Sep 16, 2024
I’m so sad this week drop is hitting me hard it will be a long time before I can relive the high of whipping a breast implant out at ren faire and asking people to ponder my orbs.
seen from United States
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seen from Canada
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seen from Netherlands
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I’m so sad this week drop is hitting me hard it will be a long time before I can relive the high of whipping a breast implant out at ren faire and asking people to ponder my orbs.
wizards are playing 5-D chess with gender in ways you wouldn't understand
happy trans day of visibility! heres a drawing of me as one of those pronoun wizards
✨ kofi link in bio if you’re feeling generous ✨
Stardew Valley was really on to something wenn they decided the best way to trans your gender is by befriending the local wizard
I have come to the conclusion that the Gender Wizard does not and shall not scare me.
Sometimes ya just gotta turn yourself into a silly little wizard
Tour Journal
15th April 2017 Vaughn, WA Watermark Words and Music Concert Series
Drive through Portland. At speed. To Greyhound Bus station. Meara, whilst steering, scrambles for pen. Scribbles the word THIS on my right wrist.
She and Malachi share THIS for a tattoo. Reminder of the Present. And, here she is, marking me. Both an emblem of Awareness and also of Family. Like she’s just signed the papers to my adoption. THIS ‘Write it on your wrist every day’ she caws to me over the blast of open-window wind.
Grendal slavers on my shoulder. Hunches his huge frame across the back seat bench, craning neck between our two front bucket seats. Smiling open. The three of us, making a motley crew, march into the ticket office.
In a waving moment I’m swallowed by Bus. Bus is swallowed by open road. Goodbye Meara, Grendal. Goodbye Graham’s. Au Revoir French boys. Farewell Portland.
THIS.
Max is the boy at the Tacoma car rental office. Demeanour too merciful for any ordinary car-rental attendant. I smell Musician. He’s in a few Seattle based bands: Gender Wizard, Mr Motorcycle and Said Canteen. Next day I’ll discover he is soon to drum for ‘Minus the Bear’ through the UK and Europe. Next day, Easter Sunday, he’ll kindly drive me to the train that will take me back to Vancouver.
Been waiting for the moment I’m behind the wheel of an automatic.
A memory of the last time: California. July 2016. Expensive car. Tired driver; offer to her that I can drive the rest from San Fran to Shasta. But breaks are too sensitive. My feet, no matter how tenderly pressed, seem to incur an emergency stop. Don’t make it out the Gas-Station. She looks at me like I’m crazy. I surrender the wheel. Feel shame.
But this. THIS. A dream. Drive smooth, with growing beam, across a long bridge towards Vaughn WA. Road winds thinner, bracketed by rich bark browns and conifer greens, of sand whites and glittering sea blues.
Dirt track. Last leg. A house looks out to sea (could be mistaken for a large lake) which then climbs, through blue air, into the Olympia Mountains. Presented by a wall of windows, in front of which, I will later sing.
Jerry Libstaff, his wife, Pam, and their dog open their home to ragamuffin writers. Have done for years.
Kat is a poet who will read before my set.
She and Jerry accompany down to the beach. Later to be submerged by sea, populated by cries of resting Seals and Sea-Lions. There is a hut. Kat points out the collection of stones and shells lining a bench on the balcony: ‘These are Moonsnails. They eat oysters. Bury down through the shell…’ Jerry adds ‘The oysters are as big as steaks here.’
Seaweed salads and butterbeans in delicious garnish.
Kat’s poetry is beautiful. Real. Linked to upbringing, struggles with relationships. Children’s choices. Mother’s fears. Father’s failings.
A woman paints us as we perform.
Sense of engagement, when I open to sing, is wonderful. The audience are here with me. Embody the word on my arm. THIS. Listen intently. Deeply.
Anna, studying Statistics in Seattle, has come. Originally, from Edinburgh. Actually she attended my last Summerhall gig just a few weeks ago. Sing Ae Fond Kiss for her and Maureen (a scot who’s lived in the USA 30 years but makes an extra effort to retain Scottish twang especially for the evening).
A lavish bed awaits. And a claw-foot bath. Pain of leaving Portland somewhat doused. Fall asleep to the Song of the Selkie. Soft clean sheets against soft clean skin.
everything is queerplatonic. everything. everyth-
truuuu