#mind you this was also back when evolutions was airing and i was obsessed w ml again

[cheswirls]

i started this ml sketch back in 2021 and have successively redone it so many times since and i think..... fingers crossed!!!!!! that i like this version from last night enough to maybe color or do something past sketching at least

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 424: The Big Day, p2

“Hiiii hunny I have a surprise for you!” sang Melissa Monroe, in her last day as Office Manager of what was at the time still Far Horizons Medical Associates. She not only had a surprise, a gift, but also very big news. The gift could come first.

“Oh, wow, o-okay..!” Dr. J replied, immediately unable to resist getting caught up in his gorgeous girlfriend’s ebullient excitement, aided along by the peals of perfume that overtook his oxygen. He’d just been escorted to Melissa’s spacious office by two of his front desk girls, Brittni and Bobbi. Their grip on his shoulders seemed unusually possessive, and his mind couldn’t help but swirl with what he’d been learning this morning. A lot of these girls, possibly even ‘the twins’ that had just marched him down the hallway, were not only growing taller but developing abilities that were difficult if not impossible to rationalize. It wasn't only Melissa anymore. His thoughts, as he’d been ushered down the hallways and past some of these nascent superhumans’ coos and “good mornings”, became more fearful as he eyed them in this new light of understanding. He could not get past what he and Aubrey had been discussing at the front desk, where he’d opened up to her probably more than he should have. He’d admitted his weaknesses for physically dominant women, and now he was surrounded by them. The anxiety had started to grow overwhelming. What was to come of him?

But, as he stood in the doorway of her office, steeping like a wet tea bag in his boiling worries, Melissa took his hands, and he started to feel better. 

“Come in,” she beamed, already pulling him in and shutting the door behind him, “come in come in come in!” She noticed how his eyes rose immediately to her cleavage, and that with his shortness and she in her power heels, he needed to look up even to see underboob. A good deal of her chest was on jiggly display in her plunging pink top, now a signature look on her that she’d worn for the news interview - the recent piece that had started to gather her a growing flock of admirers and fans from the viewing public. 

She’d been told - and had seen it herself on her social media - that some people from the local broadcast area had begun to become downright obsessed with her. And this is only the beginning, she’d thought, when she’d chosen to wear this top again this morning. Instead of the jeans that she’d worn for TV, though, today her shapely legs were sheathed in a long, tight, bodycon black skirt with a high slit up the side, one that highlighted the womanly curves of her hips and magnificent rear end. At more than seven feet tall in the custom, ultra-high Louboutin pumps that Evolution had bought her specifically for today, she towered over his 4’7” frame almost comically. “I missed you!”

“M-missed me?” he chuckled. It had been barely a half hour since she’d driven him to work, with Josie and Lakshmi.

She reached out, slid her hands under his shoulders and - in a <whooosh!> of movement - picked him up under the arms to spin him in the air. “I miss you any time we’re not together!” she sang, and then spun him around again like an overgrown girl playing with a treasured doll. She laughed ravingly, sounding more than a bit unhinged. The power of it made her office windows rattle. 

His vision swam, but he was unable to take his eyes off her huge, brilliant smile. His jaw hung. 

She loved the attention, and how riveted he was on her. And even more, she loved that this man loved her. “Omigod I can’t wait to show you off today!” she trilled, “I want the world to see my adorable little boyfriend and how good we look together!”

“W-wow,” he finally stammered, still unable to fight back this infectious glee of hers taking hold of him too, despite the fact that he was picturing how he’d look on the news standing next to this Amazon, “y-you’re in a really good mood?”

“Haha yeah!” she crowed, having started to step them over towards the plush white couch in the corner of her office, “I just got some really good news. But first - your present!”

Next thing he knew he was sitting on the couch, slumped back, his feet dangling high off the floor. She then was atop him, straddling his withered legs in the too-long pink scrub pants he’d borrowed from one of his MA’s. Her legs were massive, her hips were massive, and the chest that now hovered up in the sky above him was absolutely massive. Perfume blanketed him, and one large hand of hers, suddenly tender, came to hold his cheek.

Her demeanor had abruptly softened as the intimacy washed over him. “Hey, was there something on your mind, when you came in?” she asked, in earnest empathy. Before she gave him his gift, if there was something bothering him, they should talk about it. 

“No, I, uh…” he struggled. Why was it so hard to remember? Why did he care so much about…uh…whatever it was he’d been thinking about before?

Looking up at her, over the monumental swell of her bosom, he smiled peakishly. He had already begun to forget that he’d forgotten anything. Whatever it was, he was sure it was fine. After all, he thought, taking another breath filled with the perfumes from her warm body, everything is getting better now.

“Good,” she intoned, staring intently down at him. Her gaze was even stronger than her scents, suddenly overwhelming to him. She seemed to be able to look into him and see things he didn’t even see himself. It made him shiver, but when he went to look away she grasped his chin in her fingers. “Hey, up at me,” she directed. 

Whenever he looked into her eyes, he knew his worries always seemed to melt away. After all, what do I have to be worried about? Everything is great.

“That’s right, that’s right hun,” she agreed with his silent thoughts. And, as if to prove his point, she wrapped her strong arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her. “Come here…” she purred, as her tremendous underbosom immediately smothered his face and he had to fight just to get his nose and mouth free enough to breathe.

Though unable to even see him under there, she was smiling down at him sweetly. “Comfy?” she asked, and giggled as she gathered her breasts together around his small, hidden head.

Without answering he just wrapped his arms around her waist - and sank his face up deeper into her soft cleavage as his reply, giving in to his instincts and letting himself indulge. The silky skin of her breasts was everywhere, as was her warmth and perfumes. 

“That’s my little sweetheart,” she mused, and nestled herself around him even more firmly, “you just enjoy this while you can. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

Dazed, he could only grin stupidly, his face enveloped by her huge breasts. This is what life should be, he thought, always and always. He felt her purr around him, as if in response, and listened to the rumble of her lungs, the strong beat of her heart. He breathed her in again. Can’t we just stay like this forever?

“I know. I love holding you,” she said, even as she was now backing off, just a bit, so she could see him again, “It makes me get all hot…” She then leaned way down for a kiss, tilting his chin up towards her. Her mouth gently sucked at his, tongue swirling around.

Blinking softly, he squirmed a little in her grip as she easily kept him captive. Her larger tongue was in his mouth, pressing his down as handily as her heavy hips held him to the couch. Her kiss became more envigored, as she tried her best to begin sucking his face off and make his thoughts start to wander. But - he was thinking - were they here to have sex, or was there something she needed to give him?

“I know what you’re thinking…” she growled at last, into their kiss.

“Oh you’re a mind-reader now?” he joked back lamely, before he could really consider his words. He kissed her again, but then she broke away. 

She laughed in answer, softly, and he distantly realized she hadn’t given a denial. He shivered a little, and she studied his face. 

“So, yeah…what did you call me here for?” he finally asked. 

Her smile curled, the possibilities filling her mind. It could be amazing, she could just fuck him right here like a doll. She could blow his brain, make his eyes roll up into the back of his head like she’d done many times before; he wouldn’t complain. She also,couldn't help but think back on the manifestations she’d been working on. Self control, Missy. You are the boss of your own body. The fuck could wait. 

Melissa sat up over him, stretched out her long, well-muscled  arms and settled herself. She put her hands into her thick, dark hair and fluffed it out, aware of how he watched her shoulders and biceps flex. She had his gift, and her news. “So curious, such a curious boy,” she mused, as she fished her hand into her top, under the strap over her right breast. “I have a little something for you…” She found what she was looking for and pulled out-

“A phone?” he asked

She had pulled it from her top, red and glossy. It looked almost like an ancient flip model, and not a very big one. 

“For me?”

“Mm hm,” Melissa answered, handing the sleek new piece of technology down immediately to him, “Marisela was a peach, getting this for me so quickly, getting it all set up.” She watched as he inspected it, and clicked it on by flipping it open. “It’s the new Mazafon.”

Mazafon. He’d heard of the brand, but didn’t know much about them. A newish product from a female-led Japanese tech company that marketed exclusively to women. Their stuff was hard to get in the States, and there were strict rules the company kept over who could use their products. “I thought they only made these for women?”

“This is their new thing,” Melissa explained, watching as he watched the words appear on the glass screen, which spanned both inner surfaces of the flipphone: Bebihon. 

Marisela had said it would scan his face the first time he turned it on, recording and start taking readings immediately. In fact, he seemed to notice something. 

“Wh….What’s it doing?” he asked, as he noticed something he felt strange happening with the blinking red lights of the screen. It seemed like an elegant, impressive little piece of tech.  

“It’s just, like, getting to know you,” Melissa answered, feeling the pleasant buzz of her own new Mazafon  - which she kept under her other tit - as it notified her what was happening.

“Hm okay,” he mused, watching the screen go through several exercises. It had asked him to keep his eyes centered on the smiling emoji face it presented, then to track it as it moved. Most phones these days had some sort of limited AI on them; he figured this one did as well despite how rudimentary its design looked. 

“With everything that’s going on, these people out there trying to take you away from me,” maybe even use you against me, “the girls and I thought it was best we got you one of these.”

“The girls?”

“Well, yeah,” Melissa answered, watching as he continued to follow the phone’s onscreen instructions: turning his head side to side, opening his mouth, sticking out his tongue. “The girls, me, Sheryl…”

“Sheryl?” he asked, a bit incredulous but still doing what the phone was telling him: Blink. Blink. Smile. Make Mad Face.

“Yes of course,” Melissa answered, “She doesn’t want to see you get hurt, just like the rest of us.”

“Okay…” he conceded, unsure of how to feel about that. For as much torture as Sheryl was putting him through - the terms of the divorce, her diminishing his position here at the office, taking nearly everything he had in recompense for his, uh, indiscretions - it warmed him a bit thinking she still had some feelings for him. At least enough to care about his safety and get him a new phone. “So, what does this thing do?” he asked, as what looked like a home screen appeared. He moved his finger around the upper screen as a small selection of apps had appeared, loaded on by someone. They looked mostly like games. It obviously also already knew his name, as it had greeted him. 

“Marisela already has it set up for you…and me,” Melissa began, “It kinda works like a regular phone, it lets you make calls and texts to me and-”

“Just to you??” he immediately blurted, brows raising. 

“…and some other people, any of the girls,” she continued, patiently. “There are buttons for each of us right down there”, she explained pointing at the small bottom screen. “Mine is the big red ‘M’ right there in the middle.” She knew he would bristle at some of this but he had to be made to know that this was all for his own good. “It also has built-in things that lets me listen in using the receiver and look around with the cameras whenever I want. There’s an alert feature that can monitor your life signs and let me know how you’re doing, how you’re feeling, where you are.”

“So this is like a fancy baby monitor...” he said dryly, becoming slowly less enthusiastic about the prospect of finally having a phone again. “What are you, my mom?”

Suddenly his breathing hitched and his eyes went wide, a warmth traveling through him.

Oh shit I shouldn’t have said that. 

Oh shit he shouldn’t have said that. Breathe, Missy, breeeeathe…

She settled herself, after a moment of wanting to pull him back to her breast. “No…no, honey, I just want to make sure you’re safe,” she answered, as evenly as possible. She figured she should play this cool, though, get done what needed to be done. Then I can show you just how ‘mom’ I can be. 

“I’ve wanted to give you one of these for a while, but I know it’s asking a lot of you,” Melissa conceded, sensitive to the way he must feel, knowing he’d be under constant surveillance, “It’s like -’ helicopter girlfriend alert’, right? But it makes me feel so much better. For my peace of mind would you please sacrifice just a little part of your privacy?”

He held the thing on his palm, weighed it…and his options. Even in his child-sized hands, it wasn’t big, with a small screen. Glass though it was, it was nicely warm. And he understood Melissa’s concerns, even if he thought she’d gone a bit overboard. Plus, at least he had a phone again…with someone else paying for it. Melissa? Sheryl? The practice itself? Evolution? Some woman, for sure.

“Sure,” he answered. 

She bit her lip, felt warm between her thighs, and continued explaining how this thing worked.

“Marisela says it’ll listen for certain keywords or noises that will send me an immediate alert,” Melissa next explained, “like, in emergency.”.

That made his brow furrow. “What kind of keywords?”

“Oh, I dunno? Like: ‘Freeze!’ ‘Put em up!’ ‘Give me your wallet!’” A light buzzing continued at her breast with every phrase. 

“You’re worried about me getting mugged?”

“Well, yeah, that, and other things,” she answered, knowing she shouldn’t tell him all the keywords they’d put onto his phone. Though she should tell him other things. “Like, if you yell ‘Fire!’ or just sound really upset or scream, it’ll let me know.”

“Okay…” he nodded, still exploring the screens and apps that the girls had set up for him. It seemed pretty limited. He saw social media, email, and the weird looking things from before…the games?

“I also want to create an emergency, like, alert phrase,” she explained, “Something that if you say - even if you whisper it - that I’ll know you’re in danger and to come as quick as I can.”

“Like…what would I say?”

“I dunno, something like: ‘Oh Melissa, please help me’, or something?”

As soon as the words left her, she felt her insides flutter. Melissa recognized that normally people called upon God using such a line. She bit her lip again, watching his face, looking for his reaction. That he didn’t immediately reject her suggestion made her feel even more excited. She hoped that he’d accept her request, and that they could build even more key phrases - Marisela actually did call them ‘prayers’ - into the phone.

“That…works…I guess,” he further conceded, not sure if he was being emasculated, infantilized, or subjugated…but not feeling as upset about it as he thought he should. She is just looking out for me, he figured. He also saw that the phone must have been listening, and was looking for him to speak the alert phrase:

“Melissa please help me,” he said into the phone. The screen blinked, and smiled. It asked him to repeat it. He did.  “Melissa please help me.”

The sound of that made Melissa’s nipples harden and, also under her top, her phone buzzed again: the alert telling her than he needed her. “Ooo that was exciting..!” she giggled, bringing her hand over her left breast, to cup her phone through the fabric of her top. It was like she was feeling him, right there, all safe and sound. “Right over my heart!”

He nodded, feeling the flutters himself. He was slowly giving himself up, in little pieces, to her. It made him feel small, dependent and weak, but nothing about it felt as wrong as it should. 

“Now you can just call out to me whenever you need my…inter…mission?”

“Your…intervention?”

“Yeah, that..!” she giggled, reaching out now to cup his cheeks in her hands, “You just call out whenever you need Melissa’s Intervention..!”

“Uh, sure..?” he answered, seeing the excitement starting to build again in her eyes. 

“We can put in more little prayers!” she continued, “‘Melissa, please, I need you’, ‘Melissa, please, I want you’, ‘Melissa, please, I’m hungry.’ We can have our own little language!”

He didn’t love exactly what she was implying…and did she just call them ‘prayers’? When he opened his mouth to object, though, she merely laughed and wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in closer to her in a celebratory hug that also just happened to smother any response. The massive woman’s body easily dwarfed his, and he knew any chance of resisting her decisions died then and there between her two titanic tits and under her colossal strength. At first he seemed to be trying to push her away, but soon enough it was difficult to tell. He may have been struggling, slowly being swallowed by her bosom, or perhaps now he was trying to bury himself more deeply into the warm, inviting embrace of her cleavage. Either way, he was accepting what she was telling him, and finally settled in. 

“That’s right sweetie, get comfortable in there,” Melissa purred, already looking forward to some time, maybe this weekend, when they wouldn’t be so busy. Some time where he could spend hours like this. It’s good practice for the future. 

She heard him moan, and giggled again. She couldn’t lose him just yet. There was still more about his phone she had to tell him. 

“So, there’s some access to social media on there, like your Instagram,” she began again, talking down to the man in her cleavage, “but we don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be able to, like, post.” She paused, and - though she felt him pause too - that suggestion didn’t seem to bother him enough to complain. Good. She figured, though, that she should still explain. He was still confused. It was important to tell him why they’d be restricting him. 

“You’re getting very popular,” she continued, reminding him what Randi had explained yesterday: his follower count, after the video of him and the girls went viral, was up in the thousands. He was like the perfect little vulni man for the changing age, and women were beginning to flock to him. She pet his head tenderly. “Your accounts should be handled by a professional...”

A professional? You mean like…Randi? She’s n-

<giggle!> Melissa chuckled as she squeezed her bosoms playfully tighter around his head and squished his impish thoughts. “She’s doing a good job so far of keeping away all the little hussies that are interested in you, want to talk to you, want to meet you,” she said. There are also the men, she thought, though she knew she shouldn’t mention those, Angry ones. Disrespectful ones. Some that want to use you against us. “We had to turn off your DMs. So many girls asking for DPs.”

DPs?

He doesn’t know what that is. 

“Dick pics,” she explained plainly, feeling him freeze. What did he think about that, knowing that women around the world wanted a look at his cock? To see how it stood out like a totem pole from his shriveled little body? He was perfect, Melissa knew that, becoming everything a man should be. Women everywhere, with these new urges of theirs, wanted him for different reasons. “But nope this is mine!” she giggled, and grabbed his shaft through his pants. He was hard as steel for her, of course, and she squeezed him categorically, so there was no mistaking to whom he belonged. 

His body jolted, sparked at her grip, and she released him. I can’t have you mess another pair of pants haha! She also, slowly, gently, began to pull his face out from between her breasts. His whine was endearing, and made her want to just pull him back in again and forget the day, but there was more she had to tell him about the phone…and otherwise. And a grand opening event to which they had to attend. Even though I know you’d rather just stay in there.

“Shhh, sweetie, it’s okay, you can go back later,” she promised tenderly, tilting his gaping, ashen, clammy face up to her. She smiled down at him munificently. “So…what do you say?”

”uhhh…” wh-what do you mean?

“For the new phone I got you..?”

He blinked, unsure of what she meant.

“What do you want to say to me?”

“oh, uh…” he managed, finding his voice again, “thank you? Melissa?”

MMmmmm…she liked that, and the unmistakable shiver she felt in her bones. Even that sounded like a prayer. 

“Say it again.”

“Thank you, Melissa,” he repeated.

Better this time - more properly grateful. 

“You’re welcome,” she replied, her voice generous and deeper than he’d heard it.

He shivered. What was happening here? What was becoming of their relationship? What was becoming of her? He was confused.

Missy smirked down at him, enjoying the way his mind seemed to have stalled. She caressed his cheek, and thought of their future together as she absently stroked his cock through his thin scrub pants.

“Now,” she continued, “back to what  your new phone can do. You’ll have your email back again, but first we need to talk about some of the messages you’ve been getting…”

================================

thanks to Beetlebomb for the base image in the IG post, and to RiF for his help in edits

[deewellsosd]

The Evolution of Sneaker Culture: The Shift

Sneaker culture in 1994, was a lot like Michael Jordan himself: untouchable, iconic, and still soaring from that ‘Last Shot’ magic. When Jordan Brand re-released the Air Jordan 4 in black and red, it wasn't just a shoe hitting shelves again — it was the birth of a new era. Suddenly, people weren’t just buying kicks to ball in, they were buying history. This wasn’t about sneakers anymore. It was about sneakers with a story.

Hear me out. 👂🏾👂🏾

I knew that the sneaker world was about to get a lot more crowded but was happy that the 4s ended up at Nike outlet stores.

1994: Jordan Retros Are Born, and the Game Changed.

Jordan Brand drops the retro Air Jordan 4, black and red, and boom — sneakerheads everywhere lose their minds. It’s like Jordan-mania got a sequel. No longer just about playing basketball, this retro release turned sneakers into must-have collectibles, and paved the way for the boom of re-releases we’re swimming in today. But Jordan Brand wasn’t alone in the game. Oh no, we had #K-Swiss out here dropping their signature tennis whites and staying clean in the country club scene, while #Diadora and #Ellesse were holding it down on soccer pitches. Sneaker culture wasn’t just about hoops anymore; it was becoming global.

Early 2000s: Collaborations, Hip Hop, and the Sneakerhead Scene

Fast forward to the early 2000s. While everyone was still buzzing over Jordans, something wild was happening: #adidas was teaming up with everyone from Pharrell to Missy Elliott, #FILA was riding that retro wave, and sneaker culture was going digital. Enter the message boards — places like NikeTalk, Instyleshoes where sneakerheads could gather and post news and photos of kicks and trade rare pairs like digital currency before anyone knew what cryptocurrency even was.

It wasn’t just about what you wore on your feet anymore; it was about where you were buying them, who you were talking to online about them, and how you were hustling to get the next big release. The #New Balance "Dad Shoe" (S/o Steven Smith) renaissance also quietly began, sneaking into wardrobes with its chunky, comfort-first aesthetic. The early 2000s were all about collaborations and the beginning of sneaker culture’s obsession with exclusivity. #Puma was pushing their Clyde sneakers, while #Saucony��yes, the running brand—was quietly building its own cult following with sleek, comfortable designs that were street-ready.

Legacy Brands in the Mix

While Nike and Jordan were grabbing headlines, let’s not forget the underdogs. K-Swiss continued to carve out a niche with those iconic five stripes, while Diadora and Ellesse were quietly getting love from soccer fans and Euro-stylish types. FILA, meanwhile, was riding high on the back of Grant Hill’s signature sneakers, and it would see a full-blown revival in the 2010s, with the Disruptor II becoming the chunky sneaker everyone suddenly couldn’t get enough of.

Remember when people made fun of chunky sneakers?

New Balance? Don’t sleep on them. While everyone was busy drooling over the latest Jordan or Yeezy release, New Balance was already a legend in the DMV and those who knew….knew. Those "dad shoes" became the ironic fashion choice for the cool kids, and suddenly, New Balance wasn’t just for your lawn-mowing dad — they were fire on the ‘gram.

Saucony, meanwhile, wasn’t just for marathon runners anymore; their Shadow and Jazz models crept their way into collections. (Shout out to The Floor Lords for their 2007, Courageous sneakers.)

Hip Hop and Sneaker Domination

Let’s be real: sneaker culture and Hip Hop go together like peanut butter and jelly. As sneaker culture evolved, so did its Hip Hop connection. Enter Kanye, Pharrell, and a host of people making sneakers not just part of their brand, but central to their identity. Kanye’s #Yeezy partnership with adidas wasn’t just a big deal; it was a tectonic shift. Suddenly, sneakers became art, social currency, and an investment all wrapped in one.

And let’s not forget the OG brands keeping things fresh. Puma reimagined their classics with help from collaborations like Rihanna’s Fenty line, making old-school silhouettes new again. Meanwhile, FILA staged a comeback that felt like a ‘90s nostalgia tour, with chunky sneakers like the Disruptor II becoming must-haves.

And while these brands rode the waves of Hip Hop and sneaker culture are no longer just a U.S. phenomenon. It’s global.

2010s to Now: Sustainability, Resale, and Nostalgia on Steroids

By the 2010s, sneaker culture hit hyperdrive. Online reselling became a thing, and StockX made flipping sneakers as common as flipping burgers. Suddenly, people were buying kicks not just to wear, but as an investment. Remember those New Balances your dad swore by? Well, suddenly those "dad shoes" became the ironic fashion statement everyone couldn’t get enough of.

And then came the sustainability wave. #adidas started using ocean plastic, #Nike launched the Move to Zero campaign, and Puma got serious about eco-friendly kicks. In today’s sneaker world, it’s not just about looking good, it’s about doing good, too. We’re not just talking about aesthetics anymore; we’re talking about carbon footprints.

What’s Next: Virtual Sneakers and the Metaverse

So, where’s sneaker culture going? We’ve got NFTs, virtual sneakers, and even digital sneakers for your Metaverse avatar. Yes, that’s a thing now. Brands like adidas are already dropping virtual kicks, and as much as we love the feel of fresh leather underfoot, the next frontier of sneaker culture might just be something we can’t even lace up.

At this point, sneaker culture is about a whole lot more than shoes. It’s about art, fashion, self-expression, sustainability, and even digital futures. And if there’s one thing we know for sure, it’s that sneaker culture will continue to evolve.

Change is inevitable.

[huahsu]

YEAR OF THE GHOST DOG

[TL;DR version for the New Yorker -- I loved many great short songs and became obsessed with (1) a very old, much longer one (2) and YouTube comments this year.]  [links to previous year’s lists at the bottom]

A while back, I found myself in an extended funk. The reasons are uninteresting and honestly a bit dumb, a mix of everyday bummers and more existential stuff, all of which manifested in a kind of 360º sluggishness. I couldn’t really figure my way out of it but I believed that I would eventually stop feeling this way.

One night, I saw that someone online was selling a copy of the Emulations “These Are the Things,” a magnificent soul ballad 7″ out of Oakland. I wasn’t exactly homesick for the Bay Area, but something about the song’s roots, as well as its overwhelming feeling of optimistic yearning, resonated with (through?) me. There’s a moment when the singer’s falsetto peaks, and the piano starts cascading, and things feel like they’re going to work out after all. The copy for sale wasn’t in great shape, and it cost $100, an extravagant amount of money to spend on a piece of music. But I convinced myself that I’d feel better at some point, weeks, months, or years later, and I’d listen to my Emulations single, and recall that weird summer/fall.

As often happened with independently produced records of the sixties and seventies, “These Are the Things” was pressed on styrene, rather than vinyl. Styrene is a kind of plastic that’s lighter, cheaper and much more fragile than vinyl, and you can tell the difference by a kind of hollow plink when you put it on a turntable. Styrene also means that it has a limited life, and that each time the needle drags across its grooves, the record degrades a little bit. Over time, styrene records that get played a lot no longer sound as crisp or clear (or so it seems). I listened to it once it arrived, feeling a bit of regret at this wild expenditure, but also imagining my future self’s gratitude. I imagined entering into communion with everyone who had played this copy before me. I decided to only listen to the song once a year, if that--after all, each time I listened to the record, the song was changing, slightly.

A few months later, I felt normal (whatever that means) again, and the record became a marker of...I’m not sure what--maybe a kind of blind, stubborn optimism. Someone years later uploaded the song onto YouTube, which means I can listen to it whenever I want. This fall, I was trying and failing to spend less time on the Internet. But I decided that, instead of going on Twitter and Facebook, I would just read comments fans left on YouTube. I became obsessed with reading all the intimate histories people shared with one another--the chance encounters, the teenage dates and breakups, the seventies shop owners who recalled the days when stocking the right hit single could cover an entire month’s rent. I was listening to the Emulations when I noticed this comment, from Deric Jackson, who was apparently one of the group’s members: “I sung this song when I was 19yrs old. It was a pleasure to record and send this messageout into the airways. I have been with the women that God had given me to marry when I was 22yrs old. I did not understand at that time I was singing about my own life and the women who I had not met, but how wonderful it is to be with my wife fo 35yrs and life is still a breath of fresh air and wonderful. I would like to say to all real men love your wife, never worship her only one to worship is God alone.“ I’m pretty agnostic about most things relating to providence. But I felt as though I had been living in these words: “I did not understand at that time...” Jackson’s song was a prophecy, maybe even a conjuring, of his own path, and I wonder what he hears when he listens to it now. Sometimes you don’t know what’s coming next. But there’s always another song, and it doesn’t always sound the same as the last time.

(LATE 2017 BUT I REALLY DOUBT ANYONE NOTICED AKA THE FRENCH “MO BAMBA”) Junior Bvndo, “T’as ça #3 (Kylian Mbappe)”

I WILL LISTEN TO ANYTHING THAT USES DISTORTION Sheck Wes, “Wanted” OR OLD SCHOOL STABS Santi feat. Shane Eagle and Amaarae, “Rapid Fire” EVEN MORE THAN THAT, I LIKE THINGS THAT SOUND MESSY AND SLOPPY BUT ARE ACTUALLY PERFECT Caleb Giles featuring Cleo Reed, “Name” WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN AS GOOD AS IF IT HAD BEEN PERFECT, THE WARPED AND SMUDGED BEAUTY IS WHAT MAKES IT BEAUTIFUL Tirzah, Devotion Niagara, Apologia SAME, BUT SLIGHTLY OFF-STEP Blood Orange, “Charcoal Baby” THE BEST GENRE OF MUSIC REMAINS “SADE” Sade, “Flower of the Universe” and “The Big Unknown” Amber Mark, “Love is Stronger Than Pride” Bon Iver and Moses Sumney, “By Your Side” Kelela, “Like a Tattoo” 808s AND HEARTBREAK AND NEAR-OCTOGENERIANS Swamp Dogg, “She’s All Mind All Mind” I WASN’T AS ENAMORED WITH A LOT OF “NEW JAZZ” BUT DID LIKE Sam Wilkes, Wilkes Sam Gendel and Sam Wilkes, Music for Saxofone & Bass Guitar …WHICH REMINDED ME A BIT OF THIS FACEMELTING REISSUE (RIYL: ALICE COLTRANE, DON CHERRY, ETC ETC) John Tchicai, With Strings SPEAKING OF TERRIFIC JAZZ-ADJACENT STUFF Dos Santos, “Manos Anjenas” THE ORIGINAL “BIG MOOD” Okonkolo, Cantos THE YEAR I REALLY REKINDLED MY LOVE OF THE CELLO Clarice Jensen, For This From That Will Be Filled Oliver Coates, “A Church” …WHICH I DEFINITELY PREFER TO VIOLIN--ESP PIZZICATO--THOUGH THIS WAS QUITE GOOD Sudan Archives, “Nont for Sale” HARPS ALWAYS SOUND GOOD Leya, The Fool Meg Baird and Mary Lattimore, Ghost Forests ALWAYS HAVE TIME FOR WOODBLOCKS AND VIBES Kate NV, для FOR AS WELL AS MIAMI BASS SIGNIFIERS (KICKSTARTER FOR CITY GIRLS TO RAP OVER DJ BATTLECAT IN 2019) City Girls, “Act Up” AND BANJO DRONE...WHY NOT Nathan Bowles, Plainly Mistaken ALBUMS THAT I LIKED IN 2018, AND THAT I SENSE I WILL LIKE EVEN MORE BY THIS TIME NEXT YEAR Ben LaMarr Gay, Downtown Castles Can Never Block the Sun Neneh Cherry, Broken Politics AN ALBUM THAT I WISH WAS TEN ALBUMS Tierra Whack, Whack World AN ALBUM I WISH WAS JUST A LITTLE BIT LONGER Pusha-T, Daytona OF THE MANY REASONS I MOURN THE DEATH OF “THE ALBUM,” ONE IS THAT I ALWAYS LIKE TO HEAR WHAT PEOPLE DO WITH THAT LAST SONG YG, “Bomptown Finest” OR HOW ALBUMS, FULL OF SIGNS, ANGLES, FLEETING MOMENTS, CIRCULATE AND RE-CIRCULATE Angelique Kidjo, Remain in Light AND HOW THEY ARE LIKE WHAT NOVELS REPRESENTED IN THE AGE OF POETRY—OPPORTUNITIES TO LIVE INSIDE COMPLEXITY, SPACE, A DEMOS U.S. Girls, In a Poem Unlimited ONE OF THE BEST ALBUMS OF THE YEAR WAS A SOUNDTRACK... Kendrick Lamar et al, Black Panther AND TEASER FOR  Jay Rock, Redemption AND ANOTHER WAS JUST SOME RAP SONGS Earl Sweatshirt, Some Rap Songs WHICH ISN’T TO SAY ARTISTS DON’T STILL VALUE AND HAVE FUN WITH THE FORMAT Vince Staples, FM A TWENTY-FIVE TRACK ADVENTURE INTO VIBES Pink Siifu, ensley AND SOMETIMES TWENTY MINUTES OR SO IS ENOUGH boygenius, boygenius ONE MORE ALBUM THING – FIRST SONGS HAVE ALWAYS FELT LIKE THESIS STATEMENTS, AND STREAMING HAS ONLY APPLIED MORE PRESSURE TO THE SOOTHING, BEWITCHING, PERFECT WELCOME Mac Miller, “Come Back to Earth” MAC MILLER AND THUNDERCAT LOOK SO HAPPY HERE whole thing, but esp six minutes in, and even more so about nine minutes in THE BEST VIBES Show Dem Camp feat. Boj and Ajebutter 22, “Damiloun” Koffee, “Toast” HAPPY-GO-LUCKY B/W DEVIL-MAY-CARE Shoreline Mafia, “Nun Major” I LIKE NEF AND EPs PERFECTLY SUIT HIM Nef the Pharaoh and 03 Greedo, Porter 2 Grape 

RAPPING AS FAST AS YOU CAN OVER FREESTYLE/HI-NRG WILL NEVER SOUND BAD TO ME… SOB X RBE, “Paid in Full” SOB X RBE, “Carpoolin’” …ALTHOUGH THEY ALSO SOUND SICK OVER FAKE GHOST DOG BEATS, TOO, THIS WAS ONE OF MY SONGS OF THE YEAR SOB X RBE, “Paramedic!” SAME WITH MEDHANE Medhane, “The Garden” TRIPPIE REDD PUTS OUT A LOT OF MUSIC FILLED WITH TRANSCENDENT MOMENTS, BUT RARELY MAKES TRANSCENDENT SONGS, AND IT PAINS ME A BIT THAT MY FAVORITE SONG OF HIS THIS YEAR WAS Diplo featuring Trippie Redd, “Wish” TRIPPY-ASS DOO-WOP Cuco, “Sunnyside” A STRONG HARMONY IS A VISION OF WHAT LIFE COULD BE Ben Pirani, “How Do I Talk to My Brother?” WHERE WERE U IN 94 Young Echo, Young Echo SWEAR I'VE NEVER HEARD MUSIC THIS “GREY” ManOnMars, ManOnMars IF YOU ARE GOING TO MAKE A FAKE D’ANGELO SONG, IT SHOULD BE THIS GOOD Patrick Paige III, “Voodoo” LIKED THIS, BUT IT’S ALSO POSSIBLE TO BE A BIT TOO FAITHFUL TO THE PAST Teyana Taylor, “Hold On” NOT QUITE FAYE WONG DOING THE CRANBERRIES (RIP DOLORES O’RIORDAN) BUT STILL MEMORABLE Katherine Ho, “Yellow” LIKE THE BEST PARTS OF FEELS-ERA ANIMAL COLLECTIVE, BUT TAIWANESE Prairie WWWW

NEVER THOUGHT TO VISIT THE LOUVRE UNTIL The Carters, “Apeshit” video BROWN EXCELLENCE Humeysha, Departures "BROWN BEATS” FOREVER RIP Cameron Paul

MY FAVORITE DISCOVERY OF THE YEAR Pharoah Sanders playing “Kazuko” in a tunnel near the Marin Headlands LIKE NONE OF ITS INFLUENCES (FOOTWORK, AMBIENT), LIKE NOTHING ELSE OUT THERE, REALLY Foodman, Aru Otoko No Densetsu DARESAY SKI MASK WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN BOOED OUT OF THE CIPHER Ski Mask the Slump God, Beware the Book of Eli THE MOST FAMOUS PERSON I’VE SEEN ON THE BIG SCREEN AT THE PAST THREE YEARS’ NETS GAMES IS Young M.A., “PettyWap” DEMOS FROM A GROUP I HAVE ALWAYS ADORED, BEFORE THEY FOUND THE SOUND THAT I ADORE The Nonce, 1990 EXTREMELY GOOD AND LARGELY OVERLOOKED REISSUE Suzanne Menzel, Goodbyes and Beginnings FOUR TET IS GOING THROUGH HIS LIVE ARCHIVES, AND IT’S A TREAT TO STUDY HIS ARC/EVOLUTION  Live at Hultsfred Festival, 18th June 2004 Live at LPR New York, 17th February 2010 Live in Tokyo, 1st December 2013 Live at Funkhaus Berlin, 10th May 2018 STRANGE TO LIVE IN A MOMENT WHERE BEING WEIRD SEEMS A BIT DERIVATIVE. STILL, THIS IS BLISSFUL SahBabii, “Anime World” HAPPY FACE Smino, “Klink” SAD FACE Drake, “In My Feelings” (especially this version) “JIM FROM THE OFFICE” FACE Pusha-T, “The Story of Adidon” STOLE YOUR FACE Sophie, “Faceshopping” FACE/OFF YG and Mozzy, “Too Brazy” Sammy Bananas feat Antony and Cleopatra, “Slow Down” Kode 9 and Burial, Fabriclive 100 GASSED FACE E-40 and B-Legit, “Whooped" ABSOLUTELY FACEMELTING Todd Barton and Ursula K. Le Guin, Music and Poetry of the Kesh VACATION AWAY MESSAGE SiR, “D’Evils” Bad Bunny x PJ Sin Suela x Nejo, “Cual Es Tu Plan” BEST OPENING DISCLAIMER TO A VIDEO 808INK, “Come Down” “TAGS: LATIN CHORAL CUMBIA GOTH LOS ANGELES” San Cha, “Cosmic Ways”

BEST USE OF “OOCHIE WALLY,” STILL ONE OF MY FAVORITE BEATS EVER Stefflon Don, “Oochie Wally freestyle” BEST USE OF “SUPERTHUG” Rico Nasty, “Countin’ Up” EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS--THE HEADBANG MINIMALISM, THE LAS VEGAS WALGREENS--BUT ESPECIALLY THE LINE ABOUT WELLS FARGO Rico Nasty, “Trust Issues” “ORGASM ADDICT” (RIP PETE SHELLEY) Victor Oladipo, “One Day” “I JUST TOOK A FLIGHT TO FRANCE TO COP CARDIGANS” Black Thought and Styles P, “Making a Murderer” “AT THE EMIRATES I MILLY ROCK” Manzo and Malachi Amour, “Lingard” DOPE TUNE, AND UNEXPECTED KELLYANNE CONWAY REFERENCE JPEGMAFIA, “1539 N. Calvert” YEAH YEAH YEAH (RIP MARK E SMITH) Travis Scott and Drake, “Sicko Mode” R-E-S-P-E-C-T (RIP ARETHA FRANKLIN) Rosalia, El Mal Querer REEL DEAL, “DRIPPIN’ DOPE (SAXAPELLA)” (1989) Gunna, “Top Off” WAMP WAMP (WHAT IT DO) B/W WAIT (THE WHISPER SONG) Vallee feat. Jeremih, “Womp Womp” SAD REGGAETON IS NOT BAD Bad Bunny, “Solo De Mi” SOUNDS GOOD TO ME, 2002-PRESENT Temani, “Power” Westerman, “Confirmation” REAL LIES, POET LAUREATS OF “YOUNG PEOPLE THINKING ABOUT BEING OLD” Tom Demac and Real Lies, “White Flowers” A SONG DESIGNED TO SOUND LIKE IT CAME OUT THIRTY YEARS AGO, WHICH ALSO FEELS LIKE IT CAME OUT A MILLION YEARS AGO (IT WAS JUST JANUARY) Bruno Mars feat. Cardi B, “Finesse (remix)” TAY-K WAS JUST A YEAR AGO Comethazine, “Highriser” FAVORITE 2 BRIDGES MUSIC ARTS “MIGHT AS WELL” RANDOM PURCHASE OF THE YEAR  Kizaki Ondo Preservation Society and Clark Naito, 木崎音頭 Kizaki Ondo FEELS LIKE IT CAME OUT TEN YEARS AGO (IT WAS JUST JAN/FEB) BUT I NEVER GREW TIRED OF IT Rich the Kid, “Plug Walk” ODDLY REASSURING THAT PEOPLE STILL JANGLE Massage, “Oh Boy” Earth Dad, “Walter” ...AND DISCOVER WORLDS FROM WITHIN THEIR BEDROOMS Soccer Mommy, Clean ...AND EXPLORE THE CONTOURS OF GROWLING AND NAGGING Sada Baby and Drego, “Bloxk Party” ...AND CAN USE THE PAST TO MAKE SOMETHING SO VISIONARY AND FORWARD-THINKING Virginia Wing, Ecstatic Arrow Mitski, Be A Cowboy ...AND LOOKING FOR FOURTH WORLDS Arp, Zebra ...AND MAKE IMPOSSIBLE RHYTHMS Heavee, WFM ...AND THAT ARTISTS I HAD NEVER HEARD OF, WORKING IN IDIOMS I HAD NEVER HEARD OF, MIGHT STILL BLOW MY MIND Odunsi (the Engine), rare. JUNGLE LIVES X-Altera, “Blowing Up the Workshop” mix TOP THREE TIMES I SAW STANDING ON THE CORNER THIS YEAR 3 - The Merciful Allah Black Hole Theatre 2 - The Time it All Ended with Fireworks on Grand St. 1 - An Empty Storefront During a Blizzard

{HONORABLE MENTIONS -The Time They Brought a Monolith -THEME DE YE-YO [Respect to the Gods]} SONG OF THE SPRING, SUMMER, WINTER, YEAR,  STILL UNDEFEATED ### A CHURCH AND JOHN LENNON’S “IMAGINE” :: 2017 SIKH DEVOTIONAL MUSIC :: 2016 SPOOKY BLACK :: 2015

[coolmiddlename]

what ive learnt from this streaming... and especially the timegap since i last took an interest in this show (coming up to 3 years)..  its given me a new perspective on adventure time’s greatest strengths and weaknesses

the shows a visual feast for the senses. its imagination-bending world allows for literally anything to happen. the dialogue is hilarious and, most significantly, everything feels alive. the characters dont stop doing stuff when theyre offscreen, theyre all aging and going on wacky adventures of their own. while other shows like SU hint to this  they lack the same potential for just how much has changed that AT has, cos SU’s world just isn’t as wild. it’s more grounded.

the interactions the chars have are a treat. i think my favourite character dynamic is, quite easily, finn and jake themselves. their relationship is the show’s heart and it remains with us even across finn’s darkest times. but you also get surprising relations. ice king and everyone, lsp and marceline, pb struggling to teach her freespirited grandson while jake also neglects to relate to his own kids.

and the way adventure time’s depth sort of balloons out over time... yep, it DEFINITELY had traces of this in season 1, but its amazing to see justhow much has changed. i really doubt any show on air has gone through an evolution as stark yet natural as adventure time’s. 

then we come to its flaws, which are highlighted in later seasons. it can often feel that adventure time fails to take itself seriously in critical moments, and takes itself too seriously in moments where it shouldnt.  what i found was season 5 and 6 were by far the most boring and frustrating to rewatch. i thought it was going to be season 2, but as it turned out i’d forgiven season 2 for its sins long ago. with season 5 and 6 i was begining to make sense of different flaws.

AT season 5 and 6 felt off because the characters were a lot darker than before. we have a newly characterised princess bubblegum who gets up to some really dark stuff, and watching the whole season gives the perspective that its not just moral ambiguity at play, its real dickishness. this is somewhat entertaining though. i remember being engaged back durig this time period whe we were finding out her mysteries. as a whole its a lot less sympathetic than it felt at the time... yet it still serves a grander purpose.

FINN THE HUMAN, however, was written AWFULLY in these two seasons. i dont know how else to describe it. either he was getting obsessed w girls in a super creepy way that was uncomfortable to watch, or he was saying/doing something so philosophically up its own ass that i got bored out of my mind. and this is when the show would take itself too seriously - characters would be used as mouthpieces for writers’ philosophy without there being any believable emotional expression or investment from the character themselves. 

and emotion, or lack thereof, even follows the show into early season  7. theres many parts of Stakes that could have been drawn way more expressive like the brilliant Varmints. checkmate is a wonderful episode but the first couple of minutes look so... dull, like it could have looked so much better and the voice actors were struggling to make up for it.

most of these complaints die off in later seasons, where a certain writer’s influence is less obvious. i think it would be absolutely inaccurate to describe season 8 as having the same emotional expression issues as the seasons preceeding it; everything feels far more natural and nuanced. it’s a rollercoaster! its almost got some of the nostalgia from the early scenes coated in the depth of later on. the season finale is the height of season 8′s tension; we get a scene that has been building up since, perhaps, season 5.

i really hope season 9 manages to deliver the same emotional weight that many episodes in season 8 did. if so, adventure time might just have one of the greatest sendoffs ever.

[porchstew]

Robots Can Do Your Job, and Do It Better

Jacob sat down in his plush, red chair and picked up the magazine that lay atop the pine coffee table to his left. He began to read the first article featured: “How A.I. Will Impact Your Job” while absent-mindedly reaching his left hand to feel for his coffee cup. 

The paragraph began: 

If you believe that work will fulfill your passions and desires, consider whether a robot could do your job. Is it comforting to imagine your complex human emotions and needs being sated by work that a non-sentient robot could also handle? If so, there’s a chance you are already depressive. 

Just as Jacob’s fingertips had begun to fondle the coffee mug, he shuddered while reading this sentence and knocked the mug and its contents to the ground. It crept across the near-new, carefully curated, hand-woven and auburn carpet. Coffee flowed in between the stitching. 

Jacob and his wife Janice had spent nearly two months finding the right carpet, near obsessing over color, design, organic fabric, and fair trade labor certification until settling on the one now in their living room. 

He stared in horror. Not at the carpet, but at the magazine article. He continued to read fervently. 

Humans no longer need to work. Yet they do. The desire to is a vestige in human circuitry, a remnant of evolution that was hardwired millennia ago. Those who survived were the ones who could move. And so one moved.

Survival instincts led to sexual desire. Survival instincts led to a desire to work. Movement sparked evolutionary redundancy in which to move would stimulate endorphins. 

The relationship between survival, sex, and work was one-directional until humans developed emotions, which made these relationships, for the first time, bi-directional. Sex was no longer for survival alone. Humans added meaning to a primal act. Work was no longer about movement to survive, it became a means of exercising our passions.

Humans are a unique species in that they always search for meaning in actions. Mammals, machines, and mites do not share this need. They act on impulse without question.

Jacob shifted in his seat, breathed deeply, and continued reading. The coffee had begun to stain the carpet. He paid it no mind. The end of the article held the biggest surprise of all. 

While this article may seem human, it was actually produced by a machine. New algorithms, developed by the MIT Research Lab, allowed us to upload thousands of my articles and interviews for for analysis by a new kind of AI. 

My writing was analyzed and internalized over the course of one week. Afterward, we gave it a writing prompt: “Near-sentient computing and its effect on the workforce.” 

A mere two hours later, the article you now read had been produced. The writing was only slightly modified to add a touch of imperfection.

When Jacob had finished reading, he remained sitting for nearly an hour, deep in contemplation. 

Visions of machines performing surgery appeared in his mind. Demented surgeons with mechanical talons wielding surgical tools, operating in an empty building. 

He imagined schooling being replaced by virtual reality teachers and classrooms. Children would learn at home with a simulated school experience viewed via headset. Real life interaction with peers and superiors would be artfully controlled in a zero-risk environment.

Companies would analyze consumer behavior with AI to ideate products of the future. Human ingenuity would cease. Everything would be distilled to raw analysis and pure calculation.

He foresaw sleeping humans traveling in self driving vehicles to jobs that no longer required their services. They would merely be there to ensure the machines were operating without error. That is, until, they could self repair. 

Human companies would fail because they would no longer be necessary. Passion would no longer fuel business. Identities would have to be forged outside of work. Leaving one’s home would become an optional endeavor. 

Jacob rose and walked to the kitchen to get a sponge and seltzer. He lumbered back to the living room and began scrubbing the carpet. He was not actively aware of his body. He was only his thoughts. 

He heard movement by the front door. Janice entered carrying some groceries while chatting on her cell phone. 

Hi(!), she mimed with wide eyes to Jacob in between conversation.

As a defendant, every bit of information I can have is helpful, she said. Where did Peter grow up, what were his interests, what was his income, who were his friends, what was his favorite food, where did he go out. Everything. You never know what detail might provide the angle we need to help out your son. Thanks for your time Mrs. Arterson, we’ll chat soon. 

She hung up the phone and eyed Jacob cleaning up the carpet. 

Oh no, she cried. Her eyes were wide with real emotion this time. What happened? And on our new carpet. My god. Seltzer. We need seltzer. 

I’ve got it, said Jacob. Not to worry. New client you were chatting with? 

Yes, said Janice. Mrs. Arterson’s son Peter, who’s thirty years old, was recently charged with theft and destruction of private property. Confidential property at that. He broke into a previous place of employment, stealing several hard drives and smashing an entire office full of computers into the ground with a fireman axe.

Sounds like he was trying to conceal something, said Jacob. 

Maybe, she said. But it’s not my business to know in this case. The less I know about true motive, the better. I need to assume innocence and use any tools at my disposal to help him.

What company was he stealing from, said Jacob. 

It was a Research Lab, actually. Based in MIT, she said.

Jacob stopped scrubbing. MIT, he said. Did you read that article? He pointed to the magazine, now opened flat against the lounge chair, as if it were cursed and not to be touched. His finger shook slightly while in the air. 

[rexylafemme]

infinite deaths lead to infinite transformations

i recognize lately that there's this lingering sense of failure & loss & sadness living in my body, existing just out of frame in my thoughts (meaning, i guess, i don't give real space, attentive space to), having specifically to do with [said in bratty, tongue-in-cheek, big big air quotes] "my identity," "my body." 

the other night i was on the phone with a dear kindred friend of many years, was responding to something she said and i said, "if i were you, that would make me feel really bad. i mean, if i were a human being, that would..." i stopped and then we both started cracking up. freudian slip. in the moment, i'm not quite sure what i meant, but it felt like i really meant it, really natural to say. not being a human being is a sense i have about myself, i think because humanness is defined by things that are fundamentally exclusive of my experience, how i see myself, how i think, how i move through the world, what my body is. also, trans people just ARE mythical creatures.

anyway, whatever. i don't "exist" technically, but i do exist actually. and also, we have always existed, we-- trans people [which i use as a really broad, inclusive term to include all of the figures who never are/were able to claim that term, all of the figures for whom it does/did not exist, all of the figures it is/was robbed from, all of the figures who it is/was rewritten out of] have always existed. we are not new.

anyway, whatever. this quieted, stifled, devastated feeling of loss/grief/sadness/failure. though i wrote an article about it, i've never actually grieved testosterone. grieved taking it, grieved what i would not have not taking it, the death of the possibility. that my decision to stop was motivated by a number of things we aren't really able to talk about with pride, gusto, ease. [who is we in this sentence, all my non-human, trans self-states (?)  strung together through this thread of my life, the life i didn't ask for but i have anyway and try to appreciate tho it seems widely the Reality i live in, am called Human or not-Human in, doesn't appreciate me often-- tho i have a lot of really amazing loving people in my life far and wide, and, yes, have fought to carve out space to be seen in, acknowledged in, appreciated in [not just for trans-ness] however fully or un-fully, however full of truths or lies.]   i'm fucking crazy-- i identify that way, probably ahead of any other thing i am other than being poor and white, i am crazy before i am trans, i am crazy before i am anything that defines what my body is bc who cares and who knows but me [tho i recognize the political importance of identifying my body as something, i guess, even when it is nothing, feels like it or i am outside of it mostly or effectively it is treated like nothing, by me, others, lovers, the state, etc], i am crazy before i am queer-- if even i am that, having always had an ambivalent relationship with that term given its evolution as this annoying and unfortunate category that recycles exclusion and problems of white supremacy, capitalism, ableism, gatekeeping, rules for how to be, who to fuck/love/be close to and how, how to look, what to wear, what to like, builds institutions whose foundations are based in all of the above, etc. how quickly we forget how poor crazy black, brown, and white people radicalized the word queer, how it became Queer, trademarked by judith butler et al, liberal arts colleges, universities, research journals and then further used to silence, reject, consume, criticize, murder-by-complicity poor crazy black, brown, and white trans and queer people. rageful yawn! [so boring, so anger-producing, so over it]. and all of this so then jill soloway can make "the best tv series of the century"  [so says a white cis old dude w/ money named sparrow to my trans coworker who gets fed up with him after he says something like 'oh your name is different than it was a few months ago, that's so interesting. no one changes their names anymore unless they're transsexuals" and then they were like "yeah that would be me." "OHHHH TRANSPARENT IS THE BEST TV SHOW OF THE CENTURY," sparrow says in response. sparrow, who said to me, as many before him have and many after will: "YOUR name is rex? YOU? it's so WEIRD, YOUUU have that name???! wow, who would've thought!" cuz being a grown-ass white man self-named after a fucking bird isn't weird at all. transparent, yay, the tv show about US, that's not really about US. and i watch it so i guess i'm probably a hypocritical asshole, but i am starving for some representation. anyway, whatever. i'm probably crazy and poor before other things because crazy and poor provides the wash over which everything else i live is experienced. crazy, poor, grieving this synthetic steroid i experienced as poison in my body and brain. this thing i can't have that i want. this toxic thing. toxic because it erodes away my vag, toxic because it could destroy my liver, toxic because continued use over time could pose all these extreme health problems, but who knows really! cuz, why would we study that?! and when we do study it, why would we focus on the multiplicity of bodies and spectrum of people who approach HRT?! toxic because i am a crazy poor person with a lot of health problems to begin with that i don’t talk about and i probably would develop all the like, weird anomalous issues that "most people just won't ever have to worry about"! [most people is... ? ]

toxic because i lost all track of how i related to myself, how i felt, or what i even wanted while i was on it. i know what i want and what i like [about what it gave me]: more hair everywhere [yay!], androgynizing body shape [awesome!], growth in my underwear [i don't really know what to call what in-betweenness is going on there, cockette i say to myself but that feels maybe too campy for general use and not sexy however fitting and hilarious. anyway, it's cool and fun!], androgynizing voice [sometimes sultry, sometimes pubescent, sometimes girly, fran fine as a man laugh, excellent]. and the goal was always androgynizing, was always becoming something else, not one thing. tiresias, venus as a boy, dionysus, whatever.

but so i am sad because i can't move forward with those things that i like. the embodiment. and embodiment for me, as a crazy poor person, is constantly difficult. am i ever even in my body, do i have one, what is it good for, why. i moved further away from a sense of even desiring "masculinity" when i started t. that was a gift, to realize my desire wasn’t about acquisition of “maleness.” i just wanted all the things i described above: the physical changes that for whatever reason signify "maleness" or "trans-maleness" and therefore told people that's what i wanted because i wanted those physical attributes. i don't wanna be a man or a trans man. man, not something that i ever felt like. boy, dude, male, maybe, some hybrid masc/femme thing, cross-human.  i definitely didn't want the head-hair loss/thinning, which happened and put me into a neurotic, severely gender-NONCONFIRMING frenzy. i can't lose my hair i can't lose my hair. call it femme vanity, i dunno or really care, a bitch isn't gonna be bald, that's it, not ok not possible not happening so that also informed my decision to stop t, tho i didn't really admit it. i won't say i didn't/don't want the "he" pronoun, sometimes. i want them all. i'm greedy and excessive and i don’t like being limited. i want to be what i am: a mix, a shapeshifter. one angle i look like one thing, one angle another. the reason people stare at me all the time: bewildered, upset, confused, looking for clear markers. staring at my crotch or into my eyes, my face, working out their assessments. judging what i'm wearing against my facial hair against my makeup against my voice against an absence of breasts against my name against my...

anyway, whatever. i am sad because i can kinda have all of those things: more hair, more androgynized body. if i try hard enough. if i have enough time and money. because i could see a nutritionist and an herbalist specializing in trans health [they exist if you can pay to see them!]. or alternately, i could DIY it, buy all the herbs in the androgynizing herb regimen i came up with through research, and i could take them every day for... forever if i wanted, or for however long i wanted to, based solely on my desire to do it. not if i wanted, if i could. but i don't have the money. and i can't. and i could do all the exercises that would androgynize my shape. if i had the time and the energy. if i could get my shit together enough. if i weren't cycling in and out of housing insecurity since i returned to nyc and even before and through my whole life. if i weren't, some days, just able to do the bare minimum for myself, if i weren't racked with body pains somedays from a combination of: the things i do to my body that are bad for it [binding], not being able to sleep, work, running around, having a sick, sensitive body, the ways i carry stress in my body and where. if i didn't have problems prioritizing myself. if i weren't afraid of the structure of my exercise and nutrition regimen evolving into eating disorder and unhealthy obsession like they have before. if i weren't crazy.

it becomes about all the things i am always failing at that i can't do much about other than be patient and accept the material/systemic/emotional limitations that frame my life. back to poor, back to crazy: why i can't move forward at the speed that i would like to with my "transition." crazy means i can't be on t without being crazier and more sleepless and more in trauma self-states. crazy means i sometimes can't live up to my own structures and routines for my own health: body, mind, spirit. poor means i can't go to the trans nutritionist, the trans herbalist, buy the herbs and have them all the time. and i'm trying so hard to get that money, to do that. or, i'm trying so hard to be okay with not having what i want, what i need. remembering it's not my fault. there's nothing i can do about it. but that's not really a consolation so much as it is another reminder of my powerlessness to shift certain realities that affect not only me, but so many other people i care about, or people i do not know, everyone who should have everything that they want and need, regardless of who they are and what they can afford materially/socially/politically.

and i am grieving for all the knowledge we have lost and is not widely accessible. because tho i may not have the evidence or may not have done all the research, i fucking know people have been "transitioning" naturally and through magic for as long as people have existed and throughout all cultural contexts, whether trans-ness has been exalted (and it has, throughout time) or demonized/criminalized/driven underground. our mythological selves.