freezing in the car that winter playing sonic youth sister sonic youth confusion is sex xiu xiu knife play xiu xiu a promise over and over blasting xiu xiu on grave shift putting bread in the oven going home loading porn projecting napping housemate pleads PLEASE do some dishes 1:15 AM nowhere on the east coast in my dead name’s hotel room jamie stewart singing fast car another george miles book a briefly adored murder victim hey that’s me i love you broken meltdown kid close to crying at parties declining to make out actually crying at parties not calling that boy, not calling that girl, the worst person on earth waiting to die. i’m here.

Sighs leans back thinks What The Fuck, Kat. I’m hovering in this place still waiting to see if can at least get my junk partially modded on the che$$$ap or what and there’s also the whole “literally don’t know where to go or what to do” thing. Shit’s getting better, I know, but every old trick I used to distract myself and endure has stopped working. Now my partner and I say “we’re out of here soon” and that’s the endcap to each week and then the next one begins. For real: this is about my junk at this point, like a cliche from a really shitty movie from the really shitty 70’s. This makes me feel kind of stupid. I want to drop everything and go anywhere doing don’t know what for rent but at least knowing queers and especially knowing trans women and ceasing this ridiculous act where I throw on a hoodie like a false mustache and still get read as trans anyway no matter what I’m doing anywhere ever and “boy mode” just means “can I help you ma[trails off, frowns.]” I don’t know how to find the line between necessary risk taking and being an irresponsible, malformed, permanent teenager knocking shit over and fucking things up. You learn that line through trial and error and I hid in cave trying very little forever so here I am, Kat the permanent teen fantasizing about metaphorical cliffs with no cliff jumping experience and lingering dread that this is just a manifestation of the same self-destructive shit from my past. My selfies are cute I think about Oak Land or Port Land or one of the other 6 Lands and I read Casey Plett’s story from the Topside anthology on a plane just now and I feel fucked up good night twitter.

hi i’m maddie and this is trans jackass

ms-tyrell:

*goes to a support group and repeatedly stuns self with a taser*

*goes to a support group*

(via ms-tyrell)

realizing the old canon of S.N.E.S.’ irrelevance leaves us adrift. our works and ideas were coherent in a context we took for granted as permanent. the world falls from beneath us. we again become curious children, tiptoeing through realms bewildering with only each other, with only our selves, with no Zelda 3 to guide us.

realizing the old canon of S.N.E.S.’ irrelevance leaves us adrift. our works and ideas were coherent in a context we took for granted as permanent. the world falls from beneath us. we again become curious children, tiptoeing through realms bewildering with only each other, with only our selves, with no Zelda 3 to guide us.

vorp

vorp

Cockroach Day

fuckyeahmommyfiercest:

Mexican Farmworker With child circa 1960

TW: See Tags

Our apartment was sprayed for cockroaches today. My girlfriend and I stayed up late last night, pulling dry food, utensils, appliances, paper products, and AS SEEN ON TV kitchen gadgets from every dark corner of our kitchen cupboards. I even had to move the microwave, which serves as a kind of medicine cabinet, covered with plastic pill holders, CVS prescriptions bottles, and green…

View On WordPress

My girl friend made post about last weeek

Previous post result of meditation: femmy Gay Vampires were my teenage analogue for trans women because depictions of all trans women were frightening, horrible and sad. Gay Vampires who changed their bodies and became outcasts and were mopey and obsessed with their toppy partners were cool. The books sucked once Lestat became the protagonist because Lestat is an asshole. I wanted to hang with the weepy subby femme narrator. That book held a mirror to me and said ‘THIS, VAGUELY, IS EVERYTHING YOU ARE.’ I finished reading it in a hotel room I was sharing with my parents and I became inconsolable for the next 16 years.

This leads me to concoct stupid fantasies, like: “if Queen of the Damned hadn’t been shitty and boring, would I have further pursued gay vampire fandom to the point of reading articles by Billy Martin about dysphoria, possibly prodding me to work at internally decriminalizing and broadening my own feelings about gender and pushing me to find resources less terrifying than TSRoadmap and Laura’s Playground, shaving years off this excruciating process.” This scenario is attractive because I get to blame Anne Rice for my 20s, which is funny. It’s also stupid, but it slightly rings true. Some Janice Raymond shit burrowed into my head when I was searching the web for Reasons Not To Transition and a key part of defusing it was “trans fags exist.” I don’t know if this was a thing for you or if this is just me but I was all Janice Raymond-y and one day understood that the transmisogynistic cryptofeminism that I’d known fell apart in light of its casual indifference to or erasure of transmasculinity and that a mountain of double standards were being swept out of sight in order to render those arguments coherent. If trans men can be fags then, wait, how does me being a dyke, like, tear holes in the fabric of spacetime. It totally fucking doesn’t? Well. I knew about trans dykes first and my reaction was less “thank heavens, the others Like Me” than “YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS.” Really. So that’s at least a couple years where I could have gone down the freeway, watched the video, signed the forms, and ripped open a white n’ blue Skittles bag in the parking lot. Instead, I was privately complaining to friends about trans dykes bodysnatching the Real Lesbians, who were sacred above all. This was the first opportunity I’d ever had to express the depth of my self-loathing. I was just doing it in the third person.

But then here’s, like, Jackal and he’s a total bottom for boys and girls and everyone else and this is his blog about consent in D/s and I realize the problem is me. The problem is I’m completely fucked up and damaged and never learned to stop hating myself even when I thought I did, and that a lot of everything I’ve ever stopped myself from doing would have been pretty decent and useful in my life. Like waking up breathing through a snorkel in a womb buried under a landfill. After that, the work is clawing your way out. After that, the work is moving past the boring monotony (and no matter how necessary it might be for a time, it’s as BORING and MONOTONOUS as a dream fragment that keeps looping) of grieving how you just spent a huge chunk of your life and how you’re completely fucked up now and don’t know how to fix yourself and you fantasize about non-productive shit like time traveling to start HRT as a college sophomore or confront Anne Rice about stealing your Mojo.

Every day I get online and see trans women doing shit I wanted to do at the ages I wanted to do it at and I feel fucked up and, like, that’s the abyss. I lost some stuff and I can’t get it back and it all seems pretty arbitrary and unfair. I’m still here. If I don’t end this cycle of grieving things I didn’t do in the past while simultaneously neglecting the things I want to do in the present then I’m pretty much as fucked as I was before, just with eyeliner. I’m a cute gay vampire. I’m growing out my hair. I want to feel like I exist in this body. I want to feel like I own my sexuality. I want to see your city. I want all the old drafts of my life fished from the trash. I want to exorcise ironic detachment and this way of analyzing life as something that happens to me, rather than something I’m doing. I’m learning to tell the truth when I ask what I want, not to flinch at the question, to see and feel and understand desire and to trust it after ruling it permanently untrustworthy.

This was just a quick series of tweets but twitter broke or something

I met Lestat at a social group. We both quit going because The Ancient Ones talked the entire time. I loved her but she treated me like shit.

She was confident and toppy and sexy but she was topping me (and everyone else) all the time. I was a baby vamp codependent mess.

I broke it off. She was my link to our social circle, so. I wish there was a group for Gay Vampires under 40 but I don’t have the energy to start one.

klorg

klorg

  • TERF: we are here to abolish the genders
  • Feminist: oh, so we won't use gendered pronouns anymore?
  • TERF: no keep those
  • Feminist: gendered clothing?
  • TERF: no thats ok
  • Feminist: segregated bathrooms?
  • TERF: no those are important
  • Feminist: so we're going to do something about the gender binary, yeah? We're going to attack the idea that gender is intrinsically linked to one's anatomy, and we're going to boost the visibility of trans and intersex people, who face the most violent consequences of the sex and gender binaries - yes?
  • TERF: no
  • Feminist: then what are you going to do, exactly? What is your plan? How are you going to accomplish this?
  • TERF: abolish gender
  • Feminist: How?
  • TERF: abolish it