dear president obama: end DADT,
or please stop promising that you will.

--rachel maddow

why was the road
made of yellow brick?
why shiny red flats,
why were they called slippers,
those can't have been rubies,
why a ridiculous dog with a ridiculous name.

no words.

so excellent.
www.fckh8.com

i found out:

i can only be who i am.
i can only do what i can.






i won't try to describe the relief.

borrow, beg, or steal: everything is real.






one day,
i might feel all right again.

don't be different for the
sake of being thus, don't
try to understand,
there is no such thing.
don't trust. whateverthefuck that means.
we're all free falling on a
rotating sphere
through nothingness.
we're pieces of dust. the stars laugh at our
claims of grandeur.

finally the news is focusing on the fact that tyler clemeti’s recent tragic death was in fact a hate crime.



they’re finally talking about the trevor project.
about the hetrick-martin institute.
about the statistics for LGBT youth.

"this would not have happened if he had been in a situation with a woman. this was far more than an invasion of privacy. this was a hate crime."

--representative from the trevor project's new york headquarters, news channel 4 new york, 30th september

the Hetrick-Martin Institute
http://www.thetrevorproject.org/
Ellen Degeneres speaks out.
American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

it should be treated as a hate crime; he was targeted via a social networking site because of his percieved sexual orientation. he ended his own life as a result.



there needs to be perspective.

my dreams did not come true the way i wanted them to.
it's okay with me; is that okay with you?


--the rescues

"full disclosure"
is not in their vocabularies.

you should be aware

that you were
wrong. and
i have not
forgotten.

assumptions:


relativity
does not equal
subjectivity

reason
does not equal
meaning

one in ten.

that entire organizatons need to be dedicated to the prevention of all of the potential deaths that could result for just being born and existing honestly,


that makes me so sad.

"gender is performative. there is no prediscursive reality, there is no prior truth. the ways that we perform gender create the illusion of an interior and organizing gender core, an illusion discursively maintained for the purposes of the regulation of sexuality within the obligatory frame of reproductive heterosexuality."

"you don't get to sit around for the rest of my life and decide what i have to be like. you weren't inside of my head when i was fucked up; you're certainly not there now. you have no idea how i feel."

--rachel getting married

my scream got lost in a paper cup.
you think there's a heaven
where some screams show up?


years go by:

will i still be waiting
for somebody else to understand
if I'm stripped of my beauty
and the orange clouds
raining in my head?

i've got no patience for slow moving pedestrians
on streets of insomniac metropolis.

when your bones turn to whispers,
they will bury you under a stone
that did not ask to be a stone

we do not ask to be
what we are,
and to live.

--marty mcconnell.

"at a certain point in your life, probably when too much of it has gone by, you will open your eyes, and see yourself for what you are, especially for everything that made you so different from all the awful normals. and you will say to yourself,

but i am this person.






and in that statement, that correction,
there will be a kind of love.

hard hearted, don't worry,
i'm ready for a fight.

unnerved, the nerve,
you're nervous.

nervous that i'm right.

it's always interesting being around people
who don't know what to do with you.


walking on eggshells made of glass
as if one wrong rapid eye movement would
ignite some fierce conflict.

in the past six-ish days, i've been working on covers of:

title and registration, misguided ghosts, sleeping sickness, i am not a robot, divided, feel it in my bones, dancing in the dark, and upward over the mountain, amongst others.


and repeat. and repeat again.
this is what i've accomplished.
callused fingers and some intricate strumming patterns.



no essays organized,
no ramblings edited,
no books read in full.



but my barre chords don't suck.


somehow i think that perspective can't save me on this one.
here's to escapism and acoustic sounds.

...with my hood pulled up
in the light of the night
i was smoke in the bed
like a ghost white light
on the turnpike

you didn't lift my world off me
but you said to let it go
so I did, now I see
that friends are gonna leave me
if they don't believe that they can save me.

you don't have to live like that.

...i'm waking up tired
no god has appeared
i never ever really
felt real faith in your fear

"And when at last you...pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.”

—Sylvia Plath