on being gwyneth

Genderqueer assholes and crossdressing tourists who can’t inhabit the transsexual mind and so it doesn’t exist.

Identity police, the doglike keepers of the narrative, ill-informed, ill-willed and belligerent.

And in the middle, borrowed repetitious rhetoric, leftist mad libs in lieu of critical, independent thought.

The valorizing of obvious psychosis, let batshit reign because fierce is cool and it serves the purpose.

And there’s only one kind of transsexual isn’t there – yours, and culture and self-knowledge and even the right to be *un*certain be damned, we’re all just women, right, because what could possibly worse than to be *actually trans*, the thing itself, and that there be a world for that.

And I didn’t transition to conform to your certainties, your ideologies, your exacting critera of what makes a good ally, woman, person.

Your rationales as thin as your skins are thick, as rice paper while you hold your torches at the ready and just go ahead and

Burn.

fucking allergies. my entire respiratory system has exploded in a tsunami of snot.

i often respond to the anthropomorphic with more emotion than to actual people.

1. Every Penguin for himself.
2. Except where the needs of some other penguin would preempt the needs of Morty.
3. Greed is Good. Commerce is our business. Business is our pleasure.
4. Business before pleasure.
5. Except where the business of another would prempt the pleasure of Morty.
6. I Got Mine, You Get Yours.
7. Then give it to Me.
8. If you can’t do it inebriated, it’s not worth doing.
9. The Small and Ornery shall not inherit the Earth.
10. But We shall be awarded it upon contesting the Will in Judgement Day Probate Court.
11. Schadenfreude is the best flavor of Haagen Dazs.

when i listen to Tosca, i hear a lot of Carl Stalling.

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i, Boris, am invincible.

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i love watching the bunnies next to the railroad tracks.

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every night is a struggle between really wanting a drink and knowing i’ll feel much better if i just don’t.

i want to take alison and our foam clubs out to the local park so we can whack the crap out of each other. she’s concerned that it may violate local ordinances.

i so don’t give a shit.

analytic meta-arguments – arguments about the categories into which arguments fall or to which they can be assigned – are always ideological, and are thus always more satisfying to the ideoloque.

look… drawing ever-finer and more tortured distinctions between all those blurry little lines that make up the domain of experience is not the way to get on in the world, ok?

“cisgender transsexual?” give me a fucking break. sounds to me as if, in an effort to stake out our own little specialness, we’ve just wound up back with the essentialists again.

what the hell am i supposed to do, walk around with a little gender manifesto to hand over to everyone just so they can address me? wear a special bracelet on my wrist with all the appropriate acronyms, pronouns and categories etched on it? festoon myself with color-coded handkerchiefs?

for fuck’s sake.

i think i ought to do some writing.

kazooie – our smaller, scruffier chinchilla – has been feeling poorly, as evidenced by his production of piles of soft poo rather than his normal output of black rice-like turdpellets.

so we took him to vet where we discovered, not only that he probably had a gut bug, but that he is alarmingly underweight… to remedy which, we were given a special diet – a sort of Chinchilla MegaMass10000 Weight Gain Power Shake – to be administered at least twice a day.

the procedure involves mixing a scoop of dried, powdered grasses, herbs and fruits with warm water, drawing 5ml of it into a large-bore syringe, then propping the syringe on the side of the cage and gently applying continuous pressure while he locks his little jaws around the end and soaks up his mash.

so we are essentially injecting his food right into his face.

oh he loves this. yes he does.