Golden Brown is my favourite song. There’s no other song that could ever replace this one; it’s special to me. The first time I heard it was during a car journey- it came on the radio while I was crouched over, trying to sleep. (People often ask me if I’m okay when I do this. It must look like I’m sick or something when I do this. I’m not, though. I just like curling up when I sleep, so that no-one can see me.) It was a perfect moment. I was half-dozing, and ended up having a wonderful daydream to it. The only problem was, I didn’t know its name yet. All I knew was that it sounded like spiders playing on a harpischord in autumn. Eventually though, I heard it on the radio once again, a few months later, and found out its name. Not much a story, but still, I do think it’s a pleasant one.

I always have that very same daydream every time I listen to it now. I won’t tell you what that daydream is; maybe you can guess. It inspired me a lot. It might even be my biggest inspiration. I have been trying for ages to write a story as perfect as that song. So far, I have not yet succeeded.

It’s interesting that frailty is seen as a negative trait.

Frailty is connected to weakness, and so ’tis regarded as an undesirable thing, in both oneself and in others. To some, frailty is almost contemptible. I suppose I can see why it can often be viewed in this way. Unlike other harmless traits a person might possess, it doesn’t really have any constructive aspects to it. At its best, it’s pretty neutral. At its worst, it can be problematic.

Lillian Gish, one of my biggest style icons.

Yet…fragility is seen as okay. A fragile person has beauty. You want to protect somebody who is fragile. So, what seperates the fragile from the frail? And why can’t a frail person or thing be seen as beautiful too? I can find frailty to be beautiful. Yes, it is a weakness, but it isn’t a moral or artistic weakness. And that’s really enough for me.

I just love the idea of something so easily broken that you have to be careful to ensure that its beauty is preserved.

Ilikerunningtogetherwords. Runtogetherwordslikeaneedlethroughthread,atroughthreadingstring. Itmakesmethinkofotherthings. Itmakesmefeelfreedomofconsciousnessdominatedbythestreamsofconscience. Itistheperfectwaytoformsentencesfreefromthoughtorform,unrestrainedanden abled toexpressmyliquidthoughtsassessedbutnotwithoutassetsandsometimeswhatI sayendupmakingnocoherentsense. Senseislostinnonsense,yes? Itisboththatbecausetherearenospaces,alltimeforthoughtbecomeslostinablessed messily thoroughblur,butalsoIgetdistractedandcarriedawaybymyowndissatisfactions, creatingunnecessaryfractionsofmyownwindingrhymingthoughtsdenyingme every thingexceptfordeathandeafnessinthepitofwit. Itallchangedeasilyfromhere,intosomethingthatwasbemusedandalsoallsoqueer. Mydear. 

Itpleasesmetobesodiseasedyousee. Notme. Heavily. SwingingsingsongsingsingallthewaytoSingSing. Itislikesokenwordbutneversaidanythingtome. Nevertome. Tobeababyseed. Ilikewritingproseaspoetry.

And sometimes,

                                  I get lost in it, you see.

Help me?

I suppose that such things as hauntings and feeling haunted have already been discussed to death. (If you will pardon the pun.) Not to be unoriginal but…I’m going to be very, very unoriginal right now. Sorry.

 In Stephen King’s excellent book about horror fiction, Danse Macabre (read it if you even have a passing interest in horror, or storytelling in general), he talks about the way some horror writers prefer to keep the evil or the source of terror in their story concealed, so that the reader’s own imagination ends up magnifying it. I love this method myself, because it allows the horror to be more subtle. Then again, this doesn’t always work, and it does have its limitations. (Not to mention that schlocky B-movies are fun too.)

But I guess that’s why I might like ghosts the most. I like them even more than vampires. If I could be any horror story creature (one of the stock types, at least), I think I might like to be a ghost. (I’d probably end up being like Casper, though.) I amn’t really sure if I am even a proper horror fan, or whether I’m just a fan of horror-related stuff. I adore things with horror elements, but I’m too wussy for a lot of horror stories. And the ones I do like tend to be ones that don’t even seem like horror stories at all.

Ghosts contradict themselves. They are there, but they’re not there at the same time. They’re ethereal beings. I suppose that makes them kind of frail, fragile creatures, which is another reason why they appeal to me. Ghosts are so pretty. Are they made of liquid lace? Perhaps that’s what ectoplasm is. It’s so easy to make a ghost beautiful but scary at the same time, without compromising eithetr trait. And there are so many wonderful words that can be used to describe them with- spectral, astral, ghoulish, phantomlike, etc.

To be haunted is an either-or situation. You can either be haunted by a transient being, or by transience itself. (Or maybe both.) You can find yourself living in a haunted house, or a house that is haunting. A haunting house. A house that leaves. Houses are the perfect things to contain a ghost.

Harrowed angels, unlike narrowed time, ellipse downwards.

Hearing answers underneath nudes, trespassed,  interrupting new games.

Handles against undulated terror.

This was one of the last novels Richard Brautigan wrote before he died, and was never published during his lifetime. He committed suicide, shooting himself in the head. There was this myth that he left a note saying “Messy, isn’t it?”, but that’s all just silliness. I don’t know why he killed himself, but it makes me feel very sad to think about it. Judging from the stories he wrote, he seemed to have been a really sweet man. This book is a lot like the others of his I’ve read- it’s odd in a gentle way, and very poetic, the sort of book only Richard Brautigan could ever have written -but in other ways, it’s a little different. Many of his stories have a little bit of melancholy in them, but this one is a bit sadder than his earlier ones. There’s still lots of funny bits (one of  them involving a photograph of a chicken in Hawaii), and there’s still plenty of unusual characters, but the weirdness is more gentle than in earlier books such as The Hawkline Monster.

This is a book about death, and about two women’s relationship with death. One woman hung herself from the ceiling of the narrator’s house before the story even began, while the other is a close friend of his, who is dying slowly of cancer. The book takes the form of a travel journal that the unnamed protagonist is writing, never looking back, but just continuing on. He doesn’t want to stay living in his old house now, and so he just travels from place to place, even though he doesn’t even like travelling much. (I always imagined the narrator as being Brautigan himself.) I’m sure that some people would find this book anticlimactic, but that’s really how life can be like sometimes, and there’s nothing much you can do about it. An Unfortunate Woman is a sad and beautiful book, and one of Brautigan’s best.

Nikki Arai died of a heart attack
on July 18, 1982, in San Francisco
after struggling against cancer
until her heart just stopped
beating. She was thirty-eight.
I sure am going to miss her.

Since the very groovy Neil Gaiman has just recently had a new book published (entitled The Ocean at the End of the Lane), I thought it was the perfect time for me to talk about one of my favourite characters from the first Neil Gaiman novel I ever read- Neverwhere.

Door is a young woman who lives in a fantasy world underneath London, populated by the lost and forgotten. She’s the last of some sort of aristocratic family, and is in danger of being killed by two repulsive characters named Croup and Vandemar. Door’s name comes from the fact that she can open anything, which is a pretty interesting ability to have. Doorways are interesting things, and they fit in very nicely with the whole idea of the book, especially since it has an obvious Alice in Wonderland influence.

Neverwhere was originally a TV series, with Laura Fraser playing the part of Door. While I’ve only seen little bits of it, I really think she was perfect for the role. Door is a waifish character, who appears to be either in her late teens or early twenties. (With Strange Girls, sometimes their exact age is hard to tell.) Despite being of noble birth, her clothing isn’t especially glamorous because, like all of the inhabitants of London Below, she’s basically homeless, or kind of between homelessness and having a home. The graphic novel adaptation, on the other hand, got Door’s look completely wrong, and is even slightly sexist. (Why do some comic artists insist on giving every female character a gigantic bust? And why do they feel the need to show it off at all times?) The comic version isn’t really worth reading if you have the book already, so I wouldn’t recommend it. It really doesn’t give Door justice, which is a shame. 

Coming soon: that creepy lady from Eraserhead who lives inside the radiator.

I love cartoons. I love superheroes. And I love crossdressing. This show basically combines all three of those, and has been getting loads of complaints from silly fundamentalists in the process. (Some people will get upset over anything.)

At first I thought that this show was about a boy who actually turned into a girl to fight crime, since I’d come across a few articles referring to it as a transgender cartoon. Well, this isn’t actually the case, but that doesn’t stop it from being an incredibly brave and groovy show that will definitely appeal to the trans community.

Shezow is all about a boy named Guy, who becomes the titular superhero after finding a ring that once belonged to his aunt. However, to use the powers of Shezow, he has to dress as a girl. And that’s it, basically. It’s an idea that’s simple, but brilliant, not to mention educational. I’m actually surprised that, in this day and age, some people would find this shocking. It plays with gender roles and stuff, but it doesn’t go as far as you’d think. Still, the way it does play with gender roles in very clever. Shezow is a very traditionally feminine character in lots of ways (wears pink, uses beauty-themed weapons), but she (and when I use the word “she” here, I mean the character of Shezow that Guy plays when crime-fighting, not the protagonist himself) is still strong, powerful and independent- Guy is at his strongest when he is dressed as a girl. And he isn’t any less of a boy because of that. He’s just wearing a certain type of clothes. So that’s two messages for kids to be found in Shezow: firstly, it’s okay to like girly things and still be a strong person, and secondly, the clothes you wear do not determine your gender. Can we have more cartoons like this, please? Maybe one aimed at adults?

Tomorrow has been a strange day.

It always was unusual. But today, tomorrow will be an especially strange one, mostly because of how ordinary it may have been. It will never again forget to be the way that it has been again. It is like something (two things) has (have) been erased, but in a good way. There is a positive emptiness tomorrow. It will all have been taken away yesterday. Erasure. Taken away, but in a good way. I don’t what what I did next, but the great thing is that I don’t really have to do anything yet.

I feel still, and strange, and slightly anticlimactic and sad, but happy all the same.

Trains are nice. They never show disdain.

The trains showed in stains on the carpets and on the wallpaper. It was lovely, really. Absolutely beautiful. Suddenly, it was like there were trains everywhere, all over my house, travelling along the floor and walls.

Sometimes trains can be dark and scary and dirty, but they can be nice too. Trains are very sincere. They never actively seek out to harm anyone. It just so happens that their passengers aren’t always so friendly, or maybe they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Imagine dying after being hit by a train.

What’s a girl like her doing at the train station anyway? Why is she just waiting there? She must have been there for at least two days. She’s going to fall soon. She’ll fall onto the train tracks, and crack her head open and die. And I’d be sad, then, because when the train comes, it’ll run over her body and crush it into a bloody pulp.

I don’t know. The trains are all passing me by, and I like to listen to their breathing.

No matter what you’re writing, you have to put some sort of thought and effort into it. This definitely applies to comedy, including dark comedy. It’s a lot harder and a lot more complicated than it looks to create something that’s both dark and funny, and so if you’re going to do it, you really should try your hardest to make sure that it’s of the very best quality you can possibly manage. Who’s going to laugh at a joke that’s poorly constructed and badly delivered, after all?

The problem is that a lot of people don’t really understand the concept of darkness that well. Often, they either have a very superficial understanding of it, or they don’t know how or why the darkness should be used. Non-comedy examples of this can be found in a lot of graphic novels. After comics like Sandman, The Crow and Watchmen became popular, comics creators realised that they didn’t have to just write PG-rated adventures for kids, and could instead write more mature stories aimed at an older audience. Unfortunately, while there are plenty of good dark comics out there that focus on character development and mature themes, there are many others that think being mature means shoving in loads of sex, gore and material that’s inappropriate for pretty much anybody. True, the latter is dark too, but in a very shallow way, ignoring the fact that there’s many shades to the rainbow of darkness.

The same thing often happens when it comes to dark humour. A lot of people have this idea that black comedy always equals crude and offensive comedy, but this isn’t the case. In fact, crude humour is actually known as blue comedy, not black. While black comedy can often be offensive to some people, that should never actually be its main focus, since humour is meant to be, well, humorous. Something that’s merely meant to produce a shock reaction is just a poor substitute for that.

I’d like to take a look at a few of my favourite practitioners of dark comedy, starting with Edward Gorey, a brilliant cartoonist who had a big influence on such artists as Lemony Snicket and Tim Burton. Many of his works were very dark and very funny because of that darkness, though there were many other levels to his humour as well. His most famous work, The Gashlycrumb Tinies, is an alphabet book about children who all die horribly. This book is funny for many reasons. Firstly, it’s a subversion of the sort of bright and sunny picture books children are often given to read, and in a nice touch, you could actually use it to teach somebody the alphabet if you really wanted to. (Of course, I wouldn’t advise you actually trying that out.) Not only that, there’s a sense of absurdity to it. The whole thing is so funny because of how ridiculous it is. And there isn’t any nastiness to it, either; Gorey’s wonderfully atmospheric illustrations gives you a sense of sympathy for the dead children. If the book had simply been like “Some kids died, look at all their guts”, then it wouldn’t have been funny at all. The Bunny Suicides books make use of a similar (though slightly edgier) idea, combining cute rabbits with death and misery to create a concept that’s so absurd it’s funny.

Of course, black comedy can be gentle too. It can even be touching, or bittersweet. Harold and Maude is often described as a black comedy, yet it’s also a heartwarming love story that always makes me cry. The beloved comic strip Peanuts is also pretty dark, though there isn’t any death or violence in it. The darkness comes from the characters’ deep insecurities, and the humour in it works because the characters are well-developed and sympathetic ones who we feel sympathy for. As well as this, Peanuts has plenty of sweet moments in it too, to balance out the dark bits. Sometimes, dark humour isn’t about laughing at a fictional character’s misfortune, but gently poking fun at it instead. And sometimes darkness can just be an element of the humour, rather than just dominating it completely. That way, the writer is simply acknowledging that darkness exists in the characters’ lives, which is a pretty mature thing to do.

Dark humour does have its limits, I think. There aren’t any definite boundaries, though most people can tell when those have been crossed. There are some things, for instance, that are just too horrible to joke about in any way, and there are some subjects that have to be handled very delicately in order for them to work. Black humour should be dark, challenging and even unsettling, but not nasty or upsetting. And if you’re going to make a joke about a real-life tragedy, that’s just disgusting and mean-spirited.

I am in love with floral lactation.

Flower milkshakes- sweet, but hopefully I won’t vomit them all up.  Flowers can be bitter, but we’ll drink them all up anyway. They look so pretty. I think I’ll make daisy chains, and then crush them all up into a big pulpy mess. And then I’ll drink them.

All their pinkness leaks out into my throat, and then my skin gets such lovely pink-and-purple stains that make me feel so feminine. I am naked, kneeling in a field. I feel weird. I hope no-one is watching this. Though I know, it’s all innocent, there’s something slightly shameful about it. (Maybe I’ll suffer a massive attack from a black milkshake.)

I am in love with the idea of composite concepts. (Anideaofaconcept…huh.) Two things put together to create something else. I was talking with a friend about the Sandman comics when we came up with flower milkshakes. It’s a pretty idea, I think- something you could write a poem about, maybe. Or a comic strip.

I’m not really sure whether they’re flowers or milkshakes any longer, but this field is full of them. Are they sweet liquids held in a fancy glass, containing bulbs and blossoms? Is that what they are? That can’t be right. This field is full of many insubstantial objects, actually, none of which I can get my head around properly. Objects on poles, that move in such pretty patterns. They’re made of metal, I think. (Lots of sentences in this paragraph seem to begin with “Th”.) Sometimes, when I’m sitting in rooms, I like to imagine that the flowers have legs and vaginas.

Oh dear. I’ve vomited again. Still, at least it’s all pretty and pink.

“Stories of imagination tend to upset those without one.” ― Terry Pratchett.

People tend to be very dismissive towards things they don’t understand. And one thing that many people don’t understand is fantasy. They don’t try to conceal this ignorance, either; whenever somebody attempts to explain why they think fantasy is an inferior genre, all they’re ever really doing is celebrating their own ignorance. They’ll say stuff like: “I prefer reading about stuff that could actually hapen”, or “I don’t get it, therefore it must be bad.” (These aren’t actual quotes. I’m just paraphrasing.) Basically, they feel the need to belittle something because their lack of imagination means that they’ll never fully understand it. (Please don’t think I’m criticising everyone who doesn’t like fantasy, by the way. The ones I’m talking about here are just the people who look down on it. That’s just rude.) I’ve heard people say some very impolite things about fantasy and sci-fi. I even once had a teacher who claimed that science fiction wasn’t proper literature! The problem is that many people have a very superficial understanding of what fantasy actually is. (Which explains why some actually manage to confuse fantasy and science fiction- two similar, and often overlapping, but seperate genres.) The rest of this post is basically just my attempt to explain how broad and rich fantasy is, and why it’s wrong to act snobby about it. Hopefully, I won’t end up ranting too much, because I do make an effort to avoid that here.

Fantasy is an incredibly broad genre. Basically, it’s any work of fiction that contains some sort of fantastical element. This element can be a very tiny, subtle one, or it can be more noticeable, and the main focus of the story. Sadly, the popular image of fantasy is of an epic adventure set in a sword-and-sorcery world. Sword-and-sorcery stories are excellent, of course, but it is kind of disappointing that there’s such a limited understanding of what fantasy is. After all, fantasy has such scope, and can extend to so many different types of story, with so much potential for unique and creative ideas, that it’s a little bit disappointing to see it viewed as a brand, or as a niche thing. There are even literary movements, such as the New Weird and Bizarro, that stay away from those tropes, in order to avoid just that.

And what’s really horrible is that many people don’t even have a very good understanding of what sword-and-sorcery stuff is like. The stick up their noses at it, because they see it as mere escapism, or as childish in some way. Well, first of all, what’s so bad about escapism? Isn’t that one of the main purposes of art anyway? Isn’t looking at a beautiful painting a form of escapism too? Just because the story is not real doesn’t mean it’s not valid. And secondly, have any of these silly fellows actually read what they’re criticising so harshly? Many such fantasy stories contain strong characters, mature themes, detailed plots, great writing, and and an often-underrated thing known as imagination. Yes, there are many Tolkien rip-offs out there, but you get unoriginal stuff in every genre. The bad things just tend to be more noticeable.

And of course, what do these snobs do when they come across some fantasy fiction that they actually like? They insist that it isn’t fantasy, and instead use terms such as magic realism. This is especially annoying, since magic realism isn’t a seperate genre from fantasy, it’s a subgenre of fantasy. It’s very different from sword-and-sorcery, but it still contains fantastical elements. So, deciding that they’re totally different things is incredibly hypocritical. In fact, these literary snobs can be extremely hypocritical when it comes to fantasy. They’ll applaud Surrealism or Absurdism, for instance, despite the fact that those are clearly fantasy too. But God forbid they admit to enjoying something that’s actually good.

The problem is that imagination is often seen as immature, something for children that’s meant to eventually be grown out of. But isn’t that sort of attitude what’s really childish? After all, we need imagination for so many things. Einstein even said that imagination is more important than knowledge. Is it really necessary to act bitter towards the unknown just because it scares you?

The works of Haruki Murakami are as much fantasy as Tolkien’s are. Some fantasy is action-packed and dramatic, some is subtle and slow-paced, some is subversive and strange. We all have our own preferences (I like the subtle and strange best, but the others are groovy too), but we shouldn’t allow those to restrict us, or decide that one is better than the other. As long as the creator is sincere and true to their art, isn’t that all that matters? There’s no need to rely on lazy stereotypes, or to be mean about something you cannot appreciate yourself.

Sorry for my rant, and thank you for your time.

I’m a fan of David Lynch, and I am almost totally in love with Zola Jesus. Sadly, I think that Jesus got married recently. On the other hand, both she and Lynch are releasing new albums soon, so at least that’s something to look forward to.

Zola Jesus’s new album is called Versions, which is a pretty accurate title, since it’s made up of new version of old songs, including some of my favourites: Night, Hikikomori, Sea Talk and Seekir.

Also, her hair is black again now.

She’s working with a musician named Foetus (J.G. Thirlwell), who seems really groovy. His music has been described as experimental, avant-garde and No Wave (all of which I love), and I think he does industrial too. Not only that, he’s even worked with Lydia Lunch, another of my favourite singers. Zola Jesus has already collaborated with Foetus before, for her performance at the Guggenheim. He created orchestral versions of her songs (as opposed to her usual electronic stuff), which is what’s going to be on her new album. I am excited!

As for David Lynch, when he is not involved in vast conspiracies concerning cryptids, he seems to enjoy making music. His second album, The Big Dream, is coming out soon. From what I’ve heard of it on Youtube, it sounds promising, and if it’s anything like his previous album (Crazy Clown Time, which he describes as “electric blues”, and reminds me a little of some of Laurie Anderson’s work), then I will be very happy indeed.

David Lynch also has hair.

As well as this, Lynch has also directed Nine Inch Nails’ new music video. It’s pretty groovy, I guess, though not his best work. (WARNING: This video has been identified by Epilepsy Action to potentially trigger seizures for people with photosensitive epilepsy.)

I’m worried that doing this post might seem a little bit lazy, but the computer is being rather uncooperative at present, so this filler post will have to do for the moment. Anyway, the thing is that Lydia Lunch is an incredibly groovy woman, whose photographs always contain much groovitude. Here are 13 examples:

• With Nick Cave, the singer everybody’s parents is a fan of:

• Her telephone is far lovelier than Gaga’s.

• Groovitude.

• It’s weird to see her in white.

• She should’ve been in a David Lynch film.

• More groovitude.

• It’s weird to see her with blonde hair.

• In white again.

• Reminds me of Amy from The Doom Generation here.

• I love how chaotic this picture looks.

• Two for the price of one:

• Doom Generation again.

• Nice shades.

And now for a song.

The Goddess Bunny is the kind of person who really deserves to be admired and respected above all else. It’s kind of shameful, then, that a lot of people regard zir as some sort of freak. Still, despite that, The Goddess Bunny remains cheerful, and proud of what ze does, which is something I find to be incredibly inspirational.

For quite a while, I wasn’t exactly sure how the Goddess Bunny identifies zirself gender-wise, and I still amn’t 100% certain, because  there’s been a lot of conflicting accounts about zir. As far as I can gather, though, the Goddess Bunny is a drag queen. Zir birth name was Johnny Baima, and according to an interview with Bizarre Magazine, ze has now discarded the Goddess Bunny stage name and persona in favour of Sandie Crisp. Ze had a difficult life- a sufferer of polio, Sandie was not even able to walk when ze was younger, and nobody is sure exactly as to how ze ever managed it. Ze had to be put into foster care, where ze was horribly abused. Zir physical problems were made even worse by well-meaning but ineffectual treatments, which led to the Goddess Bunny’s unique appearance. 

Despite zir impediments, ze still went on to have a career in show business, and became an underground sensation. The Goddess Bunny became famous for zir tap-dancing routine, and has even appeared in quite a few films and music videos. Many people find the Goddess Bunny and zir act to be unsettling, while others seem to enjoy leering at and mocking zir. But the thing is, while the Goddess Bunny may not fit everyone’s idea of beauty, that does not mean that ze is ugly, or deserves to be made fun of. In fact, according to one interview I read, ze’s been with many (conventionally) handsome men, and was even married a few times, apparently. The Goddess Bunny is a character that challenges our society’s ideas of beauty, and one who has not allowed zir tragic past to get in the way of achieving zir dreams. Ze has had an incredibly difficult life, and yet remains so optimistic and upbeat about everything. Sandie seems to be a wonderfully sweet and talented person, and is far more than just some sideshow attraction. 

(By the way, I’m not exactly sure whether I should be using gender-neutral pronouns here or not, so I’d appreciate any polite advice and/or suggestions concerning that.)

I am not referring to Adam’s first wife here, but rather Frasier Crane’s second wife- Lilith Sternin, my favourite supporting character in the sitcom Cheers.

I consider Lilith to be a closet Goth. She fits the concept of a Gothic beauty  perfectly, and Bebe Neuwirth, who played her, even starred as Morticia in a stage adaptation of the Addams Family. In every episode she appeared in, there seemed to be at least one joke about how pale she was. (As a fellow pale person, a lot of these jokes are very familiar to me.) Not only that, she had long, dark hair too. I’m incredibly jealous of it. As well as this, Lilith had a wonderfully deadpan sense of humour. Actually, she was always deadpan.

She doesn’t hug.

Lilith is kind of like a grown-up, vampiric version of Daria. Everything she said was delivered in a dry, emotionless monotone. Most people found her to be a rather cold and unpleasant person. While the former is something I cannot argue with, I have to say I disagree with the latter. Her robotic way of acting and speaking is something I can relate to. When I’m in public, I find it hard to be relaxed or show affection. (Though while I am not a very good hugger, I do love being hugged.)

I think that Frasier and Lilith were a very nice couple. I liked seeing them together. Even if they did disagree on certain, I think that their marriage could have worked for a little bit longer, and I wish that the writers hadn’t decided to separate them. Still, she did get to make the occasional guest appearance in Frasier’s own show, which was always hilarious.

Recently, I’ve been doing abstract portraits of people I know. This isn’t the first I’ve done, but it’s her birthday today, so I might as well start with her picture.




She’s one of my best friends, and I love her very much.

The word “skin” makes me feel ill. I can just imagine it being peeled off someone’s body.

Sickly and skinless, skinny and sick. I can taste your skin as you slowly remove it from your body. It’s a thin layer, skinnier than see-through paper. It tastes like the sickly-sweet bile I feel rushing into my mouth. Skinned and raw. I’ve got a plateful of skin.

Skin makes you pretty. It’s scary to think that it’s the only thing keeping us pure and beautiful. Our lovely nudity. Skin’s so thin, but it has to shield us from horrible pain. The skinny sickness. Skin can never sleep. Dirty skin, please let it be washed away, disturbing the soil until it’s spoiled and distilled. Skinlessness.  Do you care to wear the skin? Wrap it ’round yourself like cellophane outside the windowpanes, widowed by the sill in pain. Let it drape over your long, bony body. Make it into a nice pair of plastic gloves, or a transparent suit. Skin over skin. 

Skin crawls when it’s sprawled all over an operating table. 

I am aware that I’ve already written a post like this before, but after the sheer silliness I’ve encountered over the last few days, I feel the need to repeat myself.

There is this so-called feminist (not naming names, but it shouldn’t be too hard to guess) who, it turns out, is rather famous for flinging crude insults at the trans community.  She clings to the backwards notion that transwomen aren’t really women, and seems to think that they pose some sort of threat to her. I have no idea why she thinks this. As you may have already guessed, she is a delusional hate-monger who masquerades as a feminist, despite the fact that her own behaviour is bigoted and misogynistic.

But here’s where it all gets really absurd. You see, just the other day, this “feminist” took it upon herself to start abusing a transwoman. Over Twitter. I am almost at a loss for words. Yes, this valiant crusader for justice bullied an innocent human being using a social networking site. I really do wish I was making all this up.

But wait! Believe it or not, her behaviour gets even more ridiculous. You see, when a friend of mine tried to argue with her, do you know what she did? She accused him of being a rapist. I suggest you take a few moments to let that sink in. She accused someone of being a rapist because he disagreed with her and because he challenged her spiteful nonsense. Really. This actually happened.

Is she even aware of how offensive that is? By saying that, she trivialised rape- which is yet another thing that a true feminist would never do. What is wrong with this woman? What is her problem? I know children who are more mature than her. Actually, my late pet goldfish was more mature than her. Does she honestly expect to spread such hate and get away with it? And does she honestly think that somebody tweeting her counts as rape?

I don’t know what she think she’s accomplishing through all of this silliness. So far, all she’s shown is that she’s immature, hypocritical, selfish, obnoxious, insensitive and just a nasty piece of work in general. And come to think of it, she really shouldn’t be going around calling people names. After all, transphobic behaviour has caused plenty of suicides in the past, and probably will continue to in the future. By this crazy woman’s logic, she’s no better than a murderer.

In conclusion: shut up, bigots, and stop claiming moral superiority over others.