Ingrid's Rabbit Accuses Her Of Cultural Appropriation for Wearing a Bun

 HEY BUDDIES —

How’s it going?  I’m good…busy...etc… It has been WAY HOTTER in Jasper than I could’ve ever imagined.

I did this sketch of the quints & their bunnies because I have to confess I haven’t been thrilled with my artwork this year. I don’t know if it’s because I got eyeglasses, or if one of my new medications is stifling creativity a bit…

…but I feel like my artwork is kind of bland…more crafty & less wild…

…and I don’t like that.

Who knew that being able to see could ruin your hard won aesthetic?

Anyhow…I don’t have much to say these days…I’m quietly mulling over the contents of the universe, like a dumped out purse … strewn eyeliners & tampaxes… murderous waifs and children’s severed spines… Vladimir Putin’s isolated stool samples & Voldomor Zelenskies tears brewed into the finest Vodka the world has ever gulped in unison…

We are having our Indiana house painted the same color as our Florida house was. Everyone loves it. We included.

I hope you all are busy with your own creationism and universal contents. Let me know what you are up to in the comments. I’m interested. I’m not a robot.

Don’t believe the rumors. The rumors are stupid. And dumb. And restarted.

Original sketch — always lay the gold down first

Enjoy this art… I might take a little time off… Be back in August…to fill the Octopus Diary with color & desigm & broken paradiggity-digm.

AS THE ROVER SAYS: WADE THRU IT

 HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOONCHILD!!!!

This blog is for you, including the cartoon. 

Did you know your birthday is on LEON? Which is the opposite of XMAS (aka NOEL).

HAPPY LEON!!! The angles did sing!

You were 40 when I met you (which was old enough) but now you are 65 — a very significant age.  This means we have enjoyed many years together. Many, many years! Holy shit! 

LEON was always a difficult time before I met you, but sharing birthday adventures with you has made those memories pale like an Indian ale in the Floridian veil of humidity (< beautiful poetry)

Remember our first birthday adventure in the embalming room?

You were such a trooper 

until i whipped out the trocar… I found you on the fainting couch

later…

Other birthday adventures have included live music, 

dead air, drunken tour busses & sober stay-cations

Angel wings singed onto scapulae by microwaved rocks

Crab-legged bacchanalia 

Saturnine tantrums that left no hallmark ,  just bitemarks on the cigar box

Followed by cop cars to bring you bags of Substance D

(followed by cops to bring the big D)

Speaking of poetry…

I don’t know if I ever gave you this poem I wrote about you & your unusual relationship with phonetics, but here it is —

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

Your Unspelling

      Is part of your charm

As a writer, you’d think I’d find it abhorrent

A dealbreaker! [w/ a single totalitarian mark]

       But no, you’ve been a source

                       of inspiration

                             &

                         revelation

Happy accidents            tapped out

                    by alien hooves

                               covered in paint

The moment the helicopter              chooses to hover

I see the brilliance   in your refusal      to acknowledge

                    the insane vowels of country Deutsch

followed by the detrimental silences

                                                in English 

                              Of all the things         I love you for

                                              this is number 3

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

All right… it has been a joy to be blessed by your Moonchildishness for so many years! I love you! Let’s eat cake!

Alternate Universe In Which Helen is a Far-Right Lesbian Wingnut & The Family W/ Quintuplets Makes Sense

 FRIENDS,

The world is a steaming shithole of death & I’m not even gonna try to accentuate the positive right now. I’m going to gaze & wallow around the abyss until it doesn’t hurt so much, until I can make out some recognizable shapes in the darkness. 

I can barely believe that a racially motivated mass murder was followed so closely by the first elementerty school shooting since Newtown.

This conflagration of human atrocity reminds me that not long ago I went on a psychic adventure that was fueled by drugs & a philosophical text, which was also powered by singing & automatic writing, and which eventually led me to the part of the adventure that I haven’t really talked about (except a little bit in the automatic writing portion).

I will say that once the psychic adventure took off & I felt I was in communicado with the spirit realm, a lot of my healing focus went toward gun violence in schools. I know there is gun violence , well, everywhere now… but it was violence in schools that particularly saddened me. And I know this will be controversial to say, but my main interest & concern is for the shooter. I don’t mean sympathy, empathy or compassion for the shooter, just…interest. Concern.

And I totally get the “not glorifying” by repeating the shooter’s name & burying the victims under all the speculative psychology & gory fascination with the person who did the crime. But I also believe that not looking into the abyss of the shooter solves nothing.

I’ve given up on gun laws. Or doing anything about this through our cumbersome legal system. It will have to be something else…like a pandemic that keeps our children home from school forever. To believe for a moment this was the solution… I was fine with it.  Yeah, I know that is controversial too.

Anyway…I try to keep my interest in school shooters on the down low. I’m not proud of it. But I also understand where it comes from — my boyfriend in 12th grade was most-likely-to-be -the-school-shooter. Most of you are familiar with my backstory but in summary, I was in a terribly abusive relationship where this boy wished to control me so badly that one night he resorted to holding me at gunpoint in his grandmother’s house for hours.

Years later…in fact recently…my brother told me he had this same boy as a lab partner in science & one day he made a point to show my brother the gun in his waistband. So the gun made it onto school property & this was most likely around the time I was dating this kid. And it was just a simple pistol type weapon. The kind of “gun” we were content to defend ourselves with in the 1980s.

I can’t imagine having to fear an AR-15 at school. Except…I can. I go to the grocery store. I go to the McDonald’s. I go outside my house. School shootings have morphed into anywhere shootings & nothing has been done.  [Don’t rattle off a list of mental health checks & waiting periods. Fuck that. That IS nothing.]

All right. I have no more words. Words, words, words, what are they good for…huh…absoloutely nothin’

I like the way you work it…no diggity …i got to bag it up

All Along the WatchTower! and her sullen & aborted currents breed

                                  new age monsters

              True Thinking is dead

Awkward video, and the first suicide is molested

  Groin furiously pumping its stiff pink gallop

              Poise! Underwear paws!

Carefully barricaded & shot up by a psychopath nonetheless!

Words, I have no more.

Here are some words from the automatic portions of the psychic safari:

DELTA

VACCINE

OMICRON

JEOPARDY

MAYIM BIALIK

********

Dot Family Mom (Devya), big sister Jade, Dad (Jack)

Please do your best to enjoy this art. I am so happy to be reunited with my quintuplet family. Speaking of psychic safaris — there is a pretty severe backlash that comes with it. My quintuplet cartoon family helped me through some of it, but I lost touch with them when I had adverse reaction to my meds in 2021. Then we moved & such…so I didn’t have much time to spend with them. But I think they will be having addventures all year long.

Dare To Dot (Quintillism, yo)

 HEY FRIENDS,

Have an iceberg.

It is the last in my experimental installment of ice portraits.

What I’ve learned is, it is hard for me to tone down my tendency

to enliven the page with color, to saturate

the world with dots densely…. to create these sublime, borealis-type

colors w/out spoiling the white space…  that was indeed the challenge…

and I didn’t seem to meet it 100 per%cent,

but I am better informed than I was before… so i am pleased anyway.

Hi. There. Friends. I know I promised — at New Year’s star-like apex —

that I would post at least one blog-per-month for your feasting, drooling

eyes,

but, , , , , l ,   I…. I…may not be able to deliver on that. I’ll try still. But

but but but but

you know…  I may have to take a mental health month once in awhile,

such as May 2022. When I return, it will be with dots of my

quintuplet family, whose last name I’ve decided is Khan-Dare (yes,

a hyphenate) and upon seeing it typed, looks so much like Kardashian, 

it makes me sad

on a sadderday…no less)

Okay…what else is new? Spring here in the Middle-West United-States

is progressing as mother nature intended…with little white blossoms

giving way to green stumps, which twist into

real leaves as if branches are the original 3D printer we all wish we owned…

W/ bull dozers razing the public library & instead of an ice skating rink

constructing a tacky apartment so unlike a toy village it makes me 

insane the day before Easter…

no bunnies in the yard yet, but BUT… BIRDS in the laundry hose!!!

BIRDS, clogging our dryer with twiglets & egglets & wing tips & goo

We cleaned their kindling kindly & no one died, though someone

may have been orphaned…I don’t know yet…

I hope the resurrection brings you shade & by that

I do not mean

the snidery of frenemies, but the cool relief 

of the pill after days on the cross (made by Stryker), by the 

spritz of consciousness when you faint on the 

eroticon dance floor, & no one bids on your body

at auction…  I will come out as an autoandrophile

when the rabbit leaves…

iceberg lettuce…

pray.

A SAPLING DIES IN ST PETE

 Hello Fellow Time Travelers,

I think it’s been a cruel & unusually long time since I last said hello. I had to go underground after my exhaustive expose on transness. Then the world fully erupted in an imperilaistic shitstorm & I just couldn’t. Even.

 

Here in Jasper it has been a wonderful couple of winter months. I’ve spent them like a hermit in the attic writing, arting and watching snowflakes from a safe distance.

I hope you e-joy the new art, inspired by frozen water & the Olympics. And I hope you n-joy the short story, not quite an Adventure in Reality but a fictionalized dreamscape.

A SAPLING DIES IN ST PETE

I was traveling with Pixel—my 10-toed, 11-lived cat—down the shady charcoal streets of the subconscious. Our ambiguous vehicle had run out of fuel or otherwise left us inconvenienced and we were walking.

I was walking. Pixel was being carried, and talked to, by me.

I was telling Pixel about Alice, and her disconcerting adventure in a land much more colorful than this one.

So imagine how disconcerted I am by all this neutral, Pixel seemed to be saying with his tail swishes & kitten-chirps.

I remembered calling some relatives & acquaintances when our vehicle first bit the dust. No one could help us out. Everyone’s life was in absolute shambles, with no extra wiggle-time for a friend’s emergency. I was okay with walking though. That is, until all the grey. It made me feel tired. It had the same effect as the scent of poppies in another little girl’s adventure.

I told Pixel the most surreal thing in this whole story — “I think I’ll try calling my dad.”

Pixel laughed but said go ahead. Beware your expectations.

Olympic speed skaters

I called my dad on some unfamiliar device & moments later he drove up beside us in his smoky van. Always a van! Standard vans, maxi vans, vans in polite neutral tans & neighborly grey-greens, but also neon red & keylime vans, and once the most perverse color van — pure white.

Omg, I texted breathlessly with my oral device as I ran alongside the van & managed to vault my worldly hoard of possessions & pets into the front seat Thank you for showing up for me at this, of all times!

No problem, my dad seemed to say, though I don’t think he really said it. Instead, he was talking about his bridge game from the year I turned eleven. Right where we left off.

And so I threw two aces on the table and this idiot bids a four no trump! Can you believe that? Some people just aren’t willing to risk anything…

Yeah, I said, people suck. So you probably want directions to my —

Oh I thought you could come to my place! See where I’m living now. It’s new, I think you’ll really like it.

Oh I’d rather just get h—

Nonsense. You’re coming to my place. You’ll love it.

Okay. Where’s your place?

St Pete.

Florida?

Florida-ish.

Do you mean Russia??

Well…kind of.

Oh boy, I snighed sighily. Buckle in, I told Pixel, we’re in for a long ride.

And it was a long ride. Luckily my dad talked the whole way. Especially about bridge, especially when we went over the Atlantic Ocean on the Skyway Bridge.

I don’t know how many days we drove, but it could’ve been weeks. Pixel was good — he didn’t meow a lot or poo on the floorboards, though I knew he wanted to. Hell, I wanted to. I was disarmed by the militant grey landscape. The unglinting knives of the coldest oceans & seas known to man. The moldy-toned atmosphere. The eons of concrete pouring itself under our wheels as the smoky van rolled ever closer to its destination.

Finally we were in Russia. A grey & foreboding place. We parked behind a cheap motel. Here we are! my dad declared proudly.

This? I thought, We drove all those weeks for this?

Erin Jackson — Olympic speed skater

Let me show you around! my dad led me & Pixel to the back entrance of the motel. We were immediately treated to torn velvet wallpaper, worn sooty carpeting, a flickering fire hazard of a light fixture. My dad opened a door with an old-school key and gestured us in. 

Well, this is my home! What do you think?

I glanced around the bland room and wondered how my dad got here. Last I remembered, he was a born again Chrixtian living with his big-haired, rouge-encrusted wife in a 5 million sq ft lovenest. He had a few grandchildren of whom he was sinfully proud. He was a repentant sinner though, having relinquished porn and vans altogether at one point. But we had arrived here in a van…and this room smelled unmistakably of smutty VHS tapes. When did my dad make this Albuquerquean dovetail back into his old self?  Just when I wondered if I was taking too long to answer, or worse, saying any of this out loud, my dad asked — 

Hey, do you want to get high?

Now, I always remember my dad with a drink in his hand. Even after his rebirth. He liked things on the rocks. He liked ice. But I never remember him inhaling the vapors of the merciful angels. I definitely didn’t want to take too long to answer —

Yes please, I said

He pulled from his Russian motel armoire a package of pre-rolled St Petersburg Beige. Whole stalks of mediocre marijuana rolled in soviet-era papers. More sapling than spliff.

How do I light this? I asked, laughing good-naturedly so I didn’t seem ungrateful.

You just light it, my dad answered like some cryptic Matthew McConnaughey zenmaster.

I lit the sapling joint. It sizzled & snapped & sparks rained on my ankles & wrists. I sat on one of the ash-colored bedspreads & puffed away, never sure if I was inhaling anything but stale St Petersburg air. I didn’t want to seem greedy so I passed the smoldering bundle of vegetation to my dad. 

He declined You go ahead. I’m going to jump in the shower. I’ve invited some of your relatives over.

Suddenly there was a clamoring of voices and metal outside.

Oh it’s the train! my dad fanboyed, Come on, you’ve gotta see the train! He yanked us outside, Pixel too, and we stood before the most rickety railway tracks I’d ever witnessed. The tracks ran parallel to the back of the motel, and I was frightened to see there was indeed a train perched precariously & lumbering at moderate speeds our way.

As I looked in either direction, I could see that other people had emerged from their homes or offices to greet the train. They leapt into the air and waved. The engineers & conductors & porters waved and hollered back at the humble citizenry of St Pete. I could see they were tossing candy into the crowd and then I saw what everyone was waiting for — the keg cars. Train cars mounted by enormous kegs, and as the cars chugged past, some roughskinned conductors would open the taps and let the barley flow. The eager folks below squawked like baby birds and once their human beaks were filled with the spirit of the train, they did little circular victory dances around each other.

As the keg cars neared my dad and me, I decided I would drink from them. It had been 15 years since I’d had a drop of alcohol, but if ever there was an occasion to jump from the wagon, it was when the beer flowed from a train, right? I opened wide and received the elixir, which I estimated to be a full-bodied ale, bitter and hoppy and a little bit sockish.

I told Pixel no alcohol and he scowl-growled, but obeyed.

Nathan Chen — Olympic figure skater

We stayed until the train disappeared into the graphite night, then hurried back to my dad’s motel room. Our company will be here soon and I still haven’t showered! As he pulled the bathroom door shut, he asked me to please entertain the guests if they arrived before he finished.

And they did. As I sat on one of the ashy beds trying to decide if I felt the least bit drunk or stoned, there was a boisterous knock at the door. I brushed away my insecurities and looked through the peephole at the gaggle of relatives waiting to be admitted into my dad’s tiny motel home. I didn’t recognize any of them, so I flung the door open and peered into each of their faces.

I recognized my Aunt Trudy. Trudy!

Well, hey there, doll-baby. Long time no see. Where’s your dad?

He’s in the shower, but please come in. Make yourselves comfortable. Does anyone get high?

The other relatives — the ones I didn’t recognize — started asking if I was my dad’s daughter,

or if I was his other daughter,

or if I was his son, the one who had the sex change?

I said yes to all their questions, even if I didn’t know, or if one yes contradicted another. Just yes! Yes! yes! Everything affirmative for my mysterious relatives. Most of them seemed to like me, though I saw a couple of stand-offish scowling faces at the back of the room. I attributed those scowls to nerves, to introversion forced out into the cold Russian night for a meeting with a distant, forgotten relative of dubious gender.

My dad was taking awhile in the shower and I’d run out of things to say to these people. So Pixel entertained them by running around the room & hiding behind the curtains.

Such a funny cat! they said

Such a handsome cat!

Such a pussyish cat!

Yes! I said

Finally one of the scowly-faced relatives stepped forward and told me she was my dad’s only daughter. I could be a son, or I could get lost, she told me, brushing her taupe dress of my offensive, germy presence.

Does she always speak in riddles? I asked, looking at these strange relatives, wondering if I had ever known them, or if they were just more of my dad’s empty promises.

Only truths, said the relatives. 

I was suddenly very uncomfortable and wanted to be alone, at home, with my cat and some real smokable weed.

Well, I smiled weakly at them, I really have to get home. Pixel and I have a long walk. It was so good seeing you all again. Tell my dad I said good bye.

I brushed past them, scooping Pixel up on my way out. I grabbed my worldly goods from the van, then trundled off under the carbon skies in search of the Skyway Bridge.

3-20-22

In & Out Teetus Deletus Operation Completus

 Friends, Frenemies & Indolent Bystanders,

This is supposed to be the final installment of my Update-on-all-things-transgender Series, but I doubt it will be. When I first started delving into all this, I was a little embarrassed by how unaware I was of … many things. Now that I have a better grasp on what is going down in my own demographic, I don’t want to miss a moment of the drama. This is no trivial trans-housewives drama either — the dynamic discussion between Trans Rights Activists and Gender Critical folks is shaping the nuances of perceived reality for those of us in the middle of it.

Of course I lean heavily toward the side of the TRAs, but I don’t discount the feelings/opinions of the opposition. I can definitely understand how the LGBs feel crowded out of the big rainbow umbrella right now. I can understand why TERFs are concerned about puberty blockers. I am skeptical of the medical industrial complex’s commandeering of gender identity. I don’t believe that everyone who medically transitions is really transgender. I do believe that a lot of what is happening is a trend that will peak soon. And hopefully as the dust settles we will have a better intuitive grasp on what happened.

Vin as a young boy skating on an iceberg (you can't see the cute little penguin)

That is not to say I think gender identity will go back to being binary, heteronormative or otherwise compartmentalized. It will just find a normalized zone and even the casualties like the detransitioners will heal and find vindication in their body odysseys however they can. I can remember when I first became a blogger on MySpace, I always wrote about how I couldn’t wait until androgyny took over the world. And while we don’t call it “androgyny” so much anymore, I feel like this is what I meant. A true reckoning with gender roles, rules, stereotypes, expectations and a purge of what is no longer necessary. I had no idea it would be so loud & messy though… or that I would be participating in the flesh (not just as a writer).

Anyway, I have some conspiracy theories to go over with you, some thoughts on transgender athletes (I am watching the winter olympics & have seen 0 trans athletes taking over the whole world of sports…), some further thoughts on everything else we’ve talked about, and an update on the TERFs I profiled in Part 3 of this series (Tervish Whirling). 

I also have some new-ish art for you. I’ve been inspired by the Olympics, and by living in a place where it snows, so I’ve been drawing a lot of water in its frozen state. Today’s sketches were done in the early days of 2021 when i wasn’t feeling very well at all, and I filled them in with dots this month, whilst feeling quite splendid.

Tarot sketch (Banksy Tarot)

TRANS CONSPIRACY THEORIES

Trans conspiracy theories are mainly promoted by TERFs.

The biggest theory out there right now is the one regarding EVIL philanthropist billionaire Jon Stryker and his Arcus Foundation. Stryker is a gay man, and an heir to a substantial fortune. He created the non-profit Arcus Foundation to help with the rescue & conservation of great apes, and also to promote & advance awareness of LGBT issues. This foundation has created scholarships and funded all sorts of educational materials, books and programs that seek to bolster the prospects of LGBT students, artists, and business owners.

The Arcus Foundation is the main contributor to the Human Rights Campaign (HRC) which has been the leader in spreading awareness of LGB human rights all around the world, and more recently spreading the word about everything Transgender. 

The HRC is the force behind the movement to bring transgender awareness to education facilities, employment facilities, and religious facilities. It is responsible for things like “What are your pronouns?”in the office and the classroom. It is also responsible for the affirmative care model used by therapists, endocrinologists and surgeons dealing with trans patients. It literally extends its tentacles all across the globe in the name of human rights for transgender folks.

When I think of all the billionaires out there who are doing jack shit, or worse (harm) with their wealth, I’m pretty pleased that the LGBT movement has Stryker on its side.

Tarot sketch (Tattoo Tarot)

But, as the TERFs are quick to point out, there is a lot of money to be made from the lifelong medicalization of transgender folks. Starting with puberty blockers, onto a life of hormones that are injected with needles, then surgeries that are performed with scalpels and sutures and countless other medical devices. And this is relevant to the conspiracy because Jon Stryker’s  inherited fortune comes from his grandfather’s surgical supply company, The Stryker Corporation.

When I first heard talk of Jon Stryker & the Stryker Corporation it sounded like something from the Batman franchise. Fictional, villainous, comical. But I looked into it and it’s all factual. In fact, when I took Tony to his colonoscopy the other day, I noticed that the table he was wheeled away on was emblazoned with the name Stryker.

Anyway, the TERFs would have us believe that Stryker is an evil billionaire with his tap dancing fingers templed as he reviews his spreadsheets with their ever increasing wealth from innocent children who were unduly influenced into gender transition by some book authored by the HRC that made its way into their classrooms. 

And even if this is true, I say…”So what?” Like I said before, I would rather have billionaires who are willing to support the education, rights, and enterprises of LGBT folks than billionaires who would quash those efforts. So what if he gets richer from my use of hormones & needles? 

The downside is — if there is a push to influence young children into transitioning early, there will be more detransitioners. There will be the use of puberty blockers by younger patients. Is this ethical? I don’t know. I’m an adult who is happy to contribute to the Stryker Corporation with my purchases of medical supplies. But to exercise undue influence on the innocent, so that they may become your most loyal customers?

I share with the TERFs a concern for those too young to make such decisions. I know what being transgender is, and it does not need to be suggested as a way of life for anyone. Either you are, or you aren’t, and those who know, know.

Tarot sketch (Wildwood Tarot)

But that’s not where this conspiracy theory ends. It has become more widely postulated that transgenderism is just the gateway to transhumanism.  “Transhumanism” is a term coined by one Martine Rothblatt, a billionaire scientist who is a trans woman, who as Martin Rothblatt founded Sirius XM satellite radio. After transitioning she turned her attentions to the biotech field. Her entrepreneurial interests verge on sci fi fantasy — which isn’t to say they won’t become reality in the near future. Embedded microchips, 3-D printed body parts, life-like sex robots, skin screens, downloadable consciousness, all these things we’ve seen in the movies are on their way to the mainstream marketplace. All thanks to Rothblatt and her money and her executive innovators (possibly from the Stryker Corporation?) 

Rothblatt is a notably eccentric character & of course the TERFs have branded her an autogynephile because she transitioned mid-life and is interested in recreating body parts (namely women’s body parts. They don’t care about the recreation of male body parts, since that won’t erase human men? I guess?) Anyway, transhumanism stands to make our lives an ongoing game of The Sims. This is a business model that will never lack for profit. 3-D printed uterus, anyone? Tiny child robot with huge breasts, anyone? Download your wife’s consciousness so you can really KNOW what it’s like to be a woman? Anyone?

If transgenderism is truly the gateway to transhumanism, then I think it’s too late to close it now. These technologies have been in the hearts & minds of scientists for decades. They’ve been a dominant part of our pop culture in the form of movies & video games since Y2K. If “playing with our gender” is a step toward getting used to having biomechanical body parts, we’ve already taken those steps. And this doesn’t thrill me, for some of the same reasons it doesn’t thrill TERFs, but also just because — I’m getting older & I just got used to being a human. I think humans could benefit from some upgrades, especially in the reproductive department, but can’t we wait until I’m dead? I really don’t want to be around for life-like kiddie porn robots. And I don’t know about anyone being able to download my consciousness — it’s the only private property I really own.

TRANS ATHLETES

Another thing I often hear from the TERFs is how transgender people are taking over sports. Namely that trans women are competing in women’s categories and absolutely DESTROYING the cis women. And then getting naked in the locker rooms just to scare & shock the cis women into submission. And then stealing all the scholarships.

Bullshit. There still aren’t enough trans people in the world for that to be a true threat. There was an incident where swimmer Lia Thomas, a trans woman at UPenn, did beat the other women by a long shot. But she doesn’t beat them by a long shot every time she swims. In fact, her swimming times have slowed considerably since she went on estrogen 2 years ago. I think the TERFs are upset because Thomas hasn’t had bottom surgery yet & still wears a ladies swimsuit.

Sketch: 2020  Dots: 2022

It has been noted that there were 180 LGBTQ athletes who participated in the summer Olympics in Tokyo, and there are 35 LGBTQ athletes at the current winter games in Beijing. But from what I’ve read, a big percentage of these athletes are LGB not T. There is one figure skater who identifies as non-binary on the U.S. team. And I never would’ve known this if I hadn’t read about them, because nothing about them says non-binary to me. They go by a male name, they have a beard and just look like your average gay figure skater. I don’t know if they’ve chosen to present more masculine for the sake of the Olympics (iChina is a very anti gay republic), or if non binary now means whatever the fuck anyone wants it to mean.

I would ask this person their pronouns but I wouldn't fear them raping me in the bathroom

(editor’s note: I do notice that this look is very IN right now. An otherwise all feminine guy — clothes, hair, make-up, nails, jewelry — and then, a beard. As an ancient Gen X binary trans man, this does not make much sense to me. Unless it is just the fashion statement of the day, something to piss off parents and professors. It certainly is androgynous.)

Anyway, I don’t foresee trans women making a mockery of women’s sports any time soon. As a former competitive swimmer, I would’ve loved to compete against someone like Lia Thomas. I think I would’ve brought it to another level trying to beat her. I just don’t see women as SUCH sissies & weaklings. Is that how TERFs see themselves? 

TERVISH UPDATE

I sure do give the TERFs a hard time, don’t I? They are irksome, but I try to listen to their points objectively & admit when they are right. I can sympathize with trauma and feeling victimized. I’ve been there. But I didn’t want to go through life perceiving myself as “oppressed”, either as a woman or a trans man. I took great effort to confront my traumas and work through them, so that I wouldn’t go through life feeling like a victim. It was too hard.

So I do get irked when I see women who are obviously well-educated, with good jobs, and happy home lives trying to win the oppression Olympics* because trans women exist. It just doesn’t ring true to me, and it makes me worry about the day when all the heat is on trans men. When cis men are looking at me going “Get out of my restroom, you pervy autoandrophile!” “How dare you think you get to use my important pronouns!” “Show me your dick!”

*ah, the oppression Olympics. Or as it is also called The Hierarchy of Oppression. This is another trend that I think will peak soon, and leave us with a clearer grasp on who really is oppressed & needs the most protective attentions. I used to think this all began in the university systems, but it actually became a part of our mainstream culture in the Occupy Wall St camps. The 98% is not a monolith, it turns out, even though we are all victims of the 1%.

Sketch: 2021  Dots: 2022 (sometimes the sparkly ink doesn't photograph so well)

OK…here’s your update on the 3 TERFs from episode 3: 

Hosey Harker is still going strong on YouTube, though he remains banned from Twitter. He is getting quite cuddly with the folks over at Fox News, because they’re the only ones who take him seriously. He proudly pushes their anti trans agenda.

Karen Davis got himself banned from Twitter for trolling all the trans women and accusing them all of being autogynephiles. He is still making YouTube vids & seems to be the instigator of all the bullying he claims is being leveled at the “terves.”

And our beloved Mr Sexual Antics, whom I first thought was the smartest and most sympathetic of the TERFs really went off the deep end. He became needlessly hateful and his targeting of Jazz Jenning’s family got so ugly & personal I couldn’t handle it anymore. He ended up pissing off the wrong group of people & they drew some unflattering comics about him & he retaliated with more super-personal hate mongering, and he is now banned from YouTube as well as Twitter.

It would be easier to take to heart some of the concerns these trolls have if they weren’t so demonstrably prejudiced. Mr Sexual Antics claimed to have the children’s interests in mind when he started his channel, but he doesn’t care about Jazz, or any other trans kid. He just wants to make them look stoopid.

I don’t even believe these women are in any state of post trauma regarding sexual assault. Harker has reported being sexually assaulted in college but he is married with several children and made a successful life for himself as a nurse before going on this anti trans media blitz. Trauma expresses itself in many ways, but it usually doesn’t look so rosy & perky. The other two haven’t made any claims about being assaulted, but they do seem to have this underlying resentment of men. They both want to be the smartest person in the room, and if a man comes along with his louder voice and mansplainy ways, their smartitude might be overlooked.

Again, I have to wonder what this would look like if the tables were turned. If it were cis men complaining about trans men in their midst. Why do I have to pretend this “woman” is equal to me? What if my son catches sight of a vagina in the boys’ locker room? What if a trans man is smarter and more capable than me, or beats me at tennis or gets that promotion at work? We can see the misogyny in these scenarios very clearly. I feel like the TERFs are a bit misandro-ist. It just seems more like hatred than fear to me.

Always remember the girls from Monkeypus

And to those women who really are dealing with post traumatic stress due to violence at the hands of a male, I extend sympathy. The inclusion of trans women in women’s spaces is likely to be an extra hurdle in the healing process. I have not found any one source that details the number of assaults by “men in dresses” in women’s spaces. There was the one assault in the British prison system, and there have been public outcries about pre-op trans women “exposing” their penises in women’s locker rooms. But statistics show it is trans people who are most likely to be assaulted, humiliated and driven out of gendered spaces. 

The chance that the trans woman in the stall next to you is Buffalo Bill is about 7 million to one. This is the narrative we should be promoting — not the fear tactics employed by the TERFs. If you are in constant fear of being raped, fear parking lots. Fear cars. Fear fraternity houses. And get some counseling.

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

All Right, Folks. That concludes my series on all things transgender…for now. I know there’ll be more to the discussion. But I am tired. I will be back sometime in March with some icy art for you!