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Thursday, June 28, 2012

Random Middle-Of-The-Night Thought Of The Week

Here's the deal. Even the most conservative person knows that there is a need for some people to stay off of the street.

Now, here is some reality. Cameron in the U.K. is proposing removing housing benefits for under 25 folks. That's it. U-25s get no crib. Apparently mum and pop are supposed to take care of everything.

My older sister is a nursing director. She was also kicked out at 15 for painting her toenails. She took 3 welfare checks while working her way into school. She also worked in a lawyer's office, dealt with shitty boyfriends, and even ran a jackhammer. Anywho, she doesn't live in a cardboard box, so she's doing dandy now.

Thing is, most under-25s who take a cheque have no designs on taking them for life. And anyone with supportive enough folks to let them kick around til 25 has privilege the levels that only folks like Cammy know.

This cat literally believes that families a)want to and b) can support their kids until 25.


Tell the single mums, disabled folks, queers, trans folks, labourers, and atheists that their mums and dads should take them back in.


WHY is there no fucking outrage over this utter stupidity just prior to an olympiad? Or in general? Are societies becoming so uncaring...wait...

Cameron is going to spill 300, 000 people onto the streets just before the Olympics

Any sane nation would try to house the people.

And I'M the medicated one.


The Song In My Head

I love language and music and sport. When I'd get a shitty part in work schedules, I used to sell books and sports crap on eBay. Now I'm kind of getting back in to it, but I do recall something that used to happen. There was this cat who sold CDs starting at 1 cent. I do it for books and cards too, but I've bought a lot off this dude. Anywho, I actually got the CD this song is on for a penny about 5 years ago. And I like this song. So there.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

A Long And Winding Blog Post

  I haven't been writing a lot lately but have been thinking. I really need to start recording my ideas about David Cameron, Stephen Harper, Obama, Putin, and Imintojihad, because when I sit down to write it all seems to go to shit. I'm not sure whether the reason for my literary black hole has been transition, depression, my annoying neighbours, or sheer boredom, but I haven't sat at this desk doing productive things for far too long. Regardless of the reason, I really need to just let shit out and haven't been doing that. I'm a very private chickenshit who has barely passed Feelings 101.

  I used to let shit out online all the time in front of a camera. I was also younger and goofier and drank like a fish. Besides, it's easier to be social when the people you're talking to aren't really in the same room. But I used to write a lot too. Some of my entries were typical commentary, and some about science, and politics, or whatever. And it made me feel better for the most part. Besides, I had no idea that I could be the author of a nutritional label, let alone some of the incredible pieces I've put out. I can be really difficult to comprehend that you're the author of something when you read it back. It can be awesome but it can also be exceptionally terrifying, so if you're me, you're not clicking publish.

  Often, I delete posts because I'm afraid of the dreadful feelings, but I also do because I'm afraid of making a mistake. I'll make a grammatical error, I won't be up on the latest activist-speak, or I'm just not doing it the right way. Now we get to the point where an old fart like me can be scared out of my shorts over the opinions of privileged little fucks and bitter college dropouts.

  Well, fuck that.


  The thing is, kids, 99% percent of my readers are not transgender folks. They're obviously not too freaked out by my transness, but I'm sure miss my Bacon-Related Post Of The Week far more than me describing my latest new chest hair. My transition is not for public consumption, it's not really that big of a deal. It's not my obligation to discuss anything related to anything happening, regardless of whether or not it seems scandalous.  That's why you'll never see a stream of This Is Me X Days/Weeks/Months on T videos on YouTube. Well that and the fact that I'm not 17.

  These facts will not also prevent me from reavling my trans status in pieces I may write, so long it is relevant to the topic at hand. While I'm trying to be Mr. Tough, altering your life in such as a drastic way as I have can be full of the dreaded feelings. It happens even though I'll vociferously deny it at the time.

  One of major feelings is fear. Captain Chickenshit is afraid of everything. And I was sitting here doubting, or at least experiencing momentary fear over the fact that I'm identifiably a dude. Everything's changing in some manner even though I am the same individual. Sometimes things are expected of me which I cannot provide, but most often, the stress is positive. Even still, such feelings manifest themselves as fear, and I kind of decided to chill out on the whole being-afraid-of-everything thing. I wasted 16 years where I could have lived my life in which I wished, and it was simply because I was afraid to deal with my family.

  And I'll tell you that was a looong time.

  This was really time that I took for granted. In my moment of self-doubt today, I was reminded of how short life really is and how much time I've been wasting being unhappy. It's not every newborn that gets to live to 36, let alone 76, and while I'm hoping for the latter, the former is certainly possible as well. And so this is the only life I have and I'm not going to pretend to be someone else to appease people. So here's the deal, family, friends, readers, stumblers- I am a man. I'm unconventionally so, but man I am. You cannot alter this fact. Your weird religious opinions and squeamishness and damnation cannot change me into a female because I've really never been one.

  So get over it. I'm not doing this to hurt you or offend you or for any of the self-centred reasons that you narcissists think. I'm simply being myself and if you do not wish to accept me for who I am then move on. If you freak out a bit, it's okay. So long as you come to the conclusion that I'm a human being I can be hella forgiving. But if you deny my existence you will no longer exist to me.

  Meanwhile, I'll still be here living my day like it's my last and bitching about Mitt.

  Be well.