The Allure of Michfest: Why Trans Must Colonize This Unique Event

Michigan Womyn's Music Festival

Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival

The Ohio Lesbian Festival is open to transwomen, so why all the fuss over the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival? Why Camp Trans and Transwomen Belong Here? Why the trans-activist pressure guilt-trips on Michfest performers to stop playing at MWMF?

The biggest reason why male-to-female transwomen want in at MWMF instead of just going to OLF where they are included, is specifically because the intent of the Fest is a barrier; a barrier which must be overcome by any means.

The Age of Exploration

The Age of Discovery: Exploration of the secret and the unknown is its own reward

It has been my experience that men are (much) worse than women when it comes to a personal sense of entitlement and inclusion. In my experience, many, if not most activisting transwomen bring that sense of entitlement with them into their woman-identities.

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield

Transwomen belong here

Transwomen belong here

Transwomen want in to Michfest, specifically because they weren’t invited. The festival and The Land it takes place upon is a space to be explored, marked out, fought for and over, and ultimately conquered.

Roadtrip: In search of a mysterious location known as, "The Land"

Roadtrip! In search of a mysterious location known as: “The Land”


Have you seen an all-female gathering in these parts?

If you have ever been socialized as a boy from birth to adulthood, it is very easy to understand where transwomen are coming from, and why it is such a big deal that Lisa Vogel be forced to submit to their demands.

You gender heathens must all convert to Trans or else transphobia, which makes you a bad person

Yeah, I am going to have to demand that you gender heathens all convert to Trans* or else transphobia. Which means that you will go to hell and burn in a fire

Remember, military training and military culture are a part of many trans women’s narratives. Some of us have experience in the Army, Marines, Air Force, even Navy SEALs. Trust us, when it comes to trans-activism, we know how to do war.

Sir! Good news to report. Indigo Girls, Hunter Valentine, and Lea DeLaria  have surrendered to hurt feels trans-activism. We must keep up the pressure. It's only a matter of time before they all surrender and Michfest will finally be ours

Sir! Good news to report. Indigo Girls, Hunter Valentine, and Lea DeLaria have surrendered to hurt feels trans-activism. It is only a matter of time before Lisa Vogel capitulates and Michfest falls.

Once we’ve colonized MWMF it will be considered a “glorious victory for trans inclusion” an achievement to boast of and tell future transwomen about. How we bravely fought and beat the bigoted and ignorant FAB women and took over their space by making them invite us. We sure taught them a lesson! Social justice ftw!

Colonization: Forcing the "T" onto GLBT whether you like it or not

Colonization of Michfest: Forcing the “T” onto GLBT whether you like it or not. We can do it!

Sorry about your socialization!

Male socialization: yeah pretty much this

Male socialization: yeah pretty much like this



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My encounter with another transwoman in the women’s locker room


It was the whistling that clued me in that there was a man in the women’s locker room. I had just finished my lap swim, and I was taking a shower when I heard whistling in the next room over. I thought to myself, “what the hell?” and “it must be the janitor”. And because I had no desire to walk unclothed into the locker room with a man present, I dallied and continued my shower. I assumed the whistling would stop in seconds because the janitor would finish quickly and get out. But the whistler kept whistling, so I kept showering.

I kept listening for the expected sound of the locker room doors crashing open and shut as the janitor departed, but it did not happen. Cautiously, I wrapped myself up in my towel and peeked around the corner of the shower room into the locker room.


The whistler was a six foot tall woman in late middle age. Her back was to me as she stood at a locker arranging her things. I knew instantly, that she was trans. Given my past history, I had no desire to be seen naked by a late transitioner. I ghosted over to my locker and grabbed my bag and darted to a changing stall.

As I was putting my clothing on, a young Asian woman had come out from the lap swim and started showering off. At this point, the transwoman ceased whistling, and I could tell by the sound that she had sat down on the bench to change.

The Asian woman, probably twenty-something, finished her shower quickly and walked naked from the shower to the locker room, toweling herself as she went. At this point I came out of the changing stall, dressed in my street clothing, sans my socks and sneakers which were still in my locker.

I glanced sidelong for a split-second at the tall, broad-shouldered transwoman as I approached the benches. The transwoman was gawking at the Asian lady as she was getting dressed. The woman had her back to the transwoman as she finished drying off and began dressing, so she did not see what I saw. I saw The Gaze. The gaze I had avoided by dressing in the changing stall, when I realized that the whistler was a transwoman.


The transwoman continued to disrobe and put on her own bathing suit in preparation for her swim. But as she did, she continued to gaze at the Asian woman as she got her clothes on. I saw the whole thing out of the corner of my eyes. The Asian girl looked at the floor. The transwoman looked at the Asian woman. I shot glances at the transwoman. The transwoman never looked directly or indirectly at me, perhaps because I was clothed.

Very. Very. Awkward.

I suspect that the transwoman frequented another public swim location, and that her appearance at the pool I liked to go to was a result of maintenance at the one she attended. I had no desire to share that locker room with that transwoman again, and I avoided that particular pool for a couple months afterward in the hopes of not encountering her again. I haven’t yet, so I assume it was either a random encounter or that she frequented a different pool.

The main point of the story is, whistling in the women’s locker room. Dead giveaway that there was a man in there. Only it was a transwoman. A transwoman who could not keep her eyeballs off the young Asian girl, whose back was turned to the transwoman as she got dressed.

Even though that transwoman is recognized as female and did not have a penis, she doesn’t belong at the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival any more than I do, for the reasons I described here.

While I know that some women do whistle, that’s not the issue I am trying to highlight. The problem was the fifty-odd years of living in a man’s body, with a brain bathed in male sex hormones and a culture that teaches men that women’s bodies are theirs for the gazing at.

A transwoman may claim that she feels like a woman inside, but transition and a sex change does not remove the lifelong Patriarchy socialization that conditioned the transwoman to feel entitled to gaze and gawk. And I do mean gawk. There is a difference between a transient glance at someone else in the locker room, and the long, lingering, scanning stare that the transwoman played over the Asian woman’s body. In this case the transwoman’s actions spoke more about her socialization than her feminized body or her identity.

This example that I share with you highlights why places like Michfest are important. They give born-females a chance to organize and be away from both Male Gaze and the man-culture that encourages women to be the gazed-upon.

Posted in gender politics, shared boyhood | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

on becoming a servant

Goddess watch over me

Goddess watch over me

When I went and started living full-time as Plastic Girl, I started my life, all over again. Because I was young, with no degree or trade, I had no marketable skills.

My resume had previously been filled with blue-collar stuff, like working in factories, doing janitorial work, temp work in construction, that sort of thing. I mean, once I was out of my teens as an adult, I left fast-food and pizza delivery to get into the 12-hour graveyard shifts of industrial labor. Such is the life of working poor. You take what you can get, and you make the best of it. When the labor demand dries up, you find another job.

In the post 9-11 world, blue-collar industry was destroyed in the slow downward spiral they call the Great Recession, or something. When I transitioned into Plastic Girl, I still had nothing but my blue-collar background.

When I went on to live my life “full-time” as Plastic Girl, I moved from my transition town to a new city for a fresh start, where ostensibly, no one would know me from my old life.

The problem was, I was no longer living in an unincorporated area on the edges of an industrial and warehouse sector. I was living in a Big Name City which has a clear middle and upper class, as well as a lower class. It really is a caste-system based (partly) on what skills you have on your resume. I had no white-collar skills on mine, to save my life.

Very soon after I started my new life, I ran out of money! Getting a nine-to-five gig where I could stand on my feet all day, forty-plus hours a week and do mindlessly simple and repetitive manual tasks for minimum wage was Freaking Hard! It just was not happening, thanks to Nine-Eleven.

In no time at all, during the course of using up my money for the job hunt, I became destitute. And due to my trans-related medical issues, I needed access to medical care. I found a GLBT-friendly clinic with a sliding scale fee schedule.

While I was in the waiting area, I met other transwomen and men. Some of these transwomen fell in love with me, on sight.

Others could barely believe that yours truly was in a free clinic for the underclass. Mainly because, to put it simply, I was young, white, healthy-looking, in good spirits and fairly confident in my identity as Plastic Girl. This made me magnetic, or something, because I attracted transwomen and chasers like nobody’s business.

The fact of the matter is, I was alone, in a new city, in a new life, and I had no friends. I accepted the attentions of some of these transwomen. And that is when I got my education about surviving Teh Street. Surviving being (truly) poor. Getting by, as an underclass.

There was a time when I thought people who applied for welfare were just too lazy or too unmotivated to keep striving until they got a job. I had always associated welfare as being for families of immigrants, or women with children. That was when I was younger, and stupider and far more mabtastic.

I found out from my new trans-friends, that I could collect a small stipend, food stamps and some vouchers for public transportation, if I was willing to humble myself in order to go to the city welfare agency, and ask for help.

So. Because I could not get a job doing what I knew how to do best, I destroyed my mab-ego-pride a little more, and went down to the welfare office to apply for welfare, right alongside those immigrants and single women with children.

I had never done anything like that before, and I felt ashamed that I was left with no other choice, simply because I could just not get a regular honest job. But I did it, and I qualified, and I got food stamps and the whole nine yards.

One day, one of my trans-girlfriends asked me if I wanted to make some easy money to augment my welfare stipend. Of course, I said “Yes”. So. Then we went to a bar that caters to hooking up TGs with MABs who like them.

My friend showed me the ropes. I watched her, and I learned. In no time at all, she had brought some older guy in his fifties over to our table. Turns out, he was willing to pay us each $100 dollars if we would let him watch us make out/make love while he fapped and did a bump of meth or two while fapping.

We brought him back to our place, and everything went according to plan. He was a decent guy to us both. We both “earned” our trick money that night, and it paid for internet, clothes, toiletries, that sort of thing.

My friend used to do the street walk scene. This can be very dangerous work. It is fraught with abusers, some of whom will think nothing much of pulling a knife on you when you get into their car, insist on a free BJ, and then kick you to the curb after he comes in your mouth. This actually happened to my friend one night, while I was inside the bar pacing myself on a glass of red wine, scoping out potential dates.

She picked up a trick from a sidewalk pull-over while she was outside having a cigarette (or fag, as you Brits say), and she was assaulted the instant the door closed and the car pulled away. The john left her without due compensation for services rendered, about four blocks away from the bar I was in. It was pretty awful.

I realized I didn’t want to do the street scene, if I could avoid it. I have done it a handful of times before, but, I trust my spidey-sense and so, when I would get a bad feeling about the vibe coming off a john who is scoping me, I walked back into the bar. It was much better and safer and generally paid better to screen my dates at the table over a drink, then to actually step up to a J that pulls over to the sidewalk for you.

My friend was not very good at saving money and nor did she have a head for business of any kind. So, she spent her meager street-walker earnings as fast as she got it. But I saw a better way to survive and thrive and get ahead and move up financially.

What happened over the course of two months was, I slowly saved up my bar-trick money, and then used it to launch my own business as a call-girl. Then, I got into hyper-femininity.

Within two weeks I had burned up all my saved money on a sexy wardrobe, makeup, grooming stuff, all the girly things a bottom girl wears to show menz she is a bottom.

During my first week of being a real call-girl, I made more money in cash for a few hours of work, than I made in a forty-plus hour-a-week job where I worked my fingers and back to the bone while standing on my feet all day.

With that kind of money, I got off welfare. I didn’t need it! I didn’t want to collect it, unless I really and truly needed it. My welfare stipend for a month was like, $220 dollars, with $100 dollars in food stamps to go with it. I was able to get into better housing of my own effort and new-found financial privilege. This kind of quick and easy cash under the table, upgraded my standard of living and consumption in no time at all.

I had my first ‘girl-friend’ date soon after I started advertising. I was called and booked for an appointment. I got ‘dressed’ and performed all the femininity rituals, including foot-hobbling and short skirts.

I took a cab to a Big Time Ritzy Hotel and was admitted to an amazing hotel suite with a near-panoramic view of the night-time city. It was, well, lovely. For that evening I was a faux-girlfriend and sexual servant to a (nice) VIP mab. He left me a white envelope with five hundred dollars in it. For four hours of work. Less than an hour of the total time spent with him was actual sex-worker stuff.

I would take a couple of these kinds of appointments a week. I would sometimes take quicky appointments at my home that involved various short and sweet sexual services, but my specialty was the “girl-friend” experience. This means, being a servant-girl and submissive to menz for a couple of hours. Being his “date” to dinner and drinks, and or whatever.

I learned to be a good listener. I learned to let guys talk and let them relax and enjoy my femininity and openness. I learned to please someone besides myself. And after awhile, I got good at it. De-stressing guys who wanted no-strings faux-intimacy with a girl they did not have to see ever again, was my job for the better part of a year and a half.

If someone had told me when I was eighteen years old, that I would be living as a woman and a call-girl in a Big City three thousand miles away from my rural hometown in a mere seven years down the road, I would have laughed at the insanity and imagination of the idea. But that is where I found myself, within five months of going full-time with my life as Plastic Girl.

When you are poor and you ask others for help just to stay alive, your ego goes away. It has no choice, but to die. This will change your personality.

Your ego gets shattered a bit more, with each and every new level you are forced to bend and yield to. You learn to say “please” and “thank you” and “I am sorry (if I offended)” with total sincerity, because, after enough repetitions, your submission will no longer be an act, but just a fact.

When rich MABs, or educated and business-type women look at you momentarily as you pass them by on the street on the way to the bank to deposit the money you made the evening before, you avert your eyes and look at the ground. Because, you know your place as a transwoman and prostitute.

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Plastic Girl’s Definitive Guide to Transwomen Who Should Never Ever Be Rape Counselors

***This will be an ongoing work***

As a multiple-rape survivor, I am keenly aware of the failure of the power-words, “Stop”, and “No” and the thrust of phallic language meant to intimidate or violate. A very wise woman once said, “men rape with things other than their dicks”. I will add to that, that women also are capable of this kind of violation. And I’ve been on the receiving end of psychiatric rape (forced medication and restraints), parental rape (religious-themed molestation), boyfriend rape (he wouldnt stop thrusting when it became uncomfortable) and date rape (i was sedated by a client and forcibly penetrated without my consent beforehand), so I know a thing or two about being violated, internally, externally, mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually.

There are (at least) two qualities almost all rapists have.

1. an utter indifference to your boundaries/voice/wishes/physical safety

2. no remorse or even awareness, whatsoever for and of their rapetastic behaviour.

Having been monitoring the trans community off and on for over ten years, I have considered well, how many of my half sisters, or TG women or TS women, that I would want to confide in, talk to, confess to, embrace, seek solace, seek compassion, a kind listening and nonjudgmental ear, a suffering sister who knows all the way to her soul, what unwanted penetration means. Easily 90% of online trans that I have seen in action in their own spheres of media, do not pass the grade for being MY rape counselor, or go-to GF for sanctuary and understanding after a violation. This is important to the psychology of passing. Really. It is.

I will be expanding this guide in the days and weeks to come. Now, shall we begin?

#1 Andrea James. Put up images of Michael Bailey’s kids as revenge.

#2 Anne Lawrence. Fondled a patients genitals while patient was sedated

#3 Julia Serano. Thinks penis is female. Believes lesbians shouldnt discriminate against penises. Is on record stating that she is “alienated” by talk of female reproductive issues. As pregnancy is a very real possible outcome of rape, this is kind of important.

#4 Dana Lane Taylor. Loves, and I mean loves, sex workers. Thanks Dana. Also allegedly tried to raise a bounty on Gallus Mag. Pretty much making Dana and I enemies forever. Get out of feminist and trans politics, Dana. You are a repli-cant.

#5 Tina Tonga. Believes in corrective rape for radical feminist lesbians

# 6 Christian Williams. Stalker-extrordinare.

#7 Roz Kaveney. Awful

#8 Laurelai Bailey. Preys on transwomen and born-females. Documented history of this.

#9 Aeryn Fulton. Threatened or insinuated harm would come to Cathy Brennan and vowed to crash Michfest. Uses abundant military-speak







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Transmisogyny – oh how i mock this word

Let me be perfectly, crystal clear on this subject.

There is no such thing as transmisogyny. Get that Serano crap out of your mind. It’s bullshit. I don’t believe in it! Period!

Examining this made-up word: trans. misogyny.

What is the problem here?

When someone doesn’t “like” a transwoman, it is because the transwomen is seen as a trans-(something), and not a woman. If you appear to be a woman, and you receive discrimination for being a woman, you are experiencing misogyny.

Transwomen do not get a specialized form of misogyny for their special selves. They don’t. They experience either bigotry (intense dislike) or masculinity policing, or even “freak” policing.

In my life, nobody discriminates against me because I am trans. I don’t appear to be trans, and I don’t identify as trans. I am not out as trans. Most folks just do not know that I transsed my sex anender.

When I do receive discrimination, it is usually not so much misogyny, per se, it is usually sexism, chauvanism, or something along the lines of mansplaining. The misogyny I am most familiar with, is sexual discrimination. Predation. Schrodinger’s Rapist. Doods just feeling entitled to walk up and talk me up, regardless of my body language, or whatever else I may be doing. Making change at a fare terminal. Using an atm. Browsing google on my cell. Whatever. Guys walking up to ask for cigarettes, change, the time of day (literally) and even directions (do I know where such and such location is, perchance?)

On the one hand, having guys hit me up for whatever, and brazenly ignore my body space or body language, is sorta kinda gender confirming. Which means I should get all excited like Paris Lees, right? Wrong.

Women never ever ever approach me like that. Ever! Only males feel like they can saunter up, and disregard that I am looking away, turning my body away, staring at the ground, or at my phone, with my ear buds in! And they just launch into conversation. That’s entitlement and that is sex-based discrimination.

But nobody, male or female, picks on me, or insults me in my offline life, for being trans.

If you are a transwoman, you either pass as a biological female, or you do not. It’s as simple as that. If you do not pass, you are seen as something else – not “cis” gendered or sexual. You are seen as a dood in drag, or a hybrid man-woman. You get bigotry all right, in the form of homophobia, masculinity policing, or just plain other-policing. You don’t look like a clear male or female, and their discomfort comes out as an othering attack.

To label those experiences transmisogyny or transphobia is overwrought, inaccurate, and entirely trans-centered. By pleading transmisogyny, you are basically saying, you are a transwoman, and not a female. Because oppressed females, women, experience misogyny. There is no sub-level of misogyny reserved for women-trans.

It’s either other-bigotry, or homophobia. Have an issue with this, let me have it! Comment away. I dare you, transwomen.

Posted in claiming language, culture of offense, gender politics | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

Dear Gallus

im sorry things didnt work out. i

i never meant to upset you. in fact i was pretty sure i could soften your heart in time.

i see the good in you, even if my halfsisters do not.

i hope you approve of what ive done with my rf education

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Forward: online job request | app contained within

Posted in and synthetic people, androids, artificial persons, cyborgs, genetics, transhumanism | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Sylphs, Spinsters, Sprites, and Crones – the ontology of Be-ing


I forget if I’ve spoken of this elsewhere, but I was struck as a child by lightning, indirectly. Hot, summer, New England thunderstorms. Me doing the the dishes. A flash in the neighbors yard. A second later, my hands were pulled to the copper drain and magnetized to it, palms down. For a brief second, my teeth and muscles vibrated with an overriding electrical current. A split-second after, I was thrown backwards a few feet away from the kitchen sink. I crashed into the refrigerator, collapsed, and a box of salted crackers tipped over and rained some over me as I sat askance and stunned. I might have been about nine, ten or eleven years old. Maybe twelve.


the first meditation I ever learned, I invented myself. I just began gathering my awareness and condensing it the center of my head. I used to get wrap-around migraines. But by the time I was thirteen-ish, I could sense danger, and other people’s thoughts. I also could cause a nervous system-bonding effect without touching people.

I developed ‘mania’ creativity, and began to perceive life as déjà-vu. I developed prescience that has stayed with me all my life. It’s not infallible and I’ve had blind spots and surprises. Which is great because it would be horrible if I knew everything coming all the time. I also heard a cacophony in my head.

It took years to learn to retrain my energy system. I had blown open my upper chakras with over enthusiastic practice and given my-Self kundalini sickness. Once I knew how, I fixed it within a few years. I literally had to train my mental fire to drain down and settle. Once it really did for real, I started to become a little human.


Once I gave myself to surrender energy practices, I defragmented my-Self and slowed down my burn rate-of-decay. I practiced energy-alchemy and morphed my energy into a shape and vibration i preferred. Instead of scanning with an eye beam, I learned to sit utterly still, and let other people’s energy vibrate my strands and web-scan passively what people broadcast. That’s how I contacted universal consciousness. I sat still until it became apparent – And began moving me. After that, I downloaded a spiritual blueprint for creating astronomical bodies in our deepest interiors.


it was only after giving birth to light inside my interior cosmos that I started medical transition. I’ve been utterly de-void of spiritual depression since. When i transitioned fulltime, I gave up my purity and awakening and became a sex worker. I tested my evolution. Others who have reached similar places go on to become Spirit Coaches and produce scores of books all regurgitating the premise of the first one they published. They gain a cult following. I had no desire for that. I walked away from the allure of being enlightened with a capital E. you end up surrounded by people attracted to your presentation. I only want students who will work hard. I didnt want groupies and sycophants and suck-ups who would pedestalize me. Sometimes it’s just better to keep your spiritual knowledge to yourself. I’d not had the occasion to share it until I encountered radical feminism.

For Janice.image


For Sheila.image


sometimes, when werds just are not getting through to the Others, you need stronger Craft.


Inter-galactic voyager-spider


Seek Out Sisters

you build them where the son does not reach. You send them out in ones, two, and threes.



Eye-shoot-glance: witches three

Eye-shoot-glance: witches three

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super-cooled estrogen mainframe

thank you so much for the recent adjustment. the fact that you did that to me without my complete awareness and consent beforehand… makes me feel like im free-falling.

even though it messed up some things in my social life, the fact that my anger is totally gone leaving me with passive acceptance… just…. makes my crotch pulse and my heart swoon.

i am profoundly happy about it.

that could have gone wrong for me, but now you know that i can do what i say i can do.

another ordeal, another dream come true.

from the bottom of my heart, thank you. <3


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the weaver and the butterfly | daily contact

spotted yesterday, a.m. after i wrapped up my morning practice

red orb weaver and white butterfly, left and right, respectively.

and early a.m. today… lunar eclipse

daily contact

daily contact


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dear Mary Daly, continued…



my mother rejected her Inner Wysdom in favor of God-the-Father and has spent  her whole life suffering.

so the gift skipped a generation and manifested in me, instead  in my life i have only found three women whom i wished could have taken the place in my heart reserved for a daughter’s love.

two of them were nurses.

the first was an ER nurse. when a friend of mine set fire to his car in the garage, his mother flicked her cigarette casually while giving me directions to where in her kitchen she kept baking soda.

in the same situation, my mother would have completely lost her cool and made the situation worse with recrimination blame-placement.. punitive measures.

this nurse would regale us of stories of life as a graveyard shift nurse. stories like the lolsob moment a man came in to the ER at 3 am wearing a vacuum cleaner hose and a trenchcoat…

the second nurse worked an acute psych ward during day shift. she was telepathic and she scanned me during my darkest days and convinced me to rethink taking my own life when i did not want to be here.

the third woman i met purely by chance. on a local. bus. she was taller than i, with beautiful long long grey and silver hair tied into a ponytail. she radiated serenity and self-containment. she came and sat next to me.

i actually opened the converstion, by complimenting her hair choice for her age. we got to chatting and it turns out she is a twenty year buddhist nun. i knew instantly that i wanted to look and act like she did when i hit middle age.

but never in all my life have read words which so resonated with me, down to my nerves and cells and inner water, as yours do with me.

reading Pure Lust i feel that we are sea-space creatures with legs, both emergent from the same Ocean. i totally, completely, and.clearly understand your thoughts and meanings. on an ontological level, we think alike about the same elemental and.cosmological energies as though we were from the same tribe. or planet.

you truly are 100% pro wbw, and.i wish you had been my mother.

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advanced studies in spark mechanics and string theory


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clarity dawns, spiral essence

did i ever mention how, when my mother would take me to inner sect Catholic prayer meetings, i was the only one upon whom the Holy Spirit would not descend? no matter how much i opened myself up, the Holy Spirit refused or was incapable of possessing me. apparently it knew something i wouldnt learn for decades

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