'Being transgender is a mental illness' is something I've heard a lot. Online,
in media, books, and at universities. But is it really? Well, do I not feel
sick? Genuinely, every day. These words are far less common these days, having
been defeated in the #marketplace-of-ideas, and for that I am grateful. I don't
want to feel sick for my whole life. I'd love to be and feel normal, for just
one single day.

    but it's never going to happen.

I'm not so attached to my life, here, in this body. Bodies are temporary, they
are the vessel with which we navigate the world. We use it to grow, change,
learn, and create art. Without it, we'd be at a loss for sins and virtues.
but they do not define us, not in our totality. We are the light that touches
the world and for that, we are grateful. To be comprised of the dust of stars
is the pinnacle of confinement. Though we are but pinpricks on the map of us,
a ripple is emanated with every movement. The hand waves, the light bends.

    So to what do I owe the pleasure?

    In what way am I deceived?

Reception is never great out in the forest. Or anywhere far from major
population centers. The networks of our phones mirror the networks of
transportation, creating a web of people - of signals - of light and
information, carving their way through the ephemera that is the river of time.
With distance we can see what once was mystery, and as all the words
disappeared, we lost all our fears and we're left with our true forms.
Centralized Processing Units are a bit like a city - in that respect free.

    silence is a virtue.
    the wandering mind is a trail to find,
    with no second chances.

When I was a kid, I had a bouncy ball. I had several, but the one I remember
most was black with a perfect white circle - inside the circle, a black jolly
roger. I dreamt once of the arcs it made, as I walked down the streets of
cities I never really knew. But as I walked on, an ocean of glass separating me
from a mirror below. The me below would catch the bounce as it dropped from
above, and I'd wait to catch it - but dreams are not prophecies, they are but
the Mirror of Desire.