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Subject: {ASSM} Non Sequitur    Gender in the year 2932
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Date: Tue, 22 Feb 2005 19:10:02 -0500
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Taxi Murders Web Site: http://taximurders.com
Poetry Site: http://seanfarragher.com
Long Poem: Work in Progress: http://byzantium2001.com
(9-11-2001 and Terrorism of the Child Abuse)
http://blastmagazine.org


Non Sequitur
The Motion of Gender Un Stopped
"Today, 2932 or the year 2184, does it Matter"?

Sometimes, during our changes as we called them, what my friend Jane and I
did never made sense. Life is that way you know. We did not act any
differently than anyone else. Well, maybe slightly. 

Jane, a tall dark apparent female about five ten 160 pounds sometimes became
a very slight or very obese apparent man. She did it easily. One internal
focus and it was done. 

Once as woman, not a man, she became a basketball player and was almost
seven feet. As John (sometimes I called Jane, John, ordering intentional
confusion), I was the leader most of the time. At that time, no one knew or
was told their "gender origin" -- what a lovely new phrase. After all, the
ancient genders did not matter. 

Sometimes I loved over hearing the politically correct or incorrect form,
"you first dear." In this odd, happen stance it seem that it was usually the
male speaking to the female. Like a bad dream, or a great one, he with his
gallantry took her by the hand and then swallowed her whole. No, she did not
die. He did when he came. 

When I transformed into a woman I had no desire for men, only women. I
stayed constant. Jane and I must have a changed at least fifty times in the
past ten years. Yes, we lost track long ago of our original intention. No,
records are not kept. No papers will answer the question am I or will I be a
woman, man or in some transition. 

We are not very strange at all. We do it easily. We think and we are. Bigger
breasts, a thicker cock, a cunt, a hole, and a clit twanging and it happens.
Not very strange. I can be bored with change, and maybe that is the root of
anomie now. To think some would call us liars. Scream perversion. How dare
they? They are the ones who tell us that all is permitted, for as they put
it, in that terrible phrase, consenting adults. Who is an adult and who can
consent really if you think about all the possibilities. 

Nothing deceitful in our behavior. We are very upfront. You may start with
me and I will be a woman, and you can finish with me and I am a man. Yes,
in-between too. If you or I are inside of one or more orifices then that
stays the same until you pull out or push inside further, you can be trapped
in that other form. So what. You have another origin. 

You can be born again spit back by the cock or the cunt as some primal
effusion of plenty gone to waste. Quite ordinary, really. Biology, desire
and personality become the background noise of public concern. My God, do
they think we want to make everyone identical? 

No, never. Why would I want anyone to become her or me? Who would want to
change all the time. Yes, the method was clear. All you had to do was say it
or think it and it happened. 

Transformation needs time, energy and the capacity for knowing origin,
destination and the varied points between the geometry's of the differing
genders. Why fuss all about this. We did nothing to disrupt the peace. We
just played Euclid and non-Euclid and Einstein was born, played, and acted
out our frustrations in a streetcar called desire. 

Can't help the dislocations, can we? They even created a new police force to
stop us. I heard that had endowed a university (paid all its subscriptions
to science magazines for the next ten years in advance) to find a way to
stop our progress towards an infinite and unmanageable and quite
misunderstood professional search engine for the new fifth dimensional
Internet that weight more than time, space and that last quality geometric
integrity. 

The judge screamed no logic before the propositions. No mercy before the
criminals are murdered for killing other murderers and then stopping
themselves and wondering how it would be to just be ordinary. 

One gender, one life, one personality, and one form locked in step in one
body that decays over one hundred and ninety years or so.

Jane was to easy to lead without whip, stocks, frigid dildoes or electric
shocks thrown from her mouth when she came.

We bumped together often at the end of cycles winding our thighs together
reaching our clits, cocks, and mouth easily almost as if we were created
just to be seen and our attachments were dark and forbidden only in the cave
of our minds as I called our infinite imagination. Wonderful to be born
human and a God. Nothing to do really in the makeover. Just think it, and it
is.

Jane especially liked to be almost full term when she became a man. She
liked the gas pains and the heft of it, she said. She thought the irony was
less distracting than the breasts that suddenly fell from her chest and
ached so much when she slightly rubbed her nipples against her own arm. She
did not like soft breasts as I do. She liked them hard but not muscle bound.


Yes, I always started pregnant (goes with my breast obsession), and when I
gave birth I disappeared and so did Jane, but our children lived back in the
world. As her full partner (we call it our identity) and in tandem with her
and finally cloned into the computer jargon we hated, I, six foot three and
two hundred and fifty pounds transformed into a woman, or into a man (Jane
claimed no preference) and I usually liked to be what the newspapers call
petite. 

My breasts are 32 B right now. See how the nipples outline against my tee
shirt. At other times, I have been 30 A as a full-grown woman. The largest
tits I have ever accepted (and I have to admit they were fun) were 36B and
they had the largest nipples I have ever seen on anyone anywhere. I love the
sense of nipples and their flat faces and when I sucked them or have mine
sucked, I can know the texture of a mouth as well as the heat of the desire.
Small nipples are wonderful. I love just a mouth full or a slightly large
gulp and I swoon. I am obsessed with breasts more than Philip Roth is. 

When I stepped into my new frame, (just like in a movie) my breasts leaked
milk and my mouth filled with semen. It just appeared and when I spit it out
the air became foul, but when I implanted it in the roots of a special tree
that had three primary roots and two branches, I grew my child, fully adult
at once in the ordinary pleasure of roots finding their own source. So
surprised by breasts. Yes, look at them, feel not just the nipples but also
the curves and their weight let loose by gravity almost falling from space. 

See the light subtle bending of the flesh in mirrors that rippled when you
looked at them and felt your lover rub her breasts or his nipples against
yours, and the texture the friction of tits rubbed to rub was more than I
could every express before I met, had and earned my Jane. She taught me to
speak. She "learned men" as she put it. She encouraged me to be more human
than dead.

Last night, thinking as a man, or remembered how I thought as a man, and now
considering only brief moments of past transformations, I woke as a woman.
Rolling backward in the bed, opening my legs, I found my seam, and suddenly
missing that which I held, I found another spit of flesh, another opening
posed for the cameras, which loved my return every ten years. As soon as I
passed, about year after transformation, they forgot me and only protected
me because if I died, they would cease to exist.

Now, when I did, I really look like I had posed in silver mirrors. Yes, I am
not that decadent, how dare you call me a fucking aristocrat. 

I have simple tastes, and I always choose blue eyes when I feel lonely and
gray eyes when I want to be held sweetly. After that, Jane spanked me very
hard with a brush she kept handy.

Out in the world, we made for strange conversations I could handle them all,
but John sometimes stuttered and I then I would say, "well," when
embarrassed that I had no solution to a great chain of being (the flux of
the orders of life they call it now) that we had become ourselves and all in
one lifetime. Shifting planes the spirals collapsed and became an inverted
horizon or a black folding flower that draped the mantle into one continuous
spiral like that crude and ancient DNA, for example. 



2. The Ultimate Order of Things

We were ordered to not conquer death. We said we would and have almost. We
played with death over Sunday breakfast and screamed at one another when it
all seemed too cruel. Making sense about it all made too much sense.
Finally, we reached perhaps the most important part of the description of my
personality and sexual attitude. 

Sometimes I am more confused by science than the perfection of abstract
beauty like a lake, sunset or fucking when it is so dark you can see the
contours of your partner's body as if she or he were inside a prism. Jane
thought that was meant by the phrase "dark science." 

Just ordinary body changes. Maybe long ago that would have been considered
obscene. What is that mean really? Jane thinks it means dead in the pants. I
think it means we kill our pants and what goes on inside. Censorship. Ah, no
we didn't do that either

What we did as consenting adults was no one's affair. Are we so infatuated
with pleasure that in our describing it, we commit some form of unpardonable
act? 

Do we practice subversion or alienation? What do we really do?

That is what the law said. What did we do as consenting adults, to use that
ancient phrase being revived against our will? 

Yes, we did the unpardonable. We got dressed in one set of all-together. We
became man, woman and a creature called Mock Jane or Mock Self.

I started this conversation with your mind. That is the nature of reading,
and I said, "Sometimes what my friend and I do never made sense." I called
it the non-sequitur complex. Hope it makes me famous like Freud and Adler.

You ask now, of course, why does being consenting adults in one set of all
together irrational and without any logical premise. Why is it fools gold
and how does it not make sense? I will kick you in the ass and say simply, I
do not know. Sense can be also séance, and what is, derived from fact, is
fact or not. We all love those accidental confusions. I do have a cruel
desire to keep it all for myself. 

I will say simply that being naked made more sense as we spread the eyes of
our longing across the mud where the bridge fell. What fucking bridge? 

Lovers always watched the "sub marine races," with the same confusion.
Nothing was seen. An excuse for making out of course, and more. Sometimes,
your mind was down there in the belly of the car sucking tit, again tit,
cock or clit, and not inside the water lake or river or estuary with your
lover waiting on the men to line up and take you. 

Jane as him told me how he dreamed of a woman with a large mouth who
swallowed the ocean. He was mythmaker, and like the size of his exaggerated
prick, he was the end of the story, as far I was concerned. I was his match.


Sometimes I wondered how we met. How he choose me. Braggarts did not easily
impress me, but he made it true. Like a God, he sucked my clit like a thick
mouth on the ribbons of pink flesh. He grew my mouth with his ardor and I of
course, would spread my legs wider, allow him more entry for those delicate
slurps, the rounding of the tongue and then the pick it up of the lips on
the inside of the vulva, and calling it, as it is, I said, my cunt is dry
when you are not here. He said, no, don't call it a name except Gig, for
which the Irish have paid their sorrow. I laughed back at him. We are all
Irish I said. All of us have some of that peculiar hedonism mixed with a shy
prudery. No, He called back. I do not have any prudery at all, and my Irish
mind is clear. I hate the English. I hate their dry anger and I love the
Irish melancholy, like you, Kelly, so dear, and a woman today at least. Yes,
that is right. We can in be any gender. Just get dressed and think it. You
are it. I am a woman today, and yesterday I was male, or was I both at once.
Quite nice how science made us so tolerant. Getting back to Quakes and not
game playing or marking the walls with sexy graffito that has no plot or
form. I hate amorphous, he said. Yesterday, you loved it as Michelle, I told
him. You love the earth crashing about you as Mark, when he was crippled;
you screamed that you could not move to fuck better. You remember that great
story of 2034 when we lost most of California not to an earthquake but to
the religious right planting infertility spikes in both male and female
children born out of wedlock as they put it. What a quake that knowledge
made. So ingenious you are Michelle I said. No, I am James. You are Mary
have big huge tits so large you can take two cocks there and find another
one in your hands for your mind to empty. I love the mind games best, you
know, is it Mike now, or are you Elizabeth, or can you recite the
declaration of independence Gabe, or is it Helen. She had a sweet mind that
could count all the sand grains while she smoked or fucked or played
cribbage. No, she refused to play eight ball. Said four men are not enough.
We are out of sorts aren't we?

Yes, get back to it. That marvelous man who stepped from the ark. He was
twenty thousand times taller than any of us. He reached back into the
clouds, and yes, he was not only male, he had two sides, and two natures,
and not unlike us, as he said he derived from our experience. We met him
when the wall fell. Yes, she was not he then, or was he both or she was the
inner mouth, so large her sex a football team from that planetary past could
fill her cunt, and she insisted on that word. It is hard to keep track of
the names that are politically acceptable. My word, Clarence, your tits are
like an open book I found from a playboy site excavated by chimps if you can
believe the cliché. 

You know the one book that became a media sensation. It was back in Taos or
was it San Bernadine, is that how you spell the name of the town where the
blood of the crow mixed with the man and woman who came back from Diego's
planet. Go back to San Fran with me, and play. You were 19 at the time. 

Twenty one thirty four was an excellent year for those small grapes. No, I
did not mean Lauren's breasts. Yes, I mean the way I could fondle your balls
and tease your clit at the same time you swallowed my child and spit her
back to become me again. 

Yes, I know my sister was always thin and practically emaciated but seemed
to have men following her whenever she walked beside me. I was so fat. No, I
was. I had 6 percent fat, and no one was that fat anymore. No need to be fat
when there is that drug, Cal-low made by Mercy Kinder restaurant factory.
Yes, no one understands how it works. You take it and nothing passes through
your mind or skin. No one can penetrate at all.

Your skin was soft like I woman. You did not like me comparing you to my
late lover, Loraine. You said, it was terribly unmanly, or some other
bullshit and daft organ without connection. Words do that you know when they
fall off a cliff and tumble into oblivion. 

Yes, I know I loved the untamed mercy of your hands on my eyes blinded me
later in the day when the wind picked up the sand. I could not breathe. You
were more than the intensity of silk pressed against mine. I did love you as
the sand pressed through the waves. 

Water flows. Floating and bobbing we undressed the rest of the bathing suit,
pulling my top down, my nipples were flat against your mouth. I could not
understand anything you said. You said. No sense at all. Nothing was
magical. I fit my brain against the eyes you slipped down my top, when we
were having hot dogs. I remember the way you looked at the young women. You
said they were local college girls. You taught there last year. You hoped
you would see one of them came over to your apartment and cooked you Sunday
dinner. Is that all she did, I asked? No, she took care of my son who was
visiting. You haven't met him yet. He was living in Australia. Yes, near
Perth surfing the jewels of the rolling planes. Have you heard them sing
those lusty waves, you asked me? I told him that mothers and sons do not
speak of such things, and he laughed of course, as you did when I told you
about my dream. 

I lived in the miracles. What do you mean miracles? That is the top of the
courtyard where the lively rushing of great birds drowns out the whine of
the machines -- terrifying contraptions. Dad bought me one when I was 24. He
found it next to the river and my bones dragging their way through the mud.
Seems I almost grew up that year.

Next time with the bones I was 29 and hardly a girl, and this man bought me
the Last Supper. I love religious conclusions. Don't you?

It is like the gaping hole, so open half in lid, almost cheery round about
and tumult filled. I came upon yours last Christmas. No one could believe
you have not taken the best way out of this mess. I did. Tomorrow would be a
better day I thought and told her that when she kissed my mouth and I felt
the tongues speak and the mercy quit. Why did I murder Jane after all? I am
so lonely now without my companion. No one even knew she existed before she
created me in the margin of her notebook taking freshman biology also called
the fucking of man by ape or some other inequities of dying. I lived in the
miracles. What do you mean miracles? That is the top of the courtyard where
the lively rushing of great birds drowns out the whine of the machines --
such terrifying contraptions. Dad bought me one when I was 24. He found it
next to the river and my bones dragging their way through the mud. Seems I
almost grew up that year.

Next time with the bones I was 29 and hardly a girl, and this man bought me
the Last Supper. I love religious conclusions. Don't you?

It is like the gaping hole, so open half in lid, almost cheery round about
and tumult filled. I came upon yours last Christmas. No one could believe
you have not taken the best way out of this mess. I did. Tomorrow would be a
better day I thought and told her that when she kissed my mouth and I felt
the tongues speak and the mercy quit. Why did I murder Jane after all? I am
so lonely now without my companion. No one even knew she existed before she
created me in the margin of her notebook taking freshman biology also called
the fucking of man by ape or some other inequity in dying.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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