I'm no longer communicating; I'm broadcasting. I'm not looking for dialogue; I'm delivering a monologue.  I'm delivering a monologue to no one. Why? I don't know. Maybe it's to pass the time or to entertain myself or to hear myself thinking. Maybe I just want to hear my own voice. What's the sound of one hand clapping anyway? Why do people talk to themselves or whistle in the dark? Are they ever really talking to anyone else? I don't think I'm looking for signs of intelligent life in the universe. It's too late for that. If any intelligent signal came back I'd almost be disappointed, I think. I've lost interest in whatever the universe has by way of an answer. Communication exists only obliquely, in listening in on other solitary broadcasts from individuals as distant from each other as stars, many of which have already flashed out. Once an exchange is begun everything is lost, everything becomes garbled & stupid & meaningless. We can only absorb what other people (is there really such a thing) have to share in absolute solitude. Why should that surprise anyone? We were alone before coming into the this world and we will be alone again upon leaving it. Eternity is a lonely place. Not a place, really, but an aspect of time. We can't share it with anyone. We can only experience it alone.
—M. Satai

=sissyart=

=how not to draw a cat=

"Take a picture of yourself & post it you fucking pansy," Daddy said, after cumming in my mouth. I'd been kneeling by the side of the bed, giving him a blow job. Now, he pushed me back on the floor & handed me my cellphone. "Let everyone see how content & fulfilled you are with a belly full of my spunk. Then get your sissy ass downstairs & get breakfast started."

"Yes Daddy," i said.

And here i am.

=sissyart=

=sissyart=

An insecure gang of lying fucking hypocrites. That's what a society is. I want no part of it. What I want most of all is to be a thumb in its eye.

—Antonin Artaud

=a pubic service announcement=

=The Apsergers Sonnets=

15.

“No” is the strongest stimulation to “yes”

--I. K. Bonset

When I wake up I've got my daddy's cock

in my mouth. I don't remember what

got me here or why. I'm in Pennsylvania.

His fists slam the table. The cutlery

hums. The parakeet cocks his head

listening to the fault lines under the linoleum.

I feel like a jigsaw puzzle. The whole

kitchen floor might unconditionally surrender. 

I pencil in my eyes and mouth. The lipstick

is all my fault. The man instructed me 

with great gentleness to spread my cheeks

and show him my pink rosebud. The peas 

shuddered in the cream. His gray 

erect thumb. The fork frozen like that forever.




=sissy journal pages=

=a sissy wager=

=The Aspergers Sonnets=

16.

The yard was a galaxy of dandelions

over which I crabwalked with a spike

in my hand and the command to dig,

dig them up by the roots. Daddy, your story

is too big for my mouth. Sad to say

no one stops saying right then and there.

The mirror reflects the wall like the wall

to another room whose secrets I’ll never

know. Who, then, is that startled woman

looking back at me? I hope I run out

of stamps on the morning I write the letter

telling you where I am.  In a jar

a dandelion will refuse water, the sun,

love, everything. You’ll never get the root.

=daddy's cupcake=

=sissy journal pages=

=a poem with a little something extra=