A New Direction

Hello to the two or two point two five people who actually stop by while searching words like tranny, sex, fuck etc. You will still come here by searching those words. But, I do not intend on being sweet, apologetic, sensitive or even polite any longer.

I’m fucking pissed off and am done with bullshit, all bullshit.

Case in point.

AB 211 – covers discrimination in employment based on gender identity (meaning you can’t refuse to hire a person because they are trans). Hot topic. Oh yeah, all us trannies need to be out there (Saturday Nov 19th at UNLV) celebrating and fluffing up the egos of those who took part in authoring and pushing it through. I don’t know what the penalty is for NOT doing so, maybe they will put another penis on me, can’t say.

Do I appear festive to you ? No ?  Wanna know why ? Tough. Going to tell you anyway.

Where is the enforcement ? No, really ? Great law that is IMPOSSIBLE to enforce. Another law signed in at the same time prevented discrimination against trans genders in public facilities etc, basically, means we get to use the potty that fits our expression. It is also supposed to mean when I go to the hospital for a mental health issue (I have PTSD and am about half bat shit crazy – it’s the way she rolls muthafuckas) They are supposed to treat me according to my gender (License, social security and Veterans Administration all are aware I am a female) NOT my genitalia ! Yeah, if I could afford an attorney, Spring Mountain would right now be paying for my surgery, but I can’t so no one will do shit about my being violated, harassed and abused for three straight days.

What have I got to celebrate ? The celebrity of those who push laws through for a noble purpose yet are at every photo opportunity being hailed as heroes while those of us in the trenches continue to receive poor to little if any medical attention, assistance from civic agencies (Fire, Police, Etc) and continue to die from beatings, stabbings, shootings and in the case of a 19 yr old Detroit teenager (Trans woman) shot and then burned.

Happy Empowerment day, yeah, I will be there.

Just dont expect much in the way of a smile.

(From Wikipedia) “The SlutWalk protest marches began on April 3, 2011, in Toronto, Canada, and became a movement of rallies across the world. Participants protest against explaining or excusing rape by referring to any aspect of a woman’s appearance. The rallies began when Constable Michael Sanguinetti, a Toronto Police officer, suggested that to remain safe, “women should avoid dressing like sluts.”

Get it ? If you dress like a slut you deserve to be raped and are even responsible for it. Same thing goes if you were drinking, or if you were at a party or if you were in the wrong neighborhood. Women, an inherently evil and tempting group of sexual sirens, are responsible for their own rapes and sexual assaults.

Officer Mike – can you explain then, why, when I was 17, male, dressed in the uniform of a US Army soldier in my own quarters My superior raped (sodomized) me repeatedly ? Was I “coming on to him” or enticing him with my slutty appearance after having returned from three days in the field in dirty fatigues (1975). Really, Officer Mike, tell me how you explain THAT rape away. For a man to remove my bottoms and penetrate my rectum violently and forcibly with his erect penis while holding me bent over and gagging me, what exactly did I do to tempt him into raping that 17 yr old confused and hurt soldier ? What exactly ?

Does that sound familiar in a way to anyone reading this that HAS been raped ? By a superior, a friend, a date ?

Or, if you havent been raped, does it sound so far-fetched to be some work of fiction ?

It is no fiction, it is fact and it isn’t as rare as you think. Men get raped, women get raped, children are raped, seniors are raped. Fact is ANYONE can be raped BECAUSE IT ISNT ABOUT SEX, STUPID ! It’s about violence, and domination, and power and humiliation.

Slutwalks, and “Take Back The Night” events are designed to raise awareness. Predominantly female, many of these events recognize that violence transcends gender barriers and many men are joining in support. Almost everyone has a mother at the very least. And, if you know three women, chances are one of them will be raped, I think the odds for males are something like one in ten. Either way, someone you know, throughout your life, will be raped, possibly even yourself. Thats the way odds work, never in your favor.

And the shame causes MANY rapes to go unreported. By not reporting a rape you keep a rapist on the street. Now if not for your own safety, what about the next person who is raped, fights back or otherwise angers this person ? Remember, rape is not sex, it is violence. Will the next person be allowed to survive the attack, or will they be “silenced” permanently ? Violence is already happening, and the only cure for a taste for violence is, more violence. Eventually, someone will be hurt beyond repair.

I still have flashbacks. That doesn’t look like it will ever get fixed, but I have a life and support from a terrific community and friends. So I have a great chance, and my rape is no longer hidden, my rapist escaped justice because I feared for my life if I reported him.

Fear, is the absence of faith. And I have faith one day, someone will speak up before a rapist can do any more harm.

Doubts

Doubts are the way we destroy our own confidence so we can save others the trouble.

I am a very nice person, but there are some courtesies I am not willing to extend. Like giving other people free rein against my confidence. So I try not to doubt myself. But all of my life has been doubtful. And they continue. Admittedly, since my life changed my doubts changed too and became less of a problem.

I am a strong woman. I pride myself on my femininity. I don’t pass gas in public and laugh about it. I don’t burp at the table, I excuse myself if a bodily function is going to be noticeable to others and retire to a restroom. I eat carefully, not shoveling the food into my face like it was my last meal (I find I enjoy meals a LOT more now) When I walk I do not trudge, I step. I carry myself with poise and grace. My movements are carefully orchestrated to put me in my best light. My clothing is never unclean or unkempt. I dress carefully to make myself attractive and feminine.

But there is that strength thing.

I can easily break someones arm. I can hold my own in a fist fight if need be and have no problem defending others when the need arises. Not terribly good at rising to the occasion when it is me that is attacked but that’s another problem for another therapy. I can hike ten miles with a full pack in 107 degree heat in direct sun without missing a step. I can bench press my own body weight.

Does that compromise my femininity ? Does that make me less of a woman ? Do people look at me as some shemale freak ?

Doubts. I don’t need them. God made me a woman with a male body and this strength for a reason. I don’t know why, but here it is.

She (God) didn’t plant these doubts in me, I did.

I care to no longer own them.

Feminism and the princess bride dream.

First off I am a feminist. But I am third wave and love my shineys and my heels and makeup. I do it for me, not for anyone else. I am an avid member of feministing.com and a reader of “Full Frontal Feminism” which is a book all women under thirty MUST read, women over thirty SHOULD read and men should have read to them, to prevent them from eating the glue out of the binding.

Now, however, I feel a little conflict. Although I am well aware of the inequity in payment, the “mommy-gap” between non mothers and mothers in pay and many of the other gender inspired atrocities of our daily life (eh - my mom lived with them and fought from within so can I) See, a woman I had fallen in really hot like with, well, “she” had a couple of important things to tell me. One, we wound up agreeing to marriage (Yeah – I’m going to be a wife) and two, well, she is the wrong pronoun. Turns out the woman I fell in hot like with is a transman. Thats right. I am marrying a man. Yes, my man has a vagina, but that does not make him any less of a man than I am less of a woman for NOT having a vagina.

Here is the conflict.

I want the wedding, I want the husband, I am adopting his 6 yr old son as my own (Yes – I am going to FINALLY become a mommy) I want the home. I want to cook, clean, sew, doctor little bumps and read stories, watch cartoons with the both of them. I want to adore my husband as he holds me with that funny protective hold they ALL seem to know.

Am I less of a feminist for wanting that bit of the dream ? My intelligence, passion for art, literature and study has not declined, but I want a taste of that June Cleaver part of being a woman. Of fulfilling the destiny that I felt robbed from me by my birth defect (where my vagina got replaced by something resembling a penis – yuck) Am I betraying those values that my mother instilled in me by her very quiet strength and dignity ?

I don’t know, I may never know. I do know that among twenty feminists - all of whom I respect – there will be twenty answers. So if you decide to post an answer to this question, don’t hold back. I might not like what I read, but I AM asking.

A fairy tale

There was once a beautiful young lady. Well, truth be told she wasn’t so young, and she thought herself quite hideous, okay, and well, others would tell you she wasn’t really a lady, or even female for that matter. At least that’s what some of the wags of the surrounding village claimed.

But deep in her heart, she knew she was a woman. That although her body was a betrayal of everything she felt, her mind and heart were still completely female. A home she could care for. A marriage where she could be a friend, a lover and a servant to her husband. But she knew girls like her never got that. They only got used for quick and dirty sex and would be tossed as easily as the latex rubber used to prevent transmission of disease. She felt unworthy of such a fairy tale. She longed for a baby in her, deep within depending on her for nourishment and succor.

But none of these things would ever be hers. She knew, and accepted it, bitterly but what was she to do ? Status quo said she would never succeed in this endeavor. So she accepted her fate and held her head high, ignoring the barbs and insults.  Avoiding responding to the double entendres of insensitive people.

Then one day, she met him. The perfect man. Now reading all the books will tell you he doesn’t exist. That he is a honeymoon special. Well, maybe, and again, maybe we see someone who fits our own personal description of perfect. Totally perfect was Jesus Christ. I Am not looking for him (I already have him in my heart always) and we adjust to make this person fit.

Either way, she found her glass slipper.

I am to be married. To a wonderful transman. I did not see this coming but truth be told, it was a secret desire in me since my teen years. A son, a husband, a home. To be a wife.

I am still a feminist, that will never change. But I am going to be married. And I couldn’t be happier.

She is BACK !

Okay. Oregon did NOT work out very well. This is not the fault of Oregon (although the weather sucks up there) not the fault of the VA (ignorance is far from bliss when you’re the one who has to suffer for it) and not my fault (well, not entirely)

I was miserable. There was one other Transperson up there and her and I did not get along. No fault there, people being people. C’est la vie, right ? Absolutely ! Just because her and I are going through the same thing does not automatically mean we are going to get along famously and have so many similarities that we cannot help but be partners.

Common mistake, not holding against anyone but again, back to the suffering for someone else’ ignorance. it cost me a possibly good friend and cost her her peace. bad. Nothing I can do to change that now, other than let it go and trust my prayers for her are heard and answered. I trust indeed they are.

I am back in my beloved Las Vegas. I came here totally on faith. I had no one, no place, no income nothing. My clothes. That was all. I slept on the street. Shortly afterwards, I get housing (after being discriminated against in public housing contrary to state law)  then, a job approaches me and HEY ! My boss is a transperson as well ! And, now get this, a third person there is trans as well. I guess the fear of trans hostility is baseless. And, to top it off, the past Sunday I performed in a big benefit for housing for Aids patients at the Paris on the strip.

Yeah, I think I am so in the right place.

Thanks God, I “told” you that you had to care for me that first night I slept on the street when I got here. Thank you so much for listening, and caring.

Love

Kynthia

Fantasy

Okay PLEASE understand this is a recurring fantasy. Am I going to follow through ? I doubt it but then, again, in an infinite number of universes there are also an infinite number of possibilities, all of them a reality for their respective universes.

It starts with a rainy day. But then, almost all days here are rainy. I swear, I have never seen so much gray in my life nor do I ever wish to again. Oregon is a beautiful place, green, lush, good soil and clear air. The water itself isn’t half bad either. But the skies are so fucking gray. It’s like a pall, the air over the state saying “Your kind aint welcome here” I get the point already.

So, rainy day. I am standing against the wall of a building downtown next to the tracks. I can see the building wall clearly, it is a drab butterscotch. Not the bright yellow-tan  of a tasty butterscotch treat, the butterscotch used in old institutions that had a gray-ness to it that sucked the life out of any room painted with that dreary color. The surface of the railroad tracks are the only shiny thing I see. All is wet, gray and dark. But it isn’t night, the sun is too weak, too impotent , to dominate this dreamscape. I hear the fast freight coming. And I can see the headlight, bright, painfully bright in this dreary dreamscape. The tracks glisten reflecting the harsh bluish-white headlight as it revolves to warn of the coming juggernaut, this thousand-ton instrument of commerce, of mans mastery over machinery.

As it nears all feeling escapes me, I am already numb beyond imagination daily anyway. Crying has ceased to be a friend, long forgotten now and even unwanted in this state. I am number than I have ever been. There is no alcohol, no drugs, I couldn’t feel them anyway, the joy of a simple high, a buzz, escapes me because, in truth, I am already beyond feeling. There is but one way, at this point, to feel.

As the train rumbles closer, perhaps 40 MPH, it will take it miles to actually stop, it is but less than a mile away now. Faster it seems to come. As I hear the crossing bells, the clanging of the bells, I look and see the crossing gates drop, the red lights flash, warning of danger, of destruction if they remain unheeded, I see cars come to a halt. I see drivers eyes in the windows of these safe little conveyances. As the train nears I step forward, one, two, three steps. I stand on a tie, between the rails, I turn my back on the cars and look forward.

And finally, I smile.

Not going to post for a while

I usually try to post every day. I have to stop. Right now I am using my sons computer at his home. The computer I usually use, at the White City Veterans Administration, is blocked by Net Nanny and tells me “You are not allowed to post to this blog”.

Thats right ladies and gentlemen, the Veterans Administration has decided that posting to blogs now is detrimental to the safety of Veterans. People who trained in methods of killing people and blowing things up and made it out alive are not safe posting their thoughts or experiences for others to read.

So, until I can change this policy, or get a computer the VA is unable to block. I wont be posting. Thank you to all who have read my posts.

Wish me luck

Love

Kynthia

FUCK THE CYBER COPS

I cannot edit or even view this post. It goes out without spell check. Once I hit publish I will be restricted from viewing it as Net nanny has deemed my ENTIRE site ADULT/MATURE.

As most of you understand I am in a Veterans Administration facility. For my protection, because I guess some people download porn here, they put Net nanny on the computers here.

All well and good if what your trying to do is unblock bandwidth by disallowing porn downloads (yeah – they get pretty wide sometimes and bring in virus a lot) but, if you have admins who are real computer admins and not some Microsoft certified incompetents who know nothing more than pushing buttons in a pretty little GUI screen, they can handle that on thier own.

But try and write from your heart ? Try and say what you are feeling and living and experiencing ? Yeah – Adult and Mature ?

I was adult and Mature enough to kill other people, Americans, actually, but am not adult enough to read the truth.

Every day George Orwell begins to be less science fiction….

Strings attached

Okay.

Yes, this is actually me. Like it ? I do.

I write a lot about negative @#!*% . True dat. Its simpler to write about than being happy because being happy you just do. Being @#!*% up takes work and its easier to write about it than be it. So, I write and stop being @#!*% up. If anyone reads, that’s cool, but if they don’t, that’s cool too. This is MY therapy.

SO in a manner of speaking, reading my words shows you me, without makeup without even clothing, simply me and my words (thoughts) . Enjoy the show. I have nothing left to hide that I know of.

I have taken the guitar up again. It has been forever since I tried playing, I used to be fairly decent at it. Well, the office I work in has several guitars and I figured as long as I have to check them for damage etc, may as well download some tabs and chord sheets and have fun with it, right ?

Okay, that’s my whole week in a pill form. I’m happy, I got things to do and I am running out the door.

Love you

Kynthia