeball sockets.

O-TOWN OUTSIDER

FRIENDS!

"Pastry cafe in the heart of danger

Off-off Disney, behind tinted glass in 

This town that's been in the news

For everything but terror…"

This is the beginning of a poem I wrote on Nov 24, 2015 called O-TOWN OUTSIDER. I do not think it's one of my clairvoyant outbursts though. I remember when I wrote it thinking, what could be more horrific than a massacre in a theatre, an elementary school, a church, a concert in Paris? Because I knew that even after Paris there would be no change (here in America) in gun control legislation.

And I came up with Disneyland. Maybe if the Magic Kingdom took a hit we would all wake up. It is not the most original idea. I'm sure Carl Hiassen wrote a book about it in the 90s. But I started a poem about terror in/at/around Disney & then as poems do it became more of a statement on overpopulation and violence and greed. 

Anyway… I have no words yet for what has happened once again in our country. As with every massacre this one has levels of horror that surpass the ones before it. And the quadratic arguments are going round: It was guns! It was mental illness! It was toxic masculinity! It was homophobia! It was terrorism!

It was all of those things. But mostly it was the deadly weapons in the hands of an enraged, unstable, self-loathing homophobe.

After trans issues--and possibly ahead of them--gun violence is my main concern in this world. I have my own stories of gun violence (some of which I recounted in my "manifesto") and I believe that guns need to be removed from our society as a means of self defense. Guns should be for soldiers and law enforcement only. Actually, no guns for soldiers either, or law officers. And oh yes, I mean ALL guns. Handguns to automatic cumblasters. No guns for you! I am the gun nazi! I don't care if you hate it. Come & get me NRA.

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All right. Now that we have that taken care of, here is more stream of consciousness:

When my mind is an ocean I can see alphabets and formulas. Colors and futures. Today there is a swamp in my skull. Sloshing with microbes and alligator teeth. An unseen inbred master holds my chain-of-consciousness so I look for a headline to howl at. To bark my jaws against, only sharpening tone but dulling the sound bite. It's idiom as curious as an opaque surface erupting in bubbles. Hark, who breathes there? Who insists upon life where souls are made of mud? The stream-of-command handed down in rusty brown genetic codes. Green is the only color that disobeys. I am flooded with Floridian blood in this Federal Republic; I abandon femininity in favor of no flavor. Traversing the glade with no weapon but my blissful ignorance. 3-3-16

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How Monday begins with such uncertainty when Sunday finished in first place? The reset that occurs between 3 a.m. and its next-of-clock kin. The Start Over button in the temple gets pushed by moonbeams. Dreams compiled on quicksand assure no default setting becomes the Establishment. How I wake into this week of waiting, my own head a ringing telephone. How I wake without a trial, how I RSVP the host of my modern era. Sorry I can't be there until the end. I have to leave early so my soul can be parsed into unwanted pregnancies. I have to sing like an angel to earn my wage, to win my war on femininity. I wore it well past its freshness date. It expired on my back, all around my bones it wrapped like a lost weekend. It expired on my watch and it can't be reset. There will be no answer, there will be no message left. 3-7-16

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Tepid waters…loosened shark teeth, urchin spikes. Soft mind dragging tender feet along the shoreline. Can we have enthusiasm for a life that will never live up to this exotic metaphor? Our hospital getaways, our cubicle destinations don't ionize our stardust. We rot tooth-first into a green burial. Enough! Enough of this lament--it's so last century and that's where my fossil is buried. The single-boned organism that was me while I was here. After I departed from the stars and landed in my solitary skin cell. I've had some glory here--I've seen candy, I've touched love's private doorknob, I've listened to fingers exploring forbidden sockets. My current sensory overload--you in your carbon cross-legged sentence. Pulling acoustic nerves from my neck…denying my existence while copying its molecules' sequence. The colors I shovel at your goggled pupil, the baby steps you take in retrograde. I would have gay trans man sex w/ you for sure.

3-11-16

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Riots in Chicago. Friday ruptures. Centipede activity. Each segment extending a hand, a prickled leg, from recent history to a future so bloated and slimy--call the coroner. Call the cops to the corner where the first root slithered underground. It's a warehouse full of plants. The skeletal sunflower scientists shout from their tall vantage but the baby's breath never gives up suction. Strangle of the middle class, weeds so mediocre, such bland demographic putting its numbers behind the maybe of its existence. Thrusting its shoulders into fluorescent sun, illuminating a podium where hate speech will be supported, where obscenity will lean like a wounded soldier beside it. I saw you picking cactus very carefully, coercing pansies and petunias with little resistance. I saw you digging up the snapdragons, flamboyant and belligerent. Sure, we'll join your riot. Tell us when to exhale and stand by with socialist hoses. Save your bullets for the Easter bunny. 3-13-16 

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In the telling of my life story there is an echo. Over and over a reverb sensation squeezed through a throat or hallway, choking on the script. The bullshit scripture stapled haphazard, ripped, red pen hatching over the nest of truths I can't say. Truths I bit down on; interior shark attack. Deep tissue message--I am not a willing disciple. I won't play this role; I won't be cast. I will break every bone and barrier. I will live in a different time signature, I will carry myself like a tornado. Through nursery school fire to upper management isolation. Solitary confinement in a soul mate's embrace. A bridge covered in starlit fog, blockading our lift-off. Lifting our carbon corpses from the fuel tank. 3-18-16

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Whats up w/ her?

When my head won't give up its clouds I fill it with anchors. Get down from there I say, it's dangerous. "But I can see everything from here!" it protests. Everything's not yours to see, I tell it. Now sink down to sea level, drain your heart of curiosity, return to this tomb of a body. This is what you signed up for when you volunteered to leave the womb. We gave your soft little cloudhead a squeeze and you agreed--to serve in the karmic forces of the 21st century. There must be profit in misunderstanding. We'll find reasons to bomb McDonalds, we'll make a pinata of the church, a matchstick murder of skyclad moneyscrapers. I steal from the headlines because your wallet is in jail. I steal names and drop them from the radio tower. I steal and steal and steal and no one realizes all the freedom lives in my fist. All the joy is clenched in my throat. 3-24-16

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Good-bye friends. I love you all. Take care of yourselves.