Last one deleted cos it was sappy or whatever but things are good. I'm exhausted honestly but i'm good. Last night she said "this whole meet-cute shit doesn't jive with my world view" and we laughed real well and she's quoted it a couple times since. Apt apt apt


I have several things to look forward to next week it makese me nervous. Good though, maybe jittery? Hopefully i get to add a job interview to the mix


Spent yesterday walking around and meeting some people and fagging it out in full denim. Woo! I wish my body weren't so tense. I've been working on a battle jacket. Have yet to meet my roommate's cat, Cream. I need a job... then i need to organize my top surgery... i feel so off a lot of the time. There are things to look forward to but all the stress remains


My roommates are all moving in tomorrow.
I started up (today, planned yesterday) a routine to try and get myself to do things, enjoy things, make things. I still don't have a job, if you couldn't guess. Money's running. The routine says an hour after i wake up is study, read, write, research, etc., time for three hours. Then there's a four hour gap of doing fuckall, supposed to be meant for seeing friends, going on walks, getting food, showering, other leisure, and after that is another four hour period of doing more of the three hour section. I'm in the first bit, and the three hours are almost up. Been reading Catullus, random poems out of anthologies, Siken. I've also done some household chores which weren't supposed to be in this slot, but my landlord is coming by i don't know when and i didn't want things to look stupid. I've been considering moving into the smallest room in the house to save money.
I think my landlord has arrived to care for her raspberry bush. I want to shed everything, and what i can't shed i want to carve out; i would say with grace but i know it'd be violent. I can be stronger than this, and i'm trying to get there. I've already noticed myself looking for ways to run. I have a path i want, so badly, but it feels impossible (money, time). I'm trying to get it going anyway, in some way. I've tried before. I think i forgive myself for that.


Got sick again... been very low and kind of erratic... so much is stressful


Had a horrible night. Now, though, trying not to fixate on that.
I've been reading for a few months now about leather and bd/sm dynamics... and the desire and ache i feel for those with each sentence is disasterously overwhelming. Reading over Leathersex and hearing Joseph W. Bean reminiscence about what rituals were common absolutely guts me. They're still out there, absolutely, but i can't seem to reach any place they are. Once i turned 21 i'll probably start seeing it. Seriously though, it hurts. It rises like a surging tide violently tearing through my body. It's a study i really like, now, and frequently i'm reminded by The Disappearance of Rituals by Byung Chul-Han. Consentual power dynamics i love you. I need to be extremely careful about this, as previous experience tells me. I'm trying to take his advice and set up 'rituals' for myself, like the old trend of "earning leathers" rather than just getting them at a whim. Shit. "The power exchange is the entirely voluntary process by which a bottom relies on trust, first to express his will, then to relinquish it." All the trust, intimacy, forfeiture of control.........


Tired, starting to feel nauseous over not having a job. Got some incredible clothes today, though, met with someone at cal anderson and we talked a lot about sexual/social expectations and autism and both of us miss our dogs.
For a while i swore-ish i wouldn't make a book-oriented page because i already feel stress/anxiety at the prospect of reading... but i'm starting to read again, been really favoring doing so at our dining room table, and i want to remember what parts stood out enough to underline or comment on. It won't be exhaustive... i have an idea for formatting poetry annotations but that feels extremely challenging and upsetting (in the loss of handwritten scrawls), so prose'll be the focus.


Bedroom's cozy... read a bit of Here All Along...


KEXP is one of the strongest stations on my radio. I'm sleepy. Hung out with three of my roommates who wanted to move furniture in, a victorian couch, a cuck chair, some plastic dresser drawers, somethings else... on the couch is catgirl miku. quite the sight. Man. Mother's day is tomorrow, i won't be doing anything but i'd like to find someone to hang out with, go on a walk or something. I don't have particular angst on mother's day, it's just a kind of awkward day. It's a sunday but it's special in a way i can't really celebrate, mom being across the country, but that kind of comes across as angst to strangers. Trying very, very, very hard to not turn to dating apps to find friends. Lex is my one exception, we're keeping it that way


I now live in Seattle. I've been sick since Friday... I want to be out and about! Man. Won't have roommates until June. Always very drowsy... like right now


I often forget i am a whole person. There is more than just paralysis


Need to stop thinking about myself in how i relate to material things/what i own. This is difficult to do when alone


Man oh man


"What got you here won't get you there"


I can't stand writing when i haven't had time to read anything. That's how you get to write anything worth writing, especially anything as difficult as poetry


On Tuesday, March 12, my parents suddenly decided within 24 hours that they're gonna move a little out of town... at the exact same time i'm moving. Mom's always running away from something, evident best by the fact that before age 18 i'd lived in 11 homes with her and by 19 that number was up to 13. Ever since we fled Texas for California, then California for Florida, she's moved every 2-3.5 years. I am washing my hands of it.

I'm sitting outside to keep Sonny from barking at a stranger. I can hear our neighbors (also moving) splashing in the pool. I heard two birds in some beautiful unique song i hadn't heard before. Their voices are gone and it's back to the typical quips and squawks. One of them sounds like a tiny hawk imitation. I can hear water dripping from a fountain. Working on doing this week's m.a. prompt, and found a poem type i may want to try out for a prompt i missed. I'm reading up on diapause and now i need to read up on poetry.


Turned twenty yesterday... grateful i'm not a teenager anymore. I've been having a hard time keeping up with anything outside of work. Work's not interesting, i'm just far too tired, maybe


Got a neat sweater, started a push-up routine, Wednesday's the day between my grandpa and i's birthdays (March 5; March 7), so we're having dinner together. It's terrible how i can't hear my voice when i speak, hear how it's changed, but at least i can hear it in audio playback. Been struggling to write for m.a. because i keep coming to memories that i can't elaborate on because they can truly be a sentence, and the literary devices of those real times can be seen immediately, unique syntax outside of plain text often inhibiting the meaning... comparisons end


Sweet dog video


My serious transition timeline is t2b, twink to butch. Insane


Often when i find pictures of my bookcase i feel ashamed by how many spines (overwhelming majority) are uncracked. It's like John Beger said, talking about advertisements: "Its promise is not of pleasure, but of happiness: happines as judged from the outside by others." "Being envied is a solitary form of reassurance." "You are observed with interest by you do not observe with interest-" (that particularly reminds me of Donald Brook's Why I Fucking Hate Weblogs) "-if you do, you will become less enviable. In this respect the envied are like bureaucrats; the more impersonal they are, the greater the illusion (for themselves or for others) of their power." "The spectator-buyer is meant to envy herself as she will become if she buys the product."; this is all to say i promise myself something better and freer where i read, engage, learn, but that's for someone else, the will of the future. Allen of the future. Every day i'm out or off from work i'm too exhausted to focus. If i'm not too exhausted, i'm too scared, somehow. My brain's on the fritz. This did not improve with medication- some less chemical block must be there. I don't know what it is but i want to carve it out. Why am i so scared of reading? My strongest guess is it lends to too much emotion, or that "it takes too much time." I know the time will pass anyway. It will pass whether i sleep, scroll, panic, or finally read. What is my problem here


Went through my stuff earlier this afternoon and set up about three suitcases and a trash bag of things to donate. I've still got three months till i leave. I keep sleeping earlier and earlier to make time fly faster... it doesn't feel very wise or good, though. I'm glad it's been relatively easy to decide what items to get rid of, but books are definitely gonna give me problems. Clothes may pose some issues, but not many. I know exactly which blankets and single pillow i'm bringing, so those are fine. Newspapers might be an issue. I have.... a lot... nothing crazy but a sizeable mound.

Once i get my Washington id i'm definitely going to shoot for different jobs. I'd love one without a uniform so i can finally wear my clothes, but even if it's got a uniform i've decided i'll pack a bag of at least a t-shirt to change into after each shift because i'll be spending a while on transit and walking and i'd like to not be seen in whatever messy blue-collar garb i'm in again.


A large part of me wishes i could stick to the south. A large part of me remembers the united states looks more like the south everywhere than in its cities. A large part of me remembers that i just need to stay offline... thinking about that article and the book it's from. Thinking that ... i need to figure out how to integrate more time off screens and time off fear. Most damaging is my sense of time is warped- everything is flying by and my locus of control doesn't extend to it. I'm weak and scared in the realm of attention and thought and devotion. I want to be devout


Honk mimimi....


Personals on a goth site for young adults and teens. interesting piece of modern history. so much....


Another night of turmoil. I feel so crass writing about it. i once talked to a theology phd student about this, but longer, more scared and apologetic, and she wrote something i'll never forget: "you are carrying so much, and worse, you know the exact weight of it all, and worse than that, you care how you look carrying it."


I think i'd really like a phalloplasty... if i get married i think it'd be in my 30s or 40s, and i think after that i'd really try to arrange one. I'm not interested in the erection implant but that could change in a decade


Who knows


Hmm. internet identities are.....................


Spent hours combing forums in the wayback machine... wound up on so many cool sites i don't even know where to start... i spent a while copying and pasting and translating the diaries of a Japanese uni student in 2007. she was in a relationship with another young woman but they struggled a lot to build a life together before deciding it probably wasn't gonna work, that there lives would always be parallel to each other and never intersect. i translated it and read what i found out loud to devon over facetime while she played league. took sonny for two maybe three walks tonight? three i think it is. she's restless but i'm not really playful... i found an anti-capitalist tintin comic, found a shit ton of anarchist sites, found a major strike in honor of indepdent radio which touched my soul. independent radio means a lot, a lot, a lot to me. so much, man...
Finding all those anarchist sites, forums, news outlets, the lot- it was so experimental. it was beautiful and ripe and raw and expressive and utterly communal. there were so, so, so many websitesm. most of them shut down after 2014. man. i can't think about that too much. it feels like a severe, brutal injustice. confined to a few social media sites and everyone's gotta be pure an fully identified and whatever. man.



December......... unnerving. Next month is January next month is 2024 and even though i've never felt attached to new years this one feels insanely important. January i begin my mad dash out of florida. Real, actual progress, not just waiting for appointments. January 17 hosts an appointment i can't miss. It'll set everything else up.
I have no intention of coming back for family holidays for at least two years. I can't wait for the weather and constant jacket wear. I can't wait for my pace in community college. I can't wait to join writing groups and roll my eyes and maybe stare awed 1/10 open mic nights. I'm gonna struggle a lot, i know. I prefer struggling there to here. Pick a struggle and pick a place. I need to find a local place to work at... i don't mind my current job but i'd rather not continue. I want to get back to my roots and work for a bookstore or sex shop or something.


I think i should kill any sense of professionalism i've tried to establish here..... really the only pages guilty of that are the formal photo slideshows. Gonna freakify them and by that i mean just not... let it be polished... who knows. I kind of get awfully overwhelmed looking at this site and how much it holds... it's a record of a very turbulent couple of years... i don't know


Tired or some other secret thing...


November.... loathe being too restless and anxious and neurotic to do anything. reading is a chore. it's my livelihood (philosophically i guess) and i can't do it.


I hate sharktank


Dunno what to do with myself. busy brain and rigid hands.


I love all of you and your entryways and means and histories


I went through my phone's notes app earlier this evening... man, what bullshit. one fall after another. shit was crazy. insane. i've been exploring web forums and while looking for ones on Springsteen i found an extreme alt-right website where they were all getting on his ass for being 'nothing special, so perfect for NJ' and looking faggy and like he was pissing on the american flag in his Born in the U.S.A. album cover. insane to me how those guys actually get Springsteen better than the average american does. they accurately quoted his lyrics and their meanings, even knew about how much he loved and kissed Clarence Clemons, too. i wanted to kill them. i got violent after reading a few of their post signatures and had to dip. i'll spare the other details i guess... i mean, you know what hatred exists in the world. you know what nazis and other fascist types are like. you might not be familiar with the american kind, but you can get the idea from those around you. each user covered 1-4 nazi-specific bases in their signatures. "if you're raised with an angry man in your house,
there will always be an angry man in your house,"
and naturally i want to gut them out with their own hunting knives. i'll never forgive the shop owner who sold me a red camera with pictures of his cock on the internal drive. i bought a knife from him too, dull, military, special forces no less. fancy. i'll carve it off.
but of course i'm pretty meek. that'd never happen. i'm better off with a hammer and a good dog


Picked up a book about Spinoza, Hunter S. Thompson's Songs of the Doomed, and the verse by the side of the road at Fleamasters. The last one's about the Burma-Shave roadsign campaigns that were honestly kind of killer. Business and marketing and shit sure but some of them really, really remind me of Jenny Holzer


Parents left their house to me and sonny all week. it's been nice without them. they're coming back in about two or three hours and i don't really want the reunion... just means im gonna be holed up in my room for ages all over again.
All day everyday i say i'm tired but i really think it's a deep dissatisfaction that causes immobility and a wreck in my nervous system that chooses to sleep over facing a reality that stimulates no emotion worth loving or wanting


I think what i ought to do is take time to read and digest. but after work, at home, i'm so exhausted and i can't focus on anything. i have so much energy and desire pent up in me to do this or that but i can't muster or use any of it. i wanna make this page, i wanna read this, i wanna do this, and i can't do anything but sit and stare, lay and sleep, or stare at the addictive rectangle i got a semi-transparent navy-blue case for that i love so, so much.


Been using a physical journal


Back in the southeast and trying to overcome fear & paralysis


Been having a lot of breakdowns but right now i'm in central texas again. saw a lot of cool striped rocks


Been feeling lost


Had a number of detailed dreams about being hunted, 2/3 times by something much larger than anybody, once by one being. lots of drama in the brain. soon i will be starting emdr, and honestly that can't be soon enough


Went to see Springsteen at Amway on the fifth, and it was amazing. he opened with No Surrender and i belted the whole thing. i'm never, ever gonna forget how he said "This is the most important part" into the mic before the screens lit up with images of Clarence Clemons. when he sang Because the Night, chris and i gawked at the lighting bouncing between lesbian and bi flag colors, and of course we belted the whole thing as well. the new sax player, Jake Clemons, fucking rocks. by the end of the night when everything was quieter and i could hear my own voice, i realized i had a pretty intense vocal fry. it didn't hurt like normal... usually, my vocal chords expand and cause me so much pain i have to go mute for at least a full day. but no, i just sounded like i was 3 1/2 months on t. pretty fucking funny


Hello... wrote more poems and i'm trying to keep this diary vague. barely keeping up with schoolwork or myself; i need to do laundry, schoolwork, get a job, exercise, and stop feeling like death itself


Clouds are rolling in and there's a falcon outside. i'm in a museum surrounded by art and i'm staring at the falcon outside.


Been getting worse... but one of my professors wants to talk to me about trees, and i'm writing poetry again.


Finally got scott's weed out of my clothes. mom brought me over to her bi-yearly zoom call with her friends from high school. they all spoke over each other.


Reading has been making me anxious for a long while now... i don't know why. i find something i'd love to absord and i get paralyzed. i'd like to say it'd be as easy as changing my intentions, like i successfully did with journaling, but i think i just need a therapist.

It's strange looking back on a relationship and not being able to deny shame as a possible factor for why they left the way they did. that's the bad part about never being given an explanation, let alone any remote closure: i've only got my imagination, and it keeps reminding me of the time we sat on the fort walls and they admitted they felt guilty for being with me, of the very, very few things they let slip about their adolescence, of how scared they were to look honest & present queer in florida. they're going somewhere they believe all these fears won't follow them. i hope it doesn't, but speaking from experience, i know it will. i'd like to help them, to trust them, but they made sure i can't. i wish i didn't have a choice to read into anything, and just had an answer. they made very sure they'll never know what they did, and especially sure i'll never know why they did it.
Just gotta sit with it.


I've been going on walks around my parents' neighborhood, and it's really hard to look anybody in the eye. nothing happened here, i just don't feel at home. i feel so much more horrific, as a body and a mind, when i'm here. St. Aug isn't home, not really.. but it's a lot more a home than this place.

Very much thinking of scrapping the page of my poems from last year... they just kind of embarrass me, and need to be reworked... have needed to be reworked since last year, lol