Posts Tagged ‘Loki


Let me tell you a story.

Once there was a group of friends who all walked along a road. One by one, they each took a turn off when the road came to a fork, saying,

“I wonder what’s down this road. Maybe something different.” And as their paths diverged, they moved quickly forward to find what adventure they could. They never knew what the next bend would bring, and to some their path brought joy, and to others their path brought sorrow. But they took the twists and turns as they came upon them, and felt things deeply and allowed their spirit to be moved by the world.

Eventually only one man was left on the road, but he was too afraid to turn off the path, because he didn’t know if he could deal with something that was different and unfamiliar; and he was too bored to walk quickly, because he knew exactly what lay ahead. So he kept walking and walking on the same road, and his feet wore the dirt down and wore the dirt down until he’d walked his way right into a rut, in a ravine that rose above his head.

The walls were steep and the mud was slick, and he looked at them and thought,

“I shall never climb out of here on my own!” So he cried out to his friends, but most of them had run so far forward, and seen so much, and done so much, and moved so fast, that they were far away and couldn’t hear him.

One friend, who had been the last to leave the path, turned back and came to the side of the ravine. He tried to throw down a rope for the man, but the man in the rut just thought to himself,

“This mud is so slick. Should I grab the rope, surely I will slip and fall.” And he kept walking forward.

The friend who had come back ran alongside the ravine until he took a branch and reached it down into the rut, but the man stuck at the bottom only looked at the branch and said, “That branch is much too thin, and these sides are so steep, that my weight would break it and I would fall.” And he kept walking forward.

The friend threw himself down at the side of the side of the ravine, saying “Grab hold of my hands!”

And the man looked up, and saw that outside his comfortable rut was a wild wood, full of life and movement, full of color and shadow, with no clear paths and no clear light, and he was afraid, because he had no idea — if he should ever get out of his rut — where he should begin. So he ran straight down the same old rut, away from his friends, and his feet wore the dirt down and wore the dirt down.

And nothing changed until the day he died.


New Year’s Resolutions

Start the T process. I’m currently seeing (stopped therapy recently because I’m better now) a supportive therapist; I need to figure out what letters I need.

As a corollary, have a serious conversation with my parents about names and pronouns.

Also related to my parents: start paying for my own phone service and car insurance. I’ve been paying my own rent and health insurance the past year; it’s time to grow up a little more. (EDIT 7/17 I have a shiny new phone now! It’s a Samsung Galaxy, and I use it mostly for work XD Hooray, Google Spreadsheets EVERYWHAR! Instant updates to inventory and shipping! The Captain installed Cerberus on it, so it’s a SAFETY FONE.)

I should probably look into renter’s insurance, if I even qualify for it after what happened. (EDIT 3/31: I’m getting onto the Captain’s renter’s insurance. Yay, benefits of being married! EDIT 7/17 …we’ll get around to it?)

Go back to school (or at least take a serious look at financing it) for business / sustainable agriculture / possibly entomology.

Talk to Xemnas. (I did this one! In early January! And she loves me too :3 EDIT 7/17 )

Not smoke. (I haven’t had any cigarettes since… November last year? Go me.)

ALSO the Captain and I are getting married (EDIT 3/31: We did this on March 13th! With blue yarn instead of rings >.> ). And buying the house we’re currently renting. And NOT buying it, because it’s a crappy house. We’re buying a different house!

ALSO ALSO I’ve decided to save the world. One foster child / homeless transperson at a time. (And a farm! With goats! and bees! and a mead hall that’s built for acoustics so we can have dance partiiiiiiiiiesssssss!!)


Moar Metamours.

I have lots of boundaries. About lots of different things. Some of them are fuzzy and negotiable; some of them are crisp, neat, and rigidly enforced.

Not all of them are capital-R-relationship related. There’s “I will not interact with people who disrespect my personal space,” “I will not knowingly allow criminal activity in my home,” or intrapersonal stuff like “I will limit myself to two cigarettes a day.” (I’m bad at that last one.)

Some of the boundaries are drawn behind me to prevent me from going back into my comfort zone — “I will tell the Captain when I feel like hurting myself” — even though it’s easier to hide and deny, I *will* cross the boundary of non-forthcomingness, and, having once passed it, will not go back.

Some of them are based on ethical lines. “I will not practice dishonesty.” Or legal lines. “I will not sensually engage with someone who is under the legal age of consent.”

The relationship ones are complicated, though. I have trust issues. “I am absolutely fucking paranoid about THE SAME SHIT happening AGAIN but I’m theoretically poly but people, by and large, suck; but the Geisha has been fine but you can never ever trust strangers and *everyone*’s a stranger no matter how well the Captain thinks he knows them” … shorthand for I don’t always trust the Captain’s judgement when it comes to other partners. And while he’s absolutely *fabulously* good at respecting our relationship and not letting others disrespect it either, the Paranoid Brain wants to prevent that situation from ever occurring in the first place. And boundaries that really shouldn’t be there are and aren’t really helpful and are basically just a buffer against insecurity start getting thrown up.

The Paranoid Brain is the one that jumps at any chance to quash potential friendships/relationships/metamors/sharers because what if we get screwed again? The Robot Brain says the Paranoid Brain is a fear-based system and that there are ways and ways to control a situation without needing to prevent it from happening. The part of my brain that really listens to Loki says “Shit is going to happen, it’s not all going to be under your control, get the hell over yourself. Ride the wave of chaos, don’t mind the sharks.” And Me? Me is on input overload from the brains and just screaming into the pillow at this point. Me is the one who goes out for a smoke break every chance he gets, just to turn off the brains, and talks to The-Pappa-In-My-Head about life and work and Manly Topics.

The Paranoid Brain says “You’ll never top again. You’re an abusive sadist who didn’t use safewords and didn’t know what you were doing and didn’t care how he felt and harmed him and broke him and loved every fucking minute of it. That uncertainty you feel when you had Xemnas’s gorgeous red hair in your fist? THAT MEANS YOU WANT TO BREAK HER TOO.” The Paranoid Brain is glad we missed that party, glad she’s married now, glad that her husband is stationed in Europe and glad that we’ll never get explicit approval from him because that means we’ll never ever be able to hurt her too. The Paranoid Brain worries incessantly about whether we serve and bottom because we feel like we deserve what we get, whether our deep dark desire to have control taken completely away is actually deep dark self-harming guilt.

The Paranoid Brain is skeeved out by other transpeople, because we’ve never met one we got along with long-term (they’ve all pinged some form of unhealthy instability) and we are not not NOT playing therapist for others right now. The Robot Brain says this is coincidence, and surely there are many transpeople out there whom we’ve never met and who are perfectly happy, well-adjusted, functional individuals; and let’s not be prejudiced about our own. The Loki Brain is disappointed in our inability to connect with other non-gender-conforming people, but understands that we can’t lower our standards just because someone happens to be trans*. (We have struggled with this in recent months, but no details just now. That particular wave is still rolling.) The rest of me wonders if I’m just too solitary and omituinen to *have* “friends.”

The Paranoid Brain FLIPS SHIT when someone is just too helpful — the last time we let someone like that near us, she broke up the Captain and Quietone, lied about having cancer, accused me of stealing from her, broke my French Press (on a school day!), spit in my face (YES. LITERALLY.) and went crying to the Captain when I snapped at her, STILL owes Crusader a few hundred dollars, ran screaming into the night “for no reason” after the Captain made peace with Quietone, and then went through five or six people in the local TNG group in the space of a few months before finding another poor sap to whose wallet she could engage herself. *PTHOOEY!*

The Paranoid Brain wants to run criminal background checks on potential partners and metamors. Because the last time we took someone’s word for it, she talked me out of pulling over to help at an accident where she would have been recognized by cops and arrested and wouldn’t have been at our apartment the night of the fire and I would have been safe in the Captain’s bed; come to find out she was skipping parole, *still* engaging in sex work, lying to partners about it, refusing to get tested, and claiming to be a legitimate massage therapist while deriding “massage therapists who give happy endings;” FUCK all the “help” she gave me afterwards because the first thing she did was try to get rid of Loki when this was my kick in the pants from him; because she wasn’t even PRESENT for her fire, WENT THROUGH disaster response training, and still FUCKING FROZE WHEN I RAN OUT OF MY ROOM WITH MY BEST LOVED BOOK AFLAME IN MY ARMS.

The Robot Brain says I did everything I could. The Loki Brain wants all this aired in public as loudly, vehemently, clearly, and often as possible. Because people don’t know and they should know and I shouldn’t have to hide a part of me that isn’t part of me anymore; because we do sometimes get better and we’re not permanently damaged and really we don’t want to harm you. Because people lie cheat steal and I DON’T FUCKING DEAL WELL WITH THAT.

But now any un-asked-for help puts us on Red Alert, and anyone could be running a con, and anyone could be crazy, and anyone could be so broken they can’t handle our family. I could be too broken to handle another person. So I build walls around not only myself but also the Captain, one brick of bad experiences at a time, mortared with uncertainty and sealed with a desperate and wasted bid for control over everything.

This is why I have trust issues.

(The Robot Brain says “We’re only here because of the fire. Except for Loki. You’re letting temporary issues interfere with your mental health. Stop that.” Sometimes I listen. Today is not one of those times, apparently.)


Learn Something New Every day, chapter 4

I opened the altar book to the story of Frey and his servant Skirnir.

I lit a candle.

I went to pray.

The next thing I remember is my altar burning.

(It’ll probably help if I describe it: It’s a slotted shelf sat on top of a bookshelf, with green linen over it. The top level has candles, personal effects, and an incense holder; the lower level has my ancient copy of Norse Gods and Giants, my calligraphy set atop a carefully folded Marimekko scarf; the tiny space underneath holds more candles, lighters, incense, etc.)

The new book the Captain had bought me was singeing. I tossed it on the bed.

I picked up the altar book and carried it into the bathroom and tossed it in the tub. I could feel my fingers burning. The Captain turned the shower on.

I got a cup of water (a basin would take too long to fill) and tossed it at the bookshelf. The Captain did the same. The fire hissed in reply and leapt higher; melted wax splashed against the already blackened wall.

We left.

I grabbed boots and a jacket, and extra shoes when I saw the Geisha leaving barefoot. The Captain closed the door to my room. Pennylady had the presence of mind to grab her purse. The Captain called the fire department, pulled the hall alarm, and we rousted out the neighbors.

I had a meltdown–crying and blaming myself, calling on Balder’s mercy and wondering why why why why isn’t the Captain furious with me. I chainsmoked half a pack of Pennylady’s cigarettes right in front of him and he didn’t say a word.

Within minutes the FD was there. The fire was put out. I got an ice pack for my fingers. We were allowed back in.

There was no more altar. The bookshelf under it was in pieces on my bed; there was a pile of ash and char where it had been and the firemen were tossing burned books into a bin to throw out through the broken window. I got the book the Captain had given me, some clothes and toiletries, and we went to his parents’ house for the night. No one slept.

The next morning we went back and since they wouldn’t let us in until 9, I went around back and picked through what had been tossed out the window.

My inks were melted and had exploded. I found two nibs and no pen. Most of the books were only charred on the outside. My collar (There’s a picture of it on Fetlife and Twitter) was half-melted and twisted; the plating was gone.

When we were able to get inside I threw everything from my dresser (soaked through) into a plastic bag and forgot about them. I found a pile of quarters in the charred remains of my bookshelf. I wiped them off because we would need them to do laundry at the hotel. I found my wallet, my phone and charger, my work clothes, my immigration papers and US passport, my loan papers… essentials.

I broke down bawling when I found the frames and broken glass from two of my grandfather’s tiny paintings. I kept the cardboard backing, which on the back still reads “God Jul ├ątt [legal name].” In the weeks after, while we were trying to clean the place out and pack, I went through the pile every time I was there, hoping I would find even a scrap. Nothing.

(That part still plays over in my head: The last time I saw them the flames were just beginning to lick up the wall, why why why didn’t I tear them down as well? Everything else is painful, but replaceable. My grandfather died when I was in high school and the two miniature watercolors of Turku in winter are gone.)

We lived in a hotel from October 3rd through October 29th. I got up at four, went to the Macy’s, had lunch, went to the other job, came home at eight, had a beer or three and went to sleep. We moved into a house just south of Baltimore on the 29th-31st and gave out candy on Halloween.

For a few weeks afterward I was having shock reactions: I kept thinking I smelled smoke at the Macy’s. Pennylady called me on one of those days and talked me through it and she has my eternal gratitude for being the one person I could listen to through sheer panic. I had trouble sleeping because every time I closed my eyes I saw waking up to the fire, so I worked myself to exhaustion and drank myself to sleep. As recently as two weeks ago one of Bosslady’s other employees had overheated some beeswax on a hotplate and the smell of burning wax brought panic into the back of my mind. The first reaction was “Smoke? Wax room. Turn down hot plate. Open window. Clean hot plate and bottom of leveling pan.” Sane. Rational. Levelheaded. I do not have PTSD.

There have been good moments: One day the Geisha and I both went to the liquor store and brought home Mike’s Hard Cranberry, without knowing the other was doing so as well. I cut and tooled a leather mask, which I ended up giving to my sister for Christmas. I developed a taste for pro wrestling and we watched a few SVU marathons.

There have been bad moments: Driving without glasses for a week. Finding out the rental insurance only covered the Captain. Almost freaking out when touring the house before renting because there was a lit candle. Having a meltdown at my parents’ house — they haven’t seen me cry since I broke up with Caboose, which was in 2007, and rarely before that.

The second week we were at the hotel, I told the Captain that I had been smoking behind his back after telling him I’d quit this past June. I had finished the pack I had left over that morning and swore there would be no more. I had one while at Packhead’s party and one randomly when I found part of a pack in the Captain’s backpack and my self-control slipped. I *really* wanted one this past night when I knew I would be at my parents’ house for a few days, but I held it off until the Captain came home because I knew I wouldn’t do it if there was a chance he would see me. Which makes it about one a month since stopping cold turkey.

Eventually (mid-November) my sleep deprivation and crankiness and drinking habit got annoying and the Captain beat it out of me, then told me that he owned me and I had no other choice, and that I was going to quit the Macy’s job and get my life together. I agreed. Sanity began to return.

A month or so ago I started reconditioning myself to having fire around, one candle at a time. One night I had six of them lit on the kitchen table, no lights on, and the Captain came down to get me. I had just closed my computer and turned off the lights and began having a Loki moment, needling the Captain about how familiar the fire looked and didn’t this bother him and *why* did it bother him so much, I bet he couldn’t tell me… and the Captain beat it out of me again. For all the things I have to thank Loki for (and yes, the fire is one of them. We were stagnating and we are, really, in a much better situation now, despite the initial trauma) he is an asshole. I’m not supposed to let my deal with him involve the Geisha and the Captain.

We haven’t really been doing a lot of active D/S except for my usual work around the house and the need for a little something special has begun to eat away at me. I need something to focus a service meditation on to get back in the headspace where I was for the few weeks after the Captain took possession.

I can make jokes about fire now, and candles. It only took two months. Fireplay is on the edge of my radar again. We’re hopefully firing up the woodstove this week.

I had to stop and start at writing (October 8 through today) this because it still was a little difficult, some parts more than others. So, there you go. Where your favorite tranny has been since 3:40 AM on October 2nd, 2010.


Learn something new every day, chapter 3

The Captain and I went to Summer Masquerade Ball with Burninator this past Friday. I got to see LittleDarling for the first time since probably last summer, ran into someone I knew from university and some of Kaos’s friends, met a few new people, hung out with Kitsune, bummed a smoke and got two drinks bought for me.

The week prior, Burninator had taught me to make leather masks. WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!


So I spent most of the week painting (and sewing the Captain’s costume too, but mostly painting). Somebody had the bright idea to dress up as Loki, and put himself in a mask. Pics to come. Prior to leaving the house, I set my altar book (D’Aulaires’ Norse Gods and Giants. I fucking love picture books.) to the story of the rebuilding of the wall. In which, dear reader, Loki changes into a mare to seduce away a Jotun’s workhorse.

Apparently Friday night was the friendliest I’ve ever been. I talked to new people, danced, and was generally loud and boisterous. Some with the mask on my face, some with it on my head (wearing glasses over it was a pain in the ass) and some with the mask nowhere near me.


The Closet

Yes, I’m still in it. In a lot of places.

There are parts of my life where I am only selectively out to people who need to know — i.e., people who are boinking me (currently only the Captain) and people he trusts to be smart about it (a very small number, most of whom I only see a few times a year), and people who have access to my records at work or school, or have known me under a different name. I just tell everyone else I’m a guy. Because much as I’d love to be out about everything, it’ll be on my own damn time. And much as I think educating people is important, sometimes I don’t want to be the gateway tranny. Sometimes I just want to go out and have fun and be “one of the guys” in that special geeky way we have.

(I got glared at yesterday and reminded that I agreed to this. …And I want to do it myself, my way; not accidentally via someone else’s thoughtlessness.)

This is why social networking sites are so devious, because a link from one can have a link to the Twitter which is connected to someone’s personal anonymous blog, and a lot of the stuff on here is quite transparent if one knows the people involved. Bit of a problem. So, some care will be exercised until the issue is resolved. Don’t know what form that’ll take yet. I don’t know if I’m overreacting but uh, putting someone in danger of being outed seems like a big deal to me.

Stealth? Yes. Sometimes. Yes, most people there would probably be supportive. Yes, I’m open about most things most of the time. Yes, I have a blog with basically my entire personal life all over it. But in real life my biology in particular is not everybody’s damn business.


Questions and Answers

Early May:

I’ve been looking more into Norse traditional religion (specifically Asatru) in my general search for ‘what’s out there.’ Partially because I have roots in that region, partially because Norse mythology is something I grew up in a familiar sort of way with; “Norse Gods and Giants” was one of my earliest English-language books that I remember (first-grade me was fascinated by the pictures of battles in Valhalla — I remember showing that page to my mom and asking if I could have a copy of the book for my birthday. Considering my memories of childhood are few and far between, this is a Big Thing). My sister and I both learned Runes in middle school / high school: she cast them, I carved them into my skin.

So, I had a presentation in class last week, and if any readers have seen me talking in front of a group (prior to this writing, anyway) I stammer, fiddle with my hands, um, uh, right, and… *looks for place on paper during long awkward pause* Complete with nervous jitter, tummy butterflies, etc. So I thought, what the hell, it can’t hurt to ask for help, and if there’s no answer I won’t do any worse than usual.

Problem is, the Christian G-d that I’d had most of my explicitly religious experiences with had been silent when I asked for help recently, and had in the past been willing only to help me figure things out that I already knew. I had read about public speaking, I had heard people talk about how to do it, I could not for the life of me wrap my head around it. So I figured if I was going to get it, it had to come from outside. Seen as I’d gotten a bit more connected to the Norse way, I decided to go there for help.

It was a different kind of request than I’d made before. It wasn’t “Help me find the strength to do this” or “Help me open my mind to understand this” with nothing but belief and a properly lived life in return, no. It was “I need to stand in front of people and have words come out of my mouth. The right ones. Intelligibly.” So it seemed like a good idea at the time to ask Loki — the trickster, the sly one, the talker; silver tongue and fox’s nimble wit. And, since there’s this whole idea of sacrificing to the gods, it made sense to offer something in return: in this case, genderbendery trannytastic fuckshituppery. A little chaos, a little change. After all, one of the reasons I was drawn towards Loki in the first place was the shapeshifting aspect (including gender-switching).

Update 6-6-09: And apparently he’s giving me ideas and requiring that I do them… Including conversations about how I need to stop being so f-ing overcautious. Curiouser and curiouser.