Gambrinus

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Sitting on a park bench in front of Gambrinus, a little blonde boy tosses a tiny Yorkie in my direction and in doing so pulls my eyes away from a little bird , presumably shitting in the grass. The little boy seems to have done so in an effort to get a bit of attention and a laugh out of me. He gets both.

I’ve been all over the city centre of Pilzen the past few days, and I’ve just consumed my first vegan meal since being here: I’m a , but I lean heavily vegan. A dearth of vegetables is hard on my ethical sensibilities as well as my digestive system. The food servings here are large, even by American Standards, the food all lovely and warm and mostly meat and potatoes, artfully arranged.

We’ll be here until Friday morning’s check out, then headed to Prague. I’d love to sit and write more about the general experience and I will, but right now I’m watching.

I learn more from sitting around in squares and observing and walking around watching people than I do from most other things, and this has been genuinely fantastic observation.

If you’re interested in photos of random travel things, follow me on Insta @blacksquirrelwytch

Ciao

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Beware the ides of march and weeping MDs.

On march 23rd, I’m taking myself to be sterilized: I literally couldn’t be more excited about this, but I’m also bloody terrified because like most invasive surgeries, it means I’ll be put under. That fear is a small price to pay for not being made bat-shit nuts by hormonal birth control. It feels liberating to make that choice with minimal interference. Yesterday, I had an appointment with my GP to follow-up on blood work: It’s clear that I’d been previously misdiagnosed, which can happen when you have no insurance for all of your twenties and move all the time, leaving you with a broken chain of sporadic doctor visits for separate but inter-connected issues. That’s a clear perk of the American medical system, friendos. When I get to the office, She, a woman in her mid-to-late forties with a beautiful and grainy russian voice not trimmed by her 20 years in the US, (I know this because she gave me way more information about her than I wanted) tells my I don’t have RA, and long story short, have fibromyalgia. I have an MRI scheduled to rule out fractures in my spine, a possible result of my less-than-idyllic childhood. Here’s where think start to feel heavy and uncomfortable. She asks why No-one has done imaging of my spine. I tell her that I’ve spent ten years with no insurance. She asks why I had back pain as a child, and I briefly explain it was very abusive. I do this with my face made of stone, my tone the tone of someone who is used to this conversation and begging to have this over with. She begins to blubber. I know doctors have feelings, but this isn’t the first one who’s cried, and I am uncomfortable being put in a position to think about comforting someone whom I am paying for the time of. That horrible phase of my life, my childhood,has long passed. I left home more than 15 years ago. I rarely cried then, and I don’t often now. I don’t have the time. After what feels like 30 minutes of stilted convo about how badly women are treated and the #metoo movement, we move on to talking about my upcoming Tubal Ligation. She begs my rapidly angry-growing self to “think about it”. What if I realize I’ve mad a mistake after? Is this because of my childhood? I assure her that I have never wanted children. My life-plan involves travel and unencumbered fucking of the man I married for as long as possible without the risk of accidental procreation. She prescribes drugs. the conversation ends.

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It wasn’t until 3 hours later , sitting in my car after running a million errands and realizing how little goddamn time I have in a day, that I began crying out of frustration. Frustration at the American Medical System, at misdiagnosed illness, at the diagnosis itself, and most of all, another persons patronising gall . Frustration at how little time we have for life as adults, and how doctors visits eat up that precious time.

I have “thought about it”. I’m looking forward to not thinking about it. So, on march 23rd, I’m looking forward to starting the first day of the rest of my life unencumbered by the idea of childbirth and pregnancy. So save your tears, Doctor What’syerface, do your job, take my money, and STFU.

Who invited all the damn crows

I dream almost every night, and for the past 3 months  I’ve tried with  a reasonable success rate to write down what happens when I’m asleep. This means that a black leather book lives beside my bed, it’s heart  filled with tiny scribbles of varying legibility, the messages running the gamut from seemingly symbol-Laden- probable gibberish, to complex storylines that feel like ghosts around the edges of my waking life. 
I write down my dreams in this book while my brain is in that hazy, San Francisco Fog State between asleep and awake  so I often have to go back and rewrite when fully awake. I feel like one’s brain starts to forget what happens in dream worlds very quickly so it’s important to do it as soon as possible.

Some patterns have emerged. I’ll highlight a few of them.

  • I dream about fully fleshed – out people with names. Sometimes I know them, often I don’t. 
  • I dream about sex  with women. (don’t we all) 
  • I dream in muted colours 
  • I have no idea what my face looks like, but I am very small, my hands remain the same: long, thin, and boney. Sometimes I am aware of my hair, which is long and in my way
  • I dream the same dreams often . Some of these dreams have been recurring since I was a child.
  • There are, so far as I can see, 5 worlds  that are connected to each other but don’t exist in the same time. They seem to be connected with a subway line of sorts that I can exit at any point, and the train is also a part of different times. My   real-life fascination with fashion seems to mean that my brain is created wardrobe as an identifier for time-period.The worlds are as follows :
  • An apartment where a number of people who reoccur in these dreams live. I don’t know how many floors it has but it seems endless and is More or less in the present. Sometimes there’s a fire pit in the common area. It’s very gray and always night. 
  • My own childhood time-period,during the late summer. 
  • A junkyard (I guess) but in a sort of soup ladle  shape, basically hanging in nothingness. 
  • The weird-ass Subway 
  • An old west construct.(this makes no sense because I have zero attachment to the Olde West, western films,ect. Even while I’m having the dream, I feel like “wtf is this corny ass shit”. 
  • Somewhere that that feels very old,  is slightly cold but not so cold that I am uncomfortable, and has no noticeable buildings. I have been inside structures on this world, but I couldn’t tell you what they look like from the outside. This is the one that bothers me because when I’m awake I feel like I remember it randomly and it makes me feel as that I’m out of time. It seems to be nothing  but trees and cliffs and I feel very very small, physically.

 Some other noticeable patterns are these:( at this point I’m going to point out that I practice lucid dreaming so I have decent amount of control in some situations. I’m not great at it and I’m off and lazy and don’t try to use it) 

  • So many crows, why all the crows. Who invited those  assholes. 
  • I am completely capable of using the internet in my dreams. Or at least my phone. I don’t see the face of it or anything but I know that I’m using it
  • Sometimes there are clear messages that are just one sentence. Sometimes these repeat themselves and they always make no sense within the context of what’s Happening
  • The most noticeable is this. I am helping people in my dreams. I am always helping people do something, find something,  get somewhere, Etc. Sometimes I know them, usually I don’t. And often times it’s something sad. I realized  this a long time ago: That often the dreams that I dream don’t feel like my own. They feel like something I am doing for someone else,  whether or not I want to.

I’ll write more about this later. But I wanted to get the outline of how I’m dreaming out there first before writing about this further here. This probably seems strange to you, all this listening to what happens when I’m asleep  but as long as I can remember I have been dreaming dreams that that are big and strange and pointed and recurring.

Its 6:30 right now and I’m slightly jet-lagged. I desperately want to grind coffee but I also don’t want to wake up Alvin who is so peacefully asleep in the other room. I think I’ll probably just poked my head in there and see if he’s on his phone or not and if he is, then all bets are off. I’m grinding. It’s the second day of the new year, and I’m wishing  that you’re having the best  start to your year  possible ,  and maybe, maybe, I’m dreaming about you.

Not a “chill feminist” no more

At many points this year I’ve gone out of my way to not allow my feelings and emotions take control of my words . I’ve been even tempered and listened to your opposing view-point.

This is not one of those times.

You. Male friends, Male humans in my life, men: *Dick-Havers; If your response to this parade of touchy-feel-y,grabb-y, cock-rubbing rich men losing their  jobs and status after years of sexually abusing and harassing women because our culture permitted and encouraged it has been to use the term “Witchhunt”, or to worry about the repercussions to men like you, There’s not a place for you in at the table of my heart. Get the fuck out. Take your defensive questions and “what if” queries with you and get the fuck away from me. YOU live a totally different life than myself and other female-identifying/passing people. Do women engage in sexually abusive behaviour? YES. Do I personally know some women who have engaged in sexually controlling or abusive behaviour? Yes, I see you, female friends who’ve engaged in that behaviour and That’s bullshit, but it’s not the conversation we’re having right now because it’s not the norm. It’s a response to the abusive normal that we, as Women,live with every day.

We Have been forced to feast on scraps under tables we should have had equal seating at.

We are constantly being preyed on. 

Let the bodies fall. There’s no shortage of talented Women, Better men, POC of all genders and queer folks fucking thirsty to step in to the gaps left by the Men who’ve been ousted from their places of power after years of rape-y bullshit.

Male friend, If you’re WORRIED right now, you’re part of the problem. Get with us or get. The. Fuck. Out.

*Not all men have dicks. Not all people with dicks are men. But it’s the men that have dicks that are making a world difficult right now

Me too. 

Two days ago when so many people stood up and said “Me, too” on Facebook, I was one of them. And then 2 hours later I took that post down. The reason I took it down is because on some level I still feel some shame or some confusion regarding some  of the things that have happened to me. So instead of explaining  that shit anymore I’m going to say this.

I believe You. 

It doesn’t matter  what the circumstances were, I don’t care if you should have been more sober. I don’t care if you weren’t as in control of yourself as you wish you had been. I don’t care if you were a sex worker and you couldn’t talk to anybody else about it at the time, and you’re still confused about it. It doesn’t matter  the circumstances were that led to your sexual assault(s). 

Me. Too. I believe you and I love you. 

Fuck nuance, fuck what you should have done differently, It shouldn’t have happened, and I believe you.

Books as a metaphor, or something

I’ve always loved myself, once I learnt what that meant. I certainly wasn’t raised with that idea: I was raised from the school of thought that value is earned, that certain people are born with more value than others and that I was one of those with lesser value. (“you’re pretty, but we’ll not say that, wouldn’t want you to think you’re more than you are, you can ruin people by telling them you love them too much”) and from an early point I understood that this was in fact, stupid, despite many attempts to convince me otherwise.

Still, I’ve loved myself.

I’ve loved the fire that rose up through my chest and through the top of my head like the eye of gods, I guess that’s called inspiration.

Because I wasn’t supposed to.

(You couldn’t tell a child-sized me how I was supposed to be, any more than you can tell the wind to not blow the dust around)

Because I was what I had.

Because when I was crazy, I knew it. (When I was crazy, I was like a bullet  crashing through other people’s lives and they loved me, even as the havoc occurred and bones (often mine) broke, even as I couldn’t stop the disaster and hated them for not seeing,) I loved myself a little, even when I hated myself, when I wasn’t trying to die. Somehow I left that part behind, even though I’m saddled with regret from all the damage I caused in peoples lives.

I love myself because when I should have fractured a hundred thousand times or collapsed like some 5-foot-4 black hole, I had the innate sense to hold the pieces of my soul together.

It is because I have loved myself truly and honestly, that when someone holds me in their hands like a book with scars in its leather, I am confident that he will read the book all the way to the end.

A girl has no name

The results of my tests from 23andme tests should be back any time, and  I’ve been nervous for reasons I don’t completely understand . What is it that I’m afraid of, what answer do I not want?

I do not expect answers to my genealogy: I don’t expect anything but to see that I am 1/100th everything.
This entry was intended to be much longer, more obnoxiously introspective and witty. Instead, I did average things we all do. Make the cat a vet appointment( he grinds his teeth), pick up a check, pick up Alvin, make dinner for him and my *lovely friend. Apply assorted creams. Worry about millennial/human/american things. Tomorrow, I’ll return here with something more.. Something. 

For now,  I must spend precious dozens of minutes of gazing at imgur and drooling gently into a pillow.

Goodnight, you voyeurs. I love you. Most of you.

*you’re lovely even when you leave sad, lonely boxes stranded in the living-room.

 

Coffeeish

So, Nootropics. I’d started looking into them at the behest of a friend , sometime in 2015. I wasn’t confident in my ability to weed through the bullshit or snake-oil or Silicon Valley propaganda at the time. Recently, I decided “fuck it”, as in the past few months, my ability to hold one thing in my head at a time has just totally gone to shit. I wonder how much of that is my mental life being influenced by what I do for a living. I do a lot of multi-tasking, which I learnt early last year isn’t really a thing. Multi-tasking is really just jumping between a million programs in your head, not genuinely thinking about multiple tasks. I should and likely will talk to a therapist about more conventional treatments for ADD, but having been on  Adderall before, I know it wrecks my adrenals so I’m going to try stacking the fuck out of some nootropics first. I started a regimen today.    In case you were wondering, while writing this, I’ve made a note to have new mop ordered for the kitchen, got side-tracked by Gigi Hadid’s jaw-structure, went down a rabbit-hole about grammar because of a Facebook post(so I also looked at FB) and told Alvin he was “the king of my pants”. He is. but CLEARLY I CANNOT FOCUS.

Thoughts? suggestions on nootropics?

Go write your message in the pavement

It’s taken me a while to come to terms with or even understand in any real way, who and what I am as a person. In the scant years that have passed since I’ve figured myself out, I’ve tried to be honest with the world about my being, to varying levels of success.

My background and my early personhood doesn’t lend itself to total revelation because it sits outside “the way things are usually done”, and tends to weird people out.  It was weird. We’ll leave it there. It’s also not really something I enjoy talking about and frankly, unimportant , other than how it informed me as a person. I could’ve been  far worse off, given what I had to work with and I’ve crafted myself into an attempt at a good person so that’s what ultimately matters.

The past few months I’ve been  low-key navel gazing and have decided to out myself in regards to a few things.

I’m gender-fluid. After years of trying to make excuses for the ways I feel/live/experience my existence, *I’m okay with saying that. I fluctuate day to day as far as the masculine and feminine go.  (I’m not going to  even get started on gendered language, gender in media or social enforcement of gender here, but trust, I have opinions, specifically that the gender binary is outmoded )The way I choose to perform my genders changes. I’m not going to throw a label at anything, because it feels unimportant to me. I’m two souls in one physical body. That’s the truth I know and have known since childhood. I don’t feel much need to look to die on the hilltop of forcing people to understand me right now and the world has more important things to think about than my definition. You can interpret me and how I appear to you in any way you like,That’s my superpower. People see in me what they need to see and I roll with it. #yolo.

I believe in something. I’m actively spiritual and I’ll call myself pagan with a little “p” for the lack of a better-fitted word. I’m also fascinated by transhumanism, but I’ll save that for another conversation. I was furious at the idea/construct of the Judeo-Christian god. That religious construct wrecked my mother, and therefore my early life. I called myself an Atheist for a long time, but what I really am is a person who believes that people created gods because we needed them, maybe some of them created all of us or some of us, and we have no fucking clue. I believe in universal consciousness, astral projection and that people have more power inside them than most acknowledge , and I believe in the reach of science soon explaining all that and de-mystifying it. It’s our lack of understanding that makes things mystical. We live in a time where science and tech are peeling away so much mystery and I’m so thrilled about that, aren’t you? FUCK YES YOU ARE.

 Religion is a tool of the oppressors.  The largest global religions are used by whoever’s power to oppress. I believe in your right to all the gods you need or don’t need to pray to to fill your life with meaning, joy and peace. I fucking hate religions and dogma and narrow-minded thought.

My own practice is my my business, so are the gods I send prayers out to. You do you. I’ll do this.

I believe in using what you want to free your mind, because it’s you goddamned mind. I believe I have a lot of beliefs and opinions jammed into my logical brain and I’ve not sorted everything I know out yet.

I Love You. Whoever you are in this moment, whatever you are, I love YOU. Close your eyes, and feel it.

 

*

I’ve said this in a handful of ways , for many years., but always sort of skirted around really saying it.

no, my husband isn’t weirded out by my gender stuff. Thanks for your concern.

 

 

 

Hurry up, we’re dreaming

 

With the exception of 2 years in my early twenties,  I’ve been on some form of hormonal birth control since the age of 17, when I responsibly  drove my tiny, frizzy-haired, boney-child-kneed self  to a Planned parenthood in the midwest town I lived in, but wasn’t from. That experience was both frightening,(as some things just are when done alone) and liberating for some of the exact same reasons it was frightening.

Now, more than ten years off from being that kid, and I’m sick of this shit.

My hormones have always been off, my androgen levels high and my periods are exceptionally irregular. They’ll be  non-existent for years or, conversely, every fucking day for 2 months. My period and the hormonal nightmare hell-scape that comes with it fuck with my perception of self and my life.

I have no intention of having children. Even if I could , even if wanted to and it was a physical possibility,I wouldn’t. That’s rough sometimes, I’ll admit. Sometimes I look at Alvins’ little nose and face and want to make am adorable amalgamation  of the 2 of us, but the other 98% of the time, I know I want a life where all my options are still options, (to quote Aziz Ansari) and I can travel and spend my time being the person I spent my twenties wishing I was, with this amazing human I’ve married. I  know as well,  that I can’t saddle a human being I might create with the burden of mental issues and physical problems that ran like Noble Rot through the vines of my family.  Which is sad really.. I could make some hot, smart weirdos.

I want a Hysterectomy. That’s what I’m getting at. This junk doesn’t work properly, never has, and won’t have children, and I’d like to wear white linen pants.

Carve this shit out with a grape-fruit spoon, if that’s what it’ll take . That’s what it feels like might be an option, if this country keeps disposing of women’s rights to govern their own bodies. Fuck.

I feel like this goes without saying, but I’ll add here, that I’m going to, at times, Write About Sex And Sex Organs and Gender.

This has been your content warning.

 

Covefefe,

Dez