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well i think my mental health and sense of well being has definitely improved since i decided to stop worrying about all the things i'm seeing through my algorithmically curated coercive media portal and Just Worry About Myself...

social capital

i'm thinking that my social streams should start to carry content disclaimers so ppl can attempt to choose what they're dealing with when they fux w/my streams.

"that's nice"
Currently: my bed
Feeling: dark arts
Listening to: hum of ambient wall sockets
03 October 2016 @ 11:52 pm
it feels good to be working on my book

this is after several months many moons working on things at a crawling pace
feeling tired
like nothing i was writing was feeling right

idk, last new moon it was like oh it's gonna be fall and i made a list of goals
i asked the saints y santa muerte
and got hell of stuff done

i do really well with deadlines
i made myself a bunch of deadlines & basically got hell of metropolarity merch conceptualized, priced, designed, sent out for, and paid
all in like 6 weeks
and now we have a metropolarity book finally

which is serving the purpose of propaganda technique
which i was about to describe exactly here but still feel like it's p unsafe, and i want my journal to be public i guess for a little longer or something idk

i wannnnna bleach my hair finally? i still think the shaved bleach blonde look is consistently tough across applications
i'm just not sure it will look good on me
thoughts that i can wear lots of scary smoky sad eye make up
and can deal with my hair being grown out like two weeks thru the winter, when i only wear a knit hat like even to bed


also i been wearing my nails long and filing them to very nice soft points [ref]
BUT lately i more and more want to cut them down and paint them solid dark colors (usually i'm doing neon tips and metallics and shit)
idk... i'm in some process of shifting my gender peripherals again

i own and really need to wear these black dansko clogs as a matter of arch support
but i'm really not feeling their association with upper middle class soft butch and white art feminists et all
and would rather look much more skater, as was my teen inclination
but the arch support !!!

so again, i'm in the process of shifting my signifier peripherals for maximum winter comfort and mood
heavily cyborg
some dream of a hard street techno skaeter blah blah blah

btw friends i stopped identifying by she/her pronouns and just really feel best being able to live on some neutral/fluctuating existence that doesn't fuck with binaries

what a world!!
Feeling: chilli
Listening to: partynextdoor
29 September 2016 @ 05:49 pm
o right i initally came back on here to talk about how much i simultaneously don't quite have time or money for but also highly admire what 1KCORP is doing... living in this fusion of anime/VG x limited-run streetwear is PRETTY CUTE, esp as related to being an adult with income to spend on that ish.

cyberpunk times is so real

but the fact that 80s/90s cyberpunk aesthetic goes on perpetuated as tho it's mad future and not 1000% contemporary irks the shit out of me.
29 September 2016 @ 05:44 pm
philly has been under a grey overcast with unbroken clouds for almost a week now, and i'm like shit this is the new normal... it didn't used to be weather like this here.... globally warmed reality.

i have no where to complain anymore lol

when people feed me is when i feel the most grateful sometimes

i been watching the new berserk series where they're fiiiinally going in on the arcs past the eclipse and goddamn, pretty riveting. altho at this juncture there's still so much gratuitous torture and rape culture shit up in there... but idk, it's pretty fun/cool/interesting to live on and see things us fans used to speculate might never happen become reality.

i wanna watch dragon ball kai sometime.

watched all 38 or howevery many eps of sailor moon crystal and wow it was so pretty and sparkly and femme love friendship power shit i never picked up on (or disdained) when i was younger and so hard and emotionally detached lol

watched utena a little while back. that was amaze.

p much free streaming allll this anime that was hard to get or too much $$ for me when i was a brokeass poor fuckup. what times we live in.

started watching sense 8. jawn is good except for the cop character we're supposed to sympathize with. can you imagine what kinds of tv shows & scifi shows there would be if they weren't all about cops or the military? PRETTY INTERESTING HUH

is anyone else heavily feeling like an adult in a timeslip back to the 90s? i'm streaming drum n bass videos on youtube while smoking green out my vape, and all my clothes are black, white, or neon. ¬__¬;
Currently: at my desk
Feeling: contemplative
Listening to: background goings on in my house, roomates playing music, laughing
21 June 2016 @ 01:26 pm
i have a shaved head i got my pussy pierced i'm heavily yatted i'm a freak i'm gay i'm nonbinary i use they i'm a cyborg

all these years i've had this livejournal, through confused youth and an extremely abusive relationship... i don't read the old entries. i think about making them private. i think about deleting this thing as the surveillance state continues to build... i write science fiction, i've been in art museums, i've won grants, i'm about to be

puuuublisssshed in two anthologies......

here is the one i can mention, about to ship end of month:


i'm woke i'm angry i'm depressed

i had a 7-yr-old tumblr that was cyborgmemoirs then i changed the name to acrossthru so i could have a pro writer tumblr... i deleted the 7 yr old tumblr cause...

anon internet and the age when livejournal was the shit, and when AOL keywords were still a thing businesses advertised, that's over. i feel frustrated a lot. so many of us grew up in chatrooms, on AIM, mIRC, here... we connected on topical interests, on feelings... the text based web allowed us to do a lot of stuff. now here we are. everything is a marketing platform & monetized. identity politic hashtag image culture rampages. i'm 33 as of june 6.

slightly related, i'm in this (nostalgic sort of) DBZ fanzine, BADMAN, that Merrit Kopas put together.

i'm also posting regularly at cyborgmemoirs.tumblr.com, and @cyborgmemoirs on twitter n instagram anymore.

if you're reading this, i'm glad we're all still here. i hope we're doing okay for ourselves, not hurting ourselves, not being hurt by others.

happy summer 2016
Currently: philly
Feeling: apatheticapathetic
11 August 2014 @ 01:40 pm

last night my young beautiful genius housemate said to me, it must be weird being cyberpunk because like a smartphone is essentially a surveillance device and like... it was predicted, cyberpunk predicted all that.

and I said, cyberpunk didn't predict anything, it just extended capitalist thought. cyberpunk just saw it through. that's why all this shit came to fruition and there was no envisioning past that, no actual visioning other worlds, paradigms beyond straight white boy terminalism. that's why "nothing new" came out of it but a glimpse at darkness.

in hindsight, from 2014, it's very easy for me to say all this with conviction and a lot of spite. but who were the cyberpunk writers anyway? young white men from upwardly mobile backgrounds. I've sat on a long essay about this for a while now, and probably will never publish it, since all this seems obvious, and besides Samuel Delany has long since brought up the fact that cyberpunk is for entitled white boys...

props to all the white male writers who showed us the depths of colonial settler driven capitalist alienation, i guess... i still find cyberpunk classics a dirty, thrilling sort of brainspace. but i'm like, if there wasn't cyberpunk what would there have been?

whoa how come all of us came back to this thing around the 4th? Or am I just glancing at my friend's page and noticing something that I would've noticed earlier if I was here more often.

oh livejournal. even writing here now it feels like a performance broadcast platform; facebook has jilted my sense of inner examination, now relegated strictly to the paper notebooks in my bag...

and goodness, i haven't seen this new interface yet!

i want to come back here soon. dump all my thoughts. nothing ever was private here, but now that everyone could be watching, i don't know what to do.   :(

look, i write in short bursts. 
Feeling: when's the last time i laughed
10 October 2012 @ 03:09 pm

All my time lately goes to web work at the Zakka Shop, writing for ALL THAT'S LEFT, and this new one, the Philly SF anthology METROPOLARITY from crew and I that is looking for submissions.

In the meantime, I have unsettling dreams about being held and restrained. My friend thinks that I have someone with me. There are interactions I want that can't happen. Smart nerd babes think I'm cute. And my period was 8 days late. But otherwise I feel headed in good directions. 
07 May 2012 @ 02:55 pm
So I found a tumblr called http://postapocalypticfashion.tumblr.com and was surprised for once that a post-apocalyptic/dystopian/cyberpunk tumblr had images of people who for once weren't exclusively baby powder white or wearing cyberfalls, gears, gas masks, neon colored mohawks, crust punks, industrial gothic models with facial piercings and no eyebrows -- I can go on.  Now, this tumblr does have a lot of images like this, but the fact that it's not exclusively that tired old bullshit is interesting. So I culled some worthwhile images from it and decided to follow it in the meantime.

Today's weather is odd. I've been wearing my trusted Thigh High Socks (all kept from my days working backstock at American Apparel) and shorts with a too-small hoodie, and it's been working out. I did an alley cat race the other day with a buddy, wearing my Geordi LaForge shades and the socks. It was cool. I wish the shades sat better on the ridge of my nose, but I knew it would be an issue before I even got them. As for the socks, I dunno what it is, but my legs in these socks do something to people. Compliments abound; respectful but laden with suggestive glances (or glances trying not to be suggestive). 

Not too long ago a new acquaintance said that I sounded pretty stone (after talking about my gender in relation to my body). Stone as in stone butch, stone cold, stone, emotionally available and vulnerable only when it's deemed okay, and safe. Allowable. Lately I've been thinking about that and my longtime predilection for emotionally distant cyborg protagonists, and my recent realizations that I go to great lengths to prevent my body being sexualized without my permission. Unless I decide I'm in the mood to be sexualized by friends and strangers, then it makes me really uncomfortable. And that has something to do with control, one might guess. 

I went to the alley cat after party and waited around by myself for some time till my boo showed up, along with some more approachable neighborhood faces. I got too high from a half of a potent pastry, and felt like I couldn't deal with anyone's suggestive movements or postures or glances. Boo asked if so-and-so was trying to holler at me, cause it sure seemed that way, and I was just like uhhhh well it's not a good time cause I'm not havin it! And this is the one quandary of being at queer dance parties (the after party turned in to one once it moved to another spot): Sometimes I feel overly objectified or desired or something, and I just have to reign whatever it is I'm doing in and be a wallflower. Or, on occasion when I'm in too far into party dance mode, I just ignore any advances, looks, or other fawning, and go into my own world which contains just me and the rhythm I'm dancing to. So it's paradoxical in a way. I just don't like to be approached on the basis of my physical appearance/body, and I'm wary of individuals that want to interact with me only based on how I look, yet I deliberately aim to be a 1980/90s cyborg babe, which is highly concerned with BODY (but one that the cyborg babe is in total control of, as well as her environment to a large degree).

I was telling a friend the other day about how night and day my place among the local queer community was. One day I was some random West Philly so and so, and then surprise! I know all these cool people outside of your queer circles, and now you want to know me and be my friend? I'd like to bitterly claim that is entirely the case, but I'm sure it also had lots to do with people seeing me around forever and ever and eventually getting used to me and figuring out I'm not a square. But I 1000% had my XX chromosome body as an assist on that front, and no riot grrrl, baby dyke, 'i'm queer but i still only keep lesbian friends' credentials to speak of. 

And here comes my continuation of paradoxical existences: Why do I always speak so bitterly of social groups in which I consider myself a part of? I had a lazy afternoon hang with a sweetheart not too long ago and we ended up talking about loneliness, and then about feeling always on the outside, always somehow not quite 100% "in" a group, and always just a little excluded on the basis that the majority's headspace just wasn't exactly where our headspace is at. Once my mother told me that extremely creative people get sad and more emotionally distraught than others. When she said that to me, I scoffed to myself at lumping me into such a population, and yet wondered if she wasn't right in some way---she is my mother. 

Which brings me to something my dad said the other day when I saw him, and that was that he thought my mother wasn't emotionally available to me enough as a child. My dad says lots of things, and he had a rough, loveless childhood that makes him especially sensitive, but recently my mom also hinted at emotional distance and depression when I was a kid. It's not the first time, either. I never really thought about not getting hugged enough as a kid until very recently, when I began to become especially sensitive to boundaries, my level of control, and how I wanted people to touch me or interact with me.
[trigger warning on this next paragraph--talking about rape]
And I can't shake this one event that happened to me a couple months ago, when I was in the middle of enjoying sex and was suddenly filled with an unreal and overwhelming body sensation of violation--a flashback, the fragment of a deeply buried childhood memory that I might never relive totally (yet my mind reaches for it). It was the memory of a rape, I cried out through all my uncontrollable sobbing. But where did it come from? In one instant I'm accidentally penetrated too deeply by my partner, and the next I'm reliving some surreal, awful memory of my child body. I cried for a long while and couldn't wrap my mind around it, wondering why now and why at all, and could it possibly be made up from something else. My boo listened and held on, and since then I've been wondering how to deal with that and if more will come back to me.

There are one or two more instances of childhood violation (a Catholic school "physician" in plain clothes with a strange exam that made me uncomfortable even then) that I've begun to consider as contributors to my relationship with my body and my relationship to larger social groups. It makes me unbelievably sad. Because the violation and domestic violence I've experienced in my life can be so tame compared to so many other people, and lil ole me is so profoundly affected. And rape culture is total bullshit. And apologists of rape and sexual abuse need exposure to the emotional terror that haunts your existence. And here I am with my rational brain trying to figure out how the sexual violence I've experienced in my life isn't a factor to my personality today. And WHY? What for? 

The consciousness inside the body. Now I'm having Ghost in the Shell existential crises of self; IF I could plug my consciousness into a different body, what kinds of pain would I have to endure or not? My ideal body is currently a lithe, muscular androgyne that people react more to its grace and movement than potential sexuality. The Puppet Master said to Kusanagi, "Your desire to remain what you are is ultimately what limits you."  My dad contextualizes painful memories as being "in the past." My god, and I haven't even gotten into how I DO want my body to be sexualized! I'm entertaining the idea of going to a queer play party next month, and that's what I opened up LiveJournal for! But I guess my personal holds on sex and power escape me so thoroughly right now that I can only vaguely write about experience tied to my body and its sexualization. 

I guess . . .

If I am the stone cold cyborg, how do I wield my power and my desire, and how do I willingly submit to trust amongst others who would contextualize my body in ways I do not agree with? 
02 May 2012 @ 06:11 pm
I think I realized the power of all-black outfits today. But in a fledgeling way where I still have two layered pieces of charcoal grey on. 

My period is wreaking havoc this week. Actually for the past ten days or so my breasts have been so tender and fucking swollen that I was wondering if I was going to have to deal with a pregnancy scare. In the past, it's always started with my tits getting all loud, and then hormonal wackiness ensued. But I often wonder if I am in fact sterile from two very stressful years of my life, and fun fact: I am definitely sure I had a stress-related miscarriage in 2005 before I moved back to Philly, when my period was two weeks late and I was inundated with bizarre mommy preparation hormones during the fortnight. 

I am compelled to say "sorry" for talking about my body and its reproductive abilities and woes, but why? People with ovaries have to deal with this bullshit constantly. Oops.

So anyway, my hormones came on real strong this cycle. Wish I knew why, and at any rate I'm bleeding into my Diva Cup and feeling like sludge. I often remember that scene from Berserk where Caska starts to get woozy in the middle of a battle and Guts arrives to save her ass, wondering what is wrong with her only to discover she'd just started her period. That was back before my periods got super difficult and I was on birth control which mercilessly regulated that shit, and I was like whoa wow is this some stupid man's misconception of how bad periods get or is there some truth to that? Back then I thought it was definitely exaggerated. Now, I realize some people really do get taken the fuck out when their uterus wants to shed itself. In fact, it happened to me the first few periods I got as a tween. Fuck.

I just want to eat a cheeseburger.

In other news, it looks like the Laser Life crew is taking a break this month to read for an LGBTQ suicide memorial event at the end of the month instead. I met with Alex and Shane (the LL founders) to discuss what we should do, and so now I have to work on an original story that references theirs, while using some world ideas I came up with that we're all supposed to flesh out in our own ways. I'm just going to say for now that there are no more electronic screens in this fictional universe...

And aside from that project this month, I got friends coming to visit, work trip to NYC (brief), my own smutty reading event that I'm trying to plan, and the second issue of my zine I'm trying to put out. AND all the audio tracks to record and mix. I did some of that last night on several cups of wine, repeating lines over and over again like some quasi voice actor. Don't pop the Ps. I think I'm happy with the results, but I'm not entirely satisfied. I wish I had someone helping me record, but right now it's a DIY era for me and All That's Left.
Listening to: http://youtu.be/ka-PLgW8iQE
06 April 2012 @ 03:09 pm
no fux

So after years of feeling exclusionary disdain for all-black punk, ratty layered crust, and super hi-tek cyberpunk looks, I've finally FINALLY begun to embrace the fact that I too can wear layered shades of city and not feel like a poser asshole. Admittedly, I've only been working on rocking the 2025 look for a week, remixing the same 10 articles of clothing over and over, but I feel more comfortable being able to just switch into this look than before. It helps a ton when your partner and your friends approve, and they know how deep your sci-fi proclivities go. It also helps that I've decided my look is more of that particular fresh urban future shit, like oversized sweats, ambiguous drapes, and coveted athletic shoes, mixed with meme-referencing accessories.

Life is fascinating, yo. A month or two ago I started doing this particular pilates workout every few days, and my body is responding really well. I feel stronger. I am getting chest muscles (which is changing how my breasts feel--something I never thought would change). I'm like damn, maybe I will be able to survive the cataclysm. Or whatever. Last night as I was walking home with my homie, we talked about the passages from Hagakure in Ghost Dog, about a samurai being so prepared for death that every scenario was accepted and nothing was a surprise, should death come. This was after I brought up how fucking fast cars go, and how I constantly visualize scenarios of my own death on the city streets, at the end of the world, alone, on my own terms -- it goes on. Homeboy shared that he did the same thing. I didn't tell him that I hope he's in my crew when things get scary.

Life as some dystopia obsessed writer feels like a much better utilization of time than grad school. Thank the cosmos. And thank goodness for spring weather. Hello.
"Rupert of Deutz, a twelfth-century monk, imagined himself standing before the altar contemplating an image of Christ that almost seems to come alive before him: “I beheld him, living, in my mind’s eye … I took hold of he whom my soul loves, I held him, I embraced him, I kissed him lingeringly. I sensed how gratefully he accepted this gesture of love, when between kissing he himself opened his mouth, in order that I kiss more deeply” (cited in Robert Mills, Suspended Animation, 2004, 177)."

Wild article...

15 March 2012 @ 01:39 pm
All That"s Left interview on ClusterMag
o I got interviewed by one of the coolest online magazines about my All That's Left zine. It's fucking dope. I mean, the questions I was posed are incredible, and my ranting answers just don't quit. ^_^ Picture leads to the interview. :D
14 March 2012 @ 04:42 pm
God, so my boo is off to tour in Australia for a few weeks, and the day they leave spring comes on FULL BLAST. I sit at my job staring out the window wearing no heavy layers, and agonize over the fact that I'm not outdoors riding fast as hell, wrestling friends, or working on stories.

Think I might ask for tomorrow off (or a half day) so I can just get that out of my system and feel like a normal human being. There's only so much scrolling, cropping, color adjusting, and insufficiently researched trend forecasting that I can bear to do in one day, and today is not it.  

I would rather be jerking off, getting high with a friend, or adventuring. No screens. No words.
08 March 2012 @ 03:42 pm
Listening to recordings of T.E.N.C.A.T.S practice from this time last year, and man we were getting good (until our bassist left on cross-country tallbike tour). I called us garage enka. I sang in Japanese. Heavily influenced by GO!GO!7188 but not nearly the same level of musicianship. Like at all. Plus my bandmates were super hung up on girl-group pop-punk quasi grunge sounding riffs and pacing, and I honestly just wanted to sound like the most forlorn enka band (meaning, they always wanted to play pretty fast and I was always asking for them to slow it down a notch). We only ever played two shows. It was hard for us to meet. Our dummer never once listened to all the Showa pop/enka music I said was the influence for the band. Of course I am just being whiney right now. My bandmates were all incredible, and the people who did go to our two shows said we were awesome. 

But damn, I just want to sing like Mayuzumi Jun or Fuji Keiko and be some sweet guitarist with a friend. But my hands won't allow the guitar part. I can at least still sing to myself while riding my bike. Hah.
05 March 2012 @ 04:35 pm
Mondays at work somehow end up being the worst. Not because it is Monday, not by any means. Mostly, it's because I always get roped into sitting downstairs on the sales floor and being distracted from all the debugging, product photo taking, etc etc that I WOULD be doing upstairs (in the "office"). Ugh. Today is a day like this. I don't need to be down here but now I feel poorly saying I'm going to go upstairs. Sure, it will help out my productivity tons, but shit. Most of the day is already gone.

Tonight is a burger date. I have no idea anymore what my date expects in terms of physical affection. I could just ask them, obviously, but I am so so so so so weary of relationship talks right now. They basically got into a primary partner jawn that is really fruitful and meaningful to them, so they're having to navigate time commitments, and the end result is a lot of flaking, early nites, and just a peck on the cheek. Oh well. Their sexuality made me hella nervous when it was fully focused on me (and not their partner), and I'm kind of glad that I can interact with a more toned down beast while I figure myself out.

And my boo is going away in a week to tour a place I've wanted to go all my life (Australia, not Japan). It's been a rough transitional time for them. Their living situation has deteriorated from an fun, radical house into a lazy college flop house. The housemates are lazy and inconsiderate, and thank god my boo is moving out of there, but it's put them in an emotionally vulnerable spot. Among other things, I mean. I had my emotionally vulnerable spot when was going through about four different transitional periods last year, and now my boo is. I keep reading them as sad, depressed, and aloof, but for the most part they just keep saying they're fatigued. I fret endlessly.

And in other relationships, there is this person who I'm pretty sure has turned into my muse. I can write and write and write after hanging out with them. It's just that I can only hang out with them once every other week. So time is precious when it comes to them, and the other day a friend of mine tried to invite themselves along with us on a bike ride, kind of aggressively so, and I was not amused. I will tell the story of why another time, but yeah. I have been feeling like I am not able to spend my time how I want to spend it. I can't write when I want to. I can't write when I want to. I can't write when I want to. I don't have time to hang out. Don't approach me in a strange way and say, we should hang out! I don't have enough of my own time, so quite frankly, if you want to just shoot the shit when I could be writing, I may not appreciate it. 

I am cranky. I am very cranky, borderline acting like a child. And hungry right now. I don't care about inane conversation. All the tasks I must do--be it at work or my own work--require my concentration and NOT listening to you make conversation. Unless I make it clear that talking will not disrupt me. God. No wonder the old writers went off into secluded places, took drugs, and lived off rich old motherfuckers. Currently, I just want to have sex all day, eat well, and write my ass off.
26 February 2012 @ 09:08 pm
Friends and lovers, I am in need of someone to critically read a revision of a smutty dystopian cyborg drama for the next zine I'm putting out! This one actually has some queer sexxing in it, FYI so please be aware of that.

An excerpt:

“Before this, Dimo and Kay had barely been nodding acquaintances, even though the small social circles of their hometown had ensured they knew each other’s names and occupations. Far from Omwenga now, breaking bread at the diner was their first real interaction with one another. Grub made it evident that they had it pretty good back in their neck of the woods—the fare on their plates was all reconstituted grains and dried root vegetables from god knows where—but any edible food was always a blessing. Under the inconsistent buzzing of overhead lights and an occasional glance from the counter cook (a silent old white man with his beard riddled by what looked to be bad water tumors), Kay chatted about her metabolic controls, which even for a hype cyborg like her, would never override the desire to eat. The act itself, even if it could be chemically scheduled for optimal efficiency, was a necessary component of mental well-being, she insisted, looking at Dimo all the while with a gaze that held as much sway over him as her hand on his throat earlier."

The whole piece is about 3500 words or 8 document pages. Comment here or get a hold of me in the best way you know how!
19 February 2012 @ 05:00 pm
People of color have to constantly disprove the fucked up notions that they're dangerous, stupid, uncultured, and a league of other seriously awful, negative tropes. Conversely, it strikes me that certain white boys have to constantly disprove they're not idiotic, corny, unimaginative, egotistic pieces of shit.