This is, I think, the theme of my life. Do not enter: wrong way. Don’t get me wrong, there are kind people around me. In some ways, it just makes it more painful. Having great people around me that I don’t feel I belong with. Most of my extended family tolerates me and nothing more. Some of them not even that. I cannot survive a regular job. It would kill me, I know it would. Not having one is going to kill me too, though. I have no good ground to stand on. Do not enter: wrong way.
This has been bopping in my head for two days. Not the words, the tune. I can hear it in my head. If I could play an instrument, and didn’t have a stupid boy voice, I would record this. Continue reading
In the last week my lifelong struggle with depression turned ugly once again. Despondent after a cycle of depression affecting my writing affecting my depression, I was ready to take my own life. Had my brother not had the prescience to ask if I intended to hurt myself, I would have. I had every intention of asking my new housemate/landlord, a man I could not pay because I did not have money from commissions, to watch my things until someone from my family came for them, and then walk the five miles to the Veteran’s Memorial Bridge, and jump in the gorge. My brother did ask though, and, sobbing, I told him yes. Continue reading
You have to be one of the good guys son, cos there’s way too many of the bad.
–John Custer to his son Jesse in Garth Ennis’s “Preacher”
It has been too long. Two months and change have passed since I last wrote here. I have been writing here and there: a poem, a bit of creative non fiction, my notes for a genre fiction novel I have started, and, of course, the erotica that seems to be the only thing that people are interested in buying. I would be lying if I said that was not the reason for my long vacation. I put words to page and it all seems for nothing and when I tackle an actual something, well at times, that seems even more for nothing. I see the injustices of the world and feel overwhelmed, not just by their magnitude, but by the volume of those trying so hard to cling to a status quo that values their lives over others. My hope is met with hate and I have unfortunately let that overwhelm me. It is not the first time, but I am keeping my fingers crossed that it is the last that I let it affect my work here. Continue reading
The newspaper’s are calling her Joshua. She was Leelah, that is the name she chose for herself. No matter how much they may try to take that away from her after she took herself out of the world, let us not forget her real name. Continue reading
I am sorry. It is getting too hard. I want to write. I want to create my art or write essays that motivate people to do the write thing or at least view their fellow human beings as just that. Giving a shit, though, is starting to hurt too much. I read so much hate and it reaches into my chest and squeezes, and some days I cannot stop crying. I see, or worse don’t see, people outraged about poor folks being denied water in a city in the wealthiest nation on Earth. I read people demonize an entire people and blame them for the deaths of their children because how dare they not be happy about being occupied? I want to have hope, I want to have faith, but it is seems so impossible sometimes. Continue reading
It’s been a rough six months. I’ve lost so much, learned things I think I would have been happier not knowing, and struggled to keep my head (barely) above water. This week has been particularly challenging with old pains rearing their ugly heads and an attempt at politely pointing out a supposed friend’s cis and hetero sexism blowing up in my face. I have been left wondering if I have a place at the movements I support and love, and I feel like I am letting people down left and right. This week I feel like I am under siege, with no food, water or relief in sight. Continue reading