Body Alchemy

It was such a cruel joke that god played.

To give me a cunt such as mine.

A clit so large it gets in the way.

Lips so tightly pursed they never smile.

And breasts that are ever budding.

Never blooming.

It has become a waiting game.

Waiting for Goddess to throw a lightening bolt.

That will raze the mound and split me in two.

To open things up and let me breathe.

Waiting to meet the me that is waiting inside.

Waiting for sensation.

And exploration.

And socialization.

Untitled

It flares as I light it.

Illuminating the room.

The soft glow of the candle.

When it settles to burn.

Dancing easily.

Casting playful shadows.

Lulling you into a trance.

It drips.

Your back twitches as you gulp for air.

It drips.

Your body twists.

Sorting pleasure from pain.

It drips.

You yell until your lungs are empty.

Searching for a way to squeeze more out.

It drips.

And you rip the sheets from the head of the bed.

It drips.

But you make no noise.

You’re beyond the feeling of heat.

It drips.

And the sensation builds.

I gulp for air.

It drips.

You reach for…

It drips.

Wax splatters across your back.

It drips.

The candle sighs and the flame rebounds.

It drips drips drips.

I feel wax cool and peel off my back.

We’ve reached a higher place.

Drips.

You scream.

It drips.

You laugh.

It drips.

It drips.

You moan.

Pant.

Shudder.

Waiting for when more will come.

It drips.

Hotter.

Drips.

Drips.

Before I extinguish the flame against your flesh.

You drip.

Ready to keep going.

Accepting a Rejected Role

What you see as a hyper-feminine aspiration

Is really a power role for me.

The corset is no longer a restrictive binding of objectification.

I’ve reclaimed it.

I’ve reworked it.

You see, the corset now entices.

But its you who it binds.

And I hold the ties.

Don’t let the look of daintiness fool you.

I can show you a new meaning of powerful

That will hurt you

And exhaust you

And fill you

And leave you begging for more.

Bathtub

I laid myself in the bathtub.

It was full of water.

It was full of blood.

It was amniotic fluid.

Cum, spit, tears, oil.

It was full of life.

Life juices.

I laid myself in the bathtub.

I watched as I made waves.

Rippling as I moved.

Rippling as I breathed.

Air and water.

Moving in and out and in again.

Tracing that ebb and flow.

I laid myself in the bathtub.

Feeling the water touch me.

One moment on the high seas.

Tossing and swelling and rough.

The next like laying at the water’s edge.

Soft.

Just gently lapping.

Fingering.

Tickling.

Teasing.

I laid myself in the bathtub.

I lost myself and found you.

Wet and slippery.

Writhing on top of me.

I found myself and lost you.

Floating there alone.

My hands.

My imagination.

My desires.

I laid myself in the bathtub.

Groaning and shuddering.

Moaning and twitching.

Right down to the last drop.

A bubble circling the drain.

To gasp and lie in release.

Untitled

I see you kneeling there.

Gingerly holding a rope.

Your eyes are begging.

Begging to be given a task.

Inviting pain.

Inviting pleasure.

You ask me to take your clothes from you.

I tell you the undress yourself instead.

As you do, I touch.

And squeeze.

And pinch.

You quiver and begin to breathe hard.

Breathing hard gives way to panting as I cinch a collar around your neck.

A snug collar that has so many promising loops.

Multiple enticing rings.

How fortunate that you brought a rope.

How convenient that just two simple ties.

And well-placed knots can secure you in such a prone position.

Your tender breasts jutting out before you.

Covered in goose bumps.

From the cold?

Or from anticipation?

Hoping to be caressed.

Slapped.

Squeezed.

Paid attention to.

I touch them.

But just long enough to flirt.

Before walking away.

Leaving you whimpering.

Asking me to come back.

Asking me to cum.

To let you cum.

I return.

You don’t know it.

But you can feel it.

The cold metal end of my crop.

Pushing you over.

Sliding over you and the ropes.

A few changes to the knots.

And you are still bent over.

Ass to the air.

Clenching and relaxing.

Waiting for what is about to come.

For the soft slow rhythm of my strokes.

As they crescendo.

And ease off.

To crescendo again.

Leaving a perfect hue of red.

Delicious redness.

A seductive blush.

Hot to the touch.

Of my lips.

A soft nibble.

And there is no question of what I want next.

A moan escapes as I slip into you.

Your eyes wide.

I pull me into you.

I pull you into me.

My hands on your back.

Droplets of blood form.

Where my nails dig in.

Stinging as they dry.

Stinging again as I walk you into the wetness of a shower.

Washing off the blood.

The sweat.

The juices.

Good girl.

Good girl.

The Curse of Dirty Queer

If you read erotica

Chances are you sometimes also write erotica.

And writing takes inspiration.

Inspiration which comes at some odd times.

Some convenient;

Like sitting on the toilet seat.

Or when you are waiting for intermission to end

Or or waiting for the punch clock to read 6pm.

Some times are very inopportune times.

Like when you are talking with your supervisor.

Or or riding your bike.

Or while having sex.

No kidding.

Happened to me once.

Very inopportune.

The ideas, not the sex.

The sex had perfect timing.

The writing did not.

There I was eating out my girlfriend when I got ideas.

Really good ideas.

I had to stop.

“Ooh! I need to write a few lines down!”

I smacked my forehead.

I didn’t just blurt that out loud.

She took it quite well.

“I have a pen down there somewhere.

And and my skin is your paper.

Just dig a little deeper.”

So I did.

But I lost the poem.

Not sure yet if I’m upset about that one getting away.

But yes.

The loss of material is saddening.

This might not have happened to you yet

But it will.

It’s the curse of Dirty Queer.

You get great ideas at the worst times.

My advice?

Next time you get inspiration

Even when you’re with your boss

Just ask for a pen and write away.

I’m sure she’ll understand.

And if she doesn’t?

Just enlighten her.

* wink *

Dirty Queer

I recently have been attending an open mic for queer erotica. By attending, I mean I've been reading at them. Aside from that, though, I haven't know what to do with my poetry. So, I think I'll start posting it on here after its been read. Enjoy.

Open Mic

I attended an open mic last night. It was advertised on the internet as being for "lesbian, bisexual, trans, two spirit, queer and straight women of color". I read it to mean that queer women and that straight women of color were all invited to read at the open mic. I emailed the person in charge to say hi and that I'd like to have my name put on the list. She did so.

Upon getting to the open mic it didn't take me long to realize that my partner and I were really the only women not of color. We went back outdoors to read the poster for the event and sure enough, the poster said the event was for "lesbian, bisexual, queer, and trans women of color". This time it was clear that is was speaking just about women of color. Then it hit me that my name was put on the to-read list because with a name like Amari, I could easily be taken as someone of color if they didn't meet me face to face. I went back indoors and explained the misunderstanding to the director- asking to have my name taken off the to-read list as I didn't feel it was appropriate for me to be on the stage. She was very kind and asked me to keep my name on the list, just for tonight. I accepted. She then said that maybe people would think I was Native American. (I was fine admitting that I wasn't really supposed to be reading at this open mic- I was actually quite embarrassed by the misunderstanding).

It turns out that there were only 8 people who spoke. 3 of the 8 didn't belong on the stage. 1 was a man of color (but at least he fit part of the criteria). 1 was myself (but again, as a transwoman at least I fit part of the criteria). One was a straight, white, man who was unapologetic for reading first and for reading heteronormative pieces that were slightly inappropriate.

My partner talked about it and came to the conclusion that they asked me to continue to read because, as women of color, they know what it feels like to be a minority that faces challenges in this world. As such, they extended the use of their safe-space for speaking to another minority woman. Solidarity through a shared experience of discrimination and violence due to identity.

While I won't be putting my name on the list to read, I do plan to attend again. There were several other pieces that were read that were absolutely amazing and beautiful to hear. The women there were extremely nice and the feeling of the group was one of high-energy. I hope to learn from them.

Silly girls and stupid boys.

Walking down the street holding my partners hand.

I smile.

A small-penis-truck roars by.

Its riders yell "dyke".

Like its a bad thing.

We smile even broader.

Joking about how we were supposed to be insulted.

Insulted to be dykes? Or insulted to be women?

At the bike shop we talk bikes with a worker.

Silly girls. Like we know anything about bikes.

(We really do, but he implies we don't.)

I ask questions and look things over.

All the while I can see him not looking at my words.

He's intently listening to my breasts.

If he really knew the story behind those breasts he'd listen to me then.

Or maybe not.

Perhaps he's call me a freak and run me out of his shop.

Or he'd think me an odd prize and chase me into his bed.

And then promptly out of it again afterwards.

After he had his "weirdest hookup" story for his buds.

But doesn't it make him kinda gay if its his ass something gets stuck up?

Layers of contradictions found within all the hatred and ignorance.

Stupid boys.

Nummer

Does anybody else think it is comical that one of America's greatest symbol of our military and (some) of our obnoxious wealth is now owned and produced by China? I wonder how long before our red-blooded Republican "patriots" figure out how unpatriotic it is to buy a Hummer now.

Buying out the People

So, I thought that the whole idea behind capitalism was supply and demand. People want item A. Company makes item A. People buy item A. Company makes money. When people want item B company stops making item A and makes item B (or company closes because another company is making item B already and there isn't enough demand for 2 companies). Makes sense, right?

So what's with the string of recent government buyouts? First it was the Stock Exchange. Then it was some banks. Most recently it was several automakers. What happened to the capitalist idea that if company can't make what is in demand it closes? Why is the government using taxpayers (the consumers) money in order to pay to keep open that the consumer's have said they aren't interested in buying?

Hey Capitol Hill, if it can't survive in the market on its own, then let it die! (Otherwise there will never be any room for the market to change and evolve.)

The small things.

Its funny how there are so many small things in life that are normally overlooked but really create such a huge impact in our lives. Take, for example, eating breakfast. Sure, we all remember our grade school nutrition lessons about how "breakfast is the most important meal of the day" blah blah blah. But really. I think that whoever came up with that was on to something. I'm not talking strictly from a nutritional point of view here either. Breakfast, when its eaten purposely, helps start the day off right. Especially when it's shared. 

There are so many things that could be listed here. Showers. Laying in bed- not doing anything else (or sleeping) but just laying there. Watching over a garden. Turning the compost pile. Mowing the lawn. Silence. Smiles. Hugs. Warmth. Tea. Walking. Dancing. Getting cards from someone you love. Dreaming. Planning. Scheming. 

Thinking too much.

I used to say that given enough free time I could eat myself alive with my thoughts. Now I think that it just doesn't matter. I'll eat myself alive anyhow. Its just more exhausting to do it without having much free time.

I think that modern life is unhealthy. You work all day and go home tired to eat till you feel like a pig and then go to bed. Wake up unrested and do it all over again. And then the weekends come around and there's so much to do that you couldn't get to over the week that your exhausted come Monday morning still. Even a weekend with nothing planned turns into lots going on. It's a nasty cycle.

I think that relationships take so much work. Friends, family, lovers, and otherwise. Sometimes I wonder if its worth the energy it takes to maintain those relationships- if I'd be better off spending that energy on myself. Sometimes I wonder how I can make more- that I don't have enough right now either. But again, coming back to the energy it takes to maintain- it takes even more to make a relationship. And since I'm not in college anymore I forgot how to. Maybe that's just as well.

Misc trains of thought.

Moving is so much easier when you have help.

Creating a home (not just decorating a house) with someone is an amazing experience.

The feeling of dirt on your hands is a stress-reliever... especially if its from working in the garden.

Getting pleasure from touch is such an odd concept. Does it really work as a true sensation on its own or is it merely the absence of pain?

Drawing on paper is fun. Drawing on canvas is enjoyable. Drawing on a living canvas is exciting.

Its an accomplishment to remember to shut off all the lights at the end of the day. Then again, its an accomplishment to remember. Period.

Creating a grocery list can result in buying just as many groceries as going shopping hungry.

Sometimes its a very good thing to spend money buying toys instead of paying bills.

Mushrooms leave gray stains.

It's all in a yurt.

I just came back from an amazing weekend spent in a yurt. And I'm in love! I got to tour the Northern Oregon coastline, played on the beach, hiked some trails, climbed a small peak, ate some great homemade pasta and sauce with wine and cider (I know, I was really roughing it on this camping trip, right?), saw some beautiful scenery, and did... um... you know... other things you do at camp too. All with someone very dear to me. How perfect is that? And it was all centered around this "rustic" yurt. I want one now!

Transrelating Zine

A few months back I posted about some writings I had done and wasn't sure what I wanted to do with them. I'm excited to say that I decided to put them into a zine format. The result is a zine titled "Transrelating". The first edition is titled "A Memoir on Creating Queer Relationships". The final piece includes my writings as well as the collective works of some other people from across the country and even from one person across the Atlantic. I am unsure at this point if there will be an electronic version of the zine... but I'll keep you posted!

Taxes

Fuck taxes. Blah. Apparently when a person works their ass off to make ends meet the government doesn't like it. So, thanks my toiling away at 3 jobs I got fucked over in taxes. Not only am I not getting a federal refund but I have to pay. And despite the fact that I moved to a new state 1/2 way through the year, the state I moved to bases their state taxes off of your federal returns. So when I should be getting a full refund in state taxes, I'm instead again having to pay. My only hope is that the state I left only bases their taxes on state income... so with luck I should get a refund from that state and be able to barely break even. Fuck this shit. Where's that damn tax reform already?

A Toast

I was recently digging around in some papers and found this toast that I recited at a party some time ago. Thought I'd put it here for posterity's sake.

Where e're with friends I drink,

Of one I often think.

She's pretty, she's witty, and so true;

So with joy and great delight,

I'll drink to her tonight.

Za vas Chloe, to you!

this is how it all begins

"We stop buying our music from corporate-owned stores, our food from supermarkets and our clothing from malls. We become bottom-feeders, always foraging at the lowest levels of consumption. In every purchase we make, we obsessively search for the wisest, most enlightened deals. We punish the big, the super  and the mega. We reward the small, the slow, the local, the personal.

Size is our enemy.

And once we have shrunk our world, narrowed our focus and imposed some much needed discipline of self, we start networking with other activists to launch coordinated global attacks. A million people a day drinking indie coffee instead of Starbucks. Another million boycotting Exxon Mobil. And thousands more every day choosing indie sneakers over Nike.

In this way we become true cultural creatives... playful resistors... catalysts for change. We become dispensers of bottom-up cool. A growing mass of people driving the evolution of capitalism, transforming it into a healthier, more just, more grassroots affair.

In this Year of the Ox, let's turn megacorporate capitalism on its head.

for the wild, Kalle"

Back page of Adbusters magazine. January/February 2009.

Fuck the man. Power to the people. Viva la revolution!

Two Thousand Nine

So it's a new year. Time to take stock of the year gone past and make plans for the year to come. It's really all arbitrary anyhow...

2008:

I went through the worst winter I've ever experienced. 

I made an appearance on stage at my alma mater for 2 nights only.

I was perpetually cold for the first 5 months.

I had surgery.

I got to travel for fun.

I went through some body changes.

I quit two jobs.

I wrote many many letters.

I packed my car and moved across the country.

I was completely alone for 5 days straight.

I camped in my car twice.

I moved into an apartment with an almost complete stranger.

I learned what it meant to be truly isolated.

I was unemployed for several months.

I made new friends.

I fell in love.

I went to a queer nude beach.

Every weekend for a month.

I got frustrated a lot.

I saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time.

I went broke.

I sold my car and bought a bike.

I knew what unrequited love felt like.

I cried.

A lot.

I got a new job.

I got a raise.

I cried some more.

I received a love letter.

I went on a date.

I got another raise.

I worked through a holiday.

I cried again.

I renewed a relationship.

I got a promotion.

And another raise.

I worked through another holiday.

I spent a week alone.

I drank a lot of tea.

I spent a weekend in bed.

Not alone.

I cried.

I decided that things needed to change some more.

I felt deeply happy.

I was held tight in loving arms.

I fell asleep that way.

On many nights.

2009:

More friends.

New homes.

More travel.

Quiet.

Weekends.

Dates.

Beaches.

Vacation.

Music.

Nights out.

Camping.

Hiking.

Tea.

Unplanned spontaneous happenings.