Out of Touch with this Rampant Chaos

The last couple weeks have been an absolute whirlwind, and I'm still coming to grips with it all. Had my first date with a new person, my first proper date with my girlfriend in literally months, and I hit up two more open mics to read poetry at people.

I tore through the newest Haruki Murakami novel, The City and it's Uncertain Walls. It was very... Murakami in just the ways I've come to enjoy from him. (And yes, he was weird about a woman's ears, but only once.) Between that, and some other personal stuff, I've been finding myself musing a lot on identity and reconciling with my pre-transition self. It's all very philosophical, even Jungian, and I do not quite have the vocabulary to put it into words. One way in which these thoughts have manifested is by digging into my (his?) old writing — mostly poetry, but also personal blogging that got preserved by the Wayback Machine. This person is somehow both a stranger and familiar at the same time, and in some ways I'm picking up where he left off.

Back in 2017, I crashed out from blogging and basically gave up writing for several years, with the exception of the occasional poem, and my 2020 NaNoWriMo attempt. (I beat NaNoWriMo, but never finished the novel. One day, perhaps.) Only recently have I feel like I have the capacity for long-form writing, and only very recently has my attention span returned enough for active reading. I'm returning to an aspect of myself that has been lost to me for so long... no wonder I'm behaving like a skittish cat. It's almost like meeting a stranger.

I'm sure it'll shake out in time.

In the meantime, I've published a collection of my daily poetry for November as another pay-what-you-want eBook, and I plan to hit up a couple more open mics this month, including one on Friday. Let's see what comes of them!

Two poems today, one going behind a cut.

2025-11-09

there is a hunger gnawing
at the soul of society
a woman falls to her knees
at the church door
begging for sustenance
and salvation
but brushed off by brutality
victims of original sin
within and without the walls
of the unholy temple
look inside and see no symbols
nothing there to pray to
but so may empty promises
of wealth and power
for those deserving enough
while showmen preach
and pick parishioners pockets
who leave the service
with souls as empty as the stomach
of the beggar at the door

( CW: discussion of suicide and self-harm )

I've decided to start really putting some effort into getting myself and my writing out into the world. A few days ago, I pulled the trigger and published a digital version of the chapbook of poetry I've been compiling: Hymns of Survival and Rage. It's a 40 page DRM Free name-your-own-price PDF and it feels so good to just have a collection of my work out in the world. I fully intend to do a print run at some point in the near future as well.

On Wednesday the 12th, I'm going to hit up the monthly Dyke Mic at Ginger's, a lesbian bar in Brooklyn, to read a few poems from the chapbook and some new ones. I'm also planning to hit up a more local, more general open mic in the neighborhood later this month, too. I want to get more comfortable reading in front of audiences more regularly, really try and get myself out there and see how people receive my work. To that end, I've also started recording videos of me reading my daily poems and posting them on my Instagram and Bluesky. It feels good, and I've gotten a decent reception so far.

I also have a couple essays in progress, one on identity, anonymity / pseudonymity, and the rapidly disappearing ability to redefine yourself online. The other is the first in what I intend to make a series revisiting some old pieces called "Forgotten Records" I wrote for a friend's site a lifetime ago. They're ripe for revisiting, as I've come a long way as a writer since then. Oh, and that erotica I wrote about a while back is still a going concern as well.

Hopefully, I can build up enough of an interested audience that I can start bringing in a little income from my writing, maybe pick back up on freelance stuff as well. I just want so much to put my writing skills to use in a larger capacity, and this seems like the way to start. Here's hoping.

It's been a while, and life has been chaotic. Interesting, but chaotic. Perhaps the oddest thing involved an email from a man who came across and old piece of writing of mine. Back in 2014, I wrote an essay for my friend's website about a strange night out in 2007 or 2008 while I was out drinking with friends. Two men came into our bar and proceeded to perform for the entire bar. I bought a CD-R for $5, though money was not requested for it. Turns out one of the men, the tuba player, I believe, found it and reached out. Sadly, the guy swamped me with emails, so I've largely ignored him since my response, but I'm glad he found the essay anyway. (By the way, the music on that CD-R is included as MP3 links in the essay. It's good stuff, and I still have the CD.)

Last week, I came across two high quality vinyl stickers trying to recruit for ICE stuck up in my neighborhood using Nazi imagery and language. There was a photo of a man doing a Nazi salute with the text "PROTECT THE HOMELAND" and blurbs about how awful migrants are, and I ripped those fucking things down on sight. I shared the news with the neighborhood Discord and Subreddit (yes, we have both), and contacted my local elected officials. I was just so... shocked. This is New York City, this is Queens, this is a diverse neighborhood with some mild conservative leanings, but Nazi shit? That's frightening, especially with the quality of the stickers. There's a chapter of the JDL, a Zionist far-right hate group (as per the SPLC) that loves to sticker the neighborhood, but that's clearly all stuff coming out of some guy's laser printer. Professionally printed vinyl stickers are another matter entirely.

This may have been a little bit of why, when I went to early vote on Saturday (for Zohran Mamdani, of course), I was a bit too willing to get into it with a Cuomo canvasser. After I corrected her lie about Cuomo covering up the death of 20,000 seniors from COVID for an old lady, I mentioned "This homo didn't vote for Cuomo." (For those not in the know, back in the 70s Andrew Cuomo came up with the slogan "Vote for Cuomo, Not the Homo" when his father ran against Ed Koch — and lost.) The Cuomo canvasser had the sheer chutzpah to claim that Zohran Mamdani was going to throw all the queers into jail because he's Ugandan, and the Ugandan government is anti-LGBTQ. She got an earful. Zohran Mamdani is the only candidate with an LGTBQ platform, who reached out directly to the trans community, and even joined the Queer Liberation March during Pride Weekend.

There was also another curious dream... Details behind the cut.

( A Curious Dream )

On the job front, The Met turned me down for reasons I cannot possibly fathom. Fortunately, I have more interviews lined up. Tomorrow, I'm interviewing with a healthcare company, and speaking with a recruiter about a contract role. Friday, I'm interviewing with the hiring manager for a role with a very old and well-established company that would involve occasional travel to one of my favorite places in the world: Finland. I'm especially excited by that possibility.

Finally, the biggest thing is that I finally finished, revised, and formatted my essay on nostalgia, fascism, and AI slop: "Synthetic Ghosts of a Past that Never Was". I posted it earlier today, and spent much of the afternoon catching all the fucking typos I missed in the editing passes. It's had a good reception so far, and I'm very proud of it. This is actually the first piece of long-form essay writing I've posted online since 2017, not counting the coming out post I made on my blog back in 2021. It feels good to put something long form out in the world, and to do it in a way that feels more human than just throwing shit onto a Substack or whatever the hell people are doing these days.

i wait in darkness
as your absence
devours my soul
and rends my heart
that wants only
to be near your light
it calls to me
like the moth
is called to the flame
set me ablaze lover
burn me alive
with your passion
and leave only ashes
so i will yearn no more

I found a dead wasp on my windowsill today. This is an unusual occurrence, indeed. I don't think I've ever found a dead wasp on my windowsill.

Apparently, finding a dead wasp is symbolic of a new beginning, and I'm hoping that is the case. The signs are there, aside from discovering decreased apocrita. I did a tarot pull on it, just to be sure, and got the 8 of Cups, and that's pretty clear to me. I'm seeing what feels like things coming to a close, and new things beginning. A new relationship is blooming, while a personal matter I would prefer not to go into seem to finally be coming to a close.

The biggest thing that needs to come to a close is my unemployment, and I have a good feeling about that. I'll know more after the interview on Monday. I did do a tarot pull on my job search and got an interesting mix of cards.

( What the cards said )

What a weekend!

My friend Isabel came down on Saturday evening to join me at the DEVO / The B-52s concert. We hadn't seen each other in person for nearly a year, so it was a lovely reunion. We spent Saturday evening cuddling, eating pizza, and watching Babycat (2023). If you haven't seen it, Babycat is a thoroughly surreal, extremely low budget, almost Ed Wood level sapphic love story / crime thriller involving a woman who dresses in a skimpy cat costume and acts like a cat. Easily the gayest thing I've seen on a screen this year, and that includes the director's newest film Bikini Hackers (2024), which is also sapphic as fuck.

Sunday, we got ourselves done up in our Devolved finery, and undertook the journey to Jones Beach, which was actually pretty painless, all told. We met a couple folks at the local train station also heading out to the show. The great thing about wearing Energy Domes in public is that you will get noticed by the right people. (Also, by the wrong people, but they almost always are too confused to be a problem.) Friends of mine met us at the station, and we got to the venue with time to relax before the opening set, The crowd at the venue was surprisingly... normal, compared to a regular DEVO show. Several people stopped us and asked if they could take our picture, and we happily obliged.

We didn't have the greatest seats, but for the price, we couldn't beat them.



Lene's set was too, too brief, but she dropped the two closest things she has to hits: "New Toy" (written by Thomas Dolby), and "Lucky Number" along with some deeper cuts, and closed with the epic "Home" off her first album (not my video). Her voice is in amazing shape, just as expressive and wild as her prime, just a little darker in color and timbre. Despite the brevity, it was an absolute joy to hear her live. I never even dreamed I'd get to see her perform, and I was a little weepy at the end of her set.

The B-52s were on next, and I don't have much to say about them. They were fun, bombastic, tight, funny, played the hits, and sounded great. No deep cuts, save for maybe for "Mesopotamia." I did some dancing, sang along, and had a great time anyway.

Now it was time for the main event... as about one third of the audience decided to skip out. Their loss.

The first five songs were played with as much energy as they could muster when playing against a backing track and synchronized video. Mark messed the lyrics up to "Going Under" but it was okay. I'd been singing along and goofed up at the same time! Once those first five songs ended and the band were free to kick up the tempos, they did. "Girl U Want" and "Whip It" were delivered with ferocity, and when Jerry Casale dropped an F-bomb in the middle of the first half set closer, "Planet Earth," I knew we'd be in for a treat come the second act.

And boy did we get it.

From "Uncontrollable Urge" on, DEVO were playing as hard and as fast and as aggressively as I've ever seen them and I've seen them eleven times now. The one new addition to the set, "Blockhead" was a treat. It sounded like the entire remaining audience was singing along with "Mongoloid." While we couldn't really see, except on the screens, Mark jumped off the stage, over the barrier, and into the audience during "Jocko Homo" and climbed back over and on to the stage. I hadn't seen him do that since the 2014 CBGB Festival show!* The last couple songs of the set flew by in an intense blur, and when the final note of "Freedom of Choice' rang out, the tears began again.

As we left the upper decks, we found ourselves in the company of our people, the hardcore spuds who had come to the show in Energy Domes and band gear. I saw a two guys in the Freedom of Choice tour stage outfits of white Tyvek suits with red duct-tape detailing, and complimented them on their dedication. I've worn those Tyvek suits... and they are hot as fuck. As we made our way to the gates, I saw an old friend who I hadn't crossed paths with in a while and we shared a long overdue hug. I wish we could have stayed with him longer, but we needed to get a ride to the train before it became impossible to leave the parking lot.

I'd spent the entire set singing along, cheering, screaming, dancing, and joining in the call-and-response lyrics with all my energy. It was cathartic, and after everything that has happened in the last five months since I saw them last time, on top of all the current de-evolved bullshit going on in the world, it was sorely needed. DEVO changed my life, gave me the context to understand the socio-political situation we find ourselves in, and helped me to become the person I am today. As Isabel and I left, it felt like I had been to church—my sins washed away, and replaced by brand new ones. I am revitalized, inspired, and energized for the road ahead.

I'd seen DEVO with my girlfriend back in May, and while it was a treat then—and a longer set—I'd caught them early in the tour. They hadn't had the time to fully get back into the swing and energy of playing live again, and I left a little disappointed compared to the previous show in 2022 where they had been touring for a few months and were at full strength. Sunday's show was after five whole months of touring, and they were on fire. It was something truly special, and I had such wonderful company to share it with too.

Hopefully, this won't be the last time. I want to have at least one more DEVO show, but this time one where I can be right up front and close to the band again as I'd been for the preceding ten.

---

* That show was also brief but memorable, with Josh Hager who had taken the spot of the late Bob Casale, fracturing his kneecap halfway through the set. He managed to finish it on his feet. Absolute dedication, and washed away any doubt I had about him as a member of the band.

in the darkening dusklight
the sky bends towards night
revealing the silent infinite
one could get lost so easily
staring upwards and dreaming
feeling the cold wind rush in
heaven may not be there waiting
and there may be no hell below
only this near eternal rock
that carries on through the void

so close now
your breath on my neck
my hair standing on end
the electric impulses
that come from skin on skin

quietly i murmur
try to draw you closer still
opening myself to you
as the distance grows small enough
to measured in microns

you softy whisper
sweet threats into my ear
followed by the sharp sting
of teeth into my soft flesh
as i release myself completely

life and liberty
hang in the balance
and the swing of a few votes
madmen with more money than god
their crazed obsessions fueling
another moral panic
as though the burning planet
and boiling oceans
paled in comparison
to a couple million souls
that want to be themselves
lake beds run dry
oceans rise
and storms intensify
while we sweat it out
in the unseasonable autumn heat
of the new normal
all eyes turning towards us
fingers pointing blame
for bodies perforated
by some mans weapon
desperate for justification
tightening the noose
champing at the bit
as we cling to each other
like frightened rabbits
taking shelter in each other
all we want is to breathe
but the world looks away
unconcerned and apathetic
or ready to use us
as a bargaining chip
in exchange for power to squander
and still we try to survive
day after day
hoarding pills and potions
for when times get darker
to keep us going
hoping against all odds
to come out the other side
scathed battered and bleeding
but with our hearts still beating