issues of membership

So I must also deal with issues of membership – what makes it okay for me to belong. Forgive me for another spew-rant, but I need these right now, and I think they’re entertaining. One day, they’ll be called poetry… but not today. today, they’re just words in random order. More after the jump:

So there are several clubs that, when viewed from my position, cannot/will not accept me. And some of them I don’t want to be a part of, but others lure me with promises of the benefits of membership. The lesbian club ousted me for fucking men, though if they knew of my attraction to gender benders they would certainly have done it sooner. I don’t think i’m khaki enough to be gay – that pink mohawk a few years ago ruined that for me. I’m not into dichotomies enough for the bi kids to think I’m cool – there are too many genders for me to choose just two. I never made aims at the tranny club because while my body doesn’t fit as far as gender goes, I sometimes dress it like a girl to match my vagina, and sometimes like a boy, but I never had a drive to be read as another gender, though sometimes to be read in between. But the tranny club in Asheville almost demands a punk identiifcation, or at least anarchist, and constantly putting way too much thought into appearance, and I’m not into being superficial, so I’m not down. Truthfully, that’s only part of Asheville’s tranny community, but they’re the ones my age… so go figure. I have gotten plenty of strange looks in bathrooms when my head was shaved and i was wearing overalls, but gender is not about clothing, and it is about clothing, but for me, tranny doesn’t work. And I don’t think I have enough money to be LGBT, so tack me on the end there and call me Q, but not the creepy guy from star trek or the suave one from Bond, just queer’ll do. And genderqueer, if you please, because gender is my playground and gender is my battleground, and I won’t be ordering off the menu.

But there are other clubs that don’t want me, too. The gay and lesbian rights movement would leave me in the dust if we ever met on the highways of nevada because i don’t look the part, i can’t play the role, and i can’t afford to let my guard down long enough to blink let alone get trampled on. and since i sometimes can’t afford  my water bill, i sure as hell can’t afford to donate to the cause – and even if i could i’m quite sure i wouldn’t because their cause isn’t my cause. and I used to keep my mouth shut about things like this because i was raised with southern manners, but i’m over being silent. i’m over being politically correct, but i’m also over being gayly correct. there’s nothing correct about me, especially where correct implies right, except that i’m right-handed. but i’m also over trying to out-queer everyone else because queer is not a contest, and there’s no way to be ‘queerly right’. of course you can be a log cabin republican if you find it ethical to vote for someone who would call your sex no better than bestiality and legislate away your right to choose a consenting sexual partner. but my dear LCR friends shy away from the word “queer” because it lacks the assimilationist spoonful of sugar they so desperately need to help the medicine go down. and they must be on medicine – something like prozac to take away the self-hatred and xanax to help their sphincters loosen up at night. I’m quite sure they only fuck at night, under the cloak of darkness, where all things dirty and shameful go unspoken, if they fuck at all, that is.

and i have to wonder, too, if my dear southern club would ahve me since my values are so san francisco these days. and of all the clubs i’ve ever wanted to join, it’s this one into which i was born, and this one to which i remain loyal.



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