Root Bound

My boss brought this NY Times article for us to read, I had seen it the day before. I understood its points but understood it to be fundamentally transphobic. I mentioned that the Laverne Cox’s writing was the most poignant I had read on the subject.

A sales associate was doing shipping in the background and piped in: “I don’t care, if you have a penis you ain’t a woman and Laverne Cox ain’t a woman.” I responded: “That is transphobic.” My boss asked us to define what a woman is and Noah said: “a woman is someone who identifies as a woman.”

Half the people in the room continued to define gender by genitalia and I came out as transgender.

The sales associate left and my boss said we needed to respect his opinion, because it was probably hard for him to come out as gay, and that there were differing generational perspectives in the dialogue. Noah, Bea, and I argued we didn’t need to respect transphobia.

The rest of the day was weird and tired. In the afternoon Bea offered to correct people when they mis-gender me.

Bea gave us a ride home. I ate a lentil burger and installed vapor-screens at Currents. Noah and I bought water, onions, and six pluots. We went to K Mart to get a pot for our root-bound split-leaf philodendron, but the gardening section was closed so Noah bought Magic Cards.

River’s mom, who we affectionately refer to as “Kibby” came over. She said the laundry room was creepy. Exclaiming at the charm of the rest of the house she came back to the laundry room again, saying it felt like animals, like that animals had been killed in there, or maybe butchered. I noted that the ceilings are very high for an old adobe, and this may not have been built as a house originally.

They left to go to the Cowgirl, presumably to eat animal corpses.

I felt blue and started the 45 that had ended over again. It is entirely weird that people still eat animals, that the brutalization of non-human species is socially acceptable. It’s not only illogical on massive environmental and health levels but also clearly unpleasant. Who wants to eat the fear-adrenaline of mistreated creatures?

To return to earlier points, it is also weird that people don’t respect other people’s identities. The other night, after mine and Bea’s art opening the marketing director for the project mis-gendered me and I gently explained that I don’t identify with binary gender. She cried and thanked me for sharing. Later she said: “Actually, I really don’t see you as genderqueer.”

Sorry for any inconvenience. I realize now that my identity is invalid.

Ha ha, Lol, That’s Gross

I am a beautiful man and when I am weary I listen to Ros Sereysothea while crafting a magnificent dinner and I cry.

I’m not a man and I’m not crying, but these are the words coming out of beet-stained fingertips to describe this feeling. Maybe I am a crying man inside.

Inside literally I’m gum infection, failed root canal, etc. Did you know you shouldn’t have your teeth knocked out because it will fuck with your chi? But if you do, know that everyone will give you $10 or $50, and in this way you can subsidize invasive dentistry with pure kindness.

And if you are a crying man inside maybe you have been working 12-17 hour days and need to touch sleep or the earth, wash your pants and take a shower for the first time in 7 days.

To The…

Many months

A 15 syllable laugh. A 13-15 syllable laugh.

A condensed memory feeling. Memory capsule. Glass waves, beach followed by sleep followed by coffee, followed by beach. True love etc.

Cold nose in the desert.

Drinking cold windowsill water while the heater blows on bare legs.

Fuck it, let’s go to the beach.