You can always find people who’ll piss on your dreams, who’ll tell you that what you want is impossible. They want you to fail because they’re afraid you’ll succeed & prove it isn’t impossible to get what you want in life after all, which is the excuse they give themselves for not daring to do anything bold with their own lives. Avoid these people. They want only to hold you down. They are like gravity. They will do whatever they can to keep you from flying.

I admire anyone who can live in a world of their own because the world outside ourselves is so difficult, violent, oppressive, fascistic & relentlessly invasive that it takes an extraordinary act of resistance & imagination & courage to defend one’s freedom & selfhood against it. And this resistance must be repeated every single moment of one’s life.

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Who needs wings when you have a magical gravity-defying red balloon powered by a blue cat in telepathic communication with all-wise entities from beyond the stars?

=Sock Puppet Theater!!!!=

It's a knee. Paint on it. For god sakes, that's what its there for! If you don't, you could die! Really, you could!!!

It's time to paint cats.  Cats in Wonderland. Yeah, yeah, it really is!

What I'd have to say, if I could ever say it, feels too big for my mouth. Like trying to move a gigantic chest of drawers through a doorway half as big. You wonder how the hell the thing ever got into the room in the first place. It must have been built inside the room! That's the only thing that makes sense. To get out what's inside, I'd need a bigger mouth, a gaping unhinged mouth as big as a whale's mouth or a tunnel entrance, a cartoon mouth as big as the whole world, and it would be perpetually screaming.  

As a child, I was never allowed to say "no." Ever. About virtually anything. I was terrified to say what I did or didn't want. Even for Christmas. Even when I was asked what I wanted it got to the point where I was afraid to say, unable to say. It got to the point where I was afraid even to be asked what I wanted. From early on I learned that the reaction to any "disobedience" or "self-assertion," any kind of "rebellion" would have been so over-the-top, so extreme that keeping my mouth shut was always the best alternative, that there was no "alternative," that keeping my mouth shut was tantamount to survival. And, unfortunately, that's how it's been the rest of my life. 

Ive never been able to assert myself with others—to say what I want & even more importantly what I don't want. Easier to just avoid people altogether than to say "no" to them, easier to be alone than to erect the sorts of boundaries that other people find it natural to erect in even casual relationships. Every time Im near people I feel I'm in imminent danger of being steamrolled, invaded, occupied. There aren't enough hours in a day that I can be alone. It's the only time I feel safe. Of course, the obvious exception to the rule is Daddy. I feel safe with him, even safer with him than being alone. 

In a sense, Daddy is my "NO!" And what a "NO!" he is! A big, strong, muscled, tattooed "NO!" that must be respected. That no one can pretend not to hear. I don't even have to open my mouth. Actually, he doesn't either! He's a visual "NO!" Tread lightly, keep your distance, don't trespass, don't take advantage, be respectful—when I'm with Daddy I feel like I now have the voice I was robbed of in childhood; I have everything I needed to stand up for myself in life. Everything I won't ever have on my own no matter how much "therapy" I go through. It's just missing, like an amputated limb or a lost eye. It can be compensated for, but it won't grow back no matter what. I'll always be a gimp. I'll always be half-blind.

What I resent the most are my parents who had children in the first place—had them for no good reason it often seems than to stomp on their spirits, grind them under their heels. No, I don't really believe they did this intentionally, but out of ignorance and indifference, wrapped up in their own clumsy dance of marital dissatisfaction, depression and life-disappointment, their own neuroses & damage. 

Of course, it does no good to resent them. And I've forgiven them, if by forgiveness means accepting the fact that they, too, were flawed human beings with their own insoluble problems, who did their best & failed. I understand all that. But, I never had children specifically because I didn't want to damage them even inadvertently the way I was damaged. Why couldn't they have at least seen that much? 

I guess that's what I still have left to forgive. The fact that they passed their problems on to me. And I haven't passed them on to anyone else. I've decided the problems and the pain STOP with me. It was my decision and it was an honorable and correct decision. But goddamnit, I do resent that I'm left holding the bag!

Today it's all about the socks!!! 

My darling husband surprised me with these just after breakfast this morning. No particular reason, he said. He saw them online because of something else he'd bought me & thought they had my name written all over them. And don't they ever!!!

You can't see it too clearly in the picture but the little ruffle has white polka dots on it. Pink, ruffles, ribbons & polka dots. Can any sock possibly be sissier??? Maybe if they had kitties on them? 

Its May, its mini-skirt weather, & I've got brand new pink, ruffly, ribboned socks. Does it get any better?!

Everyone likes to say they're different, to think they're unique. But they aren't. Not really. In the end, they do pretty much what everyone else does, believe in what everyone else believes in.  They do a good job of fitting in or at least pretending to fit in. Being truly different is no picnic, no barrel of laughs. It's nothing to crow about. You end up misunderstood by everyone, friendless, alone, alienated. If you're lucky maybe one or two people "get" you, not counting your cats. All too often, you end up at the end of a rope.

Fluxus Event Score:

Mail Trump Your Spleen

Sit at your kitchen table with a sheet of 1st class American flag stamps. Remove 1 stamp from the sheet, place it on tongue. Pause. Picture a rooster. Swallow. Repeat, using the entire sheet. Swallow an addition 10 stamps to mail Trump your colon as well.

The Old Spag Factory

The last time someone wrote a love poem

without a smirk or an apology

it was 1987.

I don't remember it well.

I had vasoline on my lips.

I was a Chevrolet in reverse.

I was Chinese checkers.

Because petroleum president & the halibut hum

the apricot turned over

the sock & such

there were 1001 unique moments

when the butter was in charge.

Questions, questions

the toilet brush

the mozambique

it’s time to stay horny for the sun

clamp your perfume

to the stony chimp—

I blasted off from tulip bulbs

room deodorant

siren

I’m with you my hairy monster

a great reunion of Indiana Pacers

eliminates the air

Here’s your gumbo, sir

off you ride your table horns

to the secondary moon

& three day’s beard

& filomena egg stump

& egg

& egg

oh Dad

the lumbar region!

When you're an angel your arms turn into wings because you don't need to eat soup anymore.

For me to write like a human being I’d have to be a human being but this society offers me no way to be a human being. My body does not conform to the only two things I’m allowed to be so I must be nothing within society. I must live outside of society. I kept trying to disguise my non-resident status in order to fit in but they kept insisting on stripping me naked, putting me under the spotlight or the streetlamp. They had their version of doctors for those like me or doctors as they liked to call them. They had their mission. Their forms of interrogation. These interrogations were mandatory. I answered their questions after I lied because they promised me salvation or pardon in return. They promised the truth would set me free but they lied and called these lies the truth. The truth was they wanted to uncover what I was so they could identify me and identify me to destroy me because identification isn’t fluid it’s destruction. Anything was fair game when it comes to destroying a virus is how their thinking goes. Their thinking is an immune system response, that’s all any thinking is. I lived among them long enough to understand their thinking or immune system response. I understood I needed to avoid it however possible. My life—by which I mean that small thing that travels incognito in disguise on a road leading in a diagonal direction in another dimension without me and which I will never catch up to—depends on it. They can’t make me care what happens to this society which is the only thing they want from me without caring anything about me in return. This is my revolution. It’s quiet. It’s basically a refusal to talk, which is to repeat the lies I was taught. My refusal to care when the missiles fall. My refusal to stand for the flag. My refusal to support the troops who are always fighting my friends which are always the enemy. The next society may have a place for me. My body might fit in better there. Wherever there is or might be I’m willing to bet on it. I’m willing to go to it. “There” I define as anything other than here. Here is nowhere. Anywhere is better than here.

—from I Am A Sissy Jihadist

https://www.amazon.com/Secret-Diary-Future-Crime-Victim-ebook/dp/B07CSLZ8RW/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1525400272&sr=8-2&keywords=secret+diary+of+a+future