saturday at the dyke march, an older schizophrenic woman was handing out these little photo-copied pamplets of her writings to all the lesbians who would pass by. she handed me one and whispered, "its weird, they keep recording everyone i give these to" and "thank you for sharing my story".
i kept it tucked away in a little copy of the scum manifesto i had in my bag, and i would read it over and over again, it came with me on the metro north, in a guest bedroom in connecticut, back to washington square park, in a church in ridgewood etc. etc. etc.,
the words themselves where kind of difficult to decipher; no complete sentences, spinning a distressing tale involving her deceased mother, anthony fauchi, larry kramer, violent hare krishna day(?), THE INTERNET, random names, dates, times, streets, addresses, and joan jett. it also included pictures of her mother, and paintings she had made, and pictures of herself and her brother steve. the whole things really affected me emotionally. i guess it was inspiring that someone so far from our general reality could get her story out so effectively.
i guess what i'm trying to say is i've been thinking a lot about like, operating in and coping with a world that doesn't make any sense, conspiracy theory brain rot, post-truth, and how reality is malleable, how it relates to forging your own identity, changing your body, everything being in flux, up in the air. it seems like for better or for worse, everyone lives inside their own worlds, worlds that are true to them. thankfully most of the time my world is one where a bunch of silly and beautiful trans people make noise music in the basements of houses and churches. other people live in a world where joan jett is secretely shooting lasers into their face.
to be surrounded by your community is an incredible thing, especially marching down the streets of manhattan, watching half-naked butch lesbians do pull-ups on the scaffolding of skyscrapers. but sometimes, being surrounded by beautiful people who are celebrating their confidence, comfort, and joy in their own bodies and identities can really internally highlight how massively shitty you still feel about yourself. as much as i enjoyed my friends and my community i still felt a bit isolated and crazy, like im stuck behind a glass window of dysphoria watching everyone and everything pass by. it can all be very overwhelming.
i know that these feelings do not reflect the "true" "reality" of my situation, i am lucky to have so many amazing and supportive friends around me, and my transition is progressing a lot better these days, in large part thanks to them. its just hard not to be a total doomer when the world is exploding and i still have hair growing from my face. i guess caren weckstein made me feel less alone in my suffering this weekend, we could both be fucked up and vulnerable together through the little pamplet i carried around.
i'll leave you with a poem she wrote, called "top of the world".
driving up the road from the bottom to the top. all you see is the light from the sun. you think you are driving into a fairyland and maybe you are the grass on the hills are rolling lush green on either side of the road. cat-o-mine tails blow in the breeze. cows graze in the pastor. and when you get there maybe that’s where paradise is.
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