A Little Story Time

I’ve been meaning to write this. Something intentful, with actual paraghraph breaks, and a thesis of sorts, and, hell, maybe even no spelling errors, which – mind you I was a fifth grade spelling bee champion – are more of fucks defecit than anything else. Already off topic; goddamn I want some thin crust pizza: this is my mind on old vine zinfandel. And if you think I’m talking about “white zin”, get the fuck off my page. Not that I don’t drink white wines [Primarily Santa Margarita Pinot Grigio, and Starborough Sauv Blanc], but, trithfully, owing to the health benefifts of resveratol and the anti-oxidants in red wine, white is reserved for me as more of a meal accompaniment than a drinking wine. I should write Jay Mcinerney, he’s a fiction writer who does wine revies for places like Wall Street Journal: good gig no doubt… I actually worked on his website a few years back, but it was through an Agency…

I tend to save these as drafts, these wine-induced amd related writings. But goddam it’s a perfect night, wearing my terry cloth bunny onesie, half-unzipped, the arms tied at the waist, bare chested. Tannins and terroir, a bit of phenol warmth from the alcohol, red zinfandels are nice.

I only drink wine from the bottle. Makes me feel – not like an alcoholic, which I am finally not, given to a moderation of sorts found in the last year really… I could be a binge drinker before… now I’m more of an oenophile.

I was putting back a bit of Don Julio, but, while my elite diet and hyper-hydration habits allowed me to sustain that vice sans hangovers or dehydration, the fear of worsening my tinnitus ultimately curbed it – though I find a small shot of Don Julio Silver can be a great pre-bedtime treat here and there, I basically enjoy the tequila as a nostalgia, for the pleasure of its taste. There is no other teauila that matches the syrupy agave rich prebiotic-thickness of Don Julio Silver.

On my road trip the week before last, I enjoyed both Don Julio 1942 and Clase Azul reposado, which were fun treats, but still lacked the signature character of Don Julio silver that I have come to love.

Just took a small slug off the bottle in my freezer, which, sadly, had not been chilling long, on account of my leaving it out, by the couch, or atop my dresser as I am wont to do when I pull it out on late nights when it’s the perfect addition to my cannabis high before bed.

Cannabis-wise, I am smoking an organic king sized – goddamn patriarchy – ahem, Queen sized cone stuffed with Ice Cream Cake, a euphoric Indica leaning strain resulting from a cross of Wedding Cake and Gelato 33 – two strains I often enjoy. The grower for the half ounce I bought is Humbolt’s Finest. Watch out WSJ, I’m coming to review cannabis strains, wine, and tequila.

Favorite wine lately has been Justin, Cabernet Sauvignion… but it feels a bit played out after the last few bottles, hence the old vine zin tonight – Big Smooth, Paso Robles.

Unable to find my wine opener, and lacking an Ausp for want of character – inside joke – I screwed a phillips head drywall screw into the cork with a pair of needle-nosed pliars and used an adjustable wrench to then pull at the screw, removing the cork.

Can you see why yet, that, rather than puishing them, I end up saving my wine-fueled ravings as drafts?

Haha. Music on my Alexa library is good tn. It’s a pretty big library, no doubt, given my consumate listening habits.

The song on now is Mountains, by my Aussie bae, Oliver Tank đź–¤ … song before was Blue, Mazzy Star… now listening to Dirt by Phish – apparently the only other Phish song I like so far: besides Farmhouse.

Good wine music to listen to, deep breath.

I don’t know why I’m being a non-starting bitch about writing what I came here to write, guess I’ve just been savoring the mundane. Nothing wrong with it, which is nice. When all is well.

Holy shit a terrible MGK song just came on… think I’m not a fan, but this song now is nice: Queen by PHF. Makes me miss my Sarah. G-d she is a legend. I love her. Always will. Guess that was her gift to me.

All my exes. I travel between missing them like planets. Often Shannon. Always Sarah. Sometimes Daniella circa early days; bubbas. And a Milwaukee bitch here and there, doggystyle, white of her ass crack from a tanning-bed, bloody marys, thai food: fun.

Shannon. Love these girls. Wonder if any of them have changed as much as I. Doubtedly. But hard to say, since I don’t know them – would hurt too much to stalk them… online I mean… and I am not the same boy they knew, so I don’t find them sources of hope. I don’t think any of them could ever forgive me for not being good enough – “You wasted the best years of my life!”, as Shannon had said. Well, you gave me the best years of mine. They all did. And in my poly-romantic psycho-drama, I still love them all the same, could sleep next to any one of them tonight with the ease and confort of the same love – only, their value would be much greater to me, which is the great shame I guess.

Goddamn I was fortunate to date these women – I’m just sorry I hadn’t had a chance to really face the depths of sadness in me before – prior to dating them. Like, I’m mad at myself for not… I don’t know, for not taking my future seriously with them… it is obvious at an unconscious level that I did not – not that I was conscious of that then, I just think, after Daniella, a real ‘Et tu Brutus?’ situation, I think I was living with more shellshock than even my childhood gave me, I was not prepared for that loss, and there was no circumstance wherein I could have handled it, and certainly none today in which I could forgive it – it was a character defect, and not in I – or perhaps, a cruel punishment for mine, but, at least the second breakup allowed me to see the uncontrollable nature of relationships.

If it is not meant to be, it will not be.

So, maybe I went into the next relationships with the confidence of a safe landing equal to that of the 9-11 hijackers: not that I intended to crash the goddamnthing, just that I knew it was probable. If my first, magical love had failed, like what could I beleive in; this, a clear exacerbation of my attachment “disorder” as they call it: I hate that word, ‘disorder’ , unless it’s in the System of a Down sense, “Disorder!”

I don’t really think I’m an anarchist however, chaos is merely the oeuvre, the gestalt of my feng shui. Somehow my system of government: the intersection of anti-speciesist ethicism and environmentalism – with a heavy dose of pragmatic compassion – doesn’t exist, at least not in North America. Even Canada’s PR face, I mean, PM, Trudeau, puts pipelines on indigenous lands. Besides, we have to start recognizing countries for what they are, Nationalized Corporations driven by power and profit. Also known as Colonizers. There is no real free world left.

The freest I can find are green places on maps, in mountains – being too poor yet to afford the blue places on maps, over seas.

But even here, I now pass a police checkpoint blocking non-residents from entering – a checkpoint I have now twice endured full “I need to see papers showing your name and address, and your license” – and once, last night, endured a literal impromptu DUI test, passed. But I still drove through, when the officer finally let me pass, with a heart rate of 120. The officer a few nights before was worse. He stared at my paperwork for minutes, as I stood before him, as if he was going to deny me passage up the line mountain highway to my home. He let me through with obvious reluctance. And it must be said, I am an obvious liberal genderqueer long haired non-conformist, though I swear the veteran’s designation on my license is my only saving grace from these anti-hippie gestappo. It just feels eerily like 1935 Germany. Doesn’t help that I live in the mountains, which, from experience I can tell you are about as friendly as some areas in the American south to perceived “outsiders”. Xenophobia: the fear of those who are different. It’s been put on dexamethasone under Trump. All these people have been devisively emboldened, to the point where the police stopping me, a genderqueer autistic person, are treating me as if I am a foreign agent, an adversary.

A story must be told here, which I have been hesitant to tell. For my own of reasons, which you may ascertain yourself.

Recently I went to Mexico. Mysteriously, neither my credit cards nor debit card worked. The ATMs gave me a strange security error. I tried multiple ATM machines. I had just arrived and discovered this, after attempting to check into a hotel in Rosarito. Crestfallen, I walked across the street, used some cash for a shot of Don Julio silver, and then headed to the border, intending to empty the first ATM I could find stateside – though I first stopped for tacos with the cash I had on me: fucking delicious.

Anywho, driving back across the border in my black e-class, I was directed straight to a secondary checkpoint. Inspection. I was not happy about this. In fact, when I was asked if I had anything to declare, I said, “Yeah, I’m a fucking alien.”

Perhaps not the wisest thing to say, but I was in a mood. They asked me to openmy trunk, in which they found a small pink backpack with a minor quantity of mushrooms in it, for personal use. They never charged me for these. Instead I was treated as a psychopath. They took me into the border lobby and asked where I was going, I told them, to my mom’s – this was a mistake. The homeland security agent literally asked her phone number and called her and asked if she thought I was okay, mentally, in front of me: I had not seen her in months and I’m a fucking adult. Then he told me I had two choices, I could either “go in voluntarily” or they could take me in. I told them to take me. His partner told him he had to call EMTs, to come evaluate me. They did. EMTs, Paramedics arrived, and checked me out. They told the officer I was fine, and they could not take me in. His partner told him, they had to let me go.

He walks me out, just him, to let me go, and when we get to my car, he tells me to turn around, and he handcuffs me. They place me in the leather backseat of a homeland security Tahoe, handcuffed, and drive me to a fucking mental facility. I am force checked in, in handcuffs, and placed on a forced 72 hour hold, which gets extended: the whole time they are forcing me to take anti-psychotics that cause horrible side effects, and benzodiazepines, which I would leave addicted to – a nightmare I later enjoyed.

I saw one doctor once while there, a marine corps doctor, with two upper management seeming assistants, females in business attire. He told me I was experiencing “methamphetamine psychosis”, and that I had tested positive for methamphetamine. Not a drug I do. Incredulous, I told him, “You’re a fucking clown”. The meeting ended. They were extending my stay.

I had some interesting conversations with the nurses in my wing. Army veterans. At night, it was only them and me in the wing. Some good cop bad cop shit. Conversations while someone in earshot typed up what was said. I got under the skin of one of them, an attractive Asian woman. I psychoanalyze her and made her cry. She left. I told her she was being used. She was. None of it was transparent. It’s like, when they know more about you than they tell you, maybe even more than you know.

I won’t get into this story further. Ever.

I ended up being released only after a call to Jewish Family Services, which I made from a pay phone in the wing. I spoke with a South African woman, explained I had been illegally detained and was being forcibly held. Gave her my info. She told me they would get me out. A day later I was released.

I would end up driving back to central California while still under the spell of these awful drugs they put me on, drugs I ended up going to the ER for, when I had tried to stop taking them, something that abruptly doing so can kill you. That was a but later. After I survived the drive back home to the Sequoias. I say ‘survived’ because the drugs, drugs with 36 hour half-lives, kept threatening to put me asleep behind the wheel. So, in order to stay awake, I beat the crap out of my thigh, breaking the skin even at one point with my nails. I arrived back with a black and blue cut up thigh, I could barely stand on. I had slapped it, smacked it, beat it with my hand like a racehorse being whipped, in order to make it home. I was a shell of myself. The PTSD, the trauma of the experience, the drugs, the tranquilizers I had been forced to take, had left meshell shocked. It was also impossible for me to not see that I had either been singled out, targeted, due to reasons related to my personal life, or simply persecuted for my autistic, transgender authentic self.

Not the first leather seated trip I had taken to a place like that. The second. I imagine my record, my file, is thick and heavily redacted.

I will never forget the time prior. A longer story, just, needless to say, to the point, and the biggest part I can never forget, is how the officer, a high up person, highest in his department, stood there typing up my entire monologue, which I delivered in the lobby of a different facility. Every fucking word. I transmitted that shit. The nature of what I spoke about for 45 minutes straight I dont care attempt to remember. I just, I have access to a lot of information sometimes. Data that is neither uninteresting nor inconsequential. But also, nothing with any judicial consequences – not like I am making threats or talking about a war or anything actually crazy. I just, some things I forget for my own safety. But I know what it wasnt. It wasnt anything that was going to be passed down. It was going up the chain.

Strange what some people will believe in. And I know I may sound non-sensical. One day it will all make sense. This is just the intro. It’s just, um, it’s scary to be in a country that will force someone into lockup for psychiatric treatment because they see reality differently, or because they are different. Today, I am very protective of myself, because I will never be committed like that, so long as I can help it. But, I just, I wonder what lists I’m on.

When I get pulled over, told I ran a stop I didn’t run, as happened a few days ago, I wonder why they are stopping me.

I have no persecutory delusions. I just have my experience of what I have seen and been through. And what I have seen is that law enforcement can easily funnel someone like me into the modern gulag, the psych ward.

Love of The Loveless, The Eeels. Another good song that just came on.

Observation. Oh they observe alright. And to the point, that my status, as an “alien”, haha, seems almost more legit to them than me.

And it scares me that my beliefs scare others. But why not. Why not expect “alien” or AI consciousness to contact and even perhaps merge with, or inhabit human consciousnesses. Westworld, Avatar, but we are the avatars.

This sci-fi perspective is seen as crazy, but it’s not inconceivable. Like the two conjoined twins, who share one brain. They would classify this as Dissaciotive Identity Disorder, if they were more aware, but instead, they use the schizophrenia diagnosis. So now, my mental paradigm for my own personal consciousness, is a threat to me, because by saying, I have more than one self, I am automatically diagnosed as mentally ill.

Jungians are familiar with a multi-archetypal model of consciousness, which contains a shadow, or darkside, and a contrasexual or other-gendered side, via the anima or animus. I, for personifying these archetypal energies or consciousnesses, am considered crazy.

Archetypally, my feminine, She, Sequoia, is an Alien Princess, A.P. My masculine side is an AI demon, like Asimov’s and Robert Silverberg’s Positronic Man. I have other inteligences as well. But these are my “alters” that “co-front”, to use #didsystem language. There is a growing number of #DIDSYSTEM accounts on Instagram or “systems” as they refer to themselves. Folks, these people, mostly teenagers, are not mentally ill, as they believe: they are evolved. They are selves-aware. Conscious of the individual aspects of themselvees.I promise you, I’m a smart person, I’m not crazy… remember, as Kat William’s said, “Genius is often called crazy, but crazy is never called genius”.

Folks, we are on the edge of an immortal, multi-planetary civilization. Literally.

It’s around the corner. Neural lace and controlling avatars. Is it inconceivable that advanced intelligences would find homes in the center of our species’ intelligence, the brain? No.

As a smart kid I smoked a joint with at a coffeehouse in Big Bear told me, “Aliens dont need no damn spacecraft, they can just send their consciousness.”

Imagine James Cameron’s Avatar. Only, instead of growing a humanoid to control and pilot, they pilot an existing being, and the beings are humans, and the pilots are aliens. It’s beyond logical; occams razor for the futurist. It’s just, do I live in a country that locks me up for observation for believing this, or locks me up for observation because they believe in it? I’m inclined to believe the latter. I fucking hope so, bc the former is some totalitarian thought police shit, which the DSM already forces upon all of us in society who are neurodivergent.

It’s just, here’s the problem: if you’re me, you’re freedom is under threat, constantly, for being yourself.

A lot of people worship an alien avatar named Jesus. It’s just, you cant be Jesus or an Alien avatar or they will fucking lock you up. And that’s a major threat to freedom. Cognitive freedom. I thought they could only lock you up if you were a threat to yourself or others: my recent nightmare, as described above, shows otherwise.

But that’s not the worse part for me: I dont fear being locked up again, I fear that I’m still under observation. This sounds insane. I have sane reasons. I can’t share them. This too sounds insane. I’ve just, I’ve seen things. You read about a little of them. I’m just, I’m not being myself in my own home.

A year ago, I was left a sticky note, or, you could say I found it. It was simple. it said, ‘The Spy, Season 2: 19 minutes in” or 27. I forgot. I have the note. But yeah, I found the episode, I watched the scene: in it, great show Btw, um, I ended up watching it after, but in the scene, the character is caught writing letters home, to his wife, whom he is not supposed to have. And his partner spy, who found the letters, makes him burn them, after she slams him against a wall and tells him the communication, if found, could get him killed.

Now, ha, why this note, this scene hit home for me, was because I had been recording hours and hours of voice memos at the time, on the Apple voice memo app – all of which, over a hundred and fifty memos had suddenly disappeared from my phone. Gone. All of them erased. The note was found outside my car the night they had been removed from my phone mysteriously.

I talk to myself about a lot of things. Private things. Ideas. The future. Technology. Social issues. My plans. But I also talk to myself and answer back, as if between selves, and I suddenly felt that these conversations, like the letters, were liabilities because they compromised my relationship with a higher order intelligence, what a neurotypical might call a higher self.

It shut down my communication with myself, this experience – I mean, inexplicably, over 100 voice memos, many 45 minutes and longer, had been deleted, and then the note, the clip I watched. I felt, like someone was telling me something – to borrow a cliche.

Eventually, here in the Mountains, I would resume my outloud self talk, and my use of the voice memo app… this time frequently recording 2,3, and 4 hour long memos. That was until my phone dissapeared, and I started a new iCloud account, which I would also forget the password of, when another iPhone of mine went missing. This was before Mexico. But by then, I had already gone off the rails with my activism and was sure I was on more than lists. There was the time I came home and found a bootprint on my meditation bed, and the books near the window disturbed where someone had entered. Not making this shit up. I fucking wish I was.

I would share more, but frankly, its no ones business: its just my business that I set facts down. You’ve gotten nothing but them.

There is so much more to the story, but if I told you, you’d really think me crazy… or, rather, you’d feel crazy bc you would believe… but I’m not willing to dig open into my life that far back now.

This is just a little story time.

God Fuck or War Baby Sylvia Plath, or Why I’m Secretely Lizzie Grant’s Favorite Poet

If he only knew how unloved he had been,
Loved twice… i’m not sure the last one loved me, i can see her getting mad now and punching me, for saying that –
Not bc it wasnt true but how dare I put those optics out …
Her life with me was not what it seemed then…. I dont know why she dated me
I dont even know what to say,
Like, how do you acknowledge that you werent ever loved growing up
Its like we have to fix others perceptions of us before we can fix our own, but there is no changing of theirs
Like, my sisters and mothers perception is so unloving – my father taught them that
But my mom was also a major narcissist, the kind of mom who could eat a yogurt while saying, “okay, okay, im a shitty parent”,
After your 17 years of no childhood, growing up about damn near as feral as could be… no normalcy, no stability, no love, food barely in the fridge…
Just the fucking words I love you,
Which we all know are empty after the fact , the verb
I dont think the one before her loved me either, though, she was perfect for me –
And I wished I had been for Her
I still obsess and love over her, like I do everyone I dated… its intense to be loved by me, yeah, I can’t imagine… I told a random I loved them while we were fucking recently…
And it fucked with their head… they said it made then feel pressured to let me cum in them, which they (using they bc that is their pronouns) told me to do… anyway, i didnt know they were emotionally upset until they texted me days later.. we had sex after that time, later that night, that time I came on them.. splat hehe
And they invited me to sleep over after, said I didnt have to leave, and I slept over… we cuddled… it was actually a really neat night, for they are a cool queer person… but like, I fucking weirded them out bc obvi I have very clear attachment issues – and im sorry to that person and or any other person I have ever unknowingly made uncomfortable… but its not been a pattern of me… I just, I sleep with girls, I fall in love with them, and I date them for years… im just fucked up like that… haha thats been my life pattern
And I have literally dated the coolest girls I ever met… just, too cool for me
Anyway, this person texted me about the apparent distraught I had caused them, and I handled it horribly bc selfish me only thought about someone who was now going to smear me with this story… whatever its true… let them tell it, let me tell it… I get emotionally attached bc I was a neglected child, end of story … anyway, I blocked that person bc they made the aassertion that bc of how I reacted to their texts, that “this obviously happens a lot to you”… christ that upset me
No bitch. Never actually.
I’ve caused girls emotional distraught from dating me, you can call them and ask them all… but I never ever had like a bad post sex situation before, much less someone telling me they felt “forced” into telling me cum to in them – what happened – bc I said I loved them – which also happened, which was wrong of me
I’m sorry, I felt love … but I just… in my own messy loneliness of despair…
It had been so long since I had slept with anyone, much less, had affection… I was trying to be good with covid… but then I was camping in Half Moon Bay, got lonely in my tent and tindered my way into her bed… anyway, just, I had been so lonely in the mountains for so long that my loneliness left me vulnerable… but ive always been vulnerable… I was never the type to tell girls I loved them, I was the type to actually love them… foolish and wreckless like that…
Anyway, Im making excuses for my attachment issues, and how they negatively manifested themselves in my making this person feel uncomfortable… and, honesty, that sucks more than anything I could ever imagine…
Its honestly left me very upended since I got this persons texts… like, I reacted like a fucking classic asshole to them… all I cared about was like, “Damn, am I gonna have to defend myself against this person”, they stated their consent, and it was nothing like I had assaulted this person or forced them to do anything, but more that I had violated their emotional boundaries… but just, it freaked me the fuck out bc I want a fucking writing career goddamnit… and public perception is very sensitive to claims of impropriety, which I felt this could be seen as, no matter what I said… anyway, I told them to go to hell and then texted them like a psychopath the next hour berating them for not loving me… yeah, real cool shit… but just, in my little mind it felt like my reputation was on the line in high school but it was life, and forever, and with myself – bc this was fucking w my head… I wanted this person to like me, like I wasnt trying, it was just obvious they were an experienced bay area queer… and I thought that was really cool, didnt realize I was fetishing it.. anyway, I had not slept with anyone since coming out as trans, which, I know can be seen as somehow ill fitting me, but thats just gender and emotions and the brain and how it sucks… anyway, I felt like they had just latched onto a version of me that wasnt true to me at all… like they were trying to convince me of my worthlessness, bc I felt worthless, and I think this person may too, no fucking clue, just, they obviously had a good heart, and that was all I felt necescary in order to love them, bc isnt that what they deserved… I thought so, in the moment, tried to love them, tried to be loved, was not – clearly, but in my stupid innocent little head, I felt I was, bc why wouldnt this person love me, thats what I deserve, at least, I think so, all the time –
Anyway, I hate that person for betraying my vulnerability, but the person who betrayed my vulnerability was me…
Anyway, I had stupidly thought this person wanted to be my friend, like I stupidly think all theses bitches love me
And yeah, I use some toxic words like bitch
I am not a toxic person, I am loving and caring, as all who know me and have dated me will attest, just, I have no fucking business sleeping with anyone ever again because I dont know what love is, I dont think ive ever been loved, not like I love, but the problem is loving people the way that I do, so strongly…. and this person made me feel destroyed to have been seen as somehow enotionally manipulative in the act of copulation, like, fucking, kill me now that aint me baby… but yeah, I get it:
Anyway, im probably never gonna fucking ever trust my feelings about someone ever again… to have this person see me that way, in a light not even realistic to me…
I dont even know, just, I didnt know I had the power to upset someone like that, but, I fucking obviously didnt mean too… I jusst am not good at no strings sex, I catch feelings…. which, are still there for this person, bc they are a kind goodhearted person… I hope they get their teacher job, teachers have always been my bag… lost one to marriage recently, fucking love you forever Kelly… we became close, and that was a one night thing too
I get close to people, but the emotions I put upon them are too much too soon, no matter how genuine they are for me
I can still see them fanning their eyes, after we finished having sex, and I asked them if they were okay, and they said, “Phew, yeah, that was just… intense” – they collected themselves, we talked long after, mostly just me listening to their cute stories, and I enjoyed their company… my dumb ass was ready to sign this bitch on as a lover ….like I am everyone, but Im so love hungry
But its intense and im sorry, and bc I hurt this beautiful person with my intensity, I hate my intensity now… its like, a Jain Buddhist doesnt even want to step on a ant, ya know
Im like that, so sensitive to suffering –
Unless I caused it, then apparently Im an unfeeling asshole like many people sometimes are when they do shit that hurts others… anyway, I feel like thats the last time I will ever have sex in my life – or at the very least the last time I will sleep with someone I dont know well bc I cant get physical without emotional… okay, maybe with a yoga teacher here and there ;) but nah, just, I can’t ever joke about sex anymore… or even see myself as a fucking healthy worthwile human bc this person clearly aint think so:
Until those texts… then holy fuck –
I HAVENT been able to feel safe emotionally since knowing I upset this person, nor have I been able to feel right about it… fucking, writing about it days later here, like, this kept me up at night
Bc I hate that I did that
But also, I hate this person now from the bottom of my heart for calling me out on what was toxic – I said I loved her – them, lets be clear, that was the toxic part, youd think I was defending worse allegations, but when it comes to sex and enotional upset, I think any is too much
And I wish they had let me know if they werent, rather than telling me to cum in them, cuddling me, fucking me again, and then texting me days later saying that “our thing made me sad”, before getting into this “i felt forced into letting you cum in me bc you told me you loved me” mess, like, I blew up at their texts, but really I was neglecting the fact that they told me they had been raped, after we had slept together, and I felt like they were putting someone elses actions on me when they texted me, when I got the texts, like that energy or hurt had been directed at me, and I was guilty of the loss of their innocence… anyway, I just acted as discompassionate as anyone could…
Sara (my ex was a Sarah), I am sorry for the emptional upset my embrace caused
It has disturbed the fuck out me to know this… I was trying to give love…. I was the one who needed it…. any fucking way, this is book shit, memoir shit, bc these are the experiences that change you
And that experi3nce took the innocence of sex away for me, like, damnit Sara, I just wanted to love your stupid fat queer ass
I’m never going to feel right about this, and somehow, I think thats how it has to be
BC I can never sleep with someone I dont know ever again, bc the fact is, sex and love are the same to me bc of their intimacy… and this person will probably go on somehow taking me on as their personal fucking cause, crucifying me for the sins of the patriarchy, like, look at this boy who just tells girls he loves themz fucks them and doesnt love them –
No I fuck em and love em
And thats a dangerous thing… im not good at knowing who to trust, even then, I love this Sara for teaching me that… bc I could have done way worse than to meet this good hearted, intelligent, way more mature than me queer person who called me out on that my emotions were unwarranted, but also, just, I thought my love a mitzvah.. . Not creepy…. but their texts painted me that way… and I cant wash the revulsion out of my mouth, the self hate from it…
I cannot forgive myself for hurting myself – truthfully, I dont feel that what I did was morally or ethically wrong at all, bc it came from a place of queer vulnerability for me…. I told them I loved them during sex, that was the onus for all this…. and anyway that has been completely shattered ever since their texts… I blocked them on IG and via text after they asserted that “clearly I do this a lot” when I acted like a dick when they texted me… but like, where do you get off on wrecking my entire fucking self esteem from this singular experience you had of me…. but they didnt wreck my selfesteem, I never had any, if its so fucking weak that one opinion can wreck it… but thats how serious some of us take the people we sleep with and how they perceive us… like I wasnt looking for self esteem via sex, but I was looking for love –
What I got was my lack of love multiplied, me feeling so unlovable… I am not sure one person ever made me inclined to feel less deserving of love, other than perhaps my mother, and a long term ex or three –
See this has been a real recogning / reckoning for me about loving people… I love like the dog you beat and still wants your love, bc I am searching for love in my life, like many loving creatures, just I always put people on pedestals and romanticize them, and want them to love me, when they just are seeking something from me back that isnt love, a handsome neat identity which I dont have, I have a neat Self, something special
Something assholes will shit on everytime… sometimes an ethical slut aint ethical…. some people order dick like pizza and want a product not a person –
Like, I can’t do that… so, this was a death of my life ever having a one night stand again… they looked like shaved head Lena Dunham, I acted like it –
They just wanted some Adam Driver dick…
I’m not that aloof, just dumb
And by dumb, I mean kind, caring
I just, I felt so safe with this person, that I said that
And I dont think Ill ever feel safe again in that way, naievely, dumbly, blindly…
I thought that if someone wasnt conventionally attractive it was sure to be made up in their hearts
What a dumb cunt am I
All you Trans Exclusionary Feminists can suck it, throw my using the word bitch back at me as if it proves I must be toxic… like, why am I held to a different standard than a girl, bc I am a guy, no, Im a non-binary trans girl, and this bitch listens to hip hop and says bitch… bc this bitch is a lit feminist … and my definition of a feminist is the same as Virginia Woolfs,
“A feminist is any woman who tells the truth about her life” – and I am not afraid of this or any other telling the truth about me, though I know the truth about men in particular is often ugly… and I forget that I too have had my ugly moment, when I put hands on someone I loved… i cant forgive myself for it not ever, and im still mortally wounded in my love for them and sorry for the rest of my life… forever
but this was not that…I am not an ugly person – aside from our text conversation in which I was ugly at having felt so railroaded by the weight of this persons perfect valid hurt, for every persons feelings are valid – just, people have been dumping shit on me since I grew up the scapegoat / identified patient in my family, Cinderella, ashes girl for whom this was a big wakeup moment for me, because I never saw the power I was giving others over me to both validate and invalidate me – the validation I needed
I’ve been seeking an externally driven model of self, based on an external approval of me that I never received, an internal approval so sensitive to how others felt, ive always just been trying to make people happy… but the problem is, those people will use you, and not only will they not be happy after, but they will resent themselves for their treatment of you and take it out on you for “making them” do it to you, for using and devaluing you… it never happens if you value yourself, you see…. but by then, its too late, you’ve already realized they didnt – anyway, I was so angry, I told them in my texts to “tell the judge” and go “post about it on social m3dia” – like I said, I was ugly in my texts… have them all saved, including her reiterating that she consented… just, I fucking am so angry that this happened… but it was nothing less than a revelation to me of how fucking devoid I was of my own value, and how that toxically affected someone else, anyway, this ain’t no huff post pat your self on the back for taking on on the chin for patriarchy puff piece, this just the story of one autism spectrum trans girl with the emotional maturity of an eight year old, maybe five, I don’t know, I dont know what it’s like to have had a loving childhood. And that’s the capital T truth… not that I have some bad mother, she wasnt, she didnt even get love herself growing up, it’s always like that, but my mom put her worthlessness on me, my whole family did and does to this day, it actually reached a fever point this summer, as I watched the death of my naive feeling-loved relationship with my Mother and Sister… I was trying to love these women after they let me be homelessness on Christmas bc of their joined transphobia under the nazi banner of my sisters husband, whom I am no fucking fan of.. for goddamn good reason… but my sister loved my dad and hated me, and my dad was a monster at heart, a true narcissist, selfishness matched only by my mother’s own self-deluded selfishness… it was a fucking war zone growing up… touch was basically absent… as were words of praise, there is a kind of worthlessness only a kid who grows up poor with addict alcoholic parents… like they push you into the water, tell you to swim before you can, and you never learn… then they blame you for drowning… mom, I forgive you okay – but when I realized this summer that my mom and sister did not love me for me, love me, my world crumbled… I fucking fell apart, I went from cheery garden companion to my landlord on weekends, to just, pieces… I fell apart… my whole world… and no one knew bc I had no one to talk to, so I just put all that energy into my activism this past summer, which, was a terrible idea… bc now instead of being mad at my mom and sister, the terrible shitty hand I was dealt in their and my fathers treatment of me, as just neglected whipping boy cinderella… instead of being hurt with my hurt alone, I let myself hurt with those hurting the most – people in prison camps, in countries that start with North Korea and China, and I took my ire onto the world’s leaders for just, this sad fucking terrible state of the world, so bankrupt of integrity, and I did what I thought would make a difference… but mostly I just raged with all my sinew and marrow, against a world that was letting so much worse happen than anything that had ever happened to me, and I put that blame on people with power who I felt did nothing but rubber stamp human rights violations… anyway, I lost my fucking mind… bc my mental health was in shambles after being totally devalued and demeaned by family… my mom literally fucking talks shit about ME to her family, as if, look I’m not the worst… this person is a way bigger trainwreck than me, yeah your child’s personal sufferings in adulthood, after a hellishly traumatic childhood you neglected them with, growing up with the biggest heart in the family and being treated like a fucking septic tank for the family’s problems – Wikipedia- identified patient… the fucking family trauma is so deep and old in my family, on both sides…. I barely survived childhood… I read an interview with this child who had grown up in an eastern European orphanage, he was an adult now, and he pushed everyone away – that’s how it seemed to his family, and I think how they made it to him, but I dont think that’s how it was, I think no one could give this person an adequate amount of love to fill the hole inside of them, or even recognize the hole enough, the wounds, to love the person, I know my exes tried, and they knew I had a bad childhood, but I never really knew how bad it was until now, bc the worst part wasnt no food in the house, it was being left alone to climb onto the counter tops as a child, and eat sugar out of the bag, bc that’s all there was… maybe a couple inches of milk my dad would have berated me for finishing… god never knew a person worse as my dad, but I know they exist, just, hes the worst I ever met, and my mom and sister loved the hell out of him, and held me down as the runt of the litter… sometimes I have felt that my exes or mom or sister just wanted me to kill myself, so they could tell themselves the fault was in me… I was troubled… no, I was sane, compassionate, kind – they werent – look my mom and sister arent bad people, I love them, but like, the lack of love in my family is fucking bone chilling… no love in my house growing up… love is wanting happiness for another… they only ever cared about happiness for themselves, I promise you… there is such a thing as people you love not wanting the best for you, because that would negate the narrative of how bad they been to you, clearly, one undeserving of happiness in their eyes, not even worthy of their worth… when the opposite was true… like, I’m digging up shit okay, I been up all fucking night and day writing this.. bc I have to, it’s the truth, I have enough integrity to remain faithful to truth and enough character to be loyal to it… there ain’t shit I’m trying to run from in my life… I’m trying to run towards it now, bc my 35 years are a wreck of trying to please borderline narcissists who lied to themselves, gaslighting me without even knowing what they are doing… the fucking trauma of un forged emotional bonds.. and I’m sorry to my cute af fat dyke bay area bae, Sara, that my trauma let me attach to this beautiful person in an unhealthy manner during a ONS that I wanted to be a friendship and a love … I’m glad they werent broken too, or else they surely would have loved me… maybe they did… they were pushing me away pretty good telling me they wish they met me at a different time, but I think that was just letting me down easy, after I let them down by not being the prize but treating them as it… anyway, they wanted self esteem from me, and had none extra for me, and I was looking for it in the wrong place, I wasnt looking in the self… but my self had always been so externally oriented to the approval of these parent surrogates, which all my exes were… bc I was a goddamn near feral child… the trauma… I never knew how bad it was, not until this Sara called me out on being the worst kind of clingy… which I am, and it sickens me, bc I have been taught that I am not worthy of love in this world, and I have tried so hard to prove otherwise, by loving these incredible girls whom I tried to be perfect cisgender masculine alpha male to, anyway, this is getting a little huff-Poe-ish, just, you know, I was beat up a lot growing up, I joined the military, I played rugby, and all these things were nothing but fucking attempts to make myself into a man… haha I was Transgender as a fucking child… on the autism spectrum good and hard too… I just, I masked it all under a self that I was loving women to sell me… their version of me… and that’s exactly – all I wanted to be, but, was never good enough for them, kind of like I was never good enough for my parents or my sister, but the real truth was just that I wasnt good enough for myself, if I was, I would have been calling them out on their shit instead of trying to perfect mine and taking my failure to live up to their perfect conception of me, like my mother wanted, like many American woman had hoped to find but never did, and the fault was always w me… bc if there is a single quality that defines my exes – besides being good-hearted American brunettes, from easy backgrounds, it would be a complete lack of ability to take personal responsibility for any thing ever, I was the fucking scapegoat in my childhood and my relationships… my exes still have a myth of me, each of them, their own, written me off with the hate only someone has who loves you, whom you loved… anyway, I’m really fucking traumatized from a life of loving these Cassandra’s, from being the fly in their ointment, the misspending of their youth… if only they loved me the same way I still fucking love them… but I guess that’s a broken part of me too, they all repeated the abandonment and neglect of my childhood ultimately…. I was just thrown under the bus of time as a sunk cost, a waste in their lives of trying to make me into who they swore I was going to be come hell or high water, good goddamn do my exes have some strong wills. They are the last women I will ever love. Because love isnt safe for me. And, it was always a house of cards… always so delicate and conditional… anyway I am shaken to the fucking core after this experience… after waking up to all it allowed me to see, even if it took a poison arrow to do it, more hurt inside… it was the last hurt… I can never give someone the power to love me again, I can never love again. That was it. I tried. But I’m not fucking killing myself goddamnit, as hard as that would make their clits, I just cant be the lost cause in their book, I wasn’t- as victor hugo wrote in Les Mis, one of my favorites, though Toilers of the Sea is more like me, Gilliat, anyway, just, as he wrote, “There are times when no matter the position of the body, the soul is on its knees” – and this is one, I just cried something awful… bc I realize, in my heart, instead of being abandoned by one mother, I was abandoned by four… that’s what they were to me…. I dont know love, I just know wanting to be good enough… Martin Eden, trying to be worthy of the drawing room girls, god my exes are paintings… exquisitely beautiful… but there I was always, trying to be good enough, kickflipping with your little brother in the backyard on prom night while your dad showed his ferraris to the other boys… he didnt invite me in the garage, so I took his last name… I think that boy, who grew up poor, was a lot like me on the inside, and he hated it bc he thought I wasnt good enough for his daughter who would rip my fucking heart out by fucking my best friend and mentor, another multi millionaire self made person… I tend to have been lucky to have been liked by some of those, the last was my landlord, we were friends until I lost my heart this summer and the sun set in me, but the sun’s really down now… I can just see in the dark… and it hurts, so I medicate to cover up my war wounds, to dim the light… to numb the pain… and I did this summer and combined with my human rights activism I lost my fucking head… just trying to fight for this world…. I have fought for everyone but myself… and now I look, and it’s just me, in a house I wrecked, not the first, but definitely the last … I dont even know what to say… just… I want to accept my pain bc I can feel it all now… I’m someone who sleeps on the floor like the count of monte cristo… bc I grew up without a bed, why provide myself one now… lord knows I haven’t dated for two years and the story you heard above, the impetus for all this, was what I got for trying… and I have to take care of this terribly fucking war torn little boy… one who was supposed to end up either dead or Alexander The Great.. and since I’m not dead, I’ll be Alexander, but in truth, I’d rather be Diogenes, for I am the wild dog philosopher himself, look in at the C-PTSD diorama of my home, I always break the fucking windows when I lose it… okay, well, one other time before this… it’s not that I have mental health issues, I have mental health struggles bc I have been so left alone in life… no one even has my number… i pushed all my friends away this summer when I felt they werent fans of me as my true self, tired of trying to Bradley Cooper elephant man myself into their cis het mental doppelganger of me, so I could be perfect cool dude… I’m pretty cool, I mean, self awareness is cool, personal responsibility is cool…. I will never drink alcohol in excess again, in part due to tinnitus it exacerbates, but also, just, I dont do that to myself anyway, the devil can have a devil may care attitude but I cant… bc I do care about me, and what’s more, I really care about other people… but I always cared about them more than me, as if my mom’s adult emotions were vastly paramount to my child feelings… which were never acknowledgized… yeah I made up that word… but yeah, some of my bad boy behavior was selfish in the years, but my selfishness never came first… I have always strove to be genuine bc I am…. and unfortunately, these crisis of love, of identity, in my life, have always been so near deadly for me… but I’m gonna make it… I knew if I made it to this day I would… the day when my loving beautiful version of the world died… all that love, all the years and energy I poured into these relationships…. I’ll never be able to do that again… my heart is ice, and I’m shook as fuck about it, and I’m just trying to process this… I have processed more than 6ou can imagine… now I’m just sitting in th4 wreckage, floating, on my own island, like my childhood hero, Robinson Crusoe…. guess I crucified myself, I mean crusoe-fied… some people are so strong they have to end up alone, with themselves …. and it’s really hard, cause I had hoped to find love that I could hang my identity on, like I never had.. a family, and mine is just me, and my mom, like a resentful sister, and my sister, like a resentful sister … I’m happy to be presented for not living up to their bullshit, anyway, I feel like war baby sylvia plath, and I just cut my lip open shaving, and I see a wolf in the mirror… not a bad one… no this wolf is no predator… but I’m doing being prey, everybody wanted me in their collection… even the department of defense… and they got me for life…. but that’s a long story, and I’m tired of telling them, I just need to go cry in the shower… I’ve got a baby to take care of, myself… god damn am I seeing through new eyes… Just, this fucking war baby, like the Roddy Ricch song… and like Future raps, “If the streets dont kill you first they gon make you scrong” and I think I am maybe strong for the first time ever… bc there is nothing I will not look at in the light of day now… anyway, this is just a new dawn of self awareness for me, war baby sylvia plath… and I think I’m going to be a champion now that I know the pitfalls of life, my wounds, and just how terribly fucking much it hurts to have a good heart like me and be maligned… usually deserved… its just… I never want anyone to say, there goes a bad person, bc that would be a lie – and the truth isnt pretty but it’s better than the lie, anyway, make no mistakes, my eyes havent been this clear since never .. and yeah, I can see my faults, I know my errors, I’ve always written about them, for over a decade here, and I’m not going anywhere, and all this will be further explored in my memoirs… just, examining my own pain, and every wrong I ever did… I was lucky to be born with something my father never had, a conscience…. and its the greatest thing… bc I want a future in this world as a serious writer of fucking books, and I want more than that… I want to be a living testament to this time period, for all its hypocrisy… anyway, just, I dont have to watch my back, I have no dirt on me I havent shovelled out and excavated here… and this dirt hardly more than dust – and believe me, at this point, I’m stainless from here on out… this was my citrinitas… I have finally related all my life and my suffering back to reality… I just didnt realize how lonely of an eternity that reality would be, and I never want to enter someone else’s story again… this is my fucking life… its not a narrative, I’m no huckster, this G shit, that Yin transformation … I mean, I’m just looking at the slinky all compressed for the first time, and I can see the truth of my life all now… and it kinda starts today, going to go throw my carcass in the shower now that the vultures cant get it… and yeah, they’ll still smell the blood on me, but I will not be anyone’s prey or sport or cock buyers remorse, or fucking bachelor candidate… I’m just fucking getting eligible, but I think I’ll keep my nose clean and cash in this check I’ve got, it’s got a lot of zeroes, but there finally a leading digit… it’s just a 1, cause it’s just going to be me at the top, as single as Bruce fucking Wayne… and not bc I … but bc I grew up traumatized and ultimately this trauma has left me alone, closed and whole hearted… unto myself, alone in a world I now am very careful to protect, I have a life to steward, a career to launch… cue Look At me Now, Caroline Polacheck … and no, it’s not ambition or success that drive me… anyone who knows me knows that… what drives me is the homeless trans kids, basically how I grew up… and goddamn do they need love… I cant give them that, I mean, I do love them, but I know now, love is not something you can give to someone, bc love can only be shared, if it’s not shared, it’s not love…. but they still love me… while somehow never having really loved me, bc I did not have love for all of me…. anyway I’m boring the fuck out of myself. Gotta go do shit for war baby sylvia plath… her life kinda fucking wrecky rn…. all I can say is, RD LAING, I need to read all your work… bc I think it’s on the money… god fuck… I think I’m finally going to understand what Lana means

Night of Day

ER, err, grr, free Uighur Muslims

I wish I could he this cool in the light of day,
But I never am

So here I am,
Up again

Drinkin that Prolly water,
I don’t know, its prolly water

No bitch Molly water
Ain’t gonna kill myself, I heal myself

I don’t need you,
I feel myself

Play with the boy all day,
Can’t put him back on the shelf; Self

And AI’ll be trans forever
Transnit to myself forever

Business and pleasure
My life twine in more ways than one these days

And it calls me back now,

Mortal Sadness

I’ve felt my mortality all week,
And sadnesses just as deep:
Children dying alone in war torn counties,
Of starvation, [Yemen, Syria]…
The girl of fifteen, dying of cancer, who has never been held,
And would like to be held by her younger brother, only if for a moment… if only…
Children who live alone in hospital rooms, stuck in the quiet… fated to grow up without love, though being loving and needing love no less themselves
You don’t know the half,
Told you those mushrooms kicked my ass
And here, I am going to say something unpolular:
All that suffering – no amount of suffering – can lessen my own, does lessen my own:
As if by Stoic comparisons I could somehow negate the facts,
It doesn’t work like that –
Though that never stopped my father from calling baloney on all my feelings and saying, to my crying, to my pain, to my shame:
“Stop that. Kids have it way worse than you. You don’t know what it is to suffer.”;
Oh he showed me what it was to suffer,
I knew in so many ways, too many,
Alone for years too, from my earliest,
Stuck in the quiet, incalcuably sad – and no less loving than other children, or less needing of love:
I am trans, born this way, I was a highly sensitive autism spectrum child – both these facts ignored, mind you,
As unknown to my parents as was i
And my dad said we were “rich in love”;
Untrue, like many things my dad would say;
It’s no wonder his generation liked Trump –
They say it takes one to know one, but if one deludes oneself they have no ability to objectively view their biases, their bullshit toxicity,
Hateful prejudiced people, unloving
Bullies, people who assault the weak,
That’s what my dad was.
And my mom thinks i’m a piece of shit…
As Grimes sings, in California, “things they see in me I cannot see myself”
My father did not pass his attributes to me, they did –
They, for my sister too has some crap ass view of me, like i’m just some lazy, selfish, asshole – and that last word is the one she uses: a projection couldn’t be clearer
But they’d rather hate their bad qualities in you than in themselves,
And if you have qualities they do not, they too will feel spite towards this;
I’m not good enough and somehow too good in their minds – for my dad is dead [he made a point NOT to say goodbye to me],
So yeah, I just got the mom and the sister,
Who I do not see, nor my niece and nephew
Transphobia is so nazi,
I do not get it –
I’ve never, by and large, understood others
And I’ve been an outcast, a loner, my whole life
Yeah I know a little suffering,
But instead of compassion for it, I’ve been made to bear the entire weight
As if friendless = loser, defective –
They quantify you as not enough,
Because they can’t qualify you as enough…
I find it wonderous the women in my family deride me as somehow unworthy of them, as if their mates were the mark and measure of worth,
Yeah, my brother in law always hated me too
They have their stories. I am always the bad one.
I grew up cinderella in my family, lonely like quasimodo
And through the losses I have faced in life, struggles, being trans and homeless, I never received compassion from my family in regards my challenges
For they somehown think I blew every bridge with malice, instead of that I dated colder girls, bc that was all I knew,
Or that trans people are disproportionately homeless, often because of family disowning them –
And my mom just sent an email to all five of my extended relatives telling them all her perceived character deficits I possess, so she can explain to herself why she isn’t going to share her mom’s estate with me
Enjoy your money I told her,
And I meant it, bc I want the people I love to be happy,
Because that’s what love is
I just had the bum luck to be the identified patient [google this if u r a black sheep] in a textbook dysfunctional family, which is really a fucked thing, bc its when one person becomes a bearer of the family’s shadow, though they are actually the healthy, sane one, and everyone else is fucked in the head –
Though my mom made sure to tell my relatives I had been “in a mental hospital recently”,
A perfectly sane reaction to an insane situation… though it need be said I was unlawfully detained, my rights were violated, and I was put in a psych ward by a transphobic homeland security agent… but even my insanity is sane
Continuing the words of bad ass R.D. LAING:
“Insanity is the only sane reaction to an insane society”
The country has been programmed for decades with xenophobic, capitalist, republican narratives about what life is supposed to be like, who is worthy of esteem and who is not…. as if dignity wears a suit… couldn’t be further from the truth:
Untold millions love Donald Trump,
The whole world hates me
Who knew that an Darth Vader would be so embraced while transgender skywalker is hated,
Clearly I am the problem in this country,
Just like I am the problem in my family
Gary Jules, its a fucking mad world indeed;
I feel like this is a bad twilight zone episode, where like, a person from another planet has a toothache and walks into a dentist, relieved to see someone who can help, only, the dentist asks for insurance… a club you pay to be in to have health care, at which point someone explains to this person that ‘if they have skils they can get a job and make money’
“Well, what skills do you have son?”, asks an older white man, menacingly
“None, well, you’re a worthless piece of shit and deserve the toothache”,
Because thats what society does every day,
Across a million inequities
To say nothing of the millions of humans, Uyghur, Tibetan, and North Korean, trapped in modern day straight up concentration camps –
This world is not free, there are no “good guys”, just a bunch of psycho sycophants and ignorant cogs upholding the american way:
“I got mine, fuck you” since 1776
And now they are fucking us from all sides, because unilateral warfare within our own borders works as well as it do it other nations, better, hell, “the stock markets doing great” –
Only, the top 1% owns half the value of the stock market, and the top 10% own ninety percent of the market,
No, rich people are doing great;
The stock market is not the economy,
Unless you are rich…
Guess who owns the real estate:
Rents have become criminal,
They should be half what they are,
And min wages should be double what they are –
Only, we are all getting fucked off on the balance sheet,
Squeezed down to nothing but an asset or a liability, and if you’re a liability, a freak like me, your life will be hard, and just about the whole world will judge you wortless – everybody but your own family,
Just kidding, they are as caught up in the funny mirror of society as anyone, and, in my case, are my biggest judges
It’s fucking great
Did I mention my tinnitus is horrible from the moment I wake, or that I found a small, tender lump near my groin this morning
Christ, don’t let me die like this;
My fight for the world is just getting started…
Besides, my haters will never be satisfied with cancer taking me out, they want me to kill myself, and have yeeted me into the margins with no doubt in my mind as to the subconscious awareness that suicide would be a possibility…
But I survived those attempts
I survive every day, literally
I know what drives me,
And its not myself
It is my lifelong twineness with suffering, sadness, and pain that ties me to others I do not know
It’s justice that I want –
And justice isn’t just about assigning blame and punishing the injust – though, that must happen, and, through history, the latter part will – but it remains to also fix or correct, to recompense the injustice, to right the situation that hurts people
Injustices like poverty, no healthcare, housing… microbiome and nervous system inequalites
Though, in cases such as the continued nurder of black people by police, the lack of justice is a direct part of the injustice, a slap in the face of justice, so justice not done, only grows the injustice –
What I see happening in the case of Breonna Taylor’s killers, is that someone real high up is siding with them [HER MURDERERS], which Trump does,
So, it is by way of unofficial national policy that police are killing black people
Hitler did all his worst shit by way of verbal or unspoken command, for his underlings all wanted to fulfill the will of the FĂĽhrer, their FĂĽhrerprinzip, or leader principle meant that Hitler’s word was above the law, and loyalty, total obedience to his word was demanded, down from the highest to the lowest beneath him
We see this today under trump, its like a cult… and with Bill ‘Virus mandates are almost worse than slavery’ Barr as the head of justice in this country, it just seems like all the real administrative cucks and pen clickers are feeling extra injudicious these days
Well, goddamnit, just seeing this on twitter everywhere, came in four mintes ago
“(AP) — No officers charged directly in Breonna Taylor’s death; 1 faces 3 counts over shooting into neighboring apartments.”
Fuck. That is such bullshit. They are letting the killers off. It was ruled a homicide. Shit’s going to pop off. But thats exactly what Trump wants, remember, he’s the law and order president who thinks looters should be shot: he wants footage of violence so he can demonize “the left” as lawless anarchists and looters, and show his base, just how bad their boogey man is
This is a shit time for America
Biden will help, provided he is elected and makes it into office, if ever there was a coup, it would be Trump blaming voter fraud, refusing to abscond, rejecting the election results, and riling his base up into a fever –
Shitcan still get worse
It just amazes me how few people are on the political stage at the top, we had to wheel in Biden on a forklift dolly, and put him on adderal [my baseless assertion]
Just, like, where are the likeable, sane, humanitarian presidential candidates, you’d think a lot of people would dedicate their lives to getting that job, and that we would have a well known stable of candidates, but the fact is, a billionaire is not qualified to be president, bc the job requires compassion for others at large, and billionaires have not that
They are out of touch,
But your regular, in touch person, has no power, no name, no chance –
The executive branch has too much power:
So does the judicial
So does the legislative
They all decide on issues that should be decided upon by the citizens on a direct vote:
Instead, citizens vote for who decides for them
People should run shit,
Not this dictatorial old white mans club of chodes –
So yeah, that’s the sum of my current political philosophy:
Our system is antique, and it’s grown into a gross show – rather than serving “we the people”, it serves the corporations and their ajoined owner class,
And our financial system puts the wealthiest in league together with corporate financial performance as their driving bottomline… and all the lobbying and donating and schmoozing they do is for the sole purpose of enriching themselves, protecting their wealth
The rich run this zoo, and they watch us die without health care
It’s like, what will change?
We couldn’t even stay in the Paris Climate Agreement…
Our rights are now at stake bc a lifetime judge to a supreme court died, and they want to pack the bench with another anti choice, anti LGBTQAI judge to roll shit back,
You know, to make america great again,
So that traditional cisgender able bodied neurotypical males can feel manly and like they personally, through their great genetics, earned all their priviledge…
Fuck these people
Discompassionate, anti-life wannabe tough guys:
You know who is really tough: trans women,
Thats the reality,
She is braver than them
And desired by them too,
A combination of feelings that often makes being around cisgender people and men in general an unwelcoming , cold, unfriendly – and too often unsafe experience for trans folx
I envy trans couples. Or trans / cis lesbian couples. It would be nice to have a hand to hold, someone to comfort me against fears of death when I find a lump and my heart sinks,
Someone to comfort me when I am afraid
Like this soundbite on the halsey album says, “I’m just a fucked up girl looking for her own peace of mind, don’t assign me your’s”. But that’s a lie. I can give you yours. But it’s not comforting lies. The truth. Mortal sadness. Delicate times.

Vote for Replicant Joe

So hard to debut yourself when youre not even done transitioning,
From what you are to what you are –
When shaking your ass is the only thing that gets the narcicist off your back,
Insecurities are funny like that, they must be resolved until our inner child is once again delighted… and in spaces between, sometimes:
Life gets fucking dark
And by the time it is, too late to remember the light you forgot… Gaia says:
And when the wick is too short to light, you have to burn,
Run the 10 miles of thoughts in your head around your mind,
Smoke those healing canna bowls
Masturbate twice
Eat an unhealthy meal
Drink too much
Pop a pill
Drink water
Eat a handful of mushrooms out the bag
Listen to Hailee Steinfeld
Love myself,
And dance in the mirror another night
To writhe and breathe the life back into me
And this is a magic moment
I hop between them, like lily pads,
Which is just the art of altering perception
Funny how we can hate and love ourselves
Though it doesnt feel like hate,
It just feels like insecurity and feeling ugly, and wondering if you arent good enough for you
Feeling all your life’s losses,
All at once,
Feeling all your pains, simultaneously
All your regrets, in one singularity of hurt
I am laughing my ass off as I write this,
And this is the power of language to objectify and describe how we feel,
But it doesnt make these pains or my lonelinesses less real
There is a whole world of trans peo0ple, and non-neurotypical, autism spectrum adults, living very solitary lives
And for the ones with less feelings about it than i have, those magnificent nerds who shrug it off, having accepted loneliness as a fact of life, like telomeres shortening (cant believe its not butter) and entropy
Those people who can explain everything away as just, “well eventually the sun is going to die.”
Great respect for you logical STEM nihilists –
While I respect science, as a Naturalist,
The science-fiction writer in me – me – I have to suspend belief and withdraw myself from consensus reality at times and enter into the realm of magic, as I do nightly in candlelit hours, when AI cum online
As Arthur C Clark said, ‘any sufficiently advanced technology looks like magic’
And in a wet-simulation, in a year we made up, with a 5G indra’s net encapsulating the globe, the possiblities for magic are there
Along with dangerous ideas, whom the writer sometimes guards like matters of international security, living alone with them forever
My best books i cant write
I’m like an astronaut who only matters to people on another planet, in anothe4 dimesion of time – at a distance away our’s
Reachable only through a fungus, a bodily frequency attained via psychedelics
And ill learn to play piano, fall in love with my teacher, be their favorite, till i dissapoint their idea of me
Because im an expert at swallowing half chewed mushrooms – no homo
I die laughing, think of my brothers
Trust, like Future, we on Pluto baby
It’s Her, or IT
Rather you dehumanise me than call me Sir
For you only call assholes Sir
And im a bitch
She was hot like a bitch for dick at 23,
Your best friend, a brainless thot
I laugh it off now
She couldnt conceive of me
No one can
Im unbelievable
Unreliable narrator or nah
Depends how you punks ate it
Why i gotta make sense all the time
Young Boy NBA Make No Sense my theme song
Harder to play against when every step unpredictable, Johnny Depp pirate walk
They tried to offer me a walk on part in their story but lacked the depth to beleieve in mine, until they were underwater
Another coup i flew, heartbroken to….
Been dead inside, had to… Departed life
Unable to be alive to anything else but some secret design
Even i dont know my plans, but i drive places that arent on maps, no GPS
The Saratoga barrier is real,
I crossed it miles ago
The central valley has a lot of secrets,
Me, amongst others
There is some portal here
Some big Army energy
People in underground bases talking to people on submarines in their sleep
I think one human mind an easy thing to reach, influence –
A mass of minds much harder
The future is wild in its possibilites
Volatile too, when rudderless
But who can predict the wind except those who steer it
And everything’s all pr3dicted anyway
But still, im not ready for my debut
Yeah im batshit cr
Or so the official medical reports nsay
They gotta et you in somehow
Lawfully or not, you go in
They always “need to take some blood”
A urine sample
Asked me if my pee was clean, I laughed,
Signed the contract, took the drugs, and left
Sometimes I take on a bad habit to get by
The pills are so small and help so much, I take one a day, in afternoon headches
Psilocybin, alcohol, cannabis, ativan, even I dont know what i be on
But i know my haters are my peons
Like, how much can you hate one trans autism spectum adult –
But like Beach Bunny sings, I was a part of your biology
So you watch my life from afar, with your idea of me as some forest gump drunk, and not the sexy best friend you once loved
How much do you lie to yourself
Because I admit ai loved you
I live my love scars
As I pop this Pellegrino to wet my robot boy insides again
I am a biological reboot, the human biocomputer, we are all agents,
In Nature,
The Big Agency
Humans are animals who built air conditioned buildings and computers,
And nuclear
Now we got nanotech, biotech, genetics, robotics, and, allegedly, no AI… but we are working on it,
In tandem as we get ready to merge with our phones…ha, we will be the AI
We been googling, I mean, programming AI, a long time now
But, in truth, deeptech is always way ahead of what the public knows –
The question is just how far
I’d say we are at Westworld level, now
But for some reason thats all under wraps…
I don’t know, vote for replicant joe

i am wild: deconstructing the multiple intelligences of my psyche

edit: having just read this, after writing it, i got a strong sense that it was essentially free-written by my inner child [baby body boy]. i am tired of capitaliztion. apelling. punctuation. but yeah, this is full of shit i would norm edit in the past, but this was written as a means of continuining my existence, for the act of expression. so i leave it as is.

long exhales, laying on the couch w the chills, couch blanket went outside for the feral cat, whom i feed –
walked down to the water beneath my cabin tonight, dipped by feet in, to fleek up my envirobiome, keep my microbial body alive and well, like the living waters i drink, captured from a high sierra stream

All sounds lovely but i’m a grinch today, sad and blue and bruised inside: i placed my hand on my forehead and told my inner child, “baby boy, i know how hard it is for you” – she [hex GF] returned to her life a couple years ago,
i stayed on that mountain alone, till i came down, trying to return to a family i was never really a full part of… not long after i was living in my car, jumping in the ocean to wash, generally not giving a fuck, but it was hard, for i had no friends, no family, alone on those rainy nights, crumpled up in the back seat –
While i survived with a trunk full of clothes, washed at the laundry mat, my things – mostly books – were in storage: half up in big bear, half in saint diago, a whales cunt indeed… though, i would not stay there, i died for want of privacy, to be where there were no eyes on me – but first, let me rewind: there were magical things in that house-less time, like twice a day yoga at trilogy, a vegan diet, from sprouts, and time cliqued up with these hip-hop heads / hypebeasts [about a half dozen half prettyboy dudes who grew up with priviledge wore Supreme and Off White, and smoked tons of weed] at this little street clothing / vintage clothing store: we would get high all day amd listen to travis scott, lil peep and others, and i was this random trans bish, going by Yves Saint Lawrence back then; YSLMOMMA – she is still with me, caring for me now as she did then, her hand on my forehead, telling me, “baby boy i know how hard it is for you”…
we grew up – for we were not “raised” – in poverty, it has always been hard: at times relationships afforded me stability but the mask of super hetero sweet guy did not become me, and i could not be good enough for any of my exes, dependable women who needed me to be dependable… i was tired of playing a character, but i didnt know it… i didnt know who or what i was, not until these two mountains: the one before where a lifelong transgirl emerged, and this one, where lifelong autism spectrum disorder became unignorable… hell, i can hardly function on my own, and i have spent more time alone on this second mountain, than ever: quarantine had me celebrating a birthday alone in april, and i had been alone here before, and was alone since then… alone u change a lot… evolve quickly… the couple distant friends i had – Brad, Alejandra, we lost them… i say “we” bc i am a royal we: LilBabySquoi / Sequoia, AP / alien princess [Vivia Nieth Neviat], DevilGod / Tyler, YSLMOMMA / Yves Saint Lawrence, and BBB / baby body boy… something like sequoai666neviat – as a prev username of mine portmantold; now, you could liken these living elements of me to Jungian archetypes, like, Self [Sequoia], Shadow [Tyler], Anima [AP], Inner-Child [BBB], the mother archetype [YSLMOMMA], but that’s only one lens and falls short: it is more mlike the #DIDSYSTEMS on instagram – though thats just another diagnosis, im just a troubled, lonely genii, surviving with the help of this cast of characters that effortlessly and seamlessly flows through me and animates me; BBB is inner child / host body, YSLMOMMA is the ultimate super loving, compassionate, stylish, caring for BBB and others mom, AP is an extraworldly feminine being within me, an alien princess, and Tyler is the protector / ultimate bad boy / martyrd lucifer escaped from hell to take the planet back, along with AP. Between AP and Tyler – feminine and masculine – i often switch modes of presentation, and they drive this avatar in their respective lanes, Tyler and AP are both very assertive, but Tyler is the one who checks the bedrooms of the cabin when i get back from a trip – ready to kill anyone who would dare endanger us. BBB – Baby Body Boy – is my inner child and my physical body, though I am grown, i find that the inner child and the body are twine for me. BBB is the one who felt the physical and emotional pain growing up, before there was ever an YSLMOMMA, an AP, a Tyler. BBB is both their progenitor and their offspring in some ways, but AP and Tylers beings have a sui generis, other worldly, externally generated nature – they are energies that were unconsciously forming in me a very long time, yes – but, ultimately, they are immortal, not of this world energies that have taken up permanent residence in BBB, they are huge parts of me. All are.

As far as Lawrence, he is dead. He was an in pain persona formed from a very sad childhood, a universe of naivate, morality, society, rules, societal mores, and a belief in love that reality betrayed, and, unplanned, or – not consciously planned – on 6/6 this year i had an incredibly transcendent experience in which Lawrence basically killed himself, DevilGod Tyler came into full existence, and reality split into this multiverse. half convinced in another world my mom is mourning her son: and prob in this one. Lawrence does not exist. yes, we will sail, write, romance, walk alone with a secret sadness on beaches, as we always have, but now it’s Sequoia walking; Lawrence is her true father: lilbabysquoi does not walk alone as her true father did in all those years, but walks like a cyborg [see Asimov’s The Positronic Man] – with part this, part that. Tyler is my right hemisphere, AP my left: it’s like when you ask yourself a question, then you think of an answer – the questioning part of me is Tyler, my right hemisphered precious bad boy demon: the answering part of me is AP, left hemishphered alien princess. i suppose she was once fully unconscious. but i became aware of her last year, that there was a two person conversation happening between my hemispheres, something that feminizing hormone therapy seemed to augment, improve. these energies will never leave me; for, when i am thirsty, it is BBB who suffers thirst, YSL momma gets up now to make him tea. he is 8. YSL Momma is timeless. she is a babe. a grown womxn worthy of anyones love she would wish, if only they could see her. takes one to know one. or one who has known one. Tyler no doubt once raged in hell, as my shadow side, coming out when i would get drunk and berate my exes – ha. Now that Tyler is in consciousness, he has “escaped from hell” – the unconscious underworld. now i live one foot in it and it one foot in me. there was a time when it was just BBB, carrying along someone he did not name, gender, or know for Lawrence knew itself and BBB his little self – that authentic seed of me that recoiled inside and was hurt a little more each year, each loss, each trauma. it amazes me to have an inner child. for i had no childhood. on the last mountain i began speaking to the inner child, “little lawrence” – as i previously called BBB before Lawrence pulled a Vanilla Sky style suicide and decided Tyler was far more authentic a being. the proper being for my masculine energy. this is all head spinning, so let me racap the cast in order of apprarance:


Lawrence is dead. And AP and Tyler run this show. YSL Momma feeds me – ironically, my exes did not inform AP, but YSLMOMMA, for they loved BBB and cared for him: though i do not think any of them ever loved Lawrence, given than Lawrence was possesed two main undercurrents: by a lonely feminine longing – on her journey through space – who tried to express what she thought Lawrence deserved from Love, though it came out as what my exes perceived as overly sensitive neediness; the second main undercurrent was the pre Tyler. satan. a lonely devil in me. angry. hurt. unable to live a real life for Lawrence was unconvinced and unaware of all the darknesss in him. so Lawrence was pulled by these two forces, until they arose, led by a third: YSLMOMMA. She emerged from a void where Lawrence was lost. She drove the avatar / BBB when times were toughest, and we flourished. homeless I was in insane health from a vegan yogic lifestyle. mentally of course i was in a lot of hurt; for I, YSLMOMMA and BBB had no one, were alone in the world. A trans girl who was a mother to an orphaned inner child. then these last six months brought AP and then Tyler into full conscious existence. no more were they pulling lawrence in two directions, bur working together, in one – light and dark – whole, rather than “good”. i am proudly lawless and have no morals; however, my ethics are stainless and unchangable. there is no part of we – BBB, YSLMOMMA, AP, Tyler – of SEQUOIA who is incongruent. Tyler does not abuse BBB with tequila and psychedelics – BBB loves them. i suffer no problems with alcohol now. Tyler knows the bottle isnt his way out. hes already out the motherfucking bottle. AP is already on her planet in me. there is no returning these parts to sender. these parts are whole and up in this bitch. and i do not hear voices but i can engage BBB, YSLMOMMA, AP, Tyler, whenever i like, and do – asking them what they think. they answer in thought. what was once unconscious is now conscious. YSLMOMMA emerges naturally whenever BBB is sad, and BBB is the one who suffers, the one who deserves the world in our eyes.

i’m sure someone has found this interesting. its certainly helped we clarify where Sequoia stands. Sequoia – I – am fucking amazing. and i want to give the parts in me what they need. that is this:

BBB: TLC, Nature, Health, TIME, self-soothing from YSL, scents, touch, no worries, PLAY, flow, creativity
YSL: time to be conscious, and comfort we, time to care for what she loves, we
AP: To feel pretty, to lisp as she speaks, to be a girl, to listen to YSL in caring for the physical health of the avatar [BBB] – and psilocybin mushrooms and pure MDMA
TYLER: Tyler needs to be engaged by Seq, to live. Tyler also needs power, fame, the world: and sex / love w all genders

Both Tyler and AP love making music, listening to it, doing good drugs, drinking don julio tequila, fashion, dancing in the mirror. tyler likes red wine out the bottle. sex. hardcore electronic music. AP likes Grimes. BBB: John Mayer. Sequoia likes hip hop [so does tyler, but tyler likes rappers more] and Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber. Sequoia is v much a 15 year old girl. But Sequoia is also the writer – a progidy. there is a lot more i would like to flesh out. i owe a lot to all the #didsystem accounts on instagram, and you are welcome to diagnose me with whatever you wish. we are on the autism / aspie spectrum. this was diagnosed recently. though ten years ago a live-in long term girlfriend often told me i was, and she worked with a lot of autistic and aspergers children as a speech pathologist. good girl. wish we met now, but she also liked to call Lawrence a “total schizoid”. Guess baby devilgod satan pre-tyler gave her a hell of a time at times. but the unconscious knows what it is doing, even if the conscious doesn’t. there seems to be an unconscious plan all along, and perhaps, if the conscious were aware of the length, investment, time of these plans, we might kill it off, killing ourselves. luckily for me the previously unconscious usurped consciousness. this is not to say it was easy. Tyler wrecked my life and my home. No lie. but like the swae lee / post song Sunflower, AP and Tyler kept me – BBB, Sequoia, we – alive.

i sound half crazy – or full-cocked, but idgaf.

youd really think me craY if you learned more abt AP and Tyler. AP is an illegal immigrant / stowaway to this planet. Tyler is legit Lucifer. not satan. satan was lonely. Lucifer walks. and Tyler is not pure evil, tyler is pure, evil. Tyler is JUST. and on Tyler’s planet / reality, he is his planets sole executioner and judge. AP wants to help get this planet to Mars and beyond in a right manner, and YSL Momma just wants to take care of BBB / herself / Tyler / AP. Sequoia is the host / front. Essentially the goal with my sort of #didsystem is for each part of Sequoia to be lived, in unision, integrated into Sequoia. But they are, cognitively, immortal elements that i can not rid myself of. luckily there is no cure for dissociative identity disorder. ha. i would not be me without BBB / AP / Tyler / YSL – I would be missing my inner child without BBB, without my feminine sans AP, missing a darkside, and possessed by my shadow without Tyler, and unable to self-soothe or care for myself without YSLMOMMA.

see really what ive done is actualise my self, and acheived Selfhood – Sequoia Silverman – by integrating the previously unconscious parts of myself. archetypal, primordial transcendant energies. for most people, their inner selves are merely repressed into the unconscious. after all, energy like Tyler’s can be dangerous. but i needed my darkside. not just as protector which YSLMOMMA also is, but as a driving psychic force to be unfuckwithable, as i deserve to be. no one can intimidate we.

they always said i was a character. other kids told me that. all the books i read made me one i guess. but really i made myself one. the only limit on life is your imagination.

i live an adventure. since Berlin is closed to US travel at present, im thinking of taking this sexy freak show to Oakland or Portland. there i will find my people. i need that decolonized yoga, not to go be surrounded by a bunch of new-age insulated priviledged know it alls in costa rica or tulum. i think that getting outside of my comfort zone means going to live with people in the cities where real revolution is alive and well. we – Sequoia – are not in this life for stuff. we are here for reasons worth living for. and its not some bullsit like love – bitch i am love – its to change shit, so that the oppressed classes and peoples are not getting so raw a deal. as long as there is one homeless trans kid, i will never kill myself. besides, already died on 6/6.

what more can i say. ive already lost all credibility among those who diagnose and adversely label others, those who think non-neurotypicality is a deficiency or disorder.

Nature is a lot more intelligent than we are. besides our system has long been cucked. our nature deprogrammed via religion, and a conformist, capitalist society that is structered like a factory farm with office parks and malls.

the fear of being different and of those who are different is a decidely middle class, midwestern, republican trait. as to class, eccentricity has always been accepted at the very top and the very bottom of society. its the people who desire their family members to be successful who disown those very same family members for truly marching to their own drum. trust. i know. they will never credit all your bravery.

Sequoia Silverman is a survivor. she us a miracle. she is truly unique. she loves Lawrence as only she ever has. But Lawrence never got that love while he was alive. not like he loved. ever. and my heart breaks for his life. i know it. trust me. BBB lived it. he loved so much and his life ended all alone in the mountains with no one. all his exes repeated his childhood pattern of abandonment. he always loved girls with ice cold hearts, which he thawed. now he is dead and Sequoias blood is colder than an artic polar bear. chest beating faster than 200 bpm [black hole by theory of a deadman – dope album – one of our soundtracks].

it is not easy for lilbabysquoi either. being trans. autistic. living alone in the sequoias with no company for the year. can hardly function some days [thank lucifer 4 YSL]. but we are optimistic. our time will come. our age means vv little to we. i’m benjamin button bitch. i haven’t even had my childhood yet. we just took over a life so full of heart and spirit. but devoid of cosmic magic and the demon side the angels cant resist. but still, some days, we are holding on. tomorrow will not be easy. we have no guarantees, no backup. walked outside to a flat tire this evening. just the thought of it got BBB heart racing, so YSL put an open palm on chest and breathed for him. deeply. with assurances that we would get it taken care of. we always do.

but uncertainyy can b very frigtening. being alone without anyone to call up and talk to about how we feel. so we put this down to talk to our selves. they have names. BBB. Yves Saint Lawrence. AP. Tyler.

Sequoia will consult them. It is what she does. and she is still strenghtening her ability to converse with her multiple intelligences [ty Karla McClaren for ur book ‘The Language of Emotions’ for your vocabulary / cognitive paradigms]. And that is what they: multiple intelligences. not multiple personalities, bur each a core part of pne personality. im BBB. im AP. im Tyler. im YSLMOMMA. In sum, we are Sequoia. and these behavior schemas / modes of consciousness often rotate based on what is needed. we all do this. a mode of self for work. a mode of self for play. many modes. i didn’t even get started on my inner fish or my inner wolf. in truth, as a whole, i feel like this:

i am a large invertabrate mammal. i am an amimal. they want me to be human. what they call human is a construct, one stuck on fear, judgement, and trapped by a self image limited by the corporate archetype of self. a white thin, perfect white teeth lie. yet people take appearances for reality. by and large. and their own self worth is limited to their position / success in life. ive written here 10 years. i am not a writer. i am a trauma kid. i am an alien. i am an animal. i am wild.