Back In Black

The rawkus bands boast
of being back
and in black.
Like somehow this

confers some strange authority.

It’s like a mantle they don,
and they are infused
with some strange reckless power
and become “more than”

in electronic banshee screams.

But I am different…back in black
because I was knocked there,
nine ways to Sunday.
Kicked back into shrouds

and disabused of slipper notions.

And yeah, I am back…in black,
and weeping over Rama
My, my, hey hey, and Neil Young
and Rust and Burnout

and back…in black.tumblr_nl2e715VM31tp0s1po1_1280


Mama…PLEASE! Help me to be this!!!

When I feel so far from this and reeling, well, really it is the only thing I can control and choose that works for anyone’s benefit.  I need to find grace for this though.  Cus the voices are bad…and strong…and no I am not talking about any voices other than the ones common to us all in our heart.

Be the one who nurtures and builds. Be the one who has an understanding and a forgiving heart one who looks for the best in people. Leave people better than you found them.
Marvin J. Ashton


When an overconfident dude tells a woman to shush up … here’s what that really means.

When an overconfident dude tells a woman to shush up … here’s what that really means..

I find this press-worthy and enjoyable, as well as being very accurate!

Op-Ed: What the CIRC Report Still Doesn’t Know | The Cycle Life |

Op-Ed: What the CIRC Report Still Doesn’t Know | The Cycle Life |

Look…as a cyclist for many many years, I am here to tell you that the whole notion of what is doping and what is “cheating” needs to be rethought.

Cycling is caught in the same technological birthing pangs as the science of gender is:  as technology advances so does the ability to bring the body to higher places of performance and congruence…and it is only cheating if the rules are defined to exclude it!

Think Formula One racing, how every single year technology brings out more and more amazing innovative race cars.  Cycling is like that now…new understandings of healing, of training, of recovery.

Bring the rules into the 21st century…let go of old superstitions and bound up views…mandate the in depth use of all the latest techniques under the closest supervision.  Ban those cyclists who don’t seek out these things.

After all, the danger was the clandestine use of these things without reputable supervision…just like the early days of do it yourself HRT

Charissa says check it out!

Nothing But Trash

I can’t seem to get it out of my head right now,
that voice that says I am nothing but trash.

I watched them eat today…all the love I poured out
into a soup made of cabbage and heart, tomatoes and soul,
sausage and love…and oodles of noodles spiced and
called Minestrone…

how could they know what I add to it,
as I stir it, sing over it, taste it, and most of all
picture their faces and hear their glad voices
as they partake of it and are made more whole?ophelia_by_avine-d8gzrdwI don’t use any measuring cups for adding me, I just
pour it in, and then add a bit more…that’s who I want to be.
That’s who I think I am, try to be…
but the voice, gawd that gibbering skritching itchy voice
so insinuating, sibilant, and reminding…it never forgets,
it never lets me forget either.tumblr_mh7kswp48l1qg39ewo1_500oh fuuuu…how I wish I could forget making
a love offering, excited and sweet and for
a Once in a Lifetime Special Occasion…
and to the trash bin…to the trash
and that is what the voice says I am
a transgender piece of trash not worth
the paper I am printed on.

“you call yourself grace, at least have the good grace
to go die, or at least put yourself in the trash”.

I poured me in!  My me…in there!
So nothing, me…so trashy me…so dangerous and poison,

and then voice speaks of the transgression of the me,
and the infinite regress of guilty, and
guilty by association…

not a good time for this garbage
nothing but trash.tumblr_mwe8yxcZhZ1rouua1o1_1280



inside, shrill, ringing and sounding tuneless and loud
never varying or rising or falling
and yet shrieking, screaming in horror
in terror of the tongues wagging
tongues slurring, and my heart

how can a shriek be, with no rising and falling,
doesn’t it usually sound like an ambulance
on the way to a 6 car pileup and bodies ejected?

no…this shriek is the ambulance on the way back in
with someone who will be called DOA
but arrival has not yet commenced

so it just tears and pours and roars and shrills
and spills and scratches and gouges
and shrieks.

god I wish it would stop.


Breathing Underwater Once Again

That long slow glacier spit me out whole
Into the ice-cold sea, fully formed and floating.
Everyone saw me hit, that splash, those waves,
and my voyage launched and me christened.
They broke their arms patting themselves on the back
because I was looming, tall, could sink ships and loose lips,
and I made them forget how deep the ocean really is.tumblr_nh9f9wH4x81r3wk1zo6_1280They didn’t know I was born breech and upside down.
They didn’t know I couldn’t breathe.
Have I told you my recurring dream, that I could breathe underwater?
In that dream I go where I want, I am free, and I suck in
great draughts of release and blow out winds of release
and I live in the place of one, limber and lithe and little
until the dream-ender smashes my face in again, and I surface and choke again.tumblr_nc9vp6L89D1qgvdcto1_1280Storms rage, waves rise and billows blow against me
but I just float along, every once in awhile catching my breath
between waves, when they are careless and let me snatch a gulp.
But I have noticed something…the rhythm of the storm, and myself
and the timing of ruin running and tugging in deadly gravity:
It’s gonna follow Napoleon into Russia, and when it does
I will be ready to go all counter-intuitive flippy-floppy!tumblr_nkwoymmVUu1spq83no1_500Yep…I am going to turn upside down and let my dreams come true
Stick that soggy, waterlogged drowned rat soul straight up into air,
just roll in the waters until I have no choice whatsoever but to breathe.
Maybe there will be water-jewels showing? (They look like carbuncles to me)
Maybe there will be pits and secret crevices shocking that the leering crowds
will peel, eat, and throw away as they move along to the next carny freak show…
But at least I will be able to breathe…finally…and dreams at last come true.Image result for n Iceberg Flipped Over, and Its Underside Is BreathtakingAn Iceberg Flipped Over, and Its Underside Is Breathtaking

“In the case of this jewel-like iceberg, the ice is probably very old. In glaciers, years of compression force out air pockets and gradually make the ice denser,” according to the National Snow and Ice Data Center.

“When glacier ice becomes extremely dense, the ice absorbs a small amount of red light, leaving a bluish tint in the reflected light, which is what we see.”

“In addition, minerals and organic matter may have seeped into the underwater part of the iceberg over time, creating its vivid green-blue color.”


The Far Side of Finding

When you look for something, you will never find it.
See, things move around, pushed hither and yon
by the pressure of searching eyes leaning against them,
straining eyes longing to wrap them in desire,
so they squirt thru our eye fingers slippery like fish
squirting thru the billowy tentacles of a hungry octopus. tumblr_ni2tj8ZQ041tbb5qdo1_1280

And it’s sad, because you aren’t really looking for that thing.
No, what you groan for is that space, that yearning hollow place
in between the thing and your thoughts
in between that maelstrom between your ears
and the tableau between your fingers
which are sticky and messy and covered in paint.tumblr_mkfn6dAZET1s31miko1_500You’re looking for yourself, or rather the answer
bouncing back to you from another heart
instead of off of another…what?  No, another who.
Because we live just this side of that fit, that meld,
And when we set off searching we end up over there…
on the far side of finding and still oh so hungry.tumblr_nkwuaaAxGD1rbbwv5o1_1280