The birds are singing the rivers are rising

The last few days I have been going on huge walks around this town I love, Ypsilanti. I am a regular walker but during the winter when there is snow on the ground the sidewalks can be dangerous, cause there are a lot of absent landlords in this town and their tenants do not seem to know how to lift a shovel. So the sidewalks get slickery and my long walks get reduced to running Pookah in the park and walking her around a few streets rather than many.



On Sunday K and Pookah and I walked and walked. We walked down to the Huron River and through the park and through frog island and over the railroad tracks and down one of the oldest streets in Ypsilanti and back around through all of it. It was delightful to be out in the cold air—yes it is still colder than warm—taking in that faint smell of spring on the air.



Even though we got blasted with another 8 to 10 inches of snow on Friday night, the daffodils and crocuses have begun their sturdy ascents toward the light. And the smell of greenness and new life is faintly fusing to the atmosphere.

In these moments of surrounding our heads and hearts with the coming of the growing season, we have also been doing another kind of planting. Sunday night we slung some more sperm (3.5 ccs—which wowed my socks off) into my kk’s sweet spot. We will inject again tonight.

Our hope is resting on the life that is shaking off the thawing soil and breaking through for a gasp of light and the birds who are returning and opening their voices to the day—chirping us through the mornings and singing sleepy tunes in early evening.

May more life come with the rising rushing rivers and the longer days.

May life mix through the fluids of the bodies involved in this life making process.

May it work this time around.

A quandary

We have had a strange and disconcerting week. I am taking today off to re-coop and because I needed some time to myself--something I really do not get much of.

Last night I woke up at three a.m. to "i'm going to get you you fucking faggot." It was yelled at the top of some gruff, drunk,too-much testosteroned college boy's lungs who lives (or parties) across the street. I pretty much abhor the actions of those boys. They have lived there not even a full year and they party like their small-aimless-natural light-worlds are the only thing in the universe. I get doubly pissed thinking about them when I think about the sweet family that lived there before and then decided to move before selling their house; they rented to 4 college asshole boys who, once again, think that they have some innate right to party real loud every night. I dislike their antics and more than that I hate getting shocked up out of my sleep.

The words fucking faggot do not bode well with me. And they are especially troubling coming in the middle of the night since I have been sleeping on alert since tuesday night/wednesday morning when some asshole tried to break into our house as we peacefully slept in our bed.

Yep, that's right. We woke up to find our back gate open and back porch screen door pushed out and the sliding lock unlocked with the door ajar. Luckily, the audacious prick got on our porch and realized that our back door and kitchen window are not very easy to get into. As much as I try to never rely on the cops for anything at all, K and I went by the cop shop which is almost in our back yard and let them know what had happened and they let us know that a house seven doors down from ours had been broken into at 2:30 a.m. that same morning. The girl woke up to a guy crawling in her bedroom window. She screamed at him; he said "oh i thought this was my friend george's house," and then he fled on foot. Thing is nobody would slice open all the screens on his friend's house to try to get in which is what aforementioned home invader did.

The girl who got awakened to the man crawling in her window is a friend of my friends and it all really happened--the cops weren't just trying to raz us. So, we figure audacious prick tried our house first couldn't get in and so he went down the street.

Of course, I would mind if someone broke into my house and stole my shit at anytime (not necessarily for the void of the shit that might get swiped but rather because of the invasion of space), but what irks me the most is that this guy tried this when we were sleeping--when we were vulnerable. It is just stupid on his part. Come steal my shit in the day when I am at work or in the evening when I am out, but busting into my house when you full well know there are most likely people sleeping up in here, that is just dumb. He is setting himself up for a potentially violent altercation. His motive may have been to get some stuff to sell to feed his drug habit or his belly (maybe even his kid/s' bellies), but when you bust into a locked place in the middle of the night, what can you expect but possibly bumping in to a warm body and then what are you just going to run?

Besides getting irked due to invasions of what K and I have tried to make our own safe space (hearing "i'm going to get you you fucking faggot" is also an invasion of this safe space), I have been deliberating all week in my own head about the failings of the "public safety" systems we--society--have put in place and what a sham these systems are.

I think about this stuff all of the time because of the work I am engaged in on daily basis, and then when it strikes a bit closer to home--like my back porch, or front porch, or resounds on the equinox air outside my bedroom window, I begin to desire desperately to have a network of community that we can call on in times when our constructed safety is encroached upon. A network different than that of the current "justice" system. A network of people devoted to intervening to get at the root of whatever is leading another person to move into our safe space and make it feel less safe. I do not believe policing and incarceration get at the roots of the human behavior that leads to harms done among people, and even though I believe this with all of my heart, I still do not have a network or group within my community that I can call on as an alternative to the police.

This quandary takes up a lot of my thought life. It makes me question my own definitions and perceptions of safety. It makes me think of how safe I really am compared to people living in war torn countries where there is active warfare. That is not to say that there is not gun violence, other forms of physical violence, or mental violence in the town where I live, but it is not as insidious as the brutal violence connected to the warring of Iraq.

It all makes me think of the valuing of some lives over other lives. Who are the laws set up to protect? We see time and time again that they are used against poor people of all colors,people of color, people with mental illness, and queer people. Most laws are there to enforce a status quo reality that is based in a white hetero-normative foundation. And I am not just spouting theory here. I see it day in and day out. I work with people in prison who were addicted to drugs and people who sold drugs to get by, trans-people who tricked to feed themselves because they could not find jobs because of who they are, people who resorted to violence to save themselves from the violence they were surrounded by, and people with various mental illness who stumbled into the criminal "justice" system because of behaviors and actions that were deemed unlawful.

And once we cycle people through the prison system do they come out healed and whole beings? Maybe some--and that is only through their own initiative (the system does not have good programming). Mostly not. Most folks are inflicted with new experiences of trauma while inside. And then we send people back on to the streets with another identity that is also marginalized in this society--the label of felon.

I could go on and on about this, but I will stop. In the meantime, I'll keep pondering over this quandary and maybe someday--through the work of many--things will change.

the weekend re-cap--another fri,sat,sun bites the dust

Happy st. pat's day. this is my green outfit i wore for monday!

a full up weekend is what we had.

Friday, brought us Michigan folk a sweet taste of spring. It was 50ish and sunny and the air held that touch of coming goodness that equals warm and light and the fading of perpetual clouds. I rode my bike into work and my hopes for the coming spring got a bit out of control (its been in the 30s since that lovely warm day). On Friday night we went out for our dear friend T's birthday. We had a lovely meal except for the sardine pasta that T's girl R tried to consume, but to no avail cause it tasted like fish meal smells. yucko. But we drank yummy wine and celebrated the birth of an amazing woman who I am so happy to have in my life.

I had to work Saturday morning--drive to lansing--long, suck, but alive.

And, Saturday night kk and I drove downriver to Trenton--that's where I grew up--to hang out with my mama and dad. Downriver is like the sardine pasta from Friday night that was too hard to swallow. You really want to love it, but it is gritty and nasty and it causes you to choke as you try to get it down your throat. We went to RP McMurphy's in Wyandotte (another Downriver town); one of our favorite places to eat when we are visiting my folks (decent places to eat are hard to come by in the area of my birth).
We drank black and tans and listened to a bag piper and really had a nice visit with my ma and dad. While my parents can drive me crazy because of their refusal to really wholly accept and embrace me and kk together in love, they do love us both a whole lot, and they are fun and kind people. One day, I will reflect on my relationship with my parents in more detail, but till then...

Sunday, I slept in. Then we went for a ride with Bike Ypsi peeps--it was a chilly ride, but delightful. Our Bike Ypsi crew is interesting, diverse and super fun.

Then we went to our friends' house and talked about starting a free school--more on that another day too. Then we went home and I made a huge pot of cabbage potato soup and our ladies all came over and ate soup and drank beer, whiskey, and/or wine and watched the l word (worst episode yet this season according to me). And A brought this raspberry cream thing with lady fingers--oh yum--and R brought these super cakey, fat chocolate chip cookies (I'd been craving such cookies for four months and R struck up some magic and fixed my craving).

So the weekend was a ball of fun and relaxation with our chosen family and our (well my) bio-family.

the blood--again

kk started bleeding last night.

i drank some bourbon and sat around in my unihood doing not much of anything at all.



so it is...

i can't get my panties in a bunch cause i already have them in a bunch about too many other things.

i can't cry or beat my head against the sidewalk cause i'm saving up my tears for the harder days and the sidewalk is too hard and cold.

my life is beautiful and good and free and open--and i cannot moan or groan cause i can wipe my own ass and make delicious food and ride my bike through the biggest puddles and feel the breath of the people i love most in the world on my cheeks or hair or heart whenever i want (except for the dead ones).

follow-up on flaps because i promised

Thank you to all who dared to share about your own or someone close to you or formerly close to you's labia. Reading through your comments has been really eye-opening and very humorous and thoughtful all at once.

Here's the deal. I happen to have a different-than-most-other-females flap. KK and I just pulled out the ruler and measured its length and width. It waggles down about one inch long and is about 1/4 inch wide. If anything, it cushions my ride more than obstructs it, but I do get numb down there when i ride for a while. I think most ladies (no matter the sizes of their flappy parts) get numb nether parts from having a seat rammed between their legs...feedback?

And why blog about this at all? Mostly, cause I want to. Also, I think it interesting and important and empowering. And then it boils down to my own genderqueer identity. My flap hangs like a spongy dagger between my legs. It helps instruct something in me that fuels the many parts of who i am and am becoming. It can bust out below the rest of my anatomy like something associated with male anatomy and just as easily tuck back up into the other beautiful pieces of my female anatomy. It blends and obscures. My flap is unique--just like me.

bikes, blood, and flaps

I just got home from work,and I rode my bicycle to get me here. It is 33 degrees in MI; minimal wind sailing over a slushy, gray landscape with abounding snow/ice chunks.

My ride was fast and thrilling and mostly uneventful. It gave me the biggest hankering for spring. Spring--that green time of year when the gray/brown mush of land and trees and the permanent cloud that seems to hang over the winter air disappears beneath the living things.

On that note, kk's flu has mostly left here sweet body. She has a lingering cough, but it is not fierce just a little mucus peep.

We are awaiting her bloody time. I made her pee on a stick yesterday; it said negative. Her temperature plunged to 95 after her fever of 2.5 days broke, and since that time her temp has been quite down--it never went up to indicate that anything stuck, so tomorrow she should start menstruation, and if she does not, well, I will get a little peeved cause then her cycle is getting all fucky, strange again.

While I'm on the subject of blood and cycles and girl parts, does anyone have complicated labia (I guess labia is the plural for labium which is just one fold of the whole contraption) or know of people who do? By complicated I mean extra-fleshy, flappy parts--like a turkey's gobble, wobble?

You let me know and I'll tell you why I ask. And, if you are too scared to say out right, well, do it in code.

i'll be damned

well, i'll be damned...
once again, there is a snow storm blowing around out my window.
once again, i had a super long day at work.
once again, fever and cough is visiting our house.

right when the potential sperm/egg combo could/would be implanting on the wall of kk's uterus, she came down with full on illness with a high ass fever. She has had a fever since last night and at this moment her temperature is raging at 102.6 F.

she is being good and only taking tylenol for her achy bones every 6-8 hours. but i want her to take something for her wicked cough.

i guess stress is really the biggest immune killer on the planet. cause really our sweet, little family is a healthy one. we eat good; we usually get good rest; we exercise diligently; we love relentlessly. however, this winter has been full up loaded with stress on both the home front and work front, so maybe it is spiking through my darling girl's body and leaving little holes in her immune system.

i'm so looking forward to the healing energy of more sun. i long for the disappearance of the cold, dark days and the hollow holes of hospitals and close quarters of being kept up inside for too many hours during the day even if my house is comfy and cozy and my work-place quaint and tolerable.

i want to sit by the river and feel a warm wind on my face. i want calmness to surround us for hours on end. i want to watch the sunset on lake michigan--the pink orange sprays of light fading from the day into the vast, dark, eternal lake--and the certain lines of the horizon to hold me and tell me that it is all going to be okay.

the weekend--waiting, food, screenings, dreams, and tv

the weekend was good to us as we continue to wait for news from k's womb and other news from k's g-ma's pancreas and internal organs.

on saturday, we had friends over for dinner. i made a slew of veg--zukes, red peppers, fennel, onion, garlic, capers, and kalamata olives + a fesh herb pasta + some fish. after eating the tasty food we made our way up to one of the best things about downtown ypsilanti, vgkids, . They were screening t-shirts of the ann arbor film festival's multi-layered design for free for the public and screening films in the back room.

screening t-shirts

I took a t-shirt and got a print of tall grass on the bottom of my shirt; it is sweet and pretty.

we watched beautiful films on the wall. skiboys had clips of energetic young men doing all kinds of crazy stunts on bicycles and other two wheeled objects. the landscapes were beautiful, and i was moved to a place of nostalgia that i did not know lived in my chest.


























on saturday night i slept all strange, and k and i both dreamed vivid dreams of kk's mama. i thought she must really have been visiting us in our bedroom. these simultaneously dreamed dreams brought to my heart those rare occasions when i believe in ghosts--not hauntings, but presences of souls gone on, away from this living.

she visited us in our dreams

on sunday, k and i hung slow and hard together. my hands found their way to k's knees, and her bones stung me with the sharpness of her living. i was dazzled by her eyes and her mouth and left hungering to be even closer to her than i was.

we made pizza for the weekly lword festivities, and a and e brought endives with various cream cheese spreads inside, and a and r brought sweets, and t and r brought me some bulleit bourbon which is a smoky, smooth version of one of my favorite beverages.



and so we spend our time...full of goodness and waiting