writing

The doghouse is a small house but it's better than no house at all

DEAR READER,

This is a short story about how hard it has been for me to be accepted,not just as a person in general, but as a someone trying to live out a suppressed identity in a suppressed and marginalized community.

I was born an intersexual; that means I was born with the genitals of both sexes. The good ol’ Penis and the good ol’ Vagina.

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Editorial: I NO WE CAN REIGN HERE

I found this in my notebook today, jotted down in conversation with UIrike, “…rubbing bodies and minds to generate art and ideas…”

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Editorial: amifesto

we do not operate within the comfort zone. that’s a fight.this is daily

agonistic with a refusal to hide.

we are not bored.

we fight our insignificance. feminist.

we move around in silence and speak to the shock.

it’s shocking to laugh, it’s shocking not to take any shit.

it’s insane to say no.

needing desperately those safe boundaries within heterosexuality,

we give no thanks.

no pleasantries nor apology.

no gratitude to those who hide in the safety of heterosexual language.

it is not a sanctuary.

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Editorial: Conceptually Nasty

Welcome to issue 5 of LTTR, your scientifically queer collection of Positively Nasty hey gay art. This issue takes aim at our dreadfully dark political times and offers you inspiration with which to direct your action. Each piece in this issue is loud enough to momentarily quiet the bombs and hear the tune of resistance. For example, anal sex and footwear are recommended for you to consider in planning your future.

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Editorial: LTTR V Bulletin

We live in times of war.

Now I find myself dragged out on stage. I didn’t even have time to check my reflection in a mirror, and I certainly don’t remember my lines. If I ever had any. I am feeling exposed and too self-conscious to charm or seduce. Can you love me anyway? And if so where can we go? I want to be taken and I want you to take me home, but I doubt there is an easy way out for either of us.

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The Advantages of Being a Lesbian Woman Artist

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The ship has sailed. “Rise, Ye Sea Slugs!”

Darla didn’t blink. She recoiled from sleep and worried that at 15 years old, with fame nowhere on the horizon, she may have missed the boat. Things were not well at home so she strayed as much as possible. To escape she dreamed of saving the deep blue sea. Underwater, in another universe, her goggles enlarged those big, blinkless eyes. The snorkel pushed her lip out in away that made her feel sexy. She had hands like tonka toy bulldozers. Always scooping him up and dumping him somewhere he didn’t want to be.

...

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DEAR ANNE

Dear Anne,
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MESH: THE TALE OF THE HERMAPHRODITE

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excerpt from HIGH FIVE FOR RAM DASS, a work in progress

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