something needs to change here

this is urgent

I don’t know how to do it

death is the ultimate metaphor for drastic change. it’s a general specific. whatever your problems are, it is very likely that dead people don’t have to deal with them. a real solution to your problems may demand a very narrow range of action that’s likely to be out of reach at this moment, but death is sold on every street corner, so it feels like a more realistic fantasy than happiness.

you don’t really want to die per se but it’s also not completely random chemicals swamping your brain for no reason. you want the pain to stop, you want to be somewhere else, you want to be someone else. it’s urgent. you don’t know how to do it. the end is not the end but a means that feels within your reach right now.

The Timetables of History by Bernard Grun

I grew up with this book, which is frickin’ enormous, and it was endlessly fascinating to young me to pour over the side by side comparison of events taking place concurrently under different headings and in different parts of the world.

Or if you want something you can put on your wall, there’s this:

Calculating Empires: A Genealogy of Technology and Power Since 1500

✨️with a special focus on colonialism, militarization, automation, and enclosure✨️

My back only sometimes hurt. My neck only sometimes hurts. My gastrointestinal tract only sometimes hurts.

My body is always, constantly responding to its environment, and how safe it is in that current moment. How do I find more safe current moments so that I can finally relax and rest?

Been thinking through how oppressive regimes coerce assimilation and appropriation of personhood, because the alternative is death; while at the same time, the more I support (or even not oppose) it, the more powerful and convincing it becomes, with the nuances of my unique voice as well. Representation matters…

But also, the act of surviving and still maintaining one's humanity, or at least reaching a place where it can be reclaimed, and working in that, is so stunningly dazzling to me. It truly is like encountering a unicorn.

Still, I can't act like I've always just been the victim here. When I was younger, focused only on an ideal life where I never was oppressed, the dream of that future kept me warm and curious in the present. I felt safe and comfortable enough to experiment, knowing that my path was guaranteed.

I hadn't acknowledged on any serious level the aspects of my humanity that I was taught like everyone else to reject; all that rage, that desperation, that hurt. And the fact that it meant something, that it still means something, that honoring it will not kill me, but rather, being in that grounded space, coexisting with it, will be what enables me to cut through all the bullshit and keep my eyes on what matters to me: liberation from oppression, or in other words, matriarchy.

In matching their energy, I lose myself, but also the opportunity to embrace their messy humanity as well. How many cracks in the brainwashing does it take, for someone to consistently choose opposition? Or should I just focus on the moment itself, trying for intimacy when I will likely be faced with a brick wall as usual, further alienating me from those around me? Do I take the hit, knowing I can go home and recover (should I choose to prioritize that), or do I harm myself preemptively instead, by denying them wholesale?

Not even picking and choosing aspects to focus on would provide what I need: integrity, intimacy, safety in the presence even of a stranger, who knows where I live, what I look like, what I care about, where I sleep. But if I want this reality, I have to make it so. Because my expectations are abysmal, I'll probably be pleasantly surprised, as I usually am.

Then there's the matter of other people rejecting me out of fear. I think, I'm not the one to grant myself access to them. But doesn't that also place the burden on them? I don't know what reality they want to be part of. Every single person has to study this thoroughly, consciously, deliberately, to

It's entitlement after all. What right do I have, to a stranger? Just because I want something, they should let down their guard and give it to me? Knowing what it is in advance, as if they are not their own person? And, as if, simply by occupying the same space for an extended (though inconsistent) period of time, they can't decide on their own whether to risk it.

How do you interact with your oppressors without making everything that much worse…? How can you trust someone when everything is stacked against your favor? How can you not abandon yourself in such a rigged game?

I figure the best I can do is continue to pursue this as my own, and like-minded people will find me of their own accord, somehow; and, if not, I'll just stay by myself.

I've noticed though, people always open up to me irl. I've never quite understood why; is it because I lack a sense of self, and they want to project theirs on to me? Is it because I have too much self, so they want to cover me up? Do they want to exploit me? Do they want to be my friend?

I figure the best I can do is continue to pursue this as my own, and like-minded people will find me of their own accord, somehow; and, if not, I'll just stay by myself.

Ah… I wrote it here. And, upon reexamination, it's the cowardly way out. I have to make people uncomfortable with the current state of things, not least of all myself.

Contrary to the whims of my programming, I am still alive— because of those who are disobedient. Namely, a disabled transwomen we know online, who centered us immediately when we told her, and the neighbor a few doors down from us who held me in her arms after I knocked on her door and asked through sobs, “Can I please have a hug?”

I am still alive.

I am still alive.

I'm still alive.

I am able to now, in large part because I am still alive.

But, what I want to revisit is, why do people react so strongly to me? Why am I so polarizing? I figured it out. I realize that they want different, polar things from me — to love and be loved, or to snuff me out. Why? Because despite my programming I am human still. I am capable of loving even as an adult. I did not age out of it, as my twin did, and so many others — but, her love for me saved me first and formed such an intense bond.

There are accomplices, and oppressors; and the roles change based on probability. I have been both, and will continue to be — I cannot overcome my circumstances. But, I am much less capable of denying reality, much more grounded now. My life has become a waking nightmare. I feel so much compassion towards everyone now. I can't and don't want to stop loving them (even if I still need permission to love myself — working on this new programming).

I realize, why am I doing things that do not come naturally to me? Why am I showing so much interest in those I love despite the fact that they deny me, and themselves? Why am I not giving and receiving the energy as it flows through me? But my hands are tied. But, why do I continue to accept that fate? Why, if I am not permitted to exist, do I persist still?

Why do I isolate myself instead of creating community that will accommodate me and those like me? I may be on life support but how dare I allow them to die with my inaction. I am already being killed at every turn.

And, "all cops are bastards" is so simplistic. Reminds me of misandry. Who benefits from us dividing ourselves? As an agent of the state within the medical industrial complex, I am more likely to oppress you than to be your accomplice. And yet, police go against their programming to express their humanity all the time. Nurses go against their programming to express their humanity all the time.

I understand the necessity of self-isolation, self-centeredness, it is the first step to acknowledging one's own lived experiences and indeed everyone else's shared reality. But I'm past that stage now. I am going back to find my people. And I am finding them so quickly and easily — just as I always have; but I am seeing it now. I am valuing those uncomfortable situations and I become selfless even around those I am supposed to not help — even when I have a selfish agenda. I wait for their needs to be met first. Because they center me first as well. (This is very much still in the trial run phase.)

I didn't think I had a future. But, I was wrong — it's just, I have to surpass the present, and the past, in order to get there. I do have a future. It is incomprehensible as I am, and have always been — otherwise, it wouldn't be mine.

I feel sleep taking me. Thank you for reading. I will cry myself sleep, thankful to those who opposed my programming tonight— especially myself. And, this is what true love means. So, most people are not capable of it. And myself, for now, only a little. Pockets of time, but the more I give, the more I get; the more I can give, the more I can get.

Been thinking through how oppressive regimes coerce assimilation and appropriation of personhood, because the alternative is death; while at the same time, the more I support (or even not oppose) it, the more powerful and convincing it becomes, with the nuances of my unique voice as well. Representation matters…

But also, the act of surviving and still maintaining one's humanity, or at least reaching a place where it can be reclaimed, and working in that, is so stunningly dazzling to me. It truly is like encountering a unicorn.

Still, I can't act like I've always just been the victim here. When I was younger, focused only on an ideal life where I never was oppressed, the dream of that future kept me warm and curious in the present. I felt safe and comfortable enough to experiment, knowing that my path was guaranteed.

I hadn't acknowledged on any serious level the aspects of my humanity that I was taught like everyone else to reject; all that rage, that desperation, that hurt. And the fact that it meant something, that it still means something, that honoring it will not kill me, but rather, being in that grounded space, coexisting with it, will be what enables me to cut through all the bullshit and keep my eyes on what matters to me: liberation from oppression, or in other words, matriarchy.

In matching their energy, I lose myself, but also the opportunity to embrace their messy humanity as well. How many cracks in the brainwashing does it take, for someone to consistently choose opposition? Or should I just focus on the moment itself, trying for intimacy when I will likely be faced with a brick wall as usual, further alienating me from those around me? Do I take the hit, knowing I can go home and recover (should I choose to prioritize that), or do I harm myself preemptively instead, by denying them wholesale?

Not even picking and choosing aspects to focus on would provide what I need: integrity, intimacy, safety in the presence even of a stranger, who knows where I live, what I look like, what I care about, where I sleep. But if I want this reality, I have to make it so. Because my expectations are abysmal, I'll probably be pleasantly surprised, as I usually am.

Then there's the matter of other people rejecting me out of fear. I think, I'm not the one to grant myself access to them. But doesn't that also place the burden on them? I don't know what reality they want to be part of. Every single person has to study this thoroughly, consciously, deliberately, to

It's entitlement after all. What right do I have, to a stranger? Just because I want something, they should let down their guard and give it to me? Knowing what it is in advance, as if they are not their own person? And, as if, simply by occupying the same space for an extended (though inconsistent) period of time, they can't decide on their own whether to risk it.

How do you interact with your oppressors without making everything that much worse…? How can you trust someone when everything is stacked against your favor? How can you not abandon yourself in such a rigged game?

I figure the best I can do is continue to pursue this as my own, and like-minded people will find me of their own accord, somehow; and, if not, I'll just stay by myself.

I've noticed though, people always open up to me irl. I've never quite understood why; is it because I lack a sense of self, and they want to project theirs on to me? Is it because I have too much self, so they want to cover me up? Do they want to exploit me? Do they want to be my friend?

I figure the best I can do is continue to pursue this as my own, and like-minded people will find me of their own accord, somehow; and, if not, I'll just stay by myself.

Ah… I wrote it here. And, upon reexamination, it's the cowardly way out. I have to make people uncomfortable with the current state of things, not least of all myself.

Contrary to the whims of my programming, I am still alive— because of those who are disobedient. Namely, a disabled transwomen we know online, who centered us immediately when we told her, and the neighbor a few doors down from us who held me in her arms after I knocked on her door and asked through sobs, “Can I please have a hug?”

I am still alive.

I am still alive.

I'm still alive.

When I take the time to use my eyes, brain, I wonder if my existence keeps the body from transitioning, esp since I kept the name. The dentist used it today, with her stomach growling and talking about how she's breastfeeding. The thought to stick our tongue in the blade was mine, but I'm not the one to feel guilty about potentially traumatizing her like that.

Cause guilt isn't really a thing for me, if it were then sheesh, I've got a long list of sins to atone for. I've bullied several people, mostly punching down; and I think it's sort of a protective measure. If I hurt you, and you leave, then that makes things easy for me; I can readily discard you like that, because after all I'm the one to blame. All I have to do is live with myself afterwards.

Unfortunately most of what I've managed to do is what my mommy dog did to me — just get used to the sting, maybe even crave it, and I'm yours (you're mine) forever. It's annoying when nobody takes my lack of consent seriously (this isn't true, several people have, do, will).

Nothing I did mattered. Whether I got in trouble at school, whether I did my homework, whether I took care of myself at all; I realized that everything would magically be fixed, logiced away. Because I couldn't make my family look bad.

So while my siblings made the honor roll, I almost failed out of high school. I was never the priority, not even in my friend groups; but, I did catch the eye of a few teachers. Even got recognized by the school itself as some publicity stunt, always image based; so of course my dad shows up to take the credit.

I wasn't even mortified by it, because even though I put in the barest minimum of effort, my delusion was strong enough to propel everyone else forward, like a band of idiots.. somehow I've always been popular until it comes to closed doors.

The less I masked growing up, the more intense the relationships became; but it's not like I ever stopped lying to myself and everyone, really. I just got way more subtle about it, slipping even under my own nose… allegedly.

Bizarrely, because of my influence on my f@h (and because my siblings had all burnt out by this point), I was suddenly first in line for the throne, for everything… and I did accept a lot of it.

But, I've been dead for a real long time. One of those teeny tiny, reverse-boiled-frog, peetering, fizzling deaths that happens when your soul finally gets snuffed out at like 2pm on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, in spring going right in to summer.

I don't even think I made it to middle school.

I still hold so much contempt for her, and for the world, for having created and then rejecting me wholeheartedly.