I am having too much dysphoria…
I often find myself watching the way people try to get through this world. Many different ways of convincing ourselves that what we are attaining to or how we believe in something is the “right” way. And opinions are as rampant as poop in a babies diaper. If we sway or push other’s too far we are reprimanded, given an intervention, broken up with, or as extreme as starting a war with. Inter-personal relationships mirror those of countries, religions and ethnic groups. I’ve been obsessed with the show Lockdown. How we cage those that don’t fall into the specific rules we have for our society. One that is peppered with blatant racist and economic blasphemy. I find humans funny for their desperate need to take themselves seriously. Myself included. It’s finally warm and I am grateful that I’m sweating.
Insanely tiny gay hugs to you all,
And here’s to Dock Ellis…who played by different rules: But was still afraid of winning and losing.
Life and Death and the posts in between.
I started this blog so as to force myself, in a public realm, to write. I let a few days slide by after my second entry, then BAM. I was doored by a car while riding my bike. It happened so fast. I barely had enough time to see a door opening as I was milli-secondly sidling up to the car. I squeaked and yelled, “NO!” And as I barely got the breath out of that word, I felt impact. It was hard. My body did the rest and must have done the precise side aerial, back hand spring, double back tuck into a child’s pose. I looked up and the man who hit me, was closing his door as if to retreat into the “before this happened” moment. Like reversing his actions would counter-act everything in the last 3 seconds. I was stunned. I didn’t have any thought other than, “I’m alive. Move your fingers and toes. Good. Left hand bad. Nothing internal is hurt.” Then the look up again. I didn’t think about my life, past or present; but as to how hard I was hit and that the people on the street were looking at me as though I had a broken my neck. I was thinking, “FUCKING IDIOT!!! My arm and I don’t have insurance.” I was confused and angry. An EMT truck was behind me and saw the whole thing. They came over and all I could say on repeat was “I don’t have insurance.” One of the EMT’s looked like an exaggerated version of the Old Spice guy. He looked at my hand and said, “Oooo that’s looks broken.” Then gallantly lifted me up and coaxed me into the den of equity. I already have a janked finger from letting a break heal and I thought to myself, “my body is more important than any money.” So I allowed myself to be taken to the hospital (1 block away, but since I was already in the ambulance why not take a joy ride around the block.) Side note: It’s another blog about what our medical situation looks like and the De-Lousing Room at Woodhull Hospital… I left with nothing broken. Everyone I interacted with was sweet. As well as Erin who came with iced coffee and a banana. Only to almost faint twice. I was called many genders even after I announced my last period across a room only then to be led out as, “Mr. Blackwell.” I felt comfort in the fact that a hospital was just as confused as I was. I left. Went home. Two days later my grandfather died. He taught me how to tie a tie and my shoes. He let me drive when I was eleven. He was electrocuted by lightning twice and drowned three times. A pony named Dusty saved his life. He taught me how to worm a hook and cast for fish. He encouraged me in any activities I would like to try. He and my grandmother were perfect Depression era humans. Gender was nothing more than that who carried and that who seeded. Each was physically equal in its own endeavors. He never heard from my mouth I was a gender queer (neither of us would even know what that meant anyway). He only knew that pure, real me from when I was a child. The moment I found out he died I said to him floating through the universe, “Hey, I would have told you sooner, but even the doctor didn’t know.”
Photos of grandad later. Have the gayest of days today.
Dubiously all of yours,
This is just a little shot out to my dear steed, my bike. I got this bike from a friend. It was left in front of his home. After riding around on it, I can’t imagine how one could part from such a perfect ride. It’s like meeting a dream girl who likes you too and you keep waiting for her to peel off her face and reveal that she is Satan. Until then, I ride like a champ avoiding potholes on Nostrand Ave. with the agility of a rabid rabbit. Thanks Tom and Julie for this find.
And here’s your doc for the day. http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=539_1233889635
Happy Mother”s Day!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EjRaU8hRVJs
A dash of conspiracy and some farts
Someone recently told me I was obsessed with the government and conspiracy. Hearing the words come out of their mouth with a bit of “you’re crazy” thrown in their tone made me immediately defensive. Truth be told, I am obsessed. I am obsessed because I can’t believe the government is smart enough or organized enough to be able to pull all that off. I recently experienced the food stamps line and that is enough to convince me that maybe we did land on the moon. There’s a lot that goes into trying to swallow many documentaries on the end of the world or the sex trade industry without loosing a sense of humor and even still enjoy one’s life. My remedy is to always follow it up with either someone farting or a cute animal. Since my own farts mildly entertain me, I go to youtube for real spice. And since cute animals sometimes engage my maternal instincts which have caused severe gender identity crisis, I recommend farts for those on the third tiered gendersphere.
Check out this doc: http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/blind-spot/
And then follow it up with this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kck3TbiI1QQ
Enjoy your weekend. And if you’re queer thank a breeder for making gay babies. It takes a village to make an idiot.
Tiny gay hugs,