Paradise Regained

I sat beside an empty pool.
The walls were cracked and stained with age.
I dangled on the dry first step
And stared at leaves and cans collected at the drain.

Youthful splashing laughter now an ill-remembered dream.
Numb photos in a rotting peeling book.
Fly-spotted like my arm.
There would be nothing more.

But then I saw another pair of feet had joined mine at the step.
A tender hand then touched my wizened knee.
A simple smile in smooth and youthful cheeks
Was blurred by chlorine-scented tears.

Her honeyed karaoke song, her subtle eye of Ra,
her drenched relief of lost love's grief, pulled me from my flaw.
I'll now be singing symphonies with violin and horn.
At her behest, I will be blessed, and I will be reborn.

Fabulous Beasts

I've recently caught up with a lovely lady that I went to high school with.  We've been sending emails back and forth for a while now.  She recently informed me that I'm her only transgender friend.

I get that a lot.

When I'm on stage, I realize that I'm the first transsexual that most of the audience have ever seen in real life.  There aren't a lot of us out there...certainly not enough to go around.   It's quite a responsibility and I take my role seriously.  I sometimes tell my audiences that now that they can see I'm not to be feared, they can join in the fun.  They can now hang out at their water coolers or lunch rooms (or whatever the hell you breeders do during the day)  and they can say, "Oh yeah. I'm cool. I'm with it.  I even know a real transsexual...or trans-person.  That's what we hipsters call them."  Or you can punk your friends now by saying, "You see that chick over there?  You think she's hot?   Ha!  She's really a dude.  Yer a faggot!"

But be aware...although we are fabulous beasts, we have no pot of gold and swimming in our blood does not make you invulnerable.  The most we could do for you is possibly validate your parking. 

On being a monster

I got into an argument a while back with a guy that was convinced that no one could be both gay and trans, essentially arguing that I was either lying or that I simply didn't exist.  I tried to reason with him but he just kept getting angrier and angrier until finally he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Well at least I know what I am when I wake up in the morning.”

I replied calmly, “you do know that asshole is not a sex, right?”

That was a misstep because that’s when he brought out the “M” word.  When you're transgender, you have to deal with most people considering you to be a “monster.”  

They might not say it out loud, but you can tell they’re thinking it.  Whenever I meet someone, they are usually very pleasant and smile broadly.  If the topic comes up that I’m transgender, however, that’s when I get …the look.   Every transgender knows this look very well.  It’s the “I’m going to continue to smile but I am so freaked out right now that I should very much like to run away” look.  I must confess to a bit of schadenfreude in that I will sometimes deliberately bring up the subject just to get that look.  It’s a sad form of entertainment, to be sure, but sometimes you take it where you can. 

I can’t really blame cis-folk for being afraid of us.  About the only representation of us in the media is movies like “Silence of the Lambs.”   But let me assure you right now …I am NOT sewing a woman skin suit in my basement …any more.  (My fault really.  I like TOTALLY ran out of lotion for it to put on its skin.)

There was a time when I very much disliked being called a monster.  It used to bother me a lot.  I didn't dislike the word because it's demeaning (which it is) or because it's an attempt to make us less than human (which it is.)  I disliked being referred to as a monster because...well, I didn't get any cool monster powers with this crap.  I can't blast anyone with my eyes.  I don't turn into Benicio del Toro when the moon is full.  And I’ve never sucked anyone’s…blood.

But sometimes it gets to you.  You can be called a monster just so many times before you start to think, "well maybe they're right. Maybe I am a monster."  It happens to me too.  Sometimes when I run in the morning, I don't even get out on the road before the testosterone demons come out.  They swarm around me like flies and torment me with “You think you’re a woman?  No.  You’re a monster.  You’re a hideous freak of nature…and your shoes are untied.”  If I look down for even an instant, they're all like,  “Ah.  I made you look.”  

Sometimes it gets so bad that I wind up running down the street waving them off and shouting, “leave me alone!  Leave me alone!”   I’m sure that if anyone actually ever saw me doing that, they would say, “Oh, it’s so nice to see the crazy homeless people getting out and exercising.” 

But they don't know.  They don't realize that I'm just trying to get rid of the demons in my head...which I guess technically DOES mean that I crazy homeless person....but I don't care.  I just want to get away. But you can't get away from them, 'cause they hunt you down until they get you cornered in a foggy alleyway somewhere and you turn into John Hurt and cry out, "I am not an an-i-mal.  I am a human being."

But then…in the depths of my despair, I'll hear a little voice saying, "everything is all right.  Everything is all right.  All these tormentors?  They're just part of you. They are your mistakes and faults and every bad decision you've ever made.   But those things ...define you.  If any one of those things had been different, you would not be you.  They only seem like demons because you’re trying to distance yourself from them.  The harder you push them away, the more demonic they become.  Stop pushing.  Bring them back to you.  Become one with your dark side.”

So I do that.  I get up out of my little hole...which is actually a relief since it's really hard to keep those things clean...and I gather all my personal demons back into me.  I literally pull them back and say, “We are one.  We are one.”  But when I do that, I don't just feel at peace.  I feel ...powerful.

Being a monster is a powerful thing.  People are afraid of monsters because they see that power and it scares the b'jeesus out of them.  Think about every movie you've ever seen with a creature and angry villagers chasing the creature with pitch forks and torches.  The monster is the only interesting person.  The villagers are boring.  They have boring jobs.  They live in boring houses.  They go to boring churches.  They are so afraid of anyone who dares steps outside “normal” and wants to move forward that they actually demonize the very word “progressive.”  Anytime I hear someone talk about "those damned progressives" you can be pretty sure I'm dealing with an angry villager. 

Throughout history it has only been the monsters that have advanced civilization.   Socrates, Galileo, Darwin….all of them were completely reviled and considered monsters in their time.  But it was these monsters that advanced civilization.  Without them, we'd all just be banging rocks together. 

By accepting my role as an outcast, I accept the responsibility to move the world forward.  By reclaiming the word "monster," I reclaim my power.   So, in the end… am I a monster?  You bet your ass I am.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Facebook Sonnet

I whisper to the swirling shouting nights

When none can hear but rushing barking cars

And none can see but buzzing warehouse lights

That, empty, miss the soundly sleeping bars.

I whisper of my faded sea-salt smiles

That none but me gives thought to like or share.

Just hasten to ignore forgotten files.

Make room for grumpy cats and calls for prayer.

The tiny floating iridescent dreams

That started from a thoughtless given kiss

Are lost amid the daily squeeing memes

My words are gnat-like fluff that none will miss.

I whisper still but know that no one hears.

My life is useless pain that no one fears.

Sonnet on a frigid Glendale Night

A hope as soft on softness intertwine

That joy take hold and love itself be cached
Like coiled tendrils binding summer vine.
In one bare moment gone. All longing dashed.

No joyous sounds of lips in quiet love.

No silent nods of passion undeclared.

Just plays and disappointed thoughts thereof
and echoes of a sloppy berry shared.

Should I have never let my shivers show

When she did tuck her shawl about my neck?

Was I a fool for saying, “please don’t go,”

To one my eyes could barely keep in check?

The silence of my room is old and small.

I slip in bed alone and make a ball.

Comedic transphobia

With a few vocal exceptions on the far right, it is considered not fashionable to be viewed as discriminating against trans-folk.  Because of that, non-trans people can often get the impression that transphobia is no longer a problem.  What they don't realize is that, much like racism, transphobia is simply going underground.   Workplaces do not fire us and actually give the employee's transgender status as the reason for the dismissal.  There is always some other reason given.  Oddly enough, it is always the same reason.   People think they are being quite clever in disguising their real intent by saying that they simply had a re-organization and the position itself had been eliminated.  The dismissal has nothing to do with the employee's performance.  They don't realize that this is the reason that EVERYONE gives for getting that tranny freak out of their offices.  Transgenders have the highest unemployment and turnover rate of any demographic group besides (I would imagine) sexual offenders.

But those of us who are transgender performers face a different form of persecution.  You can perform all you want in gay venues, but try to branch out to doing sets in straight venues and you hit the same wall you hit when trying to get a job.  Club owners and show promoters do not want us around.  Of course, they rarely ever actually SAY that.  There is always some other excuse, but the result is the same.

One club showed their disdain for me giving me the light (the way owners tell you your time it up) long before my set finished.  And if that wasn't enough, they actually played me off (played music to drown me out and have the announcer tell the audience I was finished.)  This was apparently something that never happened before.

Another show promoter tells me that the audience doesn't like seeing the same comic every month and so can only give me stage time once every three months or so.  The implication is that the show has a regular audience which it very much does not have.  And this is particularly curious since there seems to be a cabal of performers who do shtick at every single show.    When confronted, the promoter simply ignored my requests for stage time.

That is the thing the comedy promoters have in common with employers.  They have a terribly clever excuse that they think no one uses.  They simply don't answer requests for stage time.  I could be having a long conversation with a promoter, but as soon as I mention anything about my going on at his next show...dead silence.  Or the promoter could say that they are really bad at answering emails.   Yeah, like THAT would ever happen.

I know it's not because they think my act is bad.  I was at a recent show in which absolutely every comedian was bombing and bombing bad.  It was so bad that some of them were turning on the audience and saying, "F*** you.  I don't need you to laugh."  I went on last and got good laughs.  One woman came up to me after the show and said I was a riot.  Sure audiences are frightened of me when I first start talking about being a transsexual, but that fear goes away completely when I do the squeaky boob bit.

There are, of course, shows in which I am welcomed with open arms any week I want to perform.  I treasure these promoters.  

It is my mission to do transgender comedy for "cis" audiences.  Whether or not the audience laughs is not the point.  Every time I get on stage and I show people what a real live transsexual looks like, I make life just a little bit better for our people.  I will continue to bang my head against the wall and keep looking for venues at straight clubs.  And I will continue to be snubbed. 

It is my karma.

Schtupping God

Dear Diary,

I like TOTALLY had sex with God today....in the middle of the La Fitness no less.  I was like trying to get some cardio time on the running thingie when She got on the one next to me and pumped it up to ...idk 10 miles per hour going uphill?  It WAS pretty awesome, but kinda obvious.  She kept looking over at me and smiling.  That was just embarrassing.  I mean, I'm not a closet case or anything, but the gym is not a bar.  People could be watching.

She does have dynamite boobs though.  She caught me taking a quick look.  She just like smiled and took a deep breath so I could see them better.  "How are you doing tonight, Sweetie?"

"I'm fine."  I lied, still trying to get a flash of holy boobage and getting a little squishy.

"That's not what your Facebook posting said.  Are you still feeling lonely and down?"

I like pulled the emergency stop on the running thing.  "Oh...my...God.  Did you hack into my account?"

"No. I'm omniscient."

I left for the sauna.  I was like totally mortified...and not just because I didn't know what om-nishunt meant.  But I nearly screamed when I opened the door and found She was already in the sauna waiting for me...with nothing but a towel on.

"God, what are you doing?  What if someone comes in here?"

"No one is going to bother us, Pusscake.  This is just our time together."  She slowly peeled off the towel.

I couldn't say anything.  I couldn't move even.  My god was sitting on the wooden benches totally exposing Herself to me.   Her breasts were spectacular.  And Fuck!...that perfect little ass.  (She was also not shaved...which I thought was a little gross, but She's God and older than dirt, so I guess it's alright.)  

"Sit over here, Sweetie,"  She said, patting the bench next to Her.

I nearly jumped into Her lap and started kissing Her. OK, I'm not ashamed to admit it.  I was totally deep tonguing Her.  "I am lonely."  I said, crying.

"Let it go, Sweetie." She said. Not sure how I heard that so clearly since my tongue in Her mouth like that.  Maybe She was like doing a Spock mind thingie on me.  "Give your pain to me.  That's what I'm here for."

I did.  I rested my head on Her naked shoulder and bawled like a baby.  She put Her arm around me and patted me while I totally nutballed on Her shoulder.  "Everything will be all right." she said.  "Everything will be all right."  She just kept saying it, over and over.  I thought it was a little weird, but it did kinda make me feel better.  It felt like She was sucking the pain out of me and replacing it with love. 

By the time we hit the spa, I was completely relaxed.  I sat on the edge with my arms spread out on the edge of the pool.  She was right in front of me, her head barely above the swirling water.  I just sat with my eyes closed and hummed a little.

"Still feeling lonely?"  She asked.

"Little bit."

"Sweetie, a girl would just get in the way of our love.  She'd be a distraction.  You're mine.   What could a lover give you that I can't?"

"Oh, I don't know.  Head?"

"Oh really?" she said, slipping slowly down under the water.

She could sure stay under water for a long time.  I'm not going to give details about the talents of a beatific tongue.  Let's just say that eventually, I was clutching the rim of the spa and practically shouting out, "Oh my God!  Oh my God!"

She popped up out of the water.  "Yes?"

"Cute."  I said.

"Sorry.  Couldn't resist."

I gently pushed Her head back down under the foamy water.

I barely noticed when She left.  By that time I was totally at peace.  I felt loved.  I felt beautiful.  I felt strong.  I couldn't see Her any more, but I knew She hadn't really left.   My at-one-ment was complete.  I got my connection with Her back.   One in the flesh and all that hetero crap.  When I got out of the spa, I was flying and had the stupidest grin on my face.  I smiled at everyone I saw.  I bet they thought I was high.