Sam Riedel's Internet Word Emporium

My latest on The Establishment: I Ache For My Trans Friends Abandoned During The Holidays

There is a school of thought to which I formerly subscribed that says people must remain friends regardless of political affiliation; this is patently false when the politics of one person directly harm others. A vote for Trump is a vote for the anti-LGBTQIA policies of Mike Pence, like conversion therapy, which kills people like me. A vote for Trump is a vote for suppression of a free press, the industry in which I work. A vote for Trump is an endorsement of nationwide stop-and-frisk & brutality against black and brown bodies.

I have problems with Clinton which others have expressed ad infinitum. But if you support her opponent today, please let me know so I can block you, because I don't want your toxicity in my life.

Well, uh. Thanks?

But I’m not a man. Men can absolutely wear pink tops and eyeshadow, but I’m a girl and I’m thrilled to be one. 

My body is that of a trans woman. Not a man.

Hey, another column of mine is up! 

This month’s form was a set of 3 haiku; since I’ve been so bad at getting Patreon rewards out, I stretched it up to 5 as an apology. None of my $10+ backers requested a theme, so I chose to write about the evolution of my anxiety over the course of a weekend spent with friends in the Catskills.

If you’d like to support my poetry and other writing, please pledge to my Patreon! Enjoy!

1. Ants’ staccato feet Creep to black sanctuary No sun; no fear; peace

2. Night’s gloom welcomes sleep, Daylight’s shadowy mercy. Then the terror feeds.

3. Flames lick the stricken bodies of our deepest selves ‘Neath gasoline seas

4. She cannot last the night. Herself is out to get her. Outside, a cat screams

Friday column’s up. Some dude on Twitter was mocking trigger warnings and I wasn’t having any of it, so this is my rare “fuck you in particular” article.

Here’s June’s poem--I’m so sorry for the delay. As some of you know, I’ve been dealing with a bedbug infestation lately, so between that and becoming @themarysue​‘s new contributor editor (with a corresponding raise in hours), my organization has gone completely out the window. I’m hoping to change that in July! This text was made available exclusively to my Patreon backers a little while back; if you’d like to be one of them, click here. Enjoy!

How We Talk

My father rarely talks to me anymore He just sits there On the piano His box an ornate ashtray: Body-as-cigarette leavings

When he does talk, it's through song Much like in life Meaning echoing Up through the decades To grab me by the vocal cords and yank

My mother talks to me every week Every detail No question unasked Her soul is deep, capable Of speaking for hours without mapping her self

When she doesn't talk, she listens Careful, with intent Storyteller's ears Perked up to snag the scraps From tales I who lived them left behind

On Friday I posted my usual transy column, which was about why Pokemon Go gives me a reason to go outside and face transmisogyny from the world. You can read it here. Over the weekend, I had a couple experiences that reinforced this:

+ I spent Saturday night at my good friend @soidanae​‘s place, because bedbugs have kicked me out of my apartment for several weeks. We said our goodbyes on Sunday morning, and I left to go find a bus home, booting up the game as I left. I stood under a grocery store awning to see my screen better, sizing up the neighborhood’s gym situation. While I stood there, a large masculine fellow exited the store and addressed me with an obviously suggestive “How you doin’.” I suspected being polite but quietly dismissive was the best path forward, so I said “Hi,” and looked back down at my screen. He stopped. “OH! That’s a dude,” he said, no longer addressing me but speaking in a normal voice from five feet away. “Shit,” he marveled, and continued walking.

Significantly more anxious and sad than I had been a few minutes before, I left the “safety” of the awning’s shade and chased down a lure that had just dropped by a church. It yielded a Gastly, which I considered to be of religious significance. I then met several pleasant folks who were also camping out there, and talked strategy. My spirits quickly recharged, and I proceeded to my bus feeling more confident in humanity.

+ Later that evening, before heading over to another friend’s to crash, I strolled over to another lure in my neighborhood. There’s a nice ledge on which to sit right outside the PokeStop, so I sat down and waited for the ‘mons to roll in. A few Caterpies later, I heard a shriek from the two girls sitting ten feet away, also waiting on things to catch. “It’s BACK!” cried the younger of the pair. “Ponyta’s back!”

Eager to up my candy count, I abandoned the lure and followed them in search of my beloved infernohorse. I caught up with them and we began our hunt together, each of our enthusiasm levels compounded by the presence of the other two. Unfortunately, Ponyta decided to spawn directly under a PokeStop, making the capture difficult--but not impossible. I managed it quickly, but the girls took longer...which prompted the elder to remark “he got it.”

Suddenly, I felt deflated. Our adventure was no longer three girls going pony-hunting, but a boy with tits accompanying two young ladies. They were nice, still, and I excused myself soon after rather than press the issue and out myself. 

I’m writing more stuff about trans experiences (big shock) and need a little outside help from the community! Please feel free to slide into my DMs if you are an AMAB transfeminine and/or nonbinary person who:

-has or has had an eating disorder characterized mainly by a general hatred/avoidance of food, regardless of calories (possibly but not necessarily with a high sugar intake); and/or

-has experienced profiling while traveling out of your home state/province/territory/country due to your gender identity