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Jul. 11th, 2013

God was a big eye
it took up all the sky
it stared and stared and
pondered till tears poured out
it's eyes. Then the blood came
and the goosh out
Manna was had by all
In every seed


Each day the table that holds my debris
from daily living clears inch by sacred
inch. My head clears and I think of cleaning
the kitchen and bathroom because it all
comes clean with time and persistance. I see
a time when it will be clear and we shall
dine upon it sipping tea with our smoke
and laughing because with time all things heal.


You don't
have to be a grandpa
so drive faster.
Proceed with caution
and have fun.
End the Turtle domination
Reach for the Bunny!


Cassius is deep in thought as he ponders his dealbreakers -- what are the things that he cannot deal with in another? He thinks and thinks. He walks around campus and puzzles and looks at the hot guys and finding himself in the courtyard of the food court, realized he must be hungry.

The choices were less than idea, but in the end, he decided on Chicken Chew Cat -- he thought it had a certain ring to it.

Right away, he noticed a young cashier and busied himself with stratagem -- how was he going to make sure he was with the cute guy and not the busted dude who kept wiping his dripping nose with the back of his hand leaving glistening translucent slime slicks on his skin.

"May I take your order, Sir?" The cashier smiled. As he smiled, Cassius intoned a planned order turned cold -- Cassius was no longer interested as he found his first dealbreaker in the cashier's smile: He cannot have less teeth than I have in my head. More or equal, but not less.





Looking at cars I think
to ask your father to come with me.
I imagine him standing there
arms folded about his belly
but then I wonder why am I asking
this man to be my father
when I am a fatherless child
(and proud of it)?

Am I caught in that thinking
where I believe what is yours
is mine even after we aren't we anymore?
He is not my father although I have
called him "Dad" for nearly 15 years
and I quibble and I waver and I worry?

I was never supposed to be on these shores
David is long and gone
so is Freddy. Rufus came
but he was too late, I was past grown.
Ernie washed his hands of me before
they could ever mold me.
And I called Tim "Dad"
for fifteen years and worry
(WORRY!) he wouldn't
wanna come look at a car with me?

He would, too.
After all,
He's been calling me "Son"
for nearly 15 years.




I knew.
Yami knew, too.
Yet I was determined
and she knows a battle lost
and so I plunged headfirst
in you, Ben and sentimentality
and memory.

You are a Kate Bush song
talking about
"this could never be mine".

You are my gay messiah
lifted up from my 12 year old fantasies
ass-wiggling in my head
I pray at every alter
and you take the adoration
when I let you know your feet
are indeed made of clay
you sprint, but you should have
I am probably too real for you.

It wasn't right and
I am glad you ran
back to your common law wife.
I came out for a reason.
And it was not to be
with any man
with a wife.
Common or otherwise.




When I was young
and a man offered his heart to me
I was never unkind.

Not to the man who proclaimed himself
Chocolate Queen with a grin --
I almost applauded.
I gave him a chance
at a real romance
and still found him wanting.

But I was never mean.

Not to the man who, upon leaving,
told me I needed to procure him
new ass.

Not to the man who
finally found the courage to talk
to me after stalking me
all Summer --
he even knew where I lived
and I lived off grid.

Not to the man
who screamed Hallelujah
and said, "You may be a bitch
in the streets, but you sho is a man
in the sheets"
because that's what you wanna hear
when you are deep deep
and doing your

I bedded them all well
and I bid them goodbye kindly.

You I cannot figure out.
You say I am them
and you are me.
You are not kind
yet you don't bid me goodbye.
And having just grown gills
I'll have to longer wait for legs.

(it would only
be much later my dick would lose
attention -- then, my feelings and it
were separate)



For days, I walked
holding lines in my head like
breath caught
in the cotton of my chest.
I was lost for ego
and memory --
could not decide which meant more.
Tonight, I thought, as I looked
in the mirror at my fine gorget
(to prevent the beheading),
"Sit down and write -- something
will come out."
It's like sleeping
if I lay down, I fall asleep.
Usually, I am up
moon-howling and tugging my bits
because my breath is caught
caught writing in my head
and it cannot meet paper
I don't value rehearsal
as much as impromptu
unless the rehearsed sounds natural
which takes talent and acting skills --
we all know what it is like to be a virgin --
we all know how to forget what we know
marbles twinkling down the stairs
and when I sit to write the rehearsed
I am left with none of it, but that's ok:
I'm amazing.
And you're amazing, too.


Let me get this straight
you wanna fuck a guy
who has been fucked
by any number of guys
and their loads are still all
up his butt.

For what?




for Nathan Wilson

It all comes down to this:
Me and this guy, I cannot say he's not pretty,
and this little bit of text:

"Among the Hebrew nations
the Hebrew, Daniel, was found.
They put him in-a the lion's den --
he stayed there all night long."

I had to win because my grandma was there
because finally she believed
because she stopped telling me
shut up making that noise
and started to wonder, "Maybe."

You have to understand --
she had been through this before
with her daughter and she never became
a teen-aged Diana Ross, lifting
all of us out of cotton fields
that was her dream, but it did not come.
And here come I
singing and dancing and making ado
there must have been some joy
in recalling followed by the crush
that prayers are not always answered.
That god is mostly deaf.
That there are no real assists coming
from white people that can bring
you into the knowledge of such things
as voice classes and piano lessons
because no one told her she could birth flowers
filled with the joy of freedom and sun
from her belly low-hanging over pregnant
cotton plants, coarse and strangely soft in her hand
no one told her what to do or where to go
or even how much it would cost, she didn't know.
Wanted better; didn't know and it would cost her
and her,
but for this moment
she believed
in me.

I had to win
because my grandma was there
I had to win
because of all the faggots flung on my back
caught like burrs
I had to win
because I needed to prove to myself
and to every one
that I was really

I believe I went first.
Leading with my sweeping dynamics
whipping a tiny phrase into a whirlwind
of dramatics and tensions in timbres evoking
trumpets and violins and he followed
the same solo, but sang it straight.
No valleys, no interpretation, no artistry
only the notes as presented on the page
with technique as flawless as mine, but without
He sang his best and I sang mine.
We sang it out before the judges
causing the sun to drip low as we awaited
their decision and I could not
look at him and he would not
look at me. Our chorus teachers
smiled and made nice. But we never..

Yesterday, I heard our voices
singing together, it was weird
starting from different impulses, I could hear
a strange meld -- except where I would bend
because I like to interpret music and I like music
to come through me -- and so do you in movement.
And I wondered back to that day
at South Carolina All-State Chorus auditions
where I nearly snagged that golden ring
but I think I would have rather made a new friend.
Instead of holding, bitterly, to the fact that his voice
croaked on the high note and mine did not and wouldn't have
... because that's little shit to hold.
It doesn't grow --
it kills a part of you.
I am glad we're friends.
Maybe not close, but it makes up
for what couldn't happen then.




I imagined I was washing dishes
pots and pans were steaming
on the oven, Josalyn wound
around my legs humming like
a motorcycle idling. After the dishes
I wiped the counters and swept the floors
then got on my knees with a bucket
of water and vinegar and scrubbed my floor
with my hands. Afterward, I looked back
saw my thoughts painted on the floor
thoughts of South Carolina
when learned that horrible knowledge that safety
is temporary, no matter how much
we said the Lord's Prayer at dinner
no matter Henrietta's brother coming over
and baptizing us with a thumb print of olive oil
in our third eye and later, finding his marital aide
and giggling and curious.
I see shame and neglect and sadness
I hear the laughter, but I can't feel it.
I feel sad for that little boy,
his knowledge, his curiosity, what it created in him,
I want to wash the floor again.
I strip
walk around the Hollow
deciding on what needs to be done
as I think about taking a shower.
I check to make sure I don't
have to go anymore because I like
to be clean back there for a while.
The shower is lovely
there are men in there with me
and no one there at all save me.
I am fucking this one
and that one is washing my back
another takes me into his mouth
still another washes quickly
not looking around
anxious for this ordeal to be over.
Great-Grandma's house
summer, red checkered tablecloth
I discovered my taste:
Yum, peanut butter and orange juice.



If I determine the hue is called "Marigold"
I must hold onto it.
Gotta accept that I see the world
how I see the world
there's nothing wrong with that --
there's a whole planet full of people
doing just that.
They are dancing in fields of sunshine ribbons
spun finely around their breasts and thigh
they are preparing to tip the royal brillagaboo
into a vat of honey prepared for my feastday
I must hold to it
because it is.
One day,
there will be no marigold
the color won't bring me
Wallace, SC on a scorching day
watching bees alight and pause
the taste of water from a spigot
the tang of a plum near the pit
it will be yarn
and hats of 2012
it will be endings and beginnings
it will be 2009
and it will be forever, too.
I must hold to it
holding sand is an occupation
only few fools are entitled.
I should have never given up
creating pathways for water to flow
and Zindell's _Marigolds_ is as tragic
as this poem.
But the heart is the same.
There's nothing wrong with that.



It could have been worse.
He could have decided on me
and be mine
in my Hollow
with me.

It could have been worse
he could have ghosted
and I
would have never
seen him again.

Musical chairs cast me out of my comfort
carelessly, my heart almost broke, but
recalling real pain puts perspective on it.

It could be better
he could be sweet and intelligent
dirty and gorgeous
understand my sweet abstractions
get entangled in my yarn.
He could take me on day dates
taking pictures in the new Seattle sun.
I can be the man I want and do all those things
just the same, too. It could be better.

Still, I miss feeling special.
But there's a more awesome special to feel.


Emotional Self-Care Check One

Deep breath, check.
I am comfortable in my seat.
He is not beside me and that is ok.
I don't need anyone beside me.
I need to be comfortable in my now.

If I were confined in a box
and I was caught good
feed maybe, watered carelessly
dependent completely on this other
to take care of me I could see
forming some intrahuman bound
need gives way to primal scenes
no one noticed you crying into your noodle soup
and the illusion was ruined in a flash.
Maybe then, too, I can find comfort in the now.

If I were concealed in a sack
If I were imprisoned or married
If I were caught outside the ship
before a black hole did its business
I hope I would smile
give the timeless "Namaste"
and find comfort

Sovereign Self #1

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you:
I hate you and I love you.
It isn't a rose or a diamond ring
and it cannot leap past itself.
I hate you and I love you
it is unbearable to me!
That every clenched hand relaxes
and all sighs are released without thought
some rattles roll before finding their voice
and on and on and on and on.

Perhaps I will learn to end things sooner
or never start to begin.
Love sends me communicating
communicating love is the easiest thing -- the hardest
accepting the things you cannot change when you know,
in such cases, it is better to walk away.

Before it is decided for you
just as you start to hear "I love you" more.

It's a handicap to love flawed beings.
It's a handicap to be a flawed being.

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
I love you and I hate you.

But I will give you roses and diamond rings
and laugh at you as you struggle to understand
why you love you so much.
I will tickle you and give you projects.
Direct you away from as much harm as I can. I will
Birth you past your self-hate into a love so intense
the ones you can love but will also hate will never stop to come near
and you won't notice because you won't feel alone. Or you will be alone,
but intensely happy within it. Because you know,
one day, someone will come along
you will love and love without any hatred.
And he will be yours
and you will be his
and we will make the snake
eating its tail.


Welcome to NaPoWriMo.

And yes, I wanted "sooner" for reasons that make sense to my reading voice and my not grammar head.


"Because I'd hate for my weirdness to be misunderstood."

Songwriters: BUCKLEY, JEFF

Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners
Parading in a wake of sad relations as their shoes fill up with water
And maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong
But tonight you're on my mind so you never know

Broken down and hungry for your love with no way to feed it
Where are you tonight, child you know how much I need it
Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run

Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun
And much too blind to see the damage he's done
Sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no-one

So I'll wait for you... and I'll burn
Will I ever see your sweet return
Oh will I ever learn

Oh lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late
Lonely is the room, the bed is made, the open window lets the rain in
Burning in the corner is the only one who dreams he had you with him
My body turns and yearns for a sleep that won't ever come

It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her
It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

Well maybe I'm just too young
To keep good love from going wrong

Oh... lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late

Well I feel too young to hold on
And I'm much too old to break free and run
Too deaf, dumb, and blind to see the damage I've done
Sweet lover, you should've come over
Oh, love well I'm waiting for you

Lover, you should've come over
Cause it's not too late

Damn you, Cyrus

If the fire next time comes
and you are clinging to my back
there will be no gods or goddesses
to call upon, this burden will be my own.

Your clothes are torn and dirty.
There's blood drying on your cheek
and poor thing doesn't have the muscle
to make a sound or a soft and delicate cry.

I hope to forge with all my might.
I hope to put down bullshit,
square my shoulders and ground my hips.
I want to push with the soul of me up from the earth.
I want you to dream of flying.

If next time a fire comes,
I want to move strong.

*sidenote (9-22-12) I thought the piece the ballet company did was an excellent commentary of a different role of the woman... it ended with the men on the ground, battered and weak and the women standing strong and pulling him along with her foot in catch behind his shoulder. It was *breathtaking*. I LOVE the season of _So You Think You Can Dance_!!!


(for Fasi Fa'ua)
In the beginning
we must be honest
leave Adam with his rib
forgive Eve for her bite of apple
say, "Snake, come down from that tree
and have a spot of tea with me."
We must link all things unlinked
like the lips that hold all holy words
and curses
until we are left here smiling
slightly light-headed with honest glee.
We must begin the moment the monkey lets loose in the attic
shaking down grandma's wig and rune bones
the second after the contract between sleep and dream resolves
before you hear the voices of emergency or wonder what the situation is around you
we begin to prepare for the day
there is no more day.
And there is nothing more than that.

(the edit happened on FB... )

(for Fasi F.)

In the beginning

we must be honest:

Leave Adam with his rib,

forgive Eve for her bite of apple.

Say, "Snake, come down from that tree

and have a spot of tea with me."

We must link all things unlinked

like the lips that hold

all holy words

and curses

until we are left smiling

slightly light-headed with honest glee.

We must begin

the moment the monkey lets loose

in the attic shaking down

grandma's wig and rune bones the second after

the contract between sleep and dream resolves.

Before you hear the voices of emergency or wonder

"What the hell is going on?"

We begin to prepare for the day

there is no more day.

And there is nothing more than that.

- Q. Johnson

Aug. 11th, 2012

Cherish the moment right after you nut -- that may be the most bliss you'll feel all year.

Mea Culpa

I am sorry, but I cannot attend South Park Pride. I want to, but I am exhausted and I need to sleep.

I hope you can understand -- I hate feeling like I have wounded you. I hate that you take things so personally sometimes, but I understand -- I miss your friendship, too.


Yesterday, while in bed with Josalyn, listening to SYTYCD, something touched me and I started to cry. I leaned into the cry with the startled realization that I needed to cry. Then I pulled it back in -- in case reality gave me a reason to actually have to cry. Better real tears that crocodile tears.

Lately, I feel like have been just fucking up. In my mind, I berate myself for so much... it's like walking through a row of switches that never stop snipping and popping at me. Add lack of sleep, lack of intimate human relations, a changing personae, goals -- and the weight gets heavy indeed.

What I want to do is to put the money I have left in the bank. Then, I want to sleep a guiltless sleep -- not the sleep of "Sister is going to be so disappointed in me" or any of that.

I am going to shower, too. Maybe get some melatonin, something to eat. I am going to give myself some pamper time. I get to do laundry tomorrow -- which is going to be *awesome* and since it's Monday, maybe I will go to the bad Goodwill, maybe the good, maybe Value Village.

There are other things I want to do:

* study music before I get to rehearsal tomorrow

* look over my Octavia paper and maybe finish it and send it off to Xandi

* start a new paper

* clean the Hollow

* throw out some shit

* order some shit from Amazon

* get to the gym

* go to the Country Doctor for blood work and order refill on meds

* etc.


This is not the day I got married
This is an ordinary day
when I listened
to jazz stylings of someone cutting something
and Josalyn shifts in her box beside my Captain's chair
wondering why this bitch (me) has the window open
-- don't I know it's cold?
Today, I sit in a black robe
in my Captain's chair
with my lorum and belly hanging out --
Well-fed and housed.
I live in a squalor I call cozy.
This day is never warm anymore.
For ten years, it was never cold... yet three years ago
it became an ordinary Seattle day.
This is not the day I got married,
it's the day of ordinary promise:
rest from long travels
the reward of friends
and a cat that loves me.


I do not know what to do
with the conversation
in my mind about the you
that is not you
and was never you.

I tell it to shut up.
Reason with it hoping
resolve will silence it forever.

I serve it tea and pep talks.
Sometimes Snickers and doughnuts.
Because this voice won't let you go.
It wants to hold onto you
until death do we part.
It is, I fear, the empty sockets
in my soul wind rustling,
a phantom bellowing in my chakras

I'm tired of living with it, too--
I need some new cheese.
This is not about you
but me. Even if I utter your name
like hot sin after a good Sunday afternoon,
it's about me -- The Part of me
that Cannot Let Go.

It's just a first love kind of love.
Like someone else who
charmed me and got me to buy into fantasies
without telling me what they were really doing.
I don't think about him at all anymore.
I won't always think about you either.
I'm not thinking about you now.
This is my awareness start.


I wished to be beautiful.
A beauty was that conferred upon me
an absolute truth:
The sun is beautiful.
This flower is beautiful.
This song is beautiful.
All I got was old
and I never knew how beautiful
I was.


Because of you,
I have an understanding
of the big, bad wolf.
I desire
to huff
and puff
and blow
down your house.
I imagine it's quite nice in there --
Pictures adorning the wall
chronicling your development from birth
to now. Tea and crumpets and a couch
neither too soft or too hard for me to sit
while I watch the play of sunlight carelessly bestrewed
against your cheek
and marvel at the beauty of a boy,
the beauty of me -- delighting without instinct to ensnare.
You mustn't think I'm not hungry
with my face pressed against your window
slick with desire and restraint.
Some people wait their whole lives for pleasure.
They have faith and big books to occupy their wait
and make their waiting grand -- as if death is anything
they could ever know about while living. No.
I will have my pleasure while my spirit is still
encased in flesh and yours is, too -- steeling my jaws
against the aching wind in my chest.
You want to be taken. I need only invitation.
Welcome me inside and watch wolf to hunger give way.
Paradise is found in a wait
that is no wait: One day,
you will arrive at your entrance
dressed in the beauty that is you.
You will extend your hoof to my paw
and I will enter.


They take healthy cells
whir them in some contraption
spit them onto a slab of glass
and with the pulverized cells
build a new heart.
Particular attention must be paid:
how do I build a new heart?
Where are the cells I collect
and how do I grind them into
new material so my heart
is not the heart it was
but this new thing
growing in a heart sized glass
ready to be transplanted 
into this new me.


A constant trickle from the kitchen
reminds me that I love my Lady Josalyn
to my discomfort since she prefers to drink
water in motion and who am I to deny the needs
of a Gemini soul?


I found you
languishing in the library
read you cradled by the light
of a bathroom stall, you, Essex,
breaking my mind as I imagined
brothers loving brothers as something
as revolutionary as life.
I found you and in finding you I let go
of my conditioning to find the beauty of
myself and my brothers, which was always there, but
in danger of fading with the new cultural script
I was being handed if I was to be an out homosexual.
I found you and you led me to your bed
with its many upsets and heartbreaks and love, I guess,
I didn't concentrate on love because I wanted you loving me, Essex.
Wanted to feel your hands travel over my young body,
stroking me like a cat or a fiddle or a timpani drum
I wanted to be the one to love you.
Fix your Cordon Negros.
Have you running
all over town
for a sure thing.
I found you
and held you in my hands
and blossomed into this
strong B/black goddess I am today.
My stride strong
my sissy banner high and unfuckwitable
my heart whole
my truths personal and learned
and when you died
I felt the breath sucked out of me back in 95
when a scant few months later
protease inhibitors came out and could have saved
your life. Your life becoming another loss
we aren't supposed to talk about but man,
if only you could have held on a little longer.
But I guess we are not supposed to have you that way,
but this: In memoriam.


Dear Racism,

Since I seem to be committed
to a life that has you in it,
I want to set up some ground rules
and boundary setting.

If you are to arise in the ear of a white lady, 
help her refrain from saying,
"Please tell me your name so I can stop calling you 'Buckwheat'."

I should not have to deal with you
when I am feeling good. No, I
should not have to deal with you at all.
But if I can't rid myself of you,
I ask that you keep quiet.

Do not expect me to be complicit in your oppression.
Do not think you can joke me into it
or arouse me into taking a bite.
Re-direct the flow to trannies (hey, that's sorta me, too!)
or Asians or people who refer to you in the feminine when you are
"obviously a masculine man" or people who refer to themselves
and go through great lengths to be the man he is to be called "she"
because my sight is unwavering and I see what I see. All are connected
and stem from you and if we can dissolve you -- I will romanticize
and hope your demise, Racism.

And I won't let you take me
so far out of my character
that I cannot love the face
in the mirror I see.


People grow old and die.
It has always been this way.
Youth cherished and devoured
to give way to the tree, now mature,
able to withstand winters and meet the spring
in bud and glory.
But even trees suffer the cruel cut of humans
and so we age and grow old,
stop needing so much glory, so glory comes less.
Then we die, in stages, no one even notices
until the bark collapses on itself.

(for Toni Morrison at 81)


Don't laugh
there's gonna be a murder here tonight.
Someone's gonna laugh too long
and stare too deeply in the eyes of the wrong person.
Someone's gonna push someone too far.
Someone's gonna find out the truth and react... poorly.
Someone's gonna decide to opt out.
Someone's gonna put too much in the needle.
Someone's gonna smoke the wrong something dipped in something.
And it's all so uncertain.
Can visit anyone.
What's to stop you from dying tonight?


Such hope in these words
they could burn you to cinders
suck you inside out so all that's left is light
Hosanna! we sing

Fasi says I'm getting mean

What if it isn't that I am *getting* mean, but the mean is always there -- and someone pissed me off enough to let it show.

I have wanted to talk to Fasi about the situation for a while -- but I should have known. Fucking Pisces... always surround themselves with stronger signs to defend and protect when their shit comes flowing right back to them.

LOL I love that anyone reading this has no idea of what or whom I am talking about.

But I have always hated and resisted this idea that I am going to always just be nice.  Me, who loves "Pixie" by Ani DiFranco simply refuses to suck up and be nice past a certain point.

I really dislike a fourth of the guys I work with and feel wary around half. Should I celebrate this? I mean, at least I have a job -- one. And two, there could be more people to dislike.

However, it is really nice to know you don't like someone and are done trying to play nice because obviously, the other person isn't into it.

He's going around saying I hurt his feelings.

No, I ain't hurt your feelings yet, Dick.

Don't call it a comeback

This is the year
I shall stare at myself in mirrors
hoping to catch a glance of myself
when I am not paying attention to myself.
I believe in miracles.


Today is mightypen's birthday. She's way gone -- way out of here.

It makes me realize how long I have been on LJ and reading the only five entries she left up, what the trouble and blessing of it might have been for me: I write the way I'd speak to people in real life. At least, I used to. Now, I speak differently, but find I can create this "voice", too.

I should be asleep now.
Instead, I am stoned and exhausted, sad and dying for connection. I am caught in this possible sex thing with an Aries who's showing every possibility of being a HUGE time-waster.

I wish I wanted to fall in love with someone... but I love him... and I am falling in love with me. This is so completely and complexly wrong... I have no words... and so I am awake.

Started Google + today.


Now I realize... I used LJ as my journal... and then I started becoming politicalized and radicalized and it became something else. Writing right now... I realize this is how I wrote in my journal.

Navel-gazing at it's finest.

I stopped doing it on paper... and started doing it digitally... maybe I am wrong to think I stopped journalling when I was with Ryan... because the truth is... that's a lie.

I should see when my last real entry was... probably something I wrote to myself.

And I am leaving this public... because I miss not having anything to hide.

... gotta change these icons... I am not that girl anymore.


I just

had an exquisite wank session
and have decide to revert to my birthname:

Quentin Demarcus Johnson it is.

For all and whatever it is worth.

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Nom Nom, I Eat Your Brains

Tonight's rehearsal for the Queer Superhero's show was pretty good -- although I didn't want to go and wished I had remembered to deodorize. I am a little nervous about where this money for my costume is gonna come from, but walking home, I realized I would always put word out into my community and see what I can come up with. I am not going to worry about it. I mean, by hook or crook, it will happen for me!

The other day, in talking to Sister Bhakti Shockti, she talked about my need to maybe embrace my masculine. She knows what she is talking about and I trust her, so I am listening (which is also in line with my transits). She talked about her own struggles, being firmly grounded in the feminine and coming to a point in her life where she needed to embrace and get in contact with her masculine energy.

I do feel strong in my feminine energy. Those two months of Cancer and Leo were I felt my masculine self kinda emerge was kinda sweet, albeit uncomfortable. How long will this take? If Chris Crocker can embrace his masculine self... I can, too.

... although it does make me wanna cut my hair Tara from True Blood style.

This is a part of this conversation because during rehearsal, once we were running the number from the top, I decided to mix up my walk and did that B/black male walk from the early 80's where it looks like the guy is kinda limping? And it was SO funny to me... BECAUSE it is me. Masculinity as drag, honey! Only the drag kings woulda thunk it.

So, I am thinking to present REALLY masculine and then undress to some strange between. Genderfuckery has never been so delicious.

It will be interesting to see how this pans out. What is "feminine" to me is not really, it is how I am and what people SAY is feminine... I guess if I act in opposition to my natural inclinations then I will have it? We will see.

On both fronts.

But I am only nervous about one.

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The thing that gets me about these kinds of conversations is that it is mostly about cultural thievery which is not the same as cultural appropriation. Cultural appropriation is taking something and saying it is yours. Getting something of someone else's culture because it is pretty is not necessarily appropriation. Sure, it is ignorant. Sure, it would be useful if the person knew something about the culture they were thieving from, but appropriation?

What are they appropriating?

Cultural appropriation has to be about something deeper than merely getting a tattoo of a language you don't speak (shit, I am guilty of that one with my bad Arabic grammar on my chest... but we will see about that... although I am as willing to die with it on my body as I was when I got it!), but those people who will insist and insist that it is theirs, that they have a right to it, that the genesis starts with them instead of something older than them and from a people not them. Cultural appropriation must first have that particular brand of internalized racial superiority Euro-Americans are so gifted with having and displaying without even noticing and rarely owning.

Have you ever seen belly dancing in the Pacific NW?

The first belly dancers I saw were brown women and men from the Middle East... Columbia, SC was cultured like that. However, people flocked to take lessons from this white girl (who dated my friend, Wesley, who is now working on his doctorate about these same brown people and may be dating someone who is also brown at this moment... which I have no beef with. I know his heart and he really shouldn't have been dating this white girl anyway... and it ended when she found him making out with a brown boy... but that's the way it goes.). I don't know what she said to them. One of them, one of my friends, Niffer, has taken the art and allowed it to totally change her life. I am happy for her. But I wonder, does she ever think about where her dance comes from? Does she ever let people know as she undulates that she has had the privilege of learning something that the people from whom the dance comes rarely have the privilege to learn?

I am all for smacking white folx over the head with shit to make them, collectively, understand some of their shit and to make them look at themselves and each other, but with regard to this conversation... I am always... wondering: How are we defining cultural appropriation? What guidelines do we use to determine whether someone is appropriating something?

Because the way it goes, ANYONE could be appropriating culture... even the people descended from it. My Adinkra symbols can be construed as appropriation. I am merely of African descent (with some other bloods thrown in for good American measure), I ain't never been to Africa!

I wish cultural appropriation conversations could start with codifying what it is instead of pointing their fingers... because it just feels like a big mess to me.

... dreadlocks, in all of their ORGANIC forms are not... but I feel INORGANIC ones are. I want to cite hurt, but I am a person of color and part of my dehumanizing process is to not FEEL hurt anymore things that SHOULD hurt... should hurt because when someone with yarnhair is trying to copy my hair's texture and nap... my hair... does not feel like yarn... or wool. It feels like HAIR albeit NOT WHITE PEOPLE HAIR.

But I digress. I am getting a headache.

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Chiron opposite the Sun creates a life and death struggle to bring the self into full expression. And the expression the Sun finds must be alchemical and healing. I used my own chart (28), as an example, because my life was a struggle to find who I was until the Uranus opposition. Then I began expressing my alchemical Sun in works such as Eye of the Centaur where my actual journey of self is transmutative for readers who find out who they are by journeying with me through many lifetimes (

With Chiron-Sun hard aspects, for example, we tend to feel ineffective when it comes to expressing our creativity. In youth especially, there is a shyness about performing, about "being seen", about being allowed to shine. These are children who hide their work in school or in art class. Very often, they are "middle children", and feel that their creativity was stifled in youth! People with these aspects often worry unnecessarily about their performance, and are often left feeling devastated when they are criticized. They are often very good at boosting others' confidence, yet neglect to build their own! This is where the "teacher" side of Chiron comes into play. People with strong Chiron are often very good at inspiring others, giving them pep talks, offering very friendly and sincere advice, and so forth--yet they have a hard time healing themselves. (

Asking for what we want, or self-assertiveness, is the main challenge for people with Chiron-Mars aspects. They might find themselves apologizing after an "outburst" of anger, self-assertion, or statement of desire--somehow feeling ashamed. The Mars expression can be unusual and come across as outbursts because of the lack of confidence in the validity of their desires or whether their personal desires deserve to be met. There can also be some physical clumsiness or awkwardness. The main challenge for Chiron-Mars people is to learn to accept their own desires and feelings of anger as valid so that when they do express them, they express them naturally and with confidence.

The Sun working against Chiron
Loss of confidence
Sense of permanent damage
Expectation of failure
Sense of victimisation or scapegoating
Desire to victimise or scapegoat others
Projection of inferiority on others
Loss of the will to live


(my look at chiron is unfinished!!!)


The toughest thing about writing a journal is the trick of knowing how to write in the present tense about things that happened in past. Because one knows how to write in present tense (about the past), writing a journal becomes a box of mirrored illusions: Things are happening now that happened when, but written as now. How is one present?

Currently, I am listening to Joni Mitchell's "All I Want". It is really cool. It makes me think of one of the singers from The Gloria Darlings who wanted me to sing Joni with her... both of us with a tattered handful of lyrics and melodies, but hooks were a forte.

I am sitting at the computer once again, but writing relies on a kind of timelessness. You don't experience my gaps and other doings. Writing is here/not here.

I am thinking how I have to stop being annoying to Yami via my Venus in Virgo need to dote and hover and even nag. I am nobodies mother here.(that was on purpose) Perhaps one day, but not today. I would like my relationships with my friends to be about FRIENDSHIP and not unspoken power imbalances of which I am aware. While I blame my feminine aspect, I have to hold my masculine aspect to blame as well. Mars in Cancer, because it is Cancer, has to be high-strung, too. Maybe I should re-think my newest coffee affectation.

Also, I should think more about myself. I need to get downtown so I can pay my cellphone bill. I need to put resumes into the world and show up a little bit more.

My horoscope (in case I don't say this enough... if you don't know your rising, you should not read your horoscope because you are reading the WRONG THING and any sense you make out of it is sense you create instead of the energy of the stars in position in your chart... jus' sayin'!) is correct... I do see two paths before me today. Today is the AmeriCorps graduation which I know I could attend. Not only would it be social, but I would get to hang out with all of them although I didn't contribute too much to their year, but I believe they strongly feel I am a part of their year... and I am... even if I feel like they moved on and have relationships with each other I am not a party to... sometimes, I feel acquainted, but thenI will see them or something and it is all right there and I have to realize it is MY emotional lies, what I tell myself, not what is true... so I could do that. I could pay my phone bill and then find my way to Seward Park... *sniffs* after a shower and preferably space to masturbate between Yami, Ginnie, and Juliano being here... which may not happen. (I didn't masturbate yesterday... and I gave a full energy/body working thing with Conquergood, but there... that is talking about the past.)

Also, I could wait till they all leave and just be a hermit.

David, Nettle's partner, has the opposite karma of mine. The way karma is figured out, astrologically, is by looking to the North and South nodes. The North node denotes the karmic movement of this life's path divined from the movement of last life's karma (or, we're ALL old souls). My North Node is in Scorpio in the 6th House which denotes service and change...

More minutes have passed and conversations. Epiphany: I am bossy. I try not to be. I try to be nice. But I am. I wonder how I am going to own that energy, that power.

Yami said I should be social. But I feel Uranus rebelling inside me. Instead, I make hamburgers. I am going to fry avocados to put on top. My mom and roseprintglassroseprintglass don't like avocado. It's weird.

Consideration: Maybe people keep distance from me because they fear their own will can be supplanted by me. They form antagonistic friend relationships with me. I need people comfortable with their power to say yes and no around me, I guess. Oh! Why am I thinking about the Other as I think about myself?!

... does the Other think about me as much as I think about the Other?

Talk about unanswerable questions!

Jul. 26th, 2010

So far, today has been one of those days where my thoughts are kinda scattered, but mostly undefined sadness. I have some fear and worry and I need to let it go so the Universe can provide for me correctly.

Since I have been without internet, I have been watching lots of movies... gay themed... but also some porn... which my poor dick can attest to... after four orgasms. Sure, I am bragging a bit, but Yami is due to move in at any point now and my days of living alone will come to a close for this moment... until my apartment appears along with my job and everything else.

Today was _Defying Gravity_. It was made in 1997, one of those bilsdungroman (ms) movies about a college senior whose lover has to be beaten and in a coma before he can cut ties with his frat. At some point, I started to cry a little. At two points, I stopped and wrote two poems. The first one compares winning someone's heart to eating a mango and the other looks at the runaway fires in Tucson circa 2002 and controlling sorrow circa 2010. It may sound more interesting in soundbite. Afterwards, I looked through my poetry over the years and begin to see how it is similar and different and how I am starting to write more... like before him.

There are whole parts of me that does not like livejournal because it is something I started with him. He found it for me and I joined and we'd post for each other while he was at work and I was home.

There are so much about me no one knows but him.

And LJ... LJ hurts.

So... I am finishing this post and seeing what I am going to do... today is just not a good day for me and my sentimentality.

But oh, I am growing. I am moving away from him.

And my hair will be cut either before or at the Sun's entrance to Virgo.

Being without internet does speed the process... but it makes me very lonely as well... which I both hate and love.

Quentin (as I am feeling these days... the astro babble... Mars in Cancer, Saturn in Leo... I am feeling a raw surge of masculinity that I cannot ignore... although I am still moving in other people's perceptions between... all is as it should be... but it feels kinda good to introduce myself as Quentin again)

So less emo

I feel happy today.

I am going to job hunt and see what I can wrassle up for myself in my new/old life.

Jul. 14th, 2010

Now I have nothing
so God
give me strength
because I'm weak
in his wake
and if I'm strong
I might still break
And I don't have anything
to share
that I won't throw away
into the air
that song
is sung out
this bell
is rung out
His was the life
that I'd bless
He took my last chance
of happiness
so God
God give me strength.
I can't hold onto him
give me strength.
When the phone
doesn't ring
and I'm lost
in imagining
everything that kinda love
is worth
as I tumble back down to the earth.
That song
is sung out
This bell
is rung out
His was the life
that I blessed.
He was my last chance
of happiness
so God
give me strength
God if he'd grant
me his indulgence and reply
I might as well
wipe him from my memory
Fracture the spell
as he becomes my enemy.

Maybe I was washed out
like a lip print from his shirt
See I'm only human

Since I lost the power to pretend
that there could ever be a hap-py ending

He was
the life
that I'd bless
He was
my last chance
at happiness
God Give me strength.
God give me strength.
Give me strength.
I need strength.


I am amazed by how I re-wrote the song to make it more emo... as though THAT was possible.
Next, to record it.

And interesting... that he should be like the guy in the movie who inspired the song in the first place. The movie? _Grace of My Heart_. I fell in love with it back in 1997 and it became one of our movies... we owned the soundtrack and could probably still sing every song by heart.

Now, to tend to myself and my world and focus on the things I need to do.

Give me strength!
With the dissolution of all ties to him... and all the way this comes about... I don't even know what to call myself. Woe is me to be in such a state just as the sun comes up. I feel such embarrassment and shame. Like no one else has ever had a broken heart.

At least that means I can just post this openly... he isn't interested in my life at all. So he won't be searching me out.

Tlazolteotl, Olorun, please give me strength.

I really love Audra McDonald

BUT someone should have asked her to leave Laura Nyro's "Tom Cat Goodbye" and Kristen Vigard's "God Give Me Strength" alone... cuz... wah wah!


First Encounter
Ergane JohnFranson

I had a dream companion who looked
like Hollywood’s interpretation of a red man.
Handsome he was with skin kissed
by sun and cinnamon. Hair long and dark, thick,
falling to his waist like rivers of ravens.

“Your house is built on the graves of Indians.”
one of my earnest childhood friends informed.
But I knew already through contact and adventure
each night with my dream companion.
By day, I’d retrace and find arrow heads and buried
horse shoes, the warren of plum-trees lost
in the hills of sand that fed us kids on diets
provided by the land that fed my dream companion
some time before white men invaded the Sandhills.

No question or knowledge was forbidden
but question and knowledge have consequence,
and the day I asked what a white man’s penis looked like
he would shake his head and turn away, leaving me with the sight.


1/30 challenge

Sure, I started late, but I figure thirty days be thirty days.

To Unload

I walk into the kitchen,
guided by night habit and surf duty,
to the dishwasher to unload. Two blue glasses
in hand, I pirouette on my left to face
the cabinet which opens by the stretch
of my right finger. The door glides open and
sight deviates from expectation.
The order I create of size and color and like
is marred - placed randomly glasses –
and I chuckle and admire the sparkle
because it isn’t often I feel a sense
that perhaps the world isn’t after me
and people don’t do things to challenge me
or provoke. If I allow, I can experience moments
of innocence -- to lead myself away from perfectionitis
with self-kindnesses strewn like cookie crumbs along the path.
This time, I want to eat and in eating become
ever unfolding towards the tilt of my taste of life
and losing the sense of threat from your taste.
“Kum bay ya, my lord” is easier for some than others
and I am an other (which is nice after being a self all the time)
but I can learn to pretend I live
in a world where I feel no one is going to hurt me
for the myriad of people, for the other that, I am?
I can learn by writing on each forehead “INNOCENT”
and scribe it upon my own as well (especially)
to remember the sins of a few will be met
by all the gods and goddesses I prayed to for comfort
in all those times of sorrow. I was saved to discover my innocence
and spread it upon the world. Because innocent means things happen
no one is at fault or blame
we can walk as naked as we want down any path of history
because innocent is the nature.
Charmed and excited, I put my glasses in the cabinet
giddy as a child who doesn’t have to abide
because the adult in the room is me.

Ergane JohnFranson

Heroes Chap:13

So... Samuel is Magneto and wants to create a Genosha. Duh.


I really hate how, as you grow older, things your elder did or said when you were younger that made no sense reveal themselves in sense.

After we lost our home, we had to live with my great-grandmother. I was not thrilled about this as, well, I carried big beef with her over the way she treated my grandma/mama -- especially since she was not going to be angry about it herself. One day, I was hungry and went into her fridge to get something out. She did not like this -- she felt like we were going to eat her out of house and home I guess. Anyway, as I was rifling, she came out of the bathroom in nothing but her underwear and the most perturbed look on her face. I think we had some words, but what I remember most clearly were her low, flat breasts and thinking she was certifiable.

Tonight, I am listening to the sounds of my roommate, Zeke, and his friends. They are being hyenas in the other room. Flicking something (bottle caps?), giggling, whispering. I wanted to walk out there and demand to know what was going on, but I could only let myself be seen and share a small smile with Zeke I didn't mean.

So, sorry Arlene McRae, I owe you one.

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