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 suicide tranny  contemplating nothingness while staring at my obscene reflextion  it all begins with denial, the erasing of self  making love to my demon  I used to be a christian, a son, a quiet school child  now I am a pervert, a deviant, a low-life in a motel room  making love to a cracked mirror, a cracked psyche  I tried killing my demons. I was only killing myself  the paranoia sets in - is there someone at the door?!  tonight, I am ready for any visitor  I am trying to crack the mirror with my mind. I am done looking in mirrors and seeing a monster  in the closet, where I have spent most of my life I have hidden six bullets  I am a clown, a joker. I will only need one bullet  I can't do this  I can do this  - fin - ( more ) :: +Memory :: Tell a Friend :: 14 replies :: Reply
 I had plans to get brunch. Everyone is flaking. I'm sick of all the flakes in my life. Everyone is so self-involved, me too, but fuck it. Can't we even plan to get a little breakfast!? Whatever. I'm going to scramble some eggs downstairs, drink another cup of coffee, wash my face and make my way to Greenwich Village. I'm taking a stack of the party flyers Sabrina printed up for our first party we're hosting on Wednesday. Hopefully I'll make new friends. Sadly, I am so uninterested in meeting most of the people who will be congregated at the parade and other festivities. My life needs another gay boy like I need another black-eye on my credit report. Whatever... I ain't a fag or dyke anyways. What the fuck do I have to proud about!? That I had the cosmic bad luck to either be born with a stupid dick or the tragic desire to remove the stupid wart and not soldier on as a man? I hope I meet someone cool in the throngs of homos. Maybe a new trans girl to play with, a new best friend, maybe Kay and some cute trans boys to smoke dope with in Washington Square park. I don't know. Fuck everyone. I can't wait to get the snip-snip cure in Thailand so I can start voting Republican and giving a big middle finger to all the stooges that stood me up for brunch today.  I feel really frustrated for no good reason. Today is Sunday of the Pride festivities in the city and although I have tenative plans, I feel like I am going as a spectator. Yesterday was the Dyke March which I had no temptation to join in on. Although I just returned to the computer from kissing my girlfriend's sleeping face and rousing her with morning "I love you's," I'll never call myself a dyke, a lesbian, anything foolish like that. I wish I ventured out yesterday, just to look around, but I had no money and no one answered their phones when I called. And it was raining and the list of excuses goes on. So today I am hoping to go to brunch with my girlfriend, my pal Snake and his boyfriend. There's a place in the village that has brunch and all-you-can-drink mimosas for fifteen bucks. I'd like to get a little sauced before the parade and this menu speaks to my wallet. I love my queer peoples but I am really queer!? I'll be thinking of that probably as I watch the floats meander by with statuesque queens waving and blowing kisses. I'm not a dyke and I'm not a gay man. Should I even be at this party!? The other day after work released Bunny and me, we walked all over Chelsea in the blazing sun. We walked south towards West 4th and the Village. Bunny decided she wanted to check out strap-ons. I just wanted to enjoy the afternoon. We peaked in a few places on the Avenue of the Americas but were either frightened away by the scary merchandise or the creepy clerks lurking in the stores. We finally found a place on 8th maybe with a couple of cute, friendly girls working a store with items that didn't look like artifacts from the torturous Inquisition. I was a little excited Bunny was interested in actually buying any of this shit. Honestly, I feel like I have really neglected my sexual body since I've begun transition. I have been living with my girlfriend most of the time and I haven't had too many opportunities to explore my awakening body or my imagination or anything. And it's not like I'm getting fucked either. Bunny never initiates sex or makes me feel desired. She makes me feel loved and beautiful, but never desired. The other week I was starved for sexual contact, I made the first move and climbed ontop like some dumb highschool football captain. Not only did I top Bunny, but I penetrated her and fucked away. I removed myself to a faraway place in my mind as I did this primitve act. I thought of everything except the actual mechanics. When the farce was finished, I rolled on my back with a grunt and Bunny glowed as she rubbed my chest cooing and singing how much of a beautiful "woman" I am. I didn't exactly feel like a woman. Since then, I have silently protested physical contact unless there is some concession to what I need. One night I lied in bed whimpering like a cat in heat and caressing Bunny's thigh and stomach, inviting her onto me but instead, she seemed only to mirror my same actions lying on her back waiting for me to top her. Eventually we both fell asleep unfullfilled and unsatisfied like most nights. So when she said she wanted to buy a strap-on, I kept making safe, uncommitted statements like, "Okay, but only spend the money if you're going to use this." Seriously, the apparatus, just the harness which holds the equipment in place alone had price tags beginning at sixty bucks without even including the the dildo. A whole outfit would probably cost just under a hundred dollars. Myself, I rather pay off some more bills, steal a box of latex gloves from work and get fisted for free but those thoughts never apparently cross Bunny's mind. Don't lesbians fist each other!? I wouldn't know. I've never been with one. We ended up leaving the store with a stupid twenty-dollar, blue butt plug that Bunny paid for. I made love to it yesterday afternoon rolling into and out of positions like a technical wrestler on a sweaty mat, moaning and thinking of a scroundrel I once knew back in the suburbs. The orgasm was okay, a little shudder, but it was genuine. She'll probably never see this stupid, rubber toy ever again and I won't worry myself with ideas of unfullfillment for another six months. Life passes.
 I was supposed to shoot myself up two days ago but I got cold. I spent two hours staring at my thigh and pointless squeezing the muscle and fat like I was tenderizing meat like a butcher. Somewhere in the middle, I called my folks back home in Massachusetts to hear human voices. I was sitting on the third floor, the attic, on the corner of my bed and I was the only soul in the house. Not surprisingly, my mother and father offered no solace and went silent when I mentioned my dreaded errand. They found quick excuses to say "good-bye," hang up the phone and be done with their crazy son, daughter, whatever the fuck I am and go back to their hiding places deep in the sleepy suburbs. I never did the job. Although I had fixed myself up several times previous, I completely lost my nerve last night. This morning I called up on Kay and got her out of bed. Her voice was breathy as if she just woke. It was noon. We made plans to meet in Chelsea at the restaurant. I was going to score a bag of weed for Kay then we would return to Brooklyn and she would do the job I couldn't perform the previous evening. It was good to she Kay. I hadn't seen her all winter. She had grown completely agoraphobic and neurotic during the colds months, leeching off a wealthy, Long Island girlfriend and self medicating with cocktails of psychotropic drugs bought off the internet from New Zealand or some other faraway island. But she looked good in the Chelsea sun and seemed to be in good spirits. I chose Kay because she shot me up initially last August with 40mg's of Delestrogen. I trust her and I knew she would be quick and ruthless with the needle. It would be sunk into my leg before I could even whimper protest and this whole business would be put to bed for another couple of weeks hopefully buying me enough time to muster up some courage again.
 Last night's party was cool. The equipment was fucked with since last time I DJ'd so the owners, whom have the charming habit of shooting themselves in the foot, made it impossible for me to DJ. Instead Sabrina played CDs. I swear, those people are uninterested in making money. There hasn't been beer poured from the tap in months and most of the liquor bottles are practically dry. Sabrina promises to bring bottles of 40s when there's no other option. The new management was there poking around last night too. Supposedly they want a complete boy venue, no girls, no trannies, just boys, but they told Sabrina if she can generate a crowd and some money, they'll let us run a promotion on Wednesdays. It seems like they're doing everything to insure we fail. They also specified that the crowd, regardless of what is inbetween their legs, needs to be young and good looking. I fully agree on one hand that you need young, good looking people to attract drinkers to fill your bar, but seeing Jeri slumped over in a shadowy booth as the Ken doll, gay-boy management cackled about youth and vanity and sweeping the place clean, I felt hurt and defensive. I'm not sure how Sabrina and I are ever going to fill the bar up to their satisfaction. Strangely, there was a lot of dudes hanging around last night. Big men, the size of construction-working bears. Once Bunny climbed ontop of the bar and started madly go-go dancing around the poles, a crowd seemed to materialize instantly. Most of the men looked like criminals and thugs. One, apparently a cheap drug dealer, was asking all the girls to buy him drinks. The mayor was there too most of the night, the number one source of Alphabet City. He reminds me of Manny Ramirez with his sweet grin, gentle voice and his big, Latin afro. The police stopped on the corner after two and scared him away and into a new outfit when he resurfaced later at Lucky's. Honestly, I think all the men there last night gave me nightmares. I dreamt of a table of thugs who asked me to sit with them. I felt they were attracted to me and horrified by me all in the same moment. I remember looking at the ring leader, studying his face, and him violently barking at me, "Don't look at me you freak! I ain't no homo!" I woke suddenly, coughing asthmatically from all the bummed cigarettes I smoked last night. |
