Enough. Enough now.

It’s come to my attention that all things should have an ending as they without a doubt always are presented with a beginning. Very well. Consider this my ending, at least for now. Oh, don’t be foolish, I’m not talking about THE ending, just… A ending. See? There’s a difference. Big one, too.

Now, I shan’t begin to explain how the world works because it’s perfectly capable to doing so without my say so, much as it always have and will continue to do once I’m out of the picture. Nor do I expect to be standing on ceremony. Oh, no, no, thank you, but no thank you. This is my show, I’m running it, I’m the one who’s allowed to say CUT, not anypony else. Much like a torn up newspaper from yesterday’s bin, all crumbled and filled with crumpets. Savvy?

An end, you say. Then I shall make it such an end that they’ll talk about it for years to come, worthy of recognition. Perhaps they’ll even sing songs about it. I highly doubt it, but I’ve been known to be surprised on just how the world really works from time to time. But, perhaps this is one of those times, hmm?

Overly dramatic? Yes, you’re quite right. It is, of course. Still, does have a nice feel to it, doesn’t it? The words, the composition… Even the heading.

Goodbye. I bid you all a very fond farewell.

Tonight the night is silent.

Yes, it is.

And because of it I’ll not disturb the sound of silence.

My words will be few.

To the world, I wish the best.

To my dearest and nearest, the same.

In the future, I’ll be working at the holidays.

Providing joy and hope to those who’ll have to spend days like this in the hospital.

It’s a noble goal, I think.

I think.

Quiet complication.

Outside condition.

Yes.

The rest is silence.

The lights you place on a grave are not red.

The night is cold. The wind… the wind blows. Piercing stars gaze upon those who look at them from afar, only to remain diminished by the paleness of the moon. Yet the green, blue, black and silver bids me welcome. The stars, the moon, the wind, the trees... Tonight is a night to walk outside, to feel alive, to hold one's head high as the cloak flaps behind; unseen, but not unfelt or unheard. And as I throw the hood back with the help of the gentle breeze I stand there, watching, watching you stand next to me. You let the wind caress your hair, your skin, your soul. You shut your eyes to the wonders of the night, listening, listening to the music. The music of the night. Your smile is soft upon your features.

I close my eyes, too, wanting to embrace eternity. Now you’re but a memory, for your presence is masked to me. The wind, the cold, the light of the moon and stars playing on my eyelids and sends shivers down my body. I reach out with a hand and you’re not there. I open my eyes. You're not there. I wish you were. Here.

As I’m lying in the red I imagine you beside me. You’re looking at me. I’m looking at you. Silently we stay, naked for the lights. Laid bare, souls at peace and at rest. The moment goes on. Neither of us wants to end it.

Disturb it.

Break it.

Shatter it.

End it.

The moment goes on.

Your face seems soft in the candlelight.

The red and the black flicker on the walls. We’re together at last.

Speak simply, straight and with a smile.

Speak simply.

Sadly, I seldom speak in a manner easy to understand by others, both by words and intent. Yes, my words are not simple, but at the same time, I relish the lack of simplicity in them. Complex? Not necessarily. Needlessly and irking? Undoubtedly. I still do it.

Straight.

As my lack for linear thinking and red thread I can’t say that my vocal capacity is living by this principle. Not going into the whole sexual aspect of the theme (because that would clearly send much left to be wanted), I’m merely saying that it’s harder than first thought and not something that’s always applauded in our time and society.

With a smile.

This I do too little. I try, but sometimes a smile can be a bad thing. Still, it’s the mental output of it that matters at times. My mind may smile even though my lips may not hint at it, even if this is hard and not something I can say I’m a master of. Likewise my lips, eyes, face and outward appearance can play the part of the smile while the inside, masked behind what I want others to see.

Conclusion.

In the end, be yourself.

Ending this on an epic note.

Because music makes you braver.

Seems somehow fitting, too.

The game’s afoot.

Turns out that the twist – and I do mean that word in the terms of jurisdiction as well as high running emotions – is now looking to conclude and shelved away, thus presenting a long sought out settlement. Pray hope that I’m not mistaken in this matter.

If you do not know what I speak of (as such often is the case) I’m afraid I cannot say more as the whole legal point of view in this situation is but a few steps away from the courts, giving both parties cause for concern and pause. What I can reveal is that the entire proceedings have an air of poor handling, misinformation, and obvious lack of information as well as overall marked by non-objectivity. Having elected officials isn’t always a good thing, for what does one do when the majority of said officials are refusing fair play and don’t follow the standard protocol because it doesn’t help their version of the cause?

Let the hunt begin.

Not for justice, not for what’s right, but for fighting corruption.

...

Other than that, it’s time to return to the capital for various tasks. I’ll be staying at the odd traditional location that’s become something of a strange habit for me over the years. If you so wish to see me while I’m in town, please let me know – I’m not done making all the preparations, so it’s quite possible we’ll have the option of a little get together. All I’m asking is that you initiate contact.

Sometimes you follow something. Then that something change.

Because nothing ever stays the same. Not even math.

Have you ever followed an ideal? An idea? Something otherwise abstract enough to become uncorrupted? It’s not going to last. Even if you are one of the few who can see it to the end, that’s just it: it’s YOUR end. Not the ideal, not the idea, but yours. It just means you’ll not be around to see the development of it any more. Harsh? That’s life. Honest? Brutal, but it’s no more a lie than life.

Picture a dark horse. Then have it run. It’s night time. The horse is galloping across a wide selections of fields, giving you pause, having you stare at the magnificent being, letting your guard down to admire and envy the creature. And then it’s all over? The horse isn’t to blame. The horse just ran. It’s you. You, a thing of limitations who stopped to gaze at something beyond beauty, have noticed something: Your time have run out. You’ll not be able to see the horse race to a finish line.

Because 'tis no line but the one you set yourself.

Each miss at your chance is a costly mistake.

Are you sure you can afford it?

Like a krogan crib, crippling and condescending, bringing you one step closer to what’s not important. Why? Let’s get one thing straight. If it’s a distraction, it’s not that important. You can lie as much to yourself as you’d like, it’s not going to change the fact. Andraste be merciful, you don’t know it’s coming and there’s nothing you can do about at all.

Do you need some space? I can offer you just that.

Given enough time, any one may master the physical. With enough knowledge, any one may become wise. It is the true warrior who can master both.

Lost love between two parties? Oh. What I’m exhibiting is more like a platonic symbiosis rather than the typical hormonally-induced courtship behavior. That doesn’t mean that I’ve disregarded feelings out of the equation. Because I, as well as my special somepony, are humid, prepossessing Homo sapiens with full-sized aortic pumps.

Algernon’s flowers. Yes, it’s true.

What is love? Love is keeping faithful to your non-joining companion in the sequel, not making another romance despite it being an achievement. Makes me proud not to have it. Almost as proud as this doesn’t transcend the love, but confirms that somethings are true no matter the universe and timeline.

Yes. Because if even an accursed Sovereign can be meant to understand the non-linear of time, thus making our choices, our every second of living important… L? In a world without you, I’d be a different pony. Maybe even a better one, despite circumstances. But I don’t want to change the past. The past is part of who I am. The past helped me figure out WHO I am today. And I wouldn’t change it for the world. I can’t predict what’s to come. What I can do is offer to share it with you.

It’s human to make mistakes. It’s the mark of a great one to forgive the mistakes of others and one self. Because in this world there is no saving function. There is no going back. Therefore we have to do better than what we are, what we’ve been. Because it’s the future that matters. Going back isn’t an option. Sorry.

Lips dripping of honey are hard to kiss. Just hold me closer. Don't dance. Just stop making my world spin and hold me, tiny dancer with impact out of propositions.

I love you, L.

I love you, M.

I love you, C.

I love you all.

And I’m sorry.

Paris at night.

I remember a night like last night with the same sunken gut, the known knot in the stomach and the not so distant feeling of mourning and loss – all part of the familiar experience some years back. I didn’t expect to have that feeling revisited. I’m not so sure when the next one will come now.

Back in July 22 2011 I went on night watch duty. The most common perception from that night? Surreal, unrealistic. The “how could this happen” and “why” swirled around a lot. Last night that didn’t happen: I was simply quietly grieving in silence, as well as growing a new-found fear of the future.

In other charming news; I’ll be spending the next month – yes, that’s right: the entire month – in night watch mode, starting yesterday. Well, it’s going to be shortage of light anyway, so I might as well do it when it’s easy to sleep during the day. Or, easier, at least. Still, getting paid to stay up all night? I can think of worse jobs.

Born. Given life. Alive. Unchecked. Wild. Running.

Checkmate.

We’ll always have Paris. And New Orleans.

Can it wait for a bit? I'm in the middle of some calibrations.

It seems that by leaving BoR I’ve unintendedly ended up insulting people whom I had plans with. Not telling them about my sudden exit and lack of lust to continue with said future isn’t a particular feeling I wish to inflict upon others. Yet that’s just what I ended up doing. The fallout? Broken trust and wounded words. Both earned and justified.

It’s not the first time I’ve left people behind. It’s not going to be the last, either. I’m not sure if I’m able to change in the direction I want.

I’m a horrible person. I try not to be, but I am. The morose goose with flesh of dolls, biting down the pill of poison, sucking the feast of life’s enjoyment like a bloodless thing. Shouldn't such a creature be put down?

Anything can change at a moment’s notice. Everything can end in a brief second. Life goes on. Life as a concept goes on. 

I’m not going to seek forgiveness. I’m not going to atone for my mistakes and sins.

Upsetting the status quo.

Remember (because it’s November)

It’s not often we do follow this advice. Sure, we do it all the time in our daily lives, keeping in mind this and that, letting knowledge and information be used as it’s relevant to us – like studying for a test you need to pass. The question is if you’re able to remember much of this at a later point unless it’s still something that affects you. And what about outdated information, something that used to hold value but in later time have either proven to be incorrect or been debunked in favor of new and updated relevant know-how? Do you make a point of remembering that?

This in turn brings us over to scholars and historians. Holding a degree in neither one of these professions myself, I cannot help but find a strange comfort that the past isn’t something I hold a clinging grip on. As it comes to my own past and my own memories, they are somewhat fractured. I’ve stated several times that recollection isn’t my strong suit and that I’ve often been forced to be reminded of something that should not have been forgotten in the first place. I'm used to it. Doesn't mean I have to like it.

And what about lies? Telling them, polishing them, retelling them, knowing who you said what to… Information can be a tricky business, that’s for sure. No information broker for me, thank you very much – I’ve got enough half-truths to keep track of already. This doesn’t even begin with the lies others are keeping.

When it comes to art, does the actor on stage preform a lie? Is theatre anything but an elaborate twist of shadows and smoke, casting a ghastly reflection in the mirror of recollection? That’s a good question, but one I'm not entitled to answer.

Languages. Important stuff. The millions of things that you have to deal with. Passwords. Codes. Friends. Family. Loved ones. Secrets. Hopes, dreams, future plans… There’s quite the lot, isn’t it? Big bunch of stuff. Yeah. Almost everything, when you come to think about it.

There’s a famous – if not THE most famous – writer from my country that ended up with this exceptional quote: “Forever owned is only the lost.” (Evig eies kun det tapte.) That’s Ibsen, by the way, if you didn’t know that. Shame on you, oh-that-must-have-slipped-my-mind. Shame on you. Also, in the LARP (Live Action Role Playing) community there’s this version of the saying; “forever owned is only the taped”. And by “taped” we mean duct tape. Lots of it. Lots and lots of duct tape. And then some more. Funny how memory works sometimes, isn't it?

In the end it comes down to a simple, single point. You’ll end up not remembering. Accepting that as truth can be somewhat difficult.

Forgetting is easy.

Too easy, sometimes.

Yet we still do it.

I guess that’s part of being Human.

The pink pony strikes again.

Actually, she didn’t. It was another one, completely unexpected, that stole my heart. Miss Pie wasn’t even present in the episode. Having felt I should talk to someone after watching it, it struck me how similar the sensation was to being able to finish the last book in the Harry Potter franchise and not wanting to discuss it out loud due to spoilers for those that hadn’t competed it just yet. Thing is, I never did do that. So I guess those two feelings are more shared than I first thought.

For the second time I’ve ended up showered in water – literally – because of someone not being able to figure out a modern setting on the shower controls. Might have to mention that this was late and at the end of my shift, so I was able to dry the uniform before my next one. And besides, it’s only water.

Play it again, Sam.

It’s not often the feeling of being virtually embraced actually feels like it’s a real hug. My special somepony excels at that. Could be that it’s just my own emotions and my interpretation of the written words that translates the intent behind into a physical sensation. Could be lots of reasons why. Doesn’t really matter. If I can feel teeth at my neck and a hug upon my torso, I’m grateful for it. Since there’s a big question about what’s real and what’s not… well, why not just enjoy it anyway.

Sometimes it’s not about what we do. Sometimes it’s about how we do it. Sometimes it doesn’t matter at all.

The moon is a mysterious mistress...

I’ve got shivers. Getting hyped to see the eclipse, well… it was exhilarating. The waiting before, I mean. Spent some of it listening to the Dark Side of the Moon. Twice.

Having seen the beauty of it, the magnificent wonder of the red circle being shrouded and dimmed… I stood watching it on a rooftop in the middle of a city, basking in the spare light and the awe that followed it. Embracing it I was filled with joy – for how could such a thing not do so? Not even the whole magnificent of the dawn could stand next to it – for the briefest of moments, nothing else was real. The chill, the sensation… As I stood there, watching, I was filled with love. It was the sharing kind of love as I knew that somewhere else, someone else was standing, looking up, taking in the exact same sight as I marveled at.

The moon is a mysterious mistress.

Yet I’d not trade her for my special somepony. 

Being ancient may have forced one to be a witness to many sights and wonders. Over the eons we’re only able to glimpse bits and pieces of them. I’ll most likely not see such an astronomical event ever again. Not in my life. I’m grateful for having seen this.

I love you.

You who walk the shadow of the night, you know who you are and what you have done – I love you.

You who walk the night, fighting demons of dread and worse – I love you.

I love you more than you would ever know.

...

I also love having my Internet connection back.

This should be online two days ago.

Stupid provider for sending me a faulty router.

Butterflies, snow and ash.

So, I was at work. Well, it was between shifts. Didn’t sleep much.

Thought about my special somepony.

Life intertwines. People die. People fall in love.

Life goes on. Moves on. Half a life.

What do we chase?

What’s the sound?

Life. Such a small, fickle thing. Precious, even.
Didn’t really expect it to come to this. Although, prediction isn’t my strongest suit. Proved that again and again, haven’t I?

The ability to change and to shape the happenings around oneself is something we all do – some more than others, of course. Direct, indirect… Cause and effect.  But to end up with the desired result, that’s another story. That’s different.

Do you want my bagel?

Trucking to be picked up. Strong, confident women.

I wonder what the flowers think of us.

Being part of the Wasteland leaves one to think about certain issues. Do people who change from one gender to the next, do they tend to keep their preferences before the transition? Even as girls chase boys chase girls (or the other way around), the partner(s) we seek tells us something about ourselves. I’d like to think myself in a platonic relationship with a lovely, wonderful person. My previous drive for sexual encounters and lust for deeply sated needs as a submissive seems oddly absent. And yet I feel I’ve arrived at the point where I can stay loyal to one person and doing the best to make it work even if all evidence proves me differently. Perhaps it’s because this body isn’t something I enjoy letting others take a closer look at. It’s not shyness – I’ve got no problem changing clothes and display skin in a setting where this is required. However, when given the option, I tend to robe myself in these days. I’m not ashamed. I’m just uncomfortable. Capital, isn’t it?

Relationships are hard. Friends, family, lovers, special someponies… the list goes on.

Many of the trees were my friends. Now they’re no longer here.

The cutting of trees usually leaves me morose with a hanged head hung low for my own race.

Ah, it's hard to take pride in human history.

The aid and aim of my current search drives me slowly forward to accepting that I’m not special. Strange, that may be. Incomprehensible, sure. But not any more special than any other being. The realization of this epiphany isn’t haunting. Ghastly, perhaps, but not Gastly or Haunter.

I’m stuck in my own little time. Glad I’m not going to live forever. As a vampire uttered: “The world changes. We do not. Therein lies the irony that kills us.” And people still don’t get while I prefer werewolves over frozen stagnation...
C'mon, shapeshifter isn't a big enough clue?

True to the Santiago sense of trouble and mischievous sentiment Littlepip would be proud.
Even Fallout: Equestria.

Being Fluttershy in the big city. Coming Home.

It's a strange thing to suffer so much doubt and fear for such a little thing. Although, to me it's not a small thing.

I could go on about how meeting others like me was strange - at first it was a bit terrifying - but then people were so accepting. What I enjoyed most the last weekend was how normal everything was.
And how glad I am for it.

It hurts, at first. Then it doesn't. The millions subjected to change.The transcendence of not just a fate woven by forces outside of control. Still, there's something familiar with this place.

Just like going back to the sunbathed city I learned to know so well, fully knowing that this isn't just a stop on the road to somewhere else, but that this is home. I've got friends living there. The education I'm working on has an offer at a nearby university within the vicinity of public transportation. Former co-workers who's turned out to be friends and a job that would welcome me back with open arms if I asked kindly.

I find myself without a person to hold on to and sleep next at.

I find myself content with my present relationship (or lack of such).

Yes, I do got a special somepony.

To be frank, I can't call others "my special somepony" because doing so would be lying.

As I try to be an honest person, or at least as much as I can...

I don't like lying, deceiving and dishonesty.

I'm not going to tell you about my special somepony.

It's not my place.

In my place, lost as lost can be, I have feelings. And my feelings tell me that until my special somepony and I agree to change the nature of our relationship I don't want something else. I don't need something else or even someone else. Because I have a very special somepony of my own.
And that's all there is to say about that.

People seek out different things. I was never one to go clubbing. I was one to sit in the sun with a drink of chilled, sparkling water in a tall glass pretending it was champagne. At least while I wrote this.

I got to say hello to the bartender I had a crush on, too. I still like her. She's the kind of person I'd like to marry (if it turns out I'm the marrying kind). Not sure what my special somepony thinks about that - it's not something we've talked about. Marrying, I mean.

I'm going back to the place where I feel I belong.

Love

Today is a good day. Two friends of mine, one the giver of names, the other one described by three little words… they have their own special day. Just as I did.

I have spent some of the day picking red currants for my mother – a gift of health. Midway through the bush, I came to realize something strange: the berries reminded me of nipples. I’m exactly not sure why I thought this, but I did. The sense, the feel, the entire experience became suddenly far more intimate – I had to pick the berries with a lot more care and tenderness. There was nothing sexual about it. It was like watching a baby sleep. Peaceful. Full of bliss. And love. Having never used that particular word and concept about a plant before, I’m not finding it odd at all. Because expressing your feelings isn’t wrong, even if there most certainly are wrong ways to express them.

I find myself content.

Next month I’m going to the capital. Meeting others not so different from myself, hopefully to talk and learn a little. Conditions. Being able to stand up for who I am. I am me.

The solitude and laziness of my mind does spring a certain point of view when it comes to looking around me at the surroundings – the dust, the lack of care, unkempt and unclean. I’m not saying that it is a picture or symbol of me, even if it does make sense – for if you have little meaning in your own existence, things around you is even less important.

The feeling of love feels like a warm hug, comfortable and smiling. I remember such a hug. It was at the end of a larp. Having played one part of a deeply romantic (and secret) relationship that ended with the option of us getting married feelings came to be. It was our characters feelings, yes, and once the larp had ended, we should put those feelings aside and return to our own lives. Sometimes that’s difficult and hard to do – even if the feelings aren’t “your own” but your character’s, you still feel them. What went on (and my point in this story) is that once the larp was ended, we turned to each other, ran at each other, embraced and stood there for a very long time, just hugging. The world could have ended and we would not have cared. It was all that mattered to us, there and then.

The love I feel now isn’t like that. It’s a glow, the touch of the sun on a cloudless day without wind, with crows sending you to other places with their Craw! Craw! and insects buzzing, giving life to the silence otherwise you’re the one disturbing. The love I feel is the knowledge that there’s a special somepony out there feeling the same way.

Having somepony love you is one thing.
Feeling loved is quite another.

Frak it.

So, I’m writing this to stay awake. Been a night of almost no sleep. Been a weekend of work. Been one of those moments, just lying awake, knowing I’m about to cry and wish I’d be able to.
The night was as hot as the Sin City line.
The bed was more comfortable than a dragon’s toothache.

It’s been a week. I’ve got one dropping of the radar – granted, understandable due to reasons – but it still doesn’t make the sensation of missing and loss any easier to bare. Also, I’ve not been able to spend as much time with others dear to me as much as I’d like.

Frak.

It’s been one summer I’d rather not repeat.

Come next week, I’ve got two things coming up.

One, two days of night shift and the prep for it.
Two, Commandos training and prep for it.
Other than that, I’m trying to get myself back on the track. Feels like that’s not going to happen right about now.

So, I realize by reading the few last entries here, you’ll pretty much understand what’s been going on about this “big secret” of mine. If you do, great, good for you. If you don’t, you really shouldn’t be reading this blog. I’m serious, I’m not that subtle even if I’m not making that much sense. No, seriously, if you’re clueless, shame on you.

I’m thinking about telling my siblings about what I’ll be going through.

I’m thinking about one of the main dangers that exists. The certainty of life.

And I know there’s a big difference between… Why do I even bother, Nomi said it better anyway:
“At a certain point I realized there’s a huge difference between what we work for and what we live for.”

Yeah.

Yah.

I may be alone in this fight. I may not count on much more than sporadic support. Or, the support I might get might be somewhat different. So far, there’s not been one – not one – person who’s been reacting badly to what I’ve been sharing with them. Different, that’s a given, but not one in a bad way. Some more understanding that others. Some with more knowledge than others. Some with sensitivity, some with advice, some with kind words. Raw, brutal honesty isn’t something you get so see every day.

Ever tried living in a fish bowl? Nope, me neither, but I’m imagine it’s not recommended unless you’ve got a five seconds memory span. Since I don’t have a memory span of max five seconds, I’d figure it would be pretty bad after a while. Can’t even think about all the people staring or pushing their noses up against the glass, poking it, making ugly faces at it, talking WAY to loud…

Even while being indifferent is part of who we are and what we have to do in order to survive doesn’t mean that it’s not hurting.

Try sitting with your legs crossed.

Try spending an evening doing cross road puzzles.

Try staying awake until you pass out.

Just let it go.

The Force might flow throw me. Doesn’t mean it’s strong with me. Powerful? Not really. I’ve rarely been in a position of power. And the few time I have been, I’ve squandered it. Makes sense, actually. I don’t seek power over others. I don’t seek out leading roles that much – sometimes I have to, be it because of reasons that makes sense at the time or just because I have a thing for standing in the limelight.

I’d sacrifice the limelight for happiness.

I’d sacrifice a lot for happiness.

Once, I had this image of family. It was myself, my partner and the presence of a child/children. It was morning and we were sitting around at table, eating breakfast. It was the joy of everyday life, just a normal day, nothing fancy. Dull, even.

That image isn’t something that’s going to happen. I know that know.
First, I’ll not have a child. Not biologically, at least.
Second, I’ll not be able to find myself a loving partner. Not the one I have in mind. Sorry.
Third, it’s a stupid dream that – just like many others – is just that: a dream.

Forth, I’m running out of options.

There’s no woods to walk in.
There’s no way to travel to friends on a moment’s notice.
No sushi. No take away.
No life.

Living isn’t something the dead should go on doing.

Dying is a natural part of life.

Maleficent turned bitter.

“Part of what makes your performances more convincing is that your own image isn't getting in the way. And the more you can keep it like that, the better for your work and your state of mind.”

“As an actor, I still don't really know exactly what I am doing most of the time.”

Sam Riley.

Green fire.

Green fire would be great.
Purple, too.
But I’d like it green.

I'm proud to be me.

"…there are some things we do for ourselves, but there are some things we do for others. I am here because when I was young, I wanted very badly to be a writer, I wanted to be a filmmaker, but I couldn't find anyone like me in the world and it felt like my dreams were foreclosed simply because my gender was less typical than others. If I can be that person for someone else, then the sacrifice of my private civic life may have value."

Lana Wachowski

 

I’m not sure if the quote is correct or even from the speech I’m linking to. But the essence of it remains true, none the less.

Turns out it wasn't. This is the one I was referring to.

This is why we’re not going to see the world we’re striving to make better in our life time. I’m not expecting it to happen. But what I do expect is that someday, someday far from now, people will scratch their heads in puzzlement about how this couldn’t be part of everyday life. This is beyond the point of honouring or even remembering the people who fought these battles for recognition and rights – this is the point of our race reaching the expected level of Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek envisioned hope for the future (but that’s taking the time of the making of the series into account).

Boy or a girl? You know, if I ever have kids – be it one or more, I’m not going to ask that question. I’ll ask if the baby – because that’s right, it’s a BABY – is all right and welcome that child(s) as best as I can to this world. I’m not going to lie, I’m not sure I’m able to – I’m still stuck in all this pre-learnt gender stuff that’s been forced down our heads. Is it X or is it Y? It IS. And that’s all there is to it.

That’s actually frightening. If I, being what I am, can’t accept someone like me, what hope is there for other beings out there? Yes, it bothers me. My own ignorant prejudice bothers me.

Come to mind is an episode that happened years ago. There was a certain gathering of a special kind of young people. One of them were transgender. And I’m ashamed to say that I was trying, unknowingly at the time, to place said person into one of the little boxes. Having gently been corrected by the one next to me – “one isn’t supposed to ask that kind of questions” – made me not only show my ignorance, but how little I knew about that world. I think what did bother me was that this wasn’t a gathering of transgenderism, but BDSM. So, I acted out of what might have been thought of as less than a horrible wrong reason, but the result was less than pleasant for the other individual.

I guess it’s true about how transgender people saying that you'll end up developing a thick skin all too quick, because the option... isn't an option.

The internet makes many things easier, that much is true.

Yet we’re still riding wild horses, suffering dull pain and arches. Staged ques, unfairness and villains. And I still can’t feel bitter about it or treat you unkind. As broken faith leaves tears, dreams of lies, sins and the ponies that connects them… It’s time to dismount.

It’s time to find a cutie mark.

Together.