Carrie Prejean--and Exortation to Women and a Rebuke to the Church

(This was originally written in April, 2009, but in light of the newest scandal involving Carrie Prejean, I think it fitting to publish it again. Let the tree be judged by its fruit.)

A woman stands nearly naked before many spectators, so that a homosexual, among others, can judge her “beauty” by the world’s false standards. She then says homosexual marriage is wrong. My sister in Christ? Not necessarily—let’s judge righteous judgment.

Since when do Christians go to the world to parade their dying flesh about on a stage, encouraging men to lust, and young women to covet, admire, and imitate what is evil?

Since when do whorish women become the heroes of Christendom?

Since when do we applaud and congratulate women—who are presently and unashamedly disobeying God’s will for women—for “defending the faith,” rather than rebuking them in love, and showing them the things that please the Father?

Has the church of Jesus Christ sunk so low? Is there no discernible difference between what is good and evil anymore? “Her priests have violated my law, and have profaned mine holy things: they have put no difference between the holy and profane, neither have they shewed difference between the unclean and the clean…” (Ezekiel 2:26)

Is Carrie Prejean a defender of the faith? Well, that depends. Are we talking about the faith of Jesus? Or some other faith that is rooted in tradition and personal opinion? Here are Carrie’s words:

“Well, I think it’s *great* that Americans are able to choose one or the other. We live in a land where you can choose same-sex marriage or opposite marriage. And you know what, in my country, in my family, I *think* that I believe that a marriage should be between a man and a woman. No offense to anyone out there, but that’s how I was raised, and that’s how I think it should be between a man and a woman.”

So according to Carrie, it’s just wonderful that Americans get to choose if they want to marry the same sex or the opposite sex! And she means no offense, but she was RAISED to believe marriage is between a man and a woman.

Let me remind those who love God’s Word that homosexuality is not something we “can choose” or not choose without consequence. It is a judgment of insanity sent by God on those who worship the created being (like those who watch beauty pageants, for example) more than the Creator (Romans 1). It is also a one way ticket to damnation (I Cor. 6:9-10) unless the homosexual repents and turns to Jesus Christ in faith.

Any good Muslim, Jehovah’s Witness, or Catholic could have given the answer Carrie gave!

Carrie was apparently raised to believe in biblical marriage, but not raised to believe in biblical modesty. Her traditional Christianity allows her to cherry pick her truths according to her own desires. Her opinion is that marriage should be between a man and a woman. Her opinion is also (apparently) that women who profess to be Christ’s do not have to turn away from the sin of immorality, and cover their bodies modestly as befits a Christian. She has apparently decided to avoid these Scriptures:

“In like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with broided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array; But (which becometh women professing godliness) with good works.” (I Tim. 2:9-10)

Too bad the deceived are so busy giving this misguided woman applause, and not busy helping her to see the error of her ways. It’s pretty hard to stand up for Jesus with no clothes on, ladies. Get with Jesus a little while, and He will make this very plain to you.

A harlot is known by her dress, which is worn to purposely ensnare men (Proverbs 7:10). So please spare me the “people have differing views of what modesty is” line, which is an unacceptable excuse being used to justify the wicked. Please don’t write me and tell me that bikinis are acceptable public clothing for Christian women, unless you are willing to wear your underwear to church this Sunday or to your next Bible study. The presence of water does not baptize harlotry and make it acceptable! Even in cultures that instinctively wear more clothing than Americans, a harlot is known by her choice of clothing. Also, please notice in Proverbs chapter 7, that the harlot can be very religious and have a “form” of godliness; but by her dressing to entice unstable souls, she proves herself a spiritual murderer—”yea, many strong men have been slain by her.” If the strong men need beware, what will happen to the weak men?

As a Christian, our first commandment is to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength. Pretty hard to do while we are wowing the crowds with our flesh, isn’t it? My friends, NO FLESH should glory in His presence! (I Cor. 1:29) That’s pretty clear, isn’t it? We are either sowing to please our flesh, or sowing to please the Spirit. We are not doing both at the same time.

The second commandment is to love our neighbor as ourselves. Are we (ladies) loving men when we strut about half covered in front of them? Are we not concerned about their eternal souls? Are we not concerned about our own? Are we concerned about their wives and their daughters? Or are we only concerned with climbing some ladder of vain self-importance in the eyes of this idolatrous world? Do we think we can play the harlot and escape the wrath of God?

There is a reason God COVERED Adam and Eve’s nakedness when they became sinners. There is a reason we will not return to the “naked state” even in heaven. We will be fully clothed. There is a reason He threatened idolatrous Israel with “uncovering her nakedness.” There is a reason that many pagan tribes that turn to Christ suddenly decide to wear clothes. And there is a reason Americans, who run after idols—like “beauty” queens—have a love affair with nakedness. And there is a reason the professing church doesn’t rebuke this wickedness, but instead praises it, displaying its own hypocrisy for all the world to see. She knows not that she is “wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked;” and that she needs to go to Jesus to receive “white raiment, that thou mayest be clothed, and that the shame of thy nakedness do not appear.” (Rev. 3:17-18)

I can no more commend Carrie Prejean for standing by her opinion, than I can commend Perez Hilton for standing by his. To do so would be hypocritical. The only opinion that matters is God’s “opinion.” Woe is me if I train my children to reject homosexuality, but to at the same time embrace the immoral behavior of the religious prostitute!

Please hear me: I am not trying to hurt Carrie Prejean. IF she wants to follow Christ, let her “that nameth the name of Christ depart from iniquity.” (2 Tim. 2:19) Let her ask the LORD how she can make her body a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to Him. Let her seek out older women of faith who will show her a more excellent way. Let them teach her not to glory in her flesh, which is a fading flower, but to “let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.” (I Pet. 3:4)

I lay the blame for this hypocrisy at the feet of the church, which has no discernment to see that this woman is hell-bound unless she repents of her idolatry and wanton, fleshly ways. Dare we make a hero out of a person who is so blindly leading others into sin? All this little charade between Carrie and Perez does is further blur the line between good and evil. Homosexuality=Bad, Promiscuity=OK? NO! Both ways lead to death!

Carrie Prejean has become a facebook hero for her stand against homosexuality. I have an unsaved close relative who also believes men should not marry men. Does this make him a hero? No, my friends. The unsaved judge unrighteous judgment. They have their OWN standard of right and wrong. They might think pornography is OK, but rape is wrong. They think drunkenness is OK, but getting high on drugs is wrong. And they think homosexuality is wrong, but immodesty and lifting oneself up as an idol to be worshiped by lust-driven crowds is OK.

If Carrie wants to be taken seriously as a Christian, she needs to obey Christ and his Word by turning from her OWN wickedness, dressing herself as befits a woman professing godliness, and standing up for what GOD thinks, ACROSS THE BOARD.

And if the church wants to be taken seriously by people like Perez Hilton, it needs to stop being so hypocritical and blind. It needs to go to Jesus for some eye medicine. It also needs to stop strengthening the hands of those who do evil, like Carrie Prejean, so that she will repent and follow after righteousness.

“I have seen also in the prophets of Jerusalem an horrible thing: they commit adultery, and walk in lies: they strengthen also the hands of evildoers, that none doth return from his wickedness; they are all of them unto me as Sodom, and the inhabitants thereof as Gomorrah.” Jeremiah 23:14

“But now I have written unto you not to keep company, if any man that is called a brother (or sister) be a fornicator, or covetous, or an idolator, or a railer, or a drunkard, or an extortioner; with such an one no not to eat. For what have I to do to judge them also that are without? do not ye judge them that are within? But them that are without God judgeth. Therefore put away from among yourselves that wicked person.” I Cor 5: 1-13

[Via http://israeliteindeed.wordpress.com]

Going Lesbian isn't Going to Mend Your Bitter Heart

Not only are you women who decide to go Lesbian/Bi-sexual because some man broke your heart impostors but you’re stupid as well. Running into a woman’s arm because you’re probably the reason why he left you isn’t going to make you feel better to the least. You’re being laughed at heterosexual and homosexual women alike.

If you aren’t naturally attracted to females you’re a hoax, an idiot if you will. It pisses me off for a female to tell me that they’re trying females out because some man cheated on them with her best friend. Honestly, check the company you keep don’t go running to a chick like things will get better. Women cheat as well and they are in fact more conniving and drama driven; I should know, majority of my family are females.

You’re really stupid telling someone you’re bitter towards all men because of one fuck-up. If you think you’re getting back at all men because of one fuck-up by going Lesbian then you’re pathetic. Go ahead and try to convince yourself that a woman is what you want and you’ll be sadly mistaken.

The hypocrisy of it all is getting a lesbian that dresses and act like a dude. I honestly had to laugh at that. Getting a woman that wants to be a man isn’t doing anything for your self-esteem.  You’re not being true to yourself getting yourself involved in something that you have no experience in all because of some man kicked you in the twat. I’ll never understand why a woman would go from straight to lesbian in 2.2 nano seconds because of a man. Remember what you’re getting yourself into; they bleed once/twice a month just like you do. Unless they went that far and got a sex change; then again, is that even possible yet?

Its a bunch of hypocritical shit going on with lesbianism. Especially those that get sex changes. Its not those that get the sex changes its the ones that fancy themselves with someone who has gotten a sex change. My point is, why leave a real dick for a fake one? It goes in the same hole(s). Okay I’m done, I’m getting sick to my stomach.

[Via http://asilee.com]

Jenna Jameson lesbian video Last Girl Standing

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[Via http://toysforwomen.wordpress.com]

Schrodinger’s Computer

Docksiders

Helen began lecturing at Generika U, in their brand new shiny Gender Faculty.  She was well liked by her students and the apartment was frequently full of youngsters, hanging on to Helen’s every word.

Sam and Veto were keeping an eye on their friends’ data.  Cyberspace, meanwhile, had become everybody’s playground.  Three dimensional solidity sent artists, architects and so on wild.  It was damn near impossible to tell the difference between a game and a military battle and both of those things were taking place in there, out there, at any given moment.  Technology had managed to reproduce the world with an accuracy that frightened some people and reassured others.  Instead of talking about moving to outer space, people made real plans to move into cyberspace.  The entire cryogenics industry failed almost overnight.

It became increasingly unpopular to speak out against the shift into cyberspace, but there was a hardcore and vocal core protesting it – the same breed who’d camped out at Greenham Common, who’d crewed the Sea Shepherd, who yelled peace at warmongers and later, picketed Coldplay concerts and Oxfam shops with placards reading, “Not in my name!”  It was the sector that didn’t believe in any kind of control or colonisation, of anything, by anyone.  It wasn’t a fashionable stance, this movement against the controlling whole of society and back to the individual, to smaller communities.  Scar watched it with great interest and decided it was very probably doomed to fail.

The world’s major cities went online en masse and it became impossible to do certain things, talk to certain people, get all kinds of stuff done, unless you went online.  People still lived out there, far from cities, with no net access at all, but nobody cared about their opinions, the media didn’t represent them any more than their governments did.  Another passionate movement sprang up, one dedicated to getting everyone, everywhere online.  Equal Tech for all, was their catchphrase.  Scar had a feeling they would fail too, that there would always be outsiders, by circumstance or choice.  The Not-in-My-Namers protested them too, dubbing them the Neo-Oxfammers.

Technology rolled on like a Katamari game, picking up everything it could as it rolled through society.  It was easy to get people to conform and go online.  Online had always been fun, far beyond its usefulness.  Having recreated a huge chunk of itself online, of course society needed its needs met offline in the meantime.  If they’d made the choice to morph completely, they needed their bodies wound down correctly while every other aspect of them uploaded.  Medical staff made a fortune out of that.

Restaurants began to go bust as their clientele oozed off smoothly and stylishly into cyberspace.  The pressure on transport decreased … you get the picture; everything changed.

Schrodinger’s Computer

Then the Not-in-My-Namers started blowing up power stations.  It was a massively successful form of resistance, because even though online data didn’t seem to have been affected or lost, the notion of a permanent blackout terrified the technophiles.  Global screenfeeds played interviews with those online “survivors” after the power cuts and philosophical debates around Schrodinger’s Cat were hauled out of universities and aired once again.

Scar, with her port completely healed over and offline since her trip to Japan, watched all of it with growing consternation.  Her own choice was very simple; shift permanently into cyberspace, or remain perfectly offline.  By then, Sam and Veto spent most of their time online, with enough offline systems in place to facilitate that without destroying them offline.  Tokyo didn’t experience power outages, their tech all seemed invincible, indestructible.

Helen’s lectures went completely online, her class huge and global; student visitors to the loft tailed off gradually and then stopped altogether.

Down at Graff, the Jesus Lizard was still king, one of the few street artists who hadn’t made the jump into spraying cyberspace instead.  Scar started hanging out there again, spraying sigils and eights, getting to know the subculture again.  “Not in my name” became a ubiquitous tag; artists getting that up on billboards and walls using paint and light, geeks joining in to create locative art, jamming frequencies so that you’d see their work on almost any feed they hacked.

Power outages became routine in Generika – if you were online when the juice went off, you stayed online until it came back on again.  The whole thing just replaced earlier commuter transport problems, had anything really changed?  When Helen got stuck online, Scar would hover anxiously, checking her hydration, her bodily functions, monitoring readouts like a nurse.  You sort of expected things to malfunction in Africa though, but when they blacked out New York for an entire day, the world paid more attention.

Nothing had freaked out America quite so much since 9/11 and even though it didn’t dominate world economy and media as much as Japan and China did, America still loomed large on global horizons.  People began to panic.

Give the Consumers What They Want

Drug companies survived the shift just fine, by synthesising new products to support bodies while minds were online, to increase alertness – you name it, they made something to fix it or improve it.  Supposedly.  Psychiatry journals reported a sharp increase in Bipolar Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Attention Deficit Disorder – Scar presumed society was merely suffering collective netsplit.  Stress levels exploded as people handled entire lives on and offline.

At first, outcasts had escaped online and felt free.  As the one plane echoed the other more and more, it didn’t feel quite as free any longer.  Replication seemed complete – society had constructed a giant virus.

The Neo-Oxfammers kept connecting rural communities, the Not-in-My-Namers kept blowing things up.  They also campaigned online, trying to lure people offline again.  Despite the extremes, there seemed to be enough money somehow, to ensure that both “worlds” were sustained.

You Can’t Save the World

Seti didn’t work offline at all anymore.  She coded and cloned genderno figures, animating them and unleashing them into cyberspace to attempt to make their presence felt amidst the rest of the line noise.  It backfired badly.  Cyberspace was only limited to the technology behind it and while an eventual crash seemed as inevitable as the sun’s implosion, everyone felt they probably had five billion years left and nobody worried very much at all.  Seti’s creatures just got lost in it all, ignored or deleted by anyone who didn’t like them.

The city streets had grown quieter with the shift and then began to fill again as outliers drifted in to fill the gaps left by the migration.

Samanth0r: they’re dying

Helen: who?

Samanth0r: migrants. anyone in cyberspace without paid space or their own server, they’re letting them fade

Helen: who is??

Samanth0r: corporates man, who else?

Helen: so no money, no sponsorship, no immortality?

Samanth0r: exactleh.

Helen: how’d you know?

Samanth0r: check out insecure, it’s growing. gotta flip, but we’ll talk soon

Scar and Helen sat in front of the good old fashioned, flatscreen, one dimensional web that night and logged on to insecure.org; what they read wasn’t reassuring in the slightest.  There were lists as long as military fatalities records there and an example of how onliners were fading back into raw data.  Helen got to work on filtering the list, trying to spot trends and it didn’t take her long to pinpoint a particularly disturbing one.  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” she muttered and Scar looked over her shoulder at the spreadsheet.  “Shit!” she agreed.  “Whether this is a disease,” said Helen, “or whether it’s something contrived, this pattern’s terrifying.”

The list consisted of:

•    people with criminal records

•    people under a certain income level

•    people with registered psychiatric problems

•    transgenders

•    intersexed people

•    queers

“Freaking out will not help,” said Helen, as Scar hit the roof, “we have to talk to Sam again, we have to work this out.”  Scar could only agree with her, but she felt as if her brain was trying to claw its way out of her skull.  Helen uploaded her spreadsheet to insecure – responses were rapid and angry.  Other people had analysed the stats with slightly different results, but only slightly.  Whichever angle you looked from, the consequences were dire.

Hackers were working on recovering data, restoring the deleted souls, but of course, there was no chance of getting anybody back out of cyberspace once they’d made a complete shift from their body.  You can’t, as they say, get toothpaste back into the tube.

The Following Actions Make Boring Television

Helen: you looked at insecure lately?

Samanth0r: yup

Helen: any ideas?

Samanth0r: sent the info round like a virus, what else can we do?

Helen: can you guys code any protection against whatever it is?

Samanth0r: it’s not a virus, it’s the environment – it’s hard to explain.  insecure d00ds trying to code safe space, but everything keeps shifting, it’s just … putting  out fires, you know? fact is, nothing’s the same anymore

Helen: no solution then?!?!

Samanth0r: *shrug* ppl have to start looking after themselves hey. all we can do really is spread the info.

Helen: ok …

Human rights organizations picked up on the info pretty quickly and little pockets of outrage appeared.  It’d be nice to imagine a global outcry, but let’s be honest, on the whole, people are busy surviving and the same old people always make a fuss, get involved.

And the more things change, the more they stay the same, thought Scar – but what can you do?  You just have to keep trying anyway.

Charmageddon got a whole lot livelier again, the online threat drawing the community together offline.  Scar found herself there more than usual too, talking and listening.  The Queer Control panel got a whole new lease of life too, doing whatever it could to keep its members safe.

Aluta Continua

If you’re finding it hard to believe that everything so far happened in less than a year, just think about how fast your emails fly around and how often you see new cellphone models appear.  Technology’s insanely fast; human beings – not so much.

Samanth0r: there’s a way, for some at least – Generika for one

Helen: tell!

Samanth0r: same answer lol, the TECH!

Helen: the tech?

Samanth0r: the tech. if enough of generika’s net base is still queer owned …

Helen: genius!

Samanth0r: everybody just got soft yo, forgot how to fight

Helen: it’s be *so* good to be allowed to forget!

Samanth0r: yeh … ppl are fuckwits tho.

The revolution was not televised.  It wasn’t even a complete solution, but some well placed communications to the right people, in the right places, did at least ensure the withdrawal of whatever Generika’s unstated participation in the online genocide was, as well as boosting the stream of refugees to the city.

I’m starting to loathe this “novel” completely – not only does most of it seem unbelievable to me when I read it back, not to mention unbelievably badly written, but I just can’t seem to find a big enough happy ending.  I don’t even know what the hell the end should be.  “And they all kept processing oxygen ever after.”  I’m vaguely back on target for the NaNo thing, but I am ready to chuck in the towel.

One of the casualties of the genocide, was Seti, who’d migrated online early, sent forth her genderno people and then quickly vanished without very many people noticing at all.  The image of her and that of her genderno had become interchangeable already.  Scar sometimes wondered if anyone else at all but her missed Seti the human being.  She’d have been pleased with how her art lived on though.  Even with some people deleting the figures as if they were a virus or a screensaver they’d fallen out of love with, that image had become iconic and hopefully somebody would always remember who started it all.

“Write it down, Scar,” said Ginger, “just write it all down.”

Nevada had repealed the Queer Marriage Act, yet again and Sam and Veto had lost faith in America entirely.  Scar and Helen assumed they’d get married in Japan, but they were in for a good surprise – Sam was coming home to get married.  She and Veto were still heroes in Generika – and South Africa, having renewed Mandela’s constitution, was once again the dichotomous place where you could very well end up murdered for being queer, but where the murder was at least illegal.

A magistrate would do the legal rites, then they and a few hundred close personal friends and no doubt some media too, would head out to the old naval base to celebrate on a grounded warship.  “Only those two,” said Scar, shaking her head and Helen grinned, “Of course – they need a weapons-grade wedding!”

[Via http://scarthedyke.wordpress.com]

Puerto Rico: Hate Crime Against Gay Teenager Causes Outrage

Nineteen year-old Jorge Steven Mercado dreamed about working in the fashion industry. He was also a volunteer in organizations advocating for HIV prevention and gay rights. But, last week his body was found dismembered, decapitated, and partially burned, in a rural area in Guavate, Cayey, Puerto Rico. Activists from the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) community in Puerto Rico immediately described this brutal slaying  as a hate crime. Not a single crime has been processed under the Puerto Rican Hate Crime Law since it was approved in 2002. Penalties are higher if the Hate Crime Law is applied.

Days after the murder, 26 year-old Juan Martínez Matos confessed. According to local news reports, Martínez Matos said he went looking for a prostitute in the streets of Caguas, Puerto Rico, when Steven approached him. Martínez Matos said he “didn’t know” Steven Mercado was a man until they arrived at his apartment in an another town (the victim was allegedly dressed as a woman). Gay activists Ada Conde and Pedro Julio Serrano have publicly stated that the sector where Steven Mercado was picked up is mostly frequented by transsexual and transvestite men. Martínez Matos said he killed Steven in “self defense” after they got into a fight. He then mutilated his body, and left it in a desolated area miles away from his house. Martínez Matos also stated he hated homosexuals because he had been raped when he was in jail for committing domestic violence.

Gay activists were outraged when the police officer in charge of the investigation said: “Someone like that, who does those kind of things, and goes out in public, knows full well that this might happen to him.” They have demanded the officer’s immediate removal from the case. Martínez Matos has been charged with murder and bail was set at $4 million USD.

Since Puerto Rico is a United States territory, federal laws apply. Two Puerto Rican United States Congress Members from New York have asked for this crime to be prosecuted under new federal hate crimes laws. The Federal Investigations Bureau (FBI) is monitoring the investigation. In the 1980s the serial murderer Ángel Colón Maldonado, known as the “Angel of the Bachelors”, killed 27 homosexuals in the Island. Recently, gay actvists have also warned about another murder against a gay man in San Juan, the country’s capital.

Bloggers have reacted to this terrible crime. The human rights actvists and spokesperson of the LGBT organization Puerto Rico para Tod@s (Puerto Rico for Everyone), Pedro Julio Serrano [ES], condemned the religious leaders’ and the politicians’ silence:

We are before one of the most horrendous murders committed in the history of this country, therefore the silence of political and religious leaders is even more shameful. They should feel embarrassed for not expressing their solidarity with Jorge Steven’s family and friends. They should feel embarrassed for not expressing solidarity with the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) community for the hatred that this crime has produced. They should feel embarrassed for not condemning the police officer in charge of the investigation. They should feel embarrassed for having forgotten their constitutional duty of defending equality for every human being.

This Sunday there will be a vigil in New York City in remembrance of Jorge Steven Mercado.

[Via http://nealbinnyc.wordpress.com]

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The Ali Forney Center houses gay and lesbian youths who are homeless.

As the visibility of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) people grows in our society, more and more LGBT teens are finding the courage to come out of the closet. Tragically, as many as 25% of these teens are rejected by their families, and many end up homeless on the streets.

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Hacking the Phobes

godhatesfags.com seemed to have been online forever; the good old Westboro Church, preaching hellfire and damnation to ho-mo-seeex-u-als with a blank and benevolent smile and less than no willingness to listen to anybody but each other and their prophet, no matter what.  For a while, a site called fagshategod.com existed to bait it, Louis Theroux spent time trying to talk sense to them … you name it.

The moment it hit the Tokyo Two’s radar and gaydar, they were incensed.  They spent months on the project and then one weekend, they hit it hard.  One of the many global hacker orgs launched a denial of service attack that hackers still talk about.  For a while, the site was covered in hippy style peace and love flowers and “God Loves Fags” sprayed all over it.  Their coup de grace though, was getting hold of the church’s stunningly huge mailing list and sending out the following mailshot, right from the church’s very own holy server:

Brethren and Sistren and all those who maybe don’t quite fit in … ren,

As I was partaking of my customary cornflakes and chitlins this morning, the Lord – THE Lord, appeared to me with His whole holy heavenly host behind Him and He spake thus to Me … er, I mean me,  “Thou shalt not, under any circumstances, no how, definitely not And I Really, Really Mean This, continue with your crusade of hatred against my most beloved and precious fags.  Thee and thine, all thy brethren, sistren and children (and if they are still alive, your mothren and fathren too) shall henceforth cease and desist in this shameful behaviour.  And furthermore, I apologise for all that bullshit I wrote in Leviticus.

Go forth and join other churches, for the Westboro Church is now strictly and for all eternity, a non-prophet organization.

Yours Sincerely, etc.

Texas eliminates marriage for everyone

From Google Images.

The Miami Herald is reporting that a technicality in the wording of the Texas Defense of Marriage Act may actually ban all marriages, not just those pesky homo ones.

In the state constitutional amendment it states, “Marriage in this state shall consist only of the union of one man and one woman.”

But the huge issue is in following statement meant to block civil unions and domestic partnerships: “This state or a political subdivision of this state may not create or recognize any legal status identical or similar to marriage.”

“You do not have to have a fancy law degree to read this and understand what it plainly says,” said Barbara Ann Radnofsky, a Houston lawyer and Democratic candidate for attorney general. She also said the language effectively “eliminates marriage in Texas.”

Of course this language will not result in an overnight cancellation of all marriages in Texas, it is still quite hilarious. It seems that whomever wrote the Texas DOMA amendment was so worried about gays finding some sort of equality in civil unions or domestic partnerships that they accidentally eliminated marriage for everyone. Talk about irony.

Cue the cynical laughter.

I am not a vegetarian

Sometimes it’s best just to dive on in.  I don’t like to say I’m a lesbian, because that is a noun and I don’t feel like I’m a noun.  My sexuality is not my entire being, it is a small but significant part of me.  Significant because other people make it so.

When labels are called for, I tend to opt for gay, maybe queer chick.  Not that I feel particularly queer, it’s just a slightly funkier word.

People try to tell me that it’s easier to come out now than it used to be.  Well, for me it is, because for the last (cough) years I’ve been coming out nearly every day, so yeah, it’s not that much of an effort.  It’s going to be different for everyone, but for me, the biggest step was shedding my own assumption of heterosexuality and all its attendant expectations.

Why is coming out so hard?  Internalised homophobia is a powerful force.  It is the dark little voice in our heads telling us we are somehow flawed, imperfect, deviant, queer.  Other.  Ugly.  Weak.  The social constructs of gay, lesbian, bisexual, are wrapped up in stereotypes and assumptions.  Is this me?  Do I sign up for this?  Am I really like that?  Can I change my mind?

It’s little things, like how do you know you’re a lesbian if you don’t have a girlfriend but I didn’t raise you to be like that and what about children.  Not being able to get a phone account in both our names.

It’s big things, like getting heckled, harassed, beaten up.  Not getting that job. Being kicked out of home.  Not being able to get married or adopt a child.  People counting us as less, trying to prove us wrong.

I was in the army reserves for a while, and I kept my mouth shut.  I segregated that part of my life from all the rest.  I never spoke about my partner, my work, I ducked through the personal pronouns.  I avoided the girls and I let the boys down gently.  I lied.  That’s no basis for friendship.  When I finally came clean, my friends were hurt that I hadn’t trusted them.

Of course, it’s not my friends who are the problem.  Most people catch on after a while that I’m no different.  It’s the jerks who think I’m there for their sexual titillation, that it’s a phase, that I need converting, or that I should be kept away from their kids. They are the problem.

I can understand not coming out.  It’s not easy and it’s not always safe.  And I know in this big boy’s world of medicine it’s not going to always win me fans.

I just think not taking the risk, not trusting that someone will be there to catch you, not believing that people can love you for who you are… I just think it’s sad. That’s all.

The Adopted One

Three sisters were lost in Antarctica. Cold, alone and hungry. The youngest of all, Jeleus was only 18. She was adopted and this was her 18th birthday. Her gift was to go hiking, but they ended up getting lost. The two other sisters, Lana and Dana were blood relatives, twins to be exact were both 22.

They hiked into a cave and lit a lantern that had been part of an emergency kit. The youngest off all had gotten terribly pale and frozen looking. Lana and Dana thought nothing of it as they put the lantern out and retired to the piles they made on the floor and went to sleep.

Jeleus stayed awake. Her body was soar and she could see everything clearly. There were other people in the cave. People that were not there when the lights were on. They watched her as though they were afraid. There had to be about twelve people in there. They were all leaning against the walls shivering. The hairs on her arms and neck stood up.

“Who are you?” She spoke but no one answered. They just looked at each other, then back at her. Her stomach had began to make the most unbearable noises and the people that aligned the walls threw their hands over their ears and began to scream a piercing scream, causing her too, to cover her ears, but the noise was coming through and tearing away at the tissues and skin of her hands.

Jeleus examined her hands in fear and started to scream even louder. She attempted to wake Dana but was unsuccessful. She had gotten so angry from her non-responsive sister that she grabbed Dana’s hair and yanked it, detaching her entire head. The screaming stopped. Her palms were missing. And she was still angry. Rage had taken over her. On the inside, she wanted so badly to stop herself but the good in her wasn’t strong enough.

She looked around at all of the frightened figures and took a bite out of Dana’s head. Lana, fast asleep, had no idea what was taking place.

There wasn’t quite enough meat on the head for Jeleus so she dismembered the entire body and ate away at it starting with the arms. She licked her lips and sucked the bones.

Finishing the entire body, she crawled up in the spot Dana previously laid and now the blood was splattered. She was full and satisfied.

When Lana woke up the next morning, she looked around the room for Dana, who was missing. Out of panic, she reached and turned Jeleus over and spotted the blood around her mouth, down her neck and bones Jeleus had been cradling fell out of her arms. Lana began to scream and pushed Jeleus away from her.

Jeleus hit the cave wall, her head with more force than the rest of her body, splattered.  Lana scrabbled out of the cave and back into snowy nowhere, hoping to get home before dark.

 

Three sisters were lost in Antarctica. Cold, alone and hungry. The youngest of all, Jeleus was only 18. She was adopted and this was her 18th birthday. Her gift was to go hiking, but they ended up getting lost. The two other sisters, Lana and Dana were blood relatives, twins to be exact were both 22.

They hiked into a cave and lit a lantern that had been part of an emergency kit. The youngest off all had gotten terribly pale and frozen looking. Lana and Dana thought nothing of it as they put the lantern out and retired to the piles they made on the floor and went to sleep.

Jeleus stayed awake. Her body was soar and she could see everything clearly. There were other people in the cave. People that were not there when the lights were on. They watched her as though they were afraid. There had to be about twelve people in there. They were all leaning against the walls shivering. The hairs on her arms and neck stood up.

“Who are you?” She spoke but no one answered. They just looked at each other, then back at her. Her stomach had began to make the most unbearable noises and the people that aligned the walls threw their hands over their ears and began to scream a piercing scream, causing her too, to cover her ears, but the noise was coming through and tearing away at the tissues and skin of her hands.

Jeleus examined her hands in fear and started to scream even louder. She attempted to wake Dana but was unsuccessful. She had gotten so angry from her non-responsive sister that she grabbed Dana’s hair and yanked it, detaching her entire head. The screaming stopped. Her palms were missing. And she was still angry. Rage had taken over her. On the inside, she wanted so badly to stop herself but the good in her wasn’t strong enough.

She looked around at all of the frightened figures and took a bite out of Dana’s head. Lana, fast asleep, had no idea what was taking place.

There wasn’t quite enough meat on the head for Jeleus so she dismembered the entire body and ate away at it starting with the arms. She licked her lips and sucked the bones.

Finishing the entire body, she crawled up in the spot Dana previously laid and now the blood was splattered. She was full and satisfied.

When Lana woke up the next morning, she looked around the room for Dana, who was missing. Out of panic, she reached and turned Jeleus over and spotted the blood around her mouth, down her neck and bones Jeleus had been cradling fell out of her arms. Lana began to scream and pushed Jeleus away from her.

Jeleus hit the cave wall, her head with more force than the rest of her body, splattered.  Lana scrabbled out of the cave and back into snowy nowhere, hoping to get home before dark.

Don't miss "Oh Sweet Melissa" ride at the park

When I get ready to go to an amusment park these days, I have everything I need in a bag, with special accessories. a few snacks and lots of water.  Too bad I can’t pack what I had as a little kid.  It isn’t the same thrill as it was back then.  I used to get so hyped up on anticipation of “the best day of my life” that I dreamed would come in the morning.  I think I found the adult version of this same feeling…  It’s Sweet Melissa.

I’m not going to have to wait in line, no ticket and I get to ride over and over.  The thrill is back and NO, I coulnd’t sleep last night.  She invited me to her office today by asking me while I had quickly thrown her on my bed, fully clothed and hoped ontop of her for a little kiss and choke.  We didn’t have time, as we never have, to do more than make out.  I’m sick of this teasing, I want her body now.  I was scared at first and would run away, and she would chase… Now it has reversed, but I wont be so coy and let her run away from me.  I will go into her office, trying to play it cool in case she has clients, and trying to not fall to my knees begging or eatting.  She told me to wear my black and cream 40’s style secretary dress and red heels to match the red lipstick she requested.  “Bring a ruler” she said before she left my room last night.  She smiled back at me with her sexy impish smile, hidden a little bit by her blond hair  falling in her face.  She brushed it back and grabed me for a kiss with her perfectly plump lips that I want to mold into a sex toy and sell for millions.  She is so fucking sexy, I don’t doubt everyone wants to bed her.

I packed my bag with the necsessities, like a dildo, some KY jelly (for some body slime fun), and a camera and tri-pod.   Everythign needed for my adult theme park adventure.  More of the excitement is not knowing if she is going to take charge or am I.  I will sharpen her pencils, type up her memos or answer phones… or get on my hands and knees for her…  what ever she asks.  If she asks nothing, I am going to grab her by her hair and force her to her knees.  I am going to dominate her like she has never been.  She will love to be forced into submission to me and we will make love with each other in a vulgar and “Sweet Melissa” way.  Then I will make out with her pussy, sucking on her clit and eat her ass in between the spanks.

Oh. Sweet Melissa I can’t wait to go on your ride.  Just 2 more hours.  Getting ready now. 

I will have some pics to add to my other blog for you readers to see.  Gotta be a little sweeter on this blog.

We’re All Meat Puppets After All

Sometimes I prefer cyberspace to meatspace.  After I finished writing that little lot, I logged on, found my girlfriend and got her to read it.  I asked her if I’d written a jazzy rollercoaster – that’s what André Brink said about Moxyland, after all.  “No,” she said, much to my disappointment, “it is like reading about another country that is fascinating, that you feel you ought to know about and are a bit embarrassed, because you don’t.”  I’m not sure what that means, but the addition of the comment enhances the whole meta thing, don’t you think?  Now it’s interactive too.  So hip.  So postmodern.  Plus, it bumps up the word count a little without me having to write and gets the thing proof-read at the same time.  Win!

Scar felt just a little foolish seeing the photo.  She’d probably ridden past Java Divers Coffee Shop on Main like, about a billion times, without taking any notice of it at all.  Well, it was a Hetero Hangout and if she’d walked in through the front door, her whole appearance, never mind the pink triangle, would have alerted Security to an unwanted Queer presence and she’d have been ushered out, possibly with a cattle-prod.  Was the shop just a front, or an unwitting and unwilling accomplice?  Bizarre to think that at least in theory, Scar’s future would be full of places like that and devoid of places like Charmageddon.  She thought about her brave and beautiful tribe and felt a wave of pure sadness.  Justice is for winners; whoever said that was spot on.

Still no joy with Troy’s posts, they still all seemed to be all about coffee – no subtext.  Or did they change the code when a new batch infiltrated, to maintain cover?  If only Helen or Anders would stop being quite so freaking Het!

In fact, Helen and Anders seemed rampantly Hetero.  They strolled hand in hand, they sat with their knees touching and although their public displays of affection were never lewd, they formed a barrier Scar couldn’t get past.  Helen’s hair was growing more slowly than Scar’s mop, but it was far more femme; she had that whole sleek and gamine raven’s wing bob thing going on.  Scar wondered how a girl’s haircut got a boy’s name anyway.  Helen had a mannish way of walking, but a decidedly feminine way of doing everything else and Scar found she was spending more and more time gazing at her.  Anders was beautiful too and constantly attentive.  Scar would say howzit, the twosome would give her one serene smile and Scar would shuffle and retreat again.

She couldn’t even find Helen on Facebook.

Another night spent reading endless data about coffee.  No reply from the Empress, nothing new from Troy – nothing but bloody coffee.  More days spent smiling at Carrie and discussing possible jobs, hobbies, lives.  Scar felt like she was so damn deep undercover she’d never escape.

I signed this project up for NaNoWriMo too, as a way to stay motivated.  I think I started on the 9th of November, when everyone was supposed to have something like ten thousand words done already.  Will I catch up?  Who knows.

Staring despairingly at a small, white pill on yet another breakfast tray on yet another morning, Scar became aware of Maria hovering rather expectantly on the periphery.  “Here we are now,” said Scar to Maria, “entertain us.”  She had no clue why she’d said it.  Maria grinned suddenly, a smile like a sunrise.  She sat down opposite Scar and toasted her with her own little medication kit and cup.  “What a drag it is getting up,” she said.  Scar laughed and the day began.

She wondered if she knew Maria from Charmageddon maybe.  She wondered why she didn’t recognise anyone in the clinic.  She wondered where the fuck the revolution was anyway.

I found out later that there were more clinics – I just didn’t know how extensive the operation was at the time.  So of course what they did was split Queers up on a geographical basis.  People I knew were indeed getting deprogrammed at the same time as I was, some of them right there in Generika City.  Meantime, there I was, stuck and going rapidly batshit.

Scar found her mood lifting slowly, imperceptibly and she assumed it was due to the pills, until she found herself gazing with even more intensity than usual at Helen one day.  She hauled her emotions out, picked through them and diagnosed a big, fat crush.  Unrequited – the purest kind.  That face, framed by that hair … that smile … the way the muscles of her ass still showed under those skirts … yup, Scar was officially Helen-struck.

“China, you wanna maybe slap on your shades when you’re doing that,” said Maria at breakfast one morning.  “What?” squeaked Scar and Maria rolled her eyes.  “Mooning about after Helen, man – it’s lank obvious and you know the rapists are gonna freak.”  The rapists, therapists; inspeak, clinicspeak.  Scar felt a blush race up her face and Maria grinned, “Lekker!  You can take the Queer outa the ghetto, but …”  Busted.

Thing was, Maria could have been a mole.  The Queer Quarter had been full of tales of spies and the Hetero Superstructure certainly had the time, the resources and the dedication.  Scar had a feeling she wasn’t going to be able to bluff her way out of it though.  She also had a feeling that Maria might very well be cool.  Fuck it, she thought to herself and grinned back.

You Can’t Take the Ghetto From the Queer

“Oh Maria, the hills may be alive with moles, but I don’t think I give a shit today,” said Scar, giving Maria a very direct and old fashioned sort of a look.  Maria laughed, tapped the side of her nose, winked and walked off.  Scar realised she was shaking, sweating and grinding her teeth gently.  Shit, shit shit, what if …?

Welcome, Siri!  You have [1] new message.
Click …
Java Divers has chosen YOU to receive a limited edition loyalty card, with a 10% discount on all FatMugs of house-blend served at Java Divers main branch this year!  Simply use the code JAV/7894 and enjoy your favourite coffee at 10% off!

Oh yeah, like she was going to get out of Queercatraz in a hurry.

Maria just waved from across the canteen the next day, Helen was in a huddle with Anders and so Scar just swallowed another pill, daydreamed Helen into a pair of ass-hugging jeans and wandered off to therapy.  Carrie seemed even perkier than usual, which put her on about the same level as a chipmunk on acid.  “Siri, you’re integrating so well, that the board has decided to give you a City pass-out!” she warbled.  Scar perked right up too.  It meant you could go on supervised and approved trips to venues in Generika, it meant she’d get to go breathe some decent pollution for a change and hang around places that weren’t goddamn pastel.  It meant that for a while at least, she would be under heightened scrutiny, but it meant some freedom too.

Anders didn’t seem especially enthralled to be assigned as Scar’s trusty the following Saturday, but Scar didn’t care.  Looking ruefully down at her shaved legs, she imagined the reactions down at Charmageddon – woooo check out the femme!  The clinic shuttle dropped them off on Main and Anders chose a table smack bang in the middle of the place.  There wouldn’t be any cosy conversation then.  He keyed in his order into the JavaPad on the table and raised two perfect eyebrows at Scar.  She asked for house-blend and he keyed that in, then muttered, “Gotta code?”  “Pardon?” asked Scar and Anders looked slightly impatient.  “Discount code, yo.” quoth he.  Scar fumbled it out of her (oh gods) handbag and handed it over.  Was she imagining it, or did Anders’ left eyebrow elevate just a little higher at that point?

The mugs arrived and Scar sat back to watch the passing parade.  Anders examined his fingernails, his mug; he hardly spoke at all.  Just before the shuttle arrived outside afterwards though, he touched Scar lightly just above her right elbow and made eye-contact.  “Search Troyville on Facebook.” he said quietly, then got into the shuttle and ignored her for the rest of the ride.

The rest of the day blurred by as usual, strictly according to schedule.  Scar felt renewed, like she’d been given a key.  She itched to get online and after the usual bland evening meal, she logged on to Java Divers and Facebook.

Welcome, Siri!  You have [1] new notification.
There is [1] new post by The Empress.
Click …
Nothing is pure vanilla anymore, it’s all that poncey stuff from Madagascar.  Stick to the house mix kiddo and all the best.

Replies had been disabled, the thread locked.

Facebook, then.

Search: Troyville
Results: 357 733
Filter: Applications
Results: 1
Click …
Troyville needs to access your profile, blah blah blah …
Allow

Welcome to Troyville, Siri!  If you have a voucher, please input it now.

JAV/7894

Choose your avatar.

Scar’s eyes widened as she scrolled through all of the little cartoon possibilities – they were, well, exceedingly dykey.

Hair: brown
Length: no.1
Physique: average
Eyes: blue
Nose: average caucasian
Mouth: small
Trousers: ripped, faded jeans
Shirt: retro geek tee
Shoes: blue Converse like Kurt’s
Accessories: wallet-chain, heavy silver rings, goddess symbol
SAVE

Holy fuck, but that felt good.

You have now reached the encrypted page YOVILLE+TR

*VOTE VETO*

She almost wept.  This was it, this was the underground, in all its one-dimensional  glory.

Input Troyville details here!
Name: Scar

You have been assigned the rank *Maniac*

Welcome to your new apartment!  You have *10 000* TroyGold to spend.

A whole heap of clicks and drags and saves later, Scar had a virtual space that made her feel like herself again.  Bookshelves crawled the walls around serious screens and street art filled the rest.  The bathroom was clean and private, the double bed was comfortable and blue.

What Goes on in Troyville Stays in Troyville

That was the last message Scar saw before the screenfeed clicked off for the night, leaving her wired awake in bed, wondering what was going to happen next.

What happened next was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.  She got up, exhausted and went to breakfast.  Maria gave her a friendly smile and suggested vitamin B.  Helen and Anders floated around in their bubble.  Carrie bounced about in hers.  Stephen graduated and was off to a job in cybernetics and an apartment in a halfway compound for rehabbed Queers.  Carrie put Scar’s added cheerfulness down to the stability of her medication and involvement in the programme.  Scar kept her pass-out privileges and the next time she went out, Helen was standing at the shuttle stop.

“Hey there, Siri!”
“Hello” (Can’t she tell I’ve dedicated all of my orgasms to her?)
“Ready to go?”
“Sure” (Oh hell yes, if you only knew …)

Off to Java Diver again and Helen picked a booth in a corner.  Orders keyed in and codes too and Helen took a deep breath, making extended and pleasurable eye-contact.  Scar felt her knees buckle.  For fucksakes, this wasn’t the time to be such a drip.  “It’s not safe to say too much hey,” said Helen, “but you do need to know that I’m your liaison and that Plan Q is going well.”  Scar started to ask her what the hell Plan Q was all about, but Helen shook her head and said, “Troyville, ne?” and so Scar shut the fuck up again.

“Anders?” she asked, dry mouthed as the Karoo.  Helen grinned and said, “All fake, man, all fake.  The faggot’s just playing a part, like all of us – like you, I hope.”  Helen refused to say more, refused to even tell Scar whether Maria was cool or not.  The only other info Scar got, was that her Troyville neighb0rgs would include her fellow clinic inmates, but that the cover must not, under any circs, be blown.  Scar just nodded and drank yet another mug of muddy brown house-blend.

She spent her nights in Troyville trying to peel the queer from the neighb0rgs and work out who was who in the meatspace zoo.  She was pretty sure Helen was Her0 – her avatar looked fairly close to her offline self, she was just dressed way different.  Scar sent her flowers.  Maria was mercifully easy to work out, she was, unbelievable, even more femme in cyberspace and went by the name Kitten.  Veto was there, but busy and rarely accessible and happily, joyfully, disturbingly – Dave!  Dave was there as Bear, of course, just the same as when Scar had last seen him.  Turned out he was still out in the Queer Quarter, that he’d been behind Scar’s migration all along.  Scar wasn’t sure whether to hug him or smack him.  Stephen was there too, the Halfway Hero, telling the clinic-bound about the other Queers there on Planet Hetero, planning his own infiltration, getting instructions from Veto.

Helen of Troyville was now disturbing my days and nights almost full time.  I was smitten, to put it mildly and beyond the damn revolution, I just plain liked her. I checked out the books in her virtual apartment and sent her other books I thought she’d like, since the flowers hadn’t seemed to have impressed her much at all.  I became obsessed with holding her hand, grabbing her butt and … I wanted to dive into her with my tongue and never leave.  Even knowing the Anders thing was a set-up, I was as jealous as hell.  I wanted time with the woman – acres of it.  She started sending me books too, we started hanging out online a lot; it was fucking brilliant.

Message: Her0
Subject: intel
Content: skin on skin the revolution begins … {alix olson}
Send

The screenfeed died and Scar spent another sleepless night, groaning alternately in pleasure and despair.  Another day, another tray … more therapy.  Running the cross-country course later, just to get some alone time, Scar’s footfalls echoed to her own marching beat, “I’m lonely, leave me alone …”

“Scar!”

Scar screeched to a halt.  “Helen?”  Helen was morbing, Scar had never seen her without that trademark smile before.  “Your message ..” Scar blushed and shuffled her feet, feeling like a bashful boi again.  “If only,” said Helen, sadly, “but the Plan … well, I graduate tomorrow.  Anders and I are leaving.”  Scar felt as though she’d been flung, splat into some kind of Juliet and Juliet plot.  The sky grew even lonelier, but wait a minute; Helen liked her!

Helen put her hand on either side of Scar’s face … and kissed her.

Then she ran, shockingly fast, towards the main building.  Scar fell over trying to follow her and then she couldn’t find her.  Maria found Scar weeping, got her a sleeper and sent her to bed.  Good thing too, or who knows what might have happened.  Something inappropriate and futile for sure.

Skin on Skin

Days blurred by again and somebody upped Scar’s meds.  Carrie reassured her that transitions were always tough and gave her an extra pass-out.  That time, Scar landed up sitting morosely at JD with Maria, slurping house-blend.  Rifling idly through the newspaper on the table, Scar stopped at a full-page of rather different print.

Plan Q

“Read it,” said Maria, “ and then leave it.”  Maria buried her head in the job ads while Scar read.

So the revolution didn’t work.  Pride marches didn’t work.  Violence didn’t work and neither did non-violence.  In less than a century, heteronormative society managed to segregate and hate queers again.

Scar found herself nodding, till Maria kicked her shin sharply under the table.

The only way we’re ever going to regain any liberties at all, is by infiltration.  For that reason, many of you have had to leave your homes and whatever security you might have had, to either go underground, or to the front lines.  More of you than we care to consider are stuck in mental institutions, medicated into passivity.

Scar palled, she’d heard about things like that and never wanted to believe it.

Your mission – and it’s too late to refuse it now, is to continue with the heterofication process, remain compliant and wait for further instructions.  You’ll be transferred to a halfway house within a week and assigned a liaison officer.

This message will not self-destruct – we hope you won’t either.

They finished their coffee and returned to the clinic.  Everything went on as inexorably, as tediously as before, but there was light at the end of that particular tunnel now.  Troyville continued to keep Scar relatively sane, especially the night she got a message from Her0.

I miss you.

Feverishly, frantically she replied, I miss you too!  She hit refresh over and over, hoping Helen was online.  Nothing.  She rearranged her virtual books and moped around.

Her days altered gradually as her graduation date loomed.  They didn’t make a fuss about it publicly, they didn’t want the regime of the clinic disturbed, but there was an air of expectancy.  At her final session with Carrie, she was given a WatchFeed – she’d definitely been escalated.  Hets always got the best tech and now she’d be connected, to everything, 24/7.

Halfway to Somewhere

The shuttle dropped Scar off at what looked like a Tuscan rabbit warren – a style invented by Queers and promptly ripped off and commercialised by the Hetero world.

OK, most lesbians might not be famed for their sense of style, but jeez that place was just maxed out kitsch, man!  Picture my little halfway home, all tricked out in subtle shades of reds, pinks, oranges.  Not a glimmer of blue anywhere, which made me shake a bit.  I just don’t feel right without blue, man.

Scar didn’t recognise any of the other denizens of the halfway point.  Then again, there wasn’t time for too much socialising now; meals weren’t communal anymore, Scar’s medication arrived by courier in weekly batches.  She geared it down to one pill every two days, ground the rest up and fed them to a Yucca.

After an intensive vocational session, Scar had been put forward for a low-tech, behind the scenes job in the city’s Intermodality Node.  She oversaw a bank of computer panels that connected shuttle stations.  Her days became a dance of connected colours, with a rhythm only ever disturbed by occasional power-outs.  She had coffee at JD once, with a guy called Devon from work; the newspapers in the coffee house were devoid of Plan Q and keying in her discount code, Scar felt lonely again.

You have [1] new message.

It was her watchfeed, pulsing discreetly.  Scar felt her saliva dry as she flicked her fingers over the display, accessing the message.

Stay Queer!

Ha, thought Scar, as if she had an option about that.  If there was any chance of turning authentically Hetero, she’d have done it by now.  The tech was so good, but no ways was her whole soul going to bend to make her a practising Het.  She’d tried out sex with a dude when she was 17, after all and she just couldn’t do it.  Not dissing men, she muttered, it just doesn’t work for me.  At all.

Being Queer had become so political.  Scar thought back to when it was mainly about same-sex relationships and fashion, not social marginalisation.  Back in the day, when you could get any job and buy any tech you liked.  Scar sighed; she missed the Quarter, even with all its restrictions.  She missed seeing pink triangles on woman and wondering which woman was the one.  She wondered, if she’d found her, if she’d have left at all.

Scar stayed queer.

You have [1] new message.

Click!

OK Scar, damn you, but here’s the thing.  I can’t stop wondering about you, I think I’m obsessed.  Actually, I think I’m in love.  I think you’ve got a trojan virus, yo.

As Scar ran virus checks and security updates, she wondered whether the pun was a chat-up or a threat.  System was clear anyway and Scar smiled wider than wide.

There was no doubt Helen was a true blue lesbo – confessing love before the first date, never mind the second.  Well, there was that kiss.  Scar smiled stupidly as she replayed it; the kiss that had literally taken her breath from her and left her feeling stoned.

I asked my mate Hippolyta to read my shit too – she said she loved it, even though it’s rough and needs editing.  Fucking grammar nazi … I love that woman, but if she thinks I am editing this crap, she can go jump.  All I care about is hitting the word count target and right now I am on 8 851.  Head’s aching and pounding like a total bitch too and while I’m at it, I can’t even read other shit to unwind.  I’m awash in fucking words.  Mika looked surprised yesterday when I told her I’d just signed up for NaNoWriMo.  “You haven’t got much time left, Petal,” she said in her odd mix of Geordie-German English.  Yeah, I know, I am supposed to be writing away in tortured and splendid isolation, but have you taken a look at cyberspace lately?  Words jostling around shielding their binary, yelling for attention and gone in three seconds.  Everything’s disposable man; you, me, the world – everything.  I’m just trying to pin this butterfly to the board before it all changes again.

Helen … talking about love in the time of trojan viruses seems strange to me – and wonderful.  I think we’re on the same page, like those jargon loving Hets say.  When can I see you again?  Dammit, when can I kiss you again?

Another incoming Facebook notification popped up in its merry little red square.

You have been invited to join “I bet we can find 1 000 000 Trojans on Facebook!”
Accept?
y/n

yes.

Those were just the kind of messages that Scar habitually sent to the trash.  How the fuck was a Facebook group ever going to change anything?  Constant barrages of join my cause, join my group, become a fan of me … what was the use of any of it?  But she couldn’t resist anything Helen related.  She had no intention of resisting Helen.

Oh Scar, you can kiss me now.  If only.  Where are you in this demented city?  I just got a job managing Java Divers – you can guess the implications.  Can you make it here anytime soon?

Could she?

Helen, if you fuckers would open 24 hours I’d be there now.  Instead, Generika’s newest Intermodalities Connection Technician (3rd class) will be at your door as soon as possible after tomorrow’s early shift.  I wouldn’t bother with lipstick if I was you.

Scar!  I think you mean, “if I WERE you.”

Helen … no I didn’t.

The shift passed achingly slowly, colour to colour, connections buzzing and whirring their way around the city, getting the drones to work and home and shops.

You have [1] new message.

Click …

Thank you for joining I bet we can find 1 000 000 Trojans on Facebook!” – shifting the system sideways, one face at a time.

Oh, yup.  Whatever.

Scar didn’t bother changing before she raced off to JD.  Civvies would have meant a dress, since rehabbed Queers’ dress style was watched fiercely by the board.  Her techie outfit, however, was almost dykey.  Orange city overalls with the Intermodality cable logo on the pocket – nerdy, but still better than a dress, no doubt.  The safety boots were the best part of the ensemble, Scar felt almost like her old self as she pushed the door open, casting anxiously about for Helen.

There she was, standing behind the counter, brow furrowed in deep conversation with a barrista-bot.  Scar hadn’t realised you could converse with those things, or was Helen about to reprogram it?  Helen looked pretty fit in the Javalicious corporate uniform – one of those severe business suits, all pencil skirt and straight (ha!) lines.  And lipstick.  Scar grinned.

You youngsters might think it was trivial of me to be chasing skirt during a revolution, but you gotta remember that the whole infiltration process was a painfully slow and gradual thing.  What took under a year for me, had already been in motion for about five years.  That year felt like ten anyway.  Also, what’s the point of being queer if you can’t, you know, be queer?  You know what I’m saying?  Anyway, I know you’re all drooling to know if we kissed, if I ever got my hands on Helen’s perfect ass and all that, but I just hit my word count target for the day, so I’m going to go chill the hell out now.

Feeling Inferior

Inferiority; knowing you’re not as good, useless, hopeless, and the one who has to pretend that it’s okay. It’s such a horrible feeling, isn’t it?

This feeling of inferiority struck me on Friday night. It had been arranged that some of my friends and I would attend a “Rave” in London. To be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to it. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends, but there are some situations I don’t find myself comfortable around them. The idea of being around them, whilst they are drunk and care-free, and I, sensible and sober, it wasn’t one I was holding too high on my agenda.

I had to make the best out of a bad situation… I had already paid for my ticket. There was no backing out now.

I stepped into the club, and instantly felt that it was going to be a night that I wouldn’t want to remember. There was no atmosphere, the music (to put it bluntly), was verging only slightly better than dismal, and the people… Rarely do I ever feel so out-of-place.

Everyone was so young! Granted, it was a 16+ event (I would much rather go out to a proper club night, but none of my friends are of age yet). Okay, it’s only a two-year difference, but still. There’s such a difference, and one I cannot stand to be stuck in.

That wasn’t the worst bit though. The worst thing about the people, was that it was 99% heterosexuals. Never, have I felt so insecure around a collection of straight people. I’m not a particularly “up-front” person as it is, but simply just trying to “find” someone when you’re stuck in “Straight-land”, is utterly horrible. It’s near impossible to tell who is and who isn’t gay as it is; but when pretty much every single other girl (other than myself) seems to be getting off with a boy (they’re sixteen, they still are only boys), it’s unnerving.

That’s not to say I don’t like heterosexuals, but it’s an odd place to find yourself in. All the boys know that they can go and snog, or grope pretty much all of the girls there, and all the girls know they can do pretty much the same with boys, and I’m just there thinking “When is it going to be my turn?!?!” – that’s unnerving.

What I think really made a bad night worse, was having a friend (who is bisexual), playing the “Number Game”.

Yeah, I didn’t know what it was until Friday either. A game whereby a group of friends try and snog as many people as possible on the night.

No, I didn’t join in.

But… I did have to hear a running commentary on how many people my bisexual friend had snogged. Sometimes I was even taken as a witness – the last thing I really want to see is her and her tongue shoved down a spotty-faced adolescent boy.

It gets better though, once she had found a girl, right in the middle of one of my favourite songs, she took hold of me, stopped me dancing, and shouted in my ear that she had got with a girl.

FUCK YOU! (Is what I thought)

Apart from the fact that I don’t care about her crappy game, more importantly, I don’t need it shouted in my ear that once again she’s managed to “pull” or whatever, and I haven’t. Seriously, why does she think I need more reminding about how shit and desolate my love life is, without her making it worse.

In all, I think there was about fifteen-hundred people there that night, and I have never felt so lonely in my life.

I literally spent seven hours, dancing, or at least trying to dance to the crap that was being pumped out of the speakers, hoping that no-one would ask me if I was enjoying myself… For I feared that the reaction would spark some sort of emotional break-down.

The only person there who bothered speaking to me (beyond my group of friends), was the gay man behind the bar. Maybe he sensed how lost I must’ve felt in such a bizarre environment.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if I had been able to take myself out-side, sit and ponder to myself for a bit. Away from the people, away from the crap music, away from her. But I couldn’t, once you went outside, it was a no return policy. And seeing as I was stuck in the middle of London, at half three in the morning, with no knowledge on how to get home, it was a dead-end situation.

So now I make a promise to myself:
“I shall never go out to one of those stupid raves, I will only go to proper nightclubs (and if possible gay clubs), and in the event of “her” informing me of crap whilst I’m trying to make the best out of terrible situation, that I have no need, or desire to know, she’ll be told to fuck off imminently.”

My life honestly has to get better than this!

x

GFest 09 @ Performances announced. BOOK NOW

We are proud to announce 2009 programme of GFest Performances @ Cochrane Theatre.

GFest – gayWise LGBT arts Festival is London’s Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) cross-art festival.

GFest 09 Performances: 19 / 20 / 21 November 2009. 7.30 PM / £12 / £8 (concs) /  Box Office: 020 7269 1606 / Online booking: http://bit.ly/ND7Vh

Performances details: http://www.gaywisefestival.org.uk/performance.php Cochrane Theatre, Southampton Row London WC1B 4AP.

Many thanks & see you at GFest 09 Performances.   Niranjan Kamatkar – Artistic Director & GFest 09 Team WISE THOUGHTS / GFest – gayWise LGBT Arts Festival www.wisethoughts.org / www.gaywisefestival.org.uk +44 (0) 20 8889 9555

http://www.wisethoughts.org

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http://www.facebook.com/niranjan.kamatkar
http://www.gaywisefestival.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/gfest
http://gaywisefestival.wordpress.com/
http://www.yoursemotionally.com/
http://www.myspace.com/interviewwithapolitician
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gfest/
http://www.youtube.com/user/wisethoughts

Elton's got E. Coli

As I am already a terrible blogger, I wouldn’t like to add terrible gay to my resume. In an effort to keep in the good gay books, also known as The Advocate, I was reading the first five or so pages of Perez Hilton, only to find out that Elton John has a bad case of E. Coli!

What!?

How is this possible?

All legitimate questions, fellow sexual deviants. Well, I think that it’s a bio-terrorist attack on the gays – put down your Figi, your vitamin water, and corporate lattes – they’re coming for us.

I do think there is salvation, however. As someone who is severely afraid of zombies, I am a self-proclaimed master of post-apocalyptic survival plans. First, if there is a bio-terrorist attack on the gays, we must abandon the corporate coffee giants in favour of kitschy coffee shops (I know we already have one, but we must resist the urge to get a corporate coffee on the way to the kitschy coffee shop, only to ditch it two blocks before you arrive to maintain your “street cred”). If you do not have a kitschy coffee shop, follow the nearest hipster to the coffee shop in question.

When it comes to water, drink tap. Firstly, it’s environmentally friendly. Secondly, no one is going to attack the tap water, assuming that only the gays drink tap. We are in a recession, and an environmental crisis, we’re all drinking tap – no demographic is exempt.

Got more gay apocalypse survival tips? Hit me up.

Film Noir Meets Fashion - Lady Dior Cannage Bag Film

Dior has done it again! Besides their fabulous clothing & accessories collections, even their AD campaigns are now captivate our imaginations! Directed by Olivier Dahan , featuring French actress Marion Cotillard, Dior has released a mini film of its own – a lady James Bond adventure. For this ad campaign, Dior has invited 2008 Oscar winning French actress Marion Cotillard as its advertisement spokesperson as well as the famous photographer Peter Lindbergh to take shots. Taking a fancy to Marion’s noble temperament, so Dior selected her to be the model who can match with the new Lady Dior Cannage Bag perfectly.

“Chapter 1: A Lady Noire Affair”. The film shows off the men in perfectly pressed Dior Homme suits, and Marion Cotillard rushing up the Eiffel Tower in amazing black heels, distinctly shaped “Diorette” sunglasses and the Lady Dior Handbag. Dior has cleverly put their best selling handbag on display with a short film and the episodes will continue. I’ll be blissfully await the next video made in New York “Lady Rouge”.

Below you can view “The Lady Noire Affair”, which was released in May. Do not expect to get all the answers right away. If you pay careful attention there are clues provided. So who will save lady Dior? We will have to wait and see.

It’s said that the reason why this bag is so famous is kinda related with our familiar Princess Diana. “In 1995, at the Cezanne Art Exhibition sponsored by Dior Corporation, the former French First Lady Bernadette Chirac sent Princess Diana a new model of Christian Dior bags as a gift.” Then Dior immediately named this unreleased bag “Lady Dior” – gracefully to the name extremely. And Diana also liked this bag so much that she carried it in many important official occasions, then this bag has fired up.

This latest Lady Dior Cannage Bag 2009 is crafted by the soft supple suede which sends out a light lambency, patterned with cannage embroidery and logo cannage jacquard lining. With unique cannage geometric surface and two hemicycle handles, it’s also attached with silver Dior logo metal hard ware and the metal protective feet. Besides, there is an open top with protective flap closure on top and a zipped pocket inside. Available in two colors: black and brown. And as usual, Luxe-Gift.com we are always trying to bring anything fabulous to our customers, so we’ve this uber fabulous Lady Dior bag in size small for our lucy customers! Click the link here to visit our online boutique (Luxe-Gifts.com)

- Black lambskin w/ hand stitched “Cannage” embroidery
- Silver-tone metal DIOR Logo charms
- 12″ double sturdy handles with 4″ drop
- 32.5″ removable shoulder strap with 17.5″ drop
- Red logo jacquard lining with side zip pocket
- Carried in the hand or worn with a strap as shoulder bag
- Protective metal feet at bottom of the bag- Size: 9.5″W x 8″H x 4.5″D
- Made in Italy

Come check out our online designer boutique (Luxe-Gifts.com)  and experience the magic of Lady Dior !

Untill next time, be well and look fabulous !

XOXO

Alan + Mei-Mei the pug