Poppy Z. Brite's Blog, page 16
March 20, 2013
Thing
When I hear about the recent controversy surrounding Michelle Shocked -- whose music I've not listened to, but who used to live in New Orleans and was reportedly a fan of my books -- I can't help but think of my former friend Thing. She was never particularly comfortable with sexuality or gender labels, but she was female-assigned at birth, identified primarily as female, and had dated several women. She'd lived a very hard life: serious illness, depression, abuse by parents from a fundie cult background. She'd converted to Catholicism a few years back, but so did I, and it didn't make me any less queer/trans/tolerant; she seemed to take a similar nonjudgmental outlook. She hated the place where she was then living, and loved New Orleans more than anywhere else in the world. She had given me a lot of emotional support in my own hard times and I thought she deserved some happiness, so I helped her to move here by letting her stay with me while she found a house and lending her money for a deposit.
Everything was fine until I started testosterone in 2011. She'd known I was FTM and had previously been supportive of my decisions, but once I actually got on T, she just didn't seem to like me anymore. Maybe my sense of humor got cruder. Maybe I seemed more aggressive. I was definitely trying out a lot of new things, and hey, nobody has to like me. It made me sad that she didn't, but I could live with it. What I couldn't live with was the stunt she pulled while I was in Amsterdam that summer. I was relaxing, getting high, taking a vacation from pain, and most definitely not checking my e-mail ... until Thing sent me a text saying, essentially, "Are you mad about that e-mail I sent you?" Well, I logged on and found this MULTIPAGE SCREED about what an asshole I'd turned into, how it was a terrible idea for me to be taking testosterone, how she'd had another FTM friend who started on T and subsequently committed suicide, so I was probably going to kill myself pretty soon too, and gee, she'd just hate to see that happen, and also I smoked too much pot, and by the way, she had taken it upon herself to speak to my mother about all these things. Yes, while I was out of the country, she went to my 73-year-old mom and told her testosterone was probably going to make me kill myself. What a pal, right?
We didn't talk much after that, but since she was living in the neighborhood, I still saw her quite a bit. I also saw her car, which now sported two new bumper stickers: I LOVE MY "GERMAN SHEPHERD" POPE BENEDICT and YOUR MAMA WAS PRO-LIFE, DAWLIN'. There were always groups of people around her house with similar stickers on their cars. The last time I saw her, they appeared to be helping her move out of her house, and she was wearing a T-shirt that said I ♥CHIK-FIL-A. (This was at the height of that chain's push against marriage equality.)
I couldn't bring myself to speak, but I still couldn't hate her either. She'd tried to kill herself twice, she'd had enough misfortune in her life to drive any ten people crazy, and it was obvious to me that her main problem was self-hatred. More than anything else, it's sad to see people flailing away at their own identities like that. The religious right often refers to trans folk as "those poor confused people," but I'll take my kind of confusion over Thing's brand of certainty any day.
Crossposted at Dreamwidth. Comment here or there, as you will.
Everything was fine until I started testosterone in 2011. She'd known I was FTM and had previously been supportive of my decisions, but once I actually got on T, she just didn't seem to like me anymore. Maybe my sense of humor got cruder. Maybe I seemed more aggressive. I was definitely trying out a lot of new things, and hey, nobody has to like me. It made me sad that she didn't, but I could live with it. What I couldn't live with was the stunt she pulled while I was in Amsterdam that summer. I was relaxing, getting high, taking a vacation from pain, and most definitely not checking my e-mail ... until Thing sent me a text saying, essentially, "Are you mad about that e-mail I sent you?" Well, I logged on and found this MULTIPAGE SCREED about what an asshole I'd turned into, how it was a terrible idea for me to be taking testosterone, how she'd had another FTM friend who started on T and subsequently committed suicide, so I was probably going to kill myself pretty soon too, and gee, she'd just hate to see that happen, and also I smoked too much pot, and by the way, she had taken it upon herself to speak to my mother about all these things. Yes, while I was out of the country, she went to my 73-year-old mom and told her testosterone was probably going to make me kill myself. What a pal, right?
We didn't talk much after that, but since she was living in the neighborhood, I still saw her quite a bit. I also saw her car, which now sported two new bumper stickers: I LOVE MY "GERMAN SHEPHERD" POPE BENEDICT and YOUR MAMA WAS PRO-LIFE, DAWLIN'. There were always groups of people around her house with similar stickers on their cars. The last time I saw her, they appeared to be helping her move out of her house, and she was wearing a T-shirt that said I ♥CHIK-FIL-A. (This was at the height of that chain's push against marriage equality.)
I couldn't bring myself to speak, but I still couldn't hate her either. She'd tried to kill herself twice, she'd had enough misfortune in her life to drive any ten people crazy, and it was obvious to me that her main problem was self-hatred. More than anything else, it's sad to see people flailing away at their own identities like that. The religious right often refers to trans folk as "those poor confused people," but I'll take my kind of confusion over Thing's brand of certainty any day.
Crossposted at Dreamwidth. Comment here or there, as you will.
March 15, 2013
Kitsune
"Kitsune," shadowbox with beaded fox skull, $95 or best offer.
On the sides of the box is the text of a Japanese folk tale:
Ono, an inhabitant of Mino, spent the seasons longing for his ideal woman. He met her one evening on a vast moor and married her. Simultaneously with the birth of their son, Ono's dog bore a pup which, as it grew up, became more and more hostile to the lady of the house. She begged her husband to kill it, but he refused. One day the dog attacked her so furiously that she lost her courage, resumed vulpine shape, leaped over a fence and fled.
"You may be a fox," Ono called after her, "but you are the mother of my son and I love you. Come back when you please; you will always be welcome." So every evening she stole back and slept in his arms.
March 12, 2013
March 10, 2013
Dick For A Day
While packing up my contributor's copies (which filled nine boxes -- jeez, I was pretty prolific at one time), I found my copy of this anthology.
Two years of using men's restrooms has made me hate that U.S. cover more than ever, but I do find it interesting that while the premise is women writers talking about what they'd do if they had penises, at least two of the contributors, me and Patrick (then Pat) Califia, now identify as male.
(I don't remember who wrote it, and I no longer have the book handy, but the funniest piece was one that simply read -- I paraphrase -- "I would sit quietly until it went away.")
Crossposted at Dreamwidth. Comment here or there, as you will.
Two years of using men's restrooms has made me hate that U.S. cover more than ever, but I do find it interesting that while the premise is women writers talking about what they'd do if they had penises, at least two of the contributors, me and Patrick (then Pat) Califia, now identify as male.
(I don't remember who wrote it, and I no longer have the book handy, but the funniest piece was one that simply read -- I paraphrase -- "I would sit quietly until it went away.")
Crossposted at Dreamwidth. Comment here or there, as you will.
March 8, 2013
New NOLA Jewels
I just listed several of my new handmade bracelets, earrings, and necklaces on PZBART. I've been experimenting with somewhat higher-end materials (I almost wrote "ingredients") and really liking them. Prices start at $20. Here are a few highlights:
Sticky Question Post For Sticky Questions
After a long period of semi-hibernation, I've been trying to be more active on my social media lately. While I don't love the concept or execution of Facebook, I have to admit that the ability to "like" things appeals to my lazy but basically polite nature -- it's a way of saying, "I don't have any burning response to make, but I read your comment and appreciated it." Or, as Roland D. would say, "I see you very well." (Again, my FB page is here, or if the link doesn't work for you, I am Billy Martin of New Orleans. If you send me a friend request, I'll approve it ASAP.)
Still, I remain absolutely abysmal at answering e-mail, and I know I've missed a few inquiries about stuff here, so I'm making this sticky post (ew) where folks can ask/repost questions and I will try to answer them. Please be kind!
Still, I remain absolutely abysmal at answering e-mail, and I know I've missed a few inquiries about stuff here, so I'm making this sticky post (ew) where folks can ask/repost questions and I will try to answer them. Please be kind!
March 6, 2013
Nola Jewels
Between buying beads and disassembling old pieces for art, I kept thinking about making jewelry, so I decided to try my hand at some. I've listed the resulting bracelets and necklace on PZBART, starting at just $15; also a new kind of NOLA Cross made of metal and wire instead of wood.
