Posted in astronomy vs astrology, babylonian era, fashion, rapeape mentality, women's reproductive health | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

why we feel the moon



once i watched an episode of the tv show, COPS. a reporter was interviewing a las vegas patrol officer about policing during a fullmoon and made references to lunatics and fullmoon fever (it was a fullmoon in that episode).

the officer very casually and professionally explained that according to police statistics, the occasional uptick in fullmoon calls was due to more hours of light for people to make use of for partying or whatevers. but no. nothing mystical or supernatural about fullmoons and social behavior.

after i heard his response to the reporter, i thought, “Speak for yourself!”

a long time ago, when our solar system was forming, we did not have eight planets in peaceful orbit around the sun.

our system may have had dozens of planet all dragged into the sun’s gravitational depression in local space fabric – circling and spiraling, and in some cases – careening or colliding into each other.

one day a small planet called ‘Thea’ caromed off of a planet called ‘Gaia’.
a good portion of it probably survived and shot out of the system.

the collision was perfect. too glancing of an impact, and they would skip off each other like billard balls. too direct a hit would have ended both protoplanets. but just-catastrophic-enough of a strike occured, causing both planets to meld into each other. they literally traded matter. what parts of poor Thea that got caught in Gaia stuck around as bits and pieces of both worlds swirled into an accretion disk. parts of that disk fell to Earth. what stayed condensed into the Moon.

both Gaia and Luna create depressions in the local space fabric. those depressions overlap. the Moon also perturbs all fluids on the earth, but its gravitational sway is most readily observed on the oceans and the tides.

the moon has no innate illumination. it has albedo – the light from Sol reflected in cold rays deviod of most of the Sun’s strenuous radiation.

the mass of the moon is partly ancient proto earth. its gravity acts like a vaguely eccentric pendulum on the earth’s gravity well, creating waves and oscillations in gravity itself – which is omnipresent.

we humans are made from stellar matter congealed into this planet in elements. we have electromagnetism. our weight, is our condensed elements, most of which is water! we have gravity and are affected by same. we are held together by weak nuclear bonding at the atomic level where particles whip around cores not dissimilar to planets circling the sun.

some of us can feel something of those energy and matter connections. i know i do. i can feel the energy of the moon tugging on me and it puts me in this i-can-feel-the-moon-doing-something-to-me state for days.

and with respect to the fact that a fullmoon does provide more light which might trick our nocturnal sleep circuits somehow, giving us more time to party into greater states of whatever. it does not satisfactorily explain why i will wake up at one a.m. wide awake, feeling as though im being looked at somehow – and i get out of bed and its totally cloudy and dark everywhere.

still im compelled to look straight up at the overcast and overhead sky and pan my eyes around. after a minute or three, the darkness fades translucent and a dim milky sphere appears momentarily, right above me – exactly where i felt it would be.

Posted in astronomy vs astrology, cosmology | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

the insanity of the term “cisprivilege”

(and why this made-up term is really bullshit made up by trans-centered and clueless transactivists. Julia Serano comes to mind, actually, as do her neophyte glomlings) http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/cisprivilege



(LGBT, neologism) The social advantage enjoyed by those who are cisgender/cissexual.

Who uses the term “cisprivilege” and what does it mean to them? Transwomen use this term without having any idea at all how profoundly offensive it is to born-females. What transwomen mean when they say born-females enjoy “cisprivilege”

  • You can grow your hair long and NOBODY questions you! omg!
  • you get to wear dresses and pantyhose and paint your toes and nobody calls you a fag!
  • shopping for high heels. srsly!
  • having doors held open for you by chivalrous dinosaurs
  • getting “dressed” in feminine clothing of any kind, especially little black dresses
  • being a cheerleader, or Hooters girl.
  • going to a bar and having all your drinks paid for, and cigarettes gifted by, your orbiters
  • lipstick and gloss and sparkly blush or eye shadow…so girly!
  • sweet sixteen parties! why can’t boys have them! so unfair!
  • all-girl slumber parties! #ragenvy
  • vaginas! and boobs!
  • being Daddy’s little girl and getting a new Camaro for your seventeenth birthday. Wow!

Here is an incomplete list of the social “advantages” of so-called “cis” sexual females.

  • having the Amber Alert system named after you!
  • FBI rape statistics. Look them up!
  • female-only rape shelters
  • being a college-aged woman, going for a walk in the woods with a politician boyfriend and never being seen again
  • female genital mutilation
  • foot-binding
  • wife-burning
  • being acid-splashed or beheaded by your father for failing to obey Shariah
  • being hunted down and killed by your brother or cousin, as an “honor killing” for dropping the hajib and dating Western men
  • “want some candy, little girl?” says the creepy pedo in the Buick pulling up alongside a fourth-grade girl walking home from school
  • being abducted out of a shopping cart by a ball-cap wearing man while mom is in the next aisle over, and disappeared, never to be seen again
  • losing your virginity to your Dad, Uncle, Grandfather, brother or cousin
  • first period, (menarche) occuring during the first class of the day in junior high! is that blood on your desk chair?
  • periods, period! cramps, water weight, swollen ankles, swollen abdomen, weird food cravings and aversions, being “pissed-off” (all freakin day!) moodswings, aunt flow, blood clots, ew! pads or tampons laydees?
  • the morning-after pill. The condom broke he said, time for Plan B, girls!
  • creepy gynecologists and your pelvic exams!
  • being locked into your father’s basement from age twelve to age twenty-two, and bearing or miscarrying one or more of your Daddy’s rape-babies.
  • being sold by your family – works for royalty, all the way down to the peasantry
  • having asshole MALES scream at you and shove pictures of feotuses in formeldahyde in your face as you walk into an abortion clinic to terminate a rape or otherwise unwise or unwanted pregnancy
  • ectopic pregnancy. ouch!
  • PCOS. how do you like my Captain Morgan and my she-goat? hey transwomen, got the name of a good electrologist?
  • dying while giving birth. it still happens in this country and it was once a very common way for women to die. Still common in underdeveloped countries.
  • being killed or having a male stalk or attempt to murder you, for becoming a feminist. It’s more likely than you think, right trans?
  • Being the exclusive prey item on a sociopath, psychopath or narcissists serial killer murder spree wanted list: Ed Gein, Ted Bundy, Donald Neilson, Gary Leon Ridgway, Dennis Rader, and my personal favorite, Gentleman Jack the Ripper, stalker and killer of prostitutes
  • Being a widow, with no surviving family, forgotten and alone in your house at the end of a street.
  • being homeless and pregnant, or pregnant and headed to prison!
  • not having medical pros or law enforcement take you seriously when reporting medical or criminal events
  • being mansplained to by males in your family, friend circle or professional peers
  • and so much more!

What transwomen mean by female “cisprivilege”: “omg, you totally get to be feminine and nobody questions you, your sexuality or your state of mind! plus boobs! and vaginas!” what females understand as “cisprivilege”: femicide, sexism, rape and oppression

Posted in feminism, gender identity disorder, gender identity politics, reality, shared boyhood | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 64 Comments

My encounter with a transgender woman 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 , , , , , , , , , , , | 27 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.

Posted in reality | Tagged , , , , | 18 Comments

A lesson in trans-boundary fail

(MAB) pride doth go before a fall
The price of having an opinion, especially when it wounds mab pride, is to be endlessly assaulted and abused for it!

I knew when I made this blog, what the inevitable result was going to be. I was on the internet, a long time ago, and I know how things work here. I know, that all you mtfs are 1337 hax. I know this. :)

I can feel the stiff dicks of wounded trannies probing my defenses, trying to see how well turtled I am here, looking for any holes you can stick your dicks into.

I pretended like I was going into sanitization mode, by locking down two posts with passwords, AS ANOTHER TEST.

The passwords were weak, and there is no incriminating, personal information about me in them, at all. No personal data. No names. NO IMAGES OF ME. None of that stuff.

Both of those posts have been read several times today.

I can feel you thrusting your dicks on me. With each attempt to violate me, you only expose yourself to be a MAB. And a TERMINALLY DOODLY ONE. Stop trying to pretend to be women, if you can’t respect them!

The full Hexydezimal takedown.

The setup:

JH’s blog. I said, “Hi!” and H followed me back to my blog via profile linking stalking.

The psychology of passing.

(Hint. Boundaries are about respect and space.)

If I say or even hint, “Stop.” “Desist.” “This is bugging me.” “You are annoying me.” If I say anything like that, or take it all the way to, “Uninvited,” “Unwelcome,” that means STOP and GO AWAY. For REALZ.

Really simple, right? No.

Most WBW know a thing or two about oppression and humility so, if a woman gets told off, she may feel hurt, but, she goes.

Not so with a dude. Especially young dudes. Especially young wounded dudes looking for approval, mothering, whatever, because they are ego-deficient, unloved, not given enough attention, emo, whatever. Something is wrong with their mind. 

And such a person becomes a GIANT ENERGY HOG who can’t stop trying to get a response, reaction or anything. As long as you feed HIM, Even if, this energy becomes mean or bitter or angry, it is still attention and counts as food for a greedy male grubling.

You see, “Go away,” from a woman to a male is a challenge that means:

Let’s see how far I can insist and bludgeon and intrude, until I am completely hated!


Pool’s Closed.

More parlor stuff. I stood with my hands at my sides and asked him to piss-off.

He kept coming!

I said,  “I won’t stop you. You can keep coming, but it’s intrusion, and it’s only DESTROYING any chance of trust or respect from me, to you.”


I told him he had crossed the line into cyber-stalker-ville. That it seriously was time to get a clue and STOP. Enough is enough already.



Finally, it was time to for HIM to show everyone, trans, non trans, feminists, rad fems, random people, that I was dealing with a GUY socialized as a GUY who was INSISTING to ME and the ENTIRE WORLD that HE was a WOMAN.


And that, my friends, is how Hexy fell.

He was through, finished, with being any kind of TRANS-activist for ME. Because he was neither woman nor trans, he was a GUY, MBM. End of story.

During his ejaculation of wounded MAB pride all over my blog, Hexy, took it ALL THE WAY TO STALKERVILLE. Included in some of the posts he posted here recently (after he knew he was done with posting here days ago) were:

Threats that this was JUST beginning

That we were SO not done.

That he was bringing in BACKUP to intrude on my space, knowing he was unwelcome!


All threatening language to any woman on earth, right?

Not doodly in any way. Not at all.

Once his drag queen buddies started poking their dicks at me, I knew, I was getting GANGED UP ON by immature little boys, all for the purpose of soothing and stroking wounded MAB pride.

And so, we have this page. Stalkerific. As proof positive that:


Proof? If you can’t stay away when asked, you are a guy, you are stalker material, domestic violence material, generally female-hating, woman-hating behavior. And when you get this kind of attack for asking to BE LEFT ALONE, the hypocrisy has to END.

When will stop, ever really mean STOP to a DUDE? When?


Thus, we all see here, that Hexy was a dood in a dress, that is transitioning in his mother’s basement; a dood who got his female socialization skills from fapping to pr0nz.

Freaking. Obvious.

And. He was trying to psychically attack and get more attention (FOOD for male grubs), from feminists who had been abused or were sick of dudes.


Trannies like *H, are the cancer that is killing trans. He had to go down.

*And LEXY.

Posted in gender identity disorder, gender politics | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 27 Comments

the dog that pooped, and other fine tails

as I started to tell in an earlier comment, i had a couple stories to share. i will post my field expediant jasmine aloe face, hand, and foot scrub on my other blog another time. for now, enjoy the story of The Dog That Pooped.

i was sitting enjoying a coffee with cinnamon, nutmug, and cocoa powder, at a small park, when a tiny dog like a dachshund came into my presence, about twelve feet away.

it then pooped. but only a tiny bit of poop landed on the ground. there was a giant poop stuck to his assshole.

well, the dog took a couple steps, felt his dingleberry dangling, and whipped in a semi-circle, to lick his ass.

unfortunately, the poor dog had a bad natural design for that technique. his head needed about three to five more inches of slack, to effortlessly clean his own butt.

so, in a futile effort to freshen up, he chased his assshole.

around. and around. and around.

like a dervish or a cyclone.

un-bela-eve-ably funny!

as he spun around and around, occasionally tiny pieces of his poopy bollus would fling off a foot or a yard, or more, away. not much. but his centrifugal force was impressive as the shit literally, flew off the fan rotating of his body.


the dog completely failed to lick its asshole.

he would stop after six to ten spin cycles, and try to walk a step or two. then he instantly felt his dangling dingle, again. and would promptly spin up like an engine, around and around and around. flinging another shard of poop during one his circumwhatevers

eventually, his owner came out of the shop with a coffee in his hand, to behold his best friend’s work of art on the sidewalk.

you have never seen a more solemn look on a man, as he set his coffee on a newspaper stand, and proceeded to clean up after his poor dog. first liberating the poop from the beast’s asshole, then rounding up the shitshards that were scattered to the winds all over.

trying to be sensitive, since he actually came out in time to see his dog during a spin cycle, i did my best not to laugh out loud.

my lips kept wriggling with a barely suppressed grin as i tried to join the man’s solemnity.

but after about a half a minute to a minute, i couldnt help myself, but busted up in peals of girly laughter that rang off the sidewalk, the cafe windows,

angel with a mean streak,

or nicestdemoneva


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welcome to Plastic Girl. a deliciously injurious punch in the nuts

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aliens and orion

Hey Gaiusz. in almost every movie about aliens, the earthers try to capture/experiment/kill the guest/vistor/explorer.

between 1975 and … now… there have been quite a few movies featuring aliens visiting and gmen killing them. or almost. like in the movie et. and all those movies where the alien is a female who can morph into centipedesjellyfishwhatever. she almost always dies…

sometimes the aliens flat out win like one movie with johnny depp and a space walk or mission that goes bad.

in most scifi spacefaring humans end up at total war with the aliens.

except in two.notable cases.

close encounters of the third kind where both usgov and the aliens roll out the carpet to try to be friends.

and in babylon5 where the Clark administration and psicorp ally with The Shadows bcuz the Shadows are clearly badass. and earthgov decides to aspire to be like them in exchange for a Krogan-style technological uplifting.

think about it.


i collect flowers, war knowledge and mind training.

Posted in Uncategorized | 5 Comments

one and three year anniversary

celebrating one year of continual blogging. and third year of posts since i started transhumanoid.

holy shit.

also. if i havent mentioned it already. this month marks my twenty year resurrection.

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Aegis of Mindwave

you know what hurt a bit about The Road? The Man’s wife and The Boy’s mother kills herself before Things bottom out. We see her remembering things like candlelight dinners at nice restaurants and going to the opera in a little black dress.

Stripped of her middletoupperclass life, she didnt want to go on. she didnt want to spend the rest of her life “outdoors”, and scavenge/forage/kill/steal for food and neccessities. what priviliged, pampered woman would?

but her husband, being a man, goes on the road and does the best he can after losing his lifestyle, his means, and his beloved, and tries to look after their child and teach him right from wrong.

it would be nice if someone would airdrop a leaflet that says i can finally come out of the woods and go home… as it were.

maybe i can still fix thiz…

Posted in Uncategorized | 8 Comments

Dr. Drew Show- Planet Fitness transgender locker room guy is a crossdresser who “gets a sexual high”


Zoey Tur is Gross. Planet Fitness is more interested in retaining male moneystream than in ensuring the safety of the females also moneystreaming into Planet Fitness.

Zoey is what we call a “female minstrel”. He minstrelizes girl-woman genderperformance like dresses and makeup and a few hand gestures, but regardless of his “self identity” or “self perception”, I only see a man in a dress, live-action role-playing a Tootsie-type woman, and poorly. Sorry about that.*

The second video is even better.

The blonde in the leather jacket? Female.
The dude with the grey short hair and glasses? Dude.
The woman in grey to his right, (viewer’s left). Female.
Dude wearing black and gold with blonde dye-job to cover grey hairs?
That simple.

I will NOT validate that man’s fetishistic delusion, and I am quite familiar with how psychiatry works, bela-eve-u-me.

I encourage all women to not fall to these men’s pornchan fantasies.




Tell them you will not agree with them, that they are women, and even more so, that they are not female. A woman is just what we call females that are grown up. More or less.

*GM can beat me if she’s mad that I reblogged her post.

Originally posted on GenderTrender:

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the story of creation

i know ive posted this vid a few times… but i love it resonatewisr.

this tune encompasses the story of creation in music.

from the void to the primal whiptailspiral exploding into the bigbang and all manifestation after.

i particularly love it bcz it teaches demonicelemental underverse and maiarangelic ringtonesong


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the lie of cisprivilege vs transgender

here is even more cisprivilege.

i register transhumanoid. i rebel against tstg groupthink. i have my own opinionZ. i read radical feminism. the tstg community stalks me.

a bunch of manlylooking computergeek dikgirls and some narcisstic formergayboyturned stepfordpornblowupbarbies, about a third of whom had a surgery that turned them into $20,0000 condoms for piv.



ypu couldnt even pass my intelligence test, nevermind sexandgender test, spirituality test…. lived experience.

i would look deeply into the windows to your soul… and you would look away. i know this… for a fact.

you are lost souls. shells. husks. barelky animate or sensate – when compared to me.

im not going to Mock or lol at you today over it tho. i cried. actually. this morning. when i woke up feeling alive and calm and clear.

i cried that sarahbrownstainz looks like an angry spazhead.

i cried that mock looks like me during my call girl days. dressupswisr.

i cried that serano is alienated by girlchat like, pregnancy.

i cried that dlt fuckng loves sexworkers. while dressing up as one.

i cried that sandeen became bipolar after transition. what a dream of rebirth you conceived, eh Sandeen?

i feel sorry for you tgs.

you cant convince urseflvsxs that ur female. bcuz you id as tg. but you expect the same spaces as females and to be treated as one, while you literally ape our superficial ways even as you lack our suffering, neurology, and feelings.

and then you Insist we credit you with our socialgendername, completely clueless that we dont percieve you as female.

then when we refuse to validate your dreamworldneo. . you stalk us, our employers, our families, obsessed with pcshaming us into publically gaslighting ourselves that you are one of us.

transition. fail.

and these same transition failures want a public and private social adjustment that goes like this:

1. brainscans for all babies. just in case one might be trans.

2. genetic tests for transgenes.

3. transgendered therapy or counseling for childten who break gender norms.

the idea, of course, being to socislly and medically transition a genderbending teen into the “proper” sex, in order to have guilt-free gender expression.

roughly translated as: if little TommyTimmyTony babez starts walking around in mummys 9west flats or doesnt want to play “boy sports” that means he’s twanz and send him to tyfa for stepfordization training and lupron.

and do this for every feminine dressupsloving gayboy so that in some fluffy future the transkids wont end up needing mandreajamz-level plastic surgery andor end up looking like alicecoopertwiztdtransistr.

until the future of unclockable privileged plasticgirls who got luprond at age 13, hrt’d at 16, and srsd at 18 becomes the face of trans actually happenz…

all men and women must suspend disbelief or perception of the alicecooperlooking trannies and validate them as real females.

basically, make it a thought crime or a pc crime to not agree with them that they are women.

and when they get stalkerific and rapetastic about your refusual to gender them according to their delusion…. dont call that maabtasticsm!

because they are just standing up and demanding their rights and identitydelusions be validated.

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Happy Friday the 13th

20 years since my life after death

on the third night of the full moon, i was outside sitting under the lunar sky. a hip, blonde, girly-girl came up to me around midnight, offered me a cigarette, a few hits from her medical mj, and she gave me a chocolate egg before she left.

it’s good to be girl-zoned.

moodswings, multicoloured mess, moon-craziness, the werks.

:) :) :)

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good bye

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