my own

alas, i didnt allow comments for a while, but now i am. not that anyone would want to huh
reading about transgender kids makes me sad. it also makes me think about my identity, and how important it is, and how i often feel isolated not just from the straight community, but often the queer community as well. i dont have an identity yet. im not an angel either. i wish i could just stroll through life without thinking of how important it is to me how other people percieve me. but i cant. it Is important to me. to the point where i think that self harm is an option, and i dont know exactly how that applies.
i think that informing people about things that i think are important about being trans is really healthy for me. if i didnt, i would not be able to process it myself as well. thats why i speak publicly. it helps me come to terms with my identity.
i really, truly, regret that i didnt find out that i could take action about my not wanting to be a boy until it was too late to have a childhood as a girl. i think that if i had not had many opportunities to be seen and treated as a girl, i wouldnt be a sad about it. but i did. i was both blessed and cursed with the fact that whenever i had long hair growing up, i got to be a girl to strangers. i loved it. but now i dont get that. i dont pass much, and facial hair starts, and im not prepubescent any more.
laura's playground is nice, and has lots of straight/non-trans but queer allies, but how far can that go? can anyone who is ok with their assigned gender, and then assumedly with a large portion of the gender roles that come with that really understand that in fighting one's gender identity, you take notice of EVERY gender cue, and you make up some too. i am sure that all of the things that i notice that i think are gender related, some of them arent at all, but i take them in that context.
one of the things that hurts me the most about not being recognized by others as a girl is not that i feel like they are not validating me, but because it is really hard not to fall back into the comfortable (familiar) male roles that i am used to. if i were treated as a regular girl, it would be a million times easier for me to act like one. instead i have to constantly think about, process and act against a river of male gender cues pointed toward me. i am expected to be competitive, and to have certain values, and so i tend to be slightly more competitive, and act like i care about things that boys care about more (supposedly. these are stereotypes of course) and that of course reinforces the whole thing. they expect, i perform..so they expect it more and more. its a cycle.
class is nye so i must asconce

a new layout test

	so this is the layout that i am working with..it seems to work well and i like it. i think i will keep it for now

surrealism is not dead

more exquisite corpse. no one reads this so its easy to get away with it.

Demented fritters calloused the skies; flirting dangerously with their sexual hand. Why were her teeth filed off at irregular intervals, at such contrast against her almost perfect rows of faggy worms who's fuck-power was once harnessed by a prince. "Up yours!" he bellowed. "I know this is a struggle for you." she soothed. dejected his brow furrowed...and his phallus squirmed. fighting to keep his muscles intact, Bruce the iron cowboy jumped off the side of a narrow barrier into a flaccid mound of used and vile war-boots. dirty onions squeaked, chirping at a homo washing their knickers in the moist springtime dew. they laughed knowing that no-one could ever have any of the poop spoons left. french architecture smacked us in the face, as if by a kitten. Mommy sobbed because it was affter all like she had "so sexual," even though it was not. fine with her ovaries. much sugar did flow over onto the bright well unlit candle, gnawed and smelling of almonds or cherries, like the sauce that fairies...eat before debutante intercourse.

Sucking coke through his anus, Burt exclaimed mightily, "Them houndogs sure are purdy!" the shallow breathing wilted the wrinkly folds of skin around the opening to the almost abrupt and spotless charm-free snot balls, shipped expressly from Saint Orleans. frivolously he wandered toward the lone cup of steaming meat that baby reached for almost knocking the cereal made of acorns up toward the moon in no gravity sex-thrusts. The fingers meandered gently up to the museum of poisonous flowers where so many of their friends had slurped and gurgled to the rythm of the salt rock-cock. flagellating amorously, the baby seal leapt of in an awkward attempt to squeeze medicine from the bags of old mercedes' condom rappers. Fucking a misty sad-eyed old crab, as it popped up for the opportunity to be killed or kill again and again as if the fart had died again. The crows cried platonically, warbling against the warmth of the sun.Find the remaining nests where at last they could rest...and then nothing.


Peeling off the last bits of skin, he leaned back in his chair, holding a deck of cards in his armpits. kicking out lashingly, a lone trumpet muncher breezed freezily from underneath a sock-puppet-anus, they almost never understood but Ruth insisted that this time the umbrella would penetrate. "It just takes time." she screamed. flatulence ended all thoughts of whipped-christ, the zombie, wrinkly picture of his wrinkly mom in his wrinkly wallet he pulled it out to see. sadly it dimmed as he did. Finally the one thing that he had dreamed of night after night bloodying his porpoise in the foul smelling pool. intoxicating his neighbors with the plastic scum that poured out of the one working elastic mammary. oily, sweet yellow icky perfume ingratiated the rats so reminiscent of mardi-gras where he had lost his virginity by walking into a crowd of drunken mackerel. Noisy sullen fags meandered around crying plantitively for "more lubricant" "or marmalade"

Exquisite Corpse

the wonders that two or three pervertied imaginations can come up with. these were written by me and my roomate and two of them also featured a friend of ours. my sections are written in purple, my roomates in green, and our friends in black.

Once a fat kitty named Chloe had cornered a helpless walrus who fought savagely to preserve his blind, one eyed grandfather who wasted all of the family's money on repairing an old boot, on which he inscribed, "To whom it may concern, my father, who might be coming for dinner, leaving what was left of his penis bundled up in an old lace napkin. It had blood on it, or perhaps liquer. He strode across the room to pick it up off of the coffee table where stained cigarrette butts still smouldered causing the reek of menstrual flooding. the lesbians stampeded.

2:
There were only three monkeys left. One of them had extra nipples. the other two had their own odd quirks too: a disconcerting interest in bodily functions, and an almost obscene fascination with onomotopoetic noises from under the vulva. A lone machine sauntered up to pile of used rubber tires and tried to violently abuse it. it didnt matter really because it had been through so many disgraceful transformations and humiliating reenacting of almost forgotten lullabies written by faggots of old. the creature yawned and scratched his penis with a rusty nail. he attacked a fly with a rancid slab of jerky. The fly was so used to being in the laughable situation of fighting cocks. a tentacle sneaked out, lashing at a tumbling bottle of running rum. ice spread as night fell, causing a fiery cataract of eyeballs, watery mucous and clotted effluvium of indescribable and noxious perfume of the elderly, gay woman named Batson. as the sun rose five pigeons burst into flame, and that was that, or so they say.

3...
Mort and his brother Tod had a special secret, that no one knew but them, and they were proud to keep it. they had it bronzed, framed, and displayed with a list of homosexual alibies. once they had discussed their penis sizes, they set off. so with so many differant places that had never been heard of, how could anything be more mundane? never again would peanuts be considered friendly. after the chicken rampage, feathers, blood and wrinkled money left a trail clearly indicating the hiding place of said goats. he kicked out, blindely searching for flesh. eating maggots. why was it so hard? they could not stop wondering why the bitches had been so intransigent? only a dog ever saw him again. his questioner.


4...
lights flickered as a sheet of metal slid to the floor and into the chasm, causing a spleen to slice in two. hardly had this taken place when a ship crashed into a submerged rock causing all onboard to flagulate pickled calimari. After causing such atrocity, everyone decided to react most logically by attacking the platypus. he decided on the orbiting goose as his plane of choice and responded accordingly, carressing the purring candlestick with blistered fingers. and waiting for the noisy sister to cease menstruation and light her twatty pantyhose aflame. this eruption increased the rate of global warming, caused nuns to grow horns and then chop them off in penance. hopscotch and scotch-scotch being the other forms. three guppies lept out of the primordial soup-pool with guns ablaze, a wild expression and strap-on goat horns as if a devil had propositioned a penguin in a stunning fashion creating numerous sequin studded penis' crimp-ons. the swarms of horned bees ran to the dark oriface that made a home to all the eighth graders that wanted to learn how to pilot a tank.


5...
and so it was, et tu brute and so on...the hobbits and luck dragons alike did celebrate gayly with piniatas, peroshky. But all this delightful celebration turned to small erotic playtime. lips parted in short expectance of Tang (R) free daffodils, escaped from the government prisons, prayed to the venerable man-man. whipped into a gender-nonspecific frenzy of genital mutilation and hyper-drag costumes that deny all cognitive think ideals. this in turn blew the suffy minds of toddler degenerates. they then asked, "what kind of venereal disease is that?" they responded, "paper cut." a snake slid forward, sloping down into yet another dilerious state. after the brainwashing attempts had clearly failed, they resorted to more traditional and brutal circumsition, stimulating the zyphoid process. all were merry playing russion roulette and eating glass candy meanwhile spreading salt over his foreskin. he pondered the sweat that rolled up instead of down his legs, and froze when he saw what he thought were tiny bugs all over the nipples of the horses but actually they were spotted steaming poop sacks screaming "revoloution!"

plans

i have for a while now had some rough ideas for how i am going to get a MLIS (i think thats what i want to get....)
i was planning to transfer after i get my AA to Evergreen and get my BA and then go to UW and get my masters...(or doctorate in my wildest dreams) and i have discussed this with a few people, and i have gotten good responses from most people i know...(my dad excluded. he wants me to just get an education and get on to work)
i spoke with a librarian at my school jsut a minute ago, and she said something about training for a library technician as a step towards....maybe so. i dunno if it would di

rancid milk and the dwarves

so yesterday i was playing on the linux box / server that my roomate and i built, and i stumbled upon (literally, with stumbleupon) the site for the punk band the Dwarves. and i really like them, and they had mp3's (which sound horrible you know) and i dl'd Salt Lake City and its such a cool song. anyways.
so i live in the same town as i was born in, and thats cool i think. i love oly. so the other day i am calling places to find a room to rent, and this person is telling me about this house...and without going into any real identifying details, it strikes me that this is the house I WAS BORN IN, and i ask, and sure enough it is. i really hope i can live there. its a beautiful house.

sleep

ok so staying up all night on coffee and then going to school all day is difficult. im glad i didnt miss today, but damn, its hard. im zombified. i'll probably end up doing this in library school too huh? anyways. television sucks. and yet i am spending all day in a TV studio learning how to make it work. whatever.
i think i will go home in like 20 minutes..and sleep until 6 or something.