kasperobscene

i need to go away for a while. working on that now. i've lost all inspiration, so i won't be writing. have no computer. hope you're all ok.

what do you do when, in order to have a decent life you need two things, but getting one of those things will keep you from the other?

i am in deep shit. the only clinic in norway authorised to help people transition won't let me unless i can prove i am absolutely stable. one of the main reasons i'm not stable is that they won't let me transition. you can see my problem here.

i'm also dealing with some stuff that came up a few months ago. i'm dissociating a lot. i should be in hospital, but i can't.
Fuck.

i'm going to make a zine called YOUR ALL GAY: SEXUAL MINORITIES AND WHY I HATE THEM ALL. who wants to help me? it will be totes progressive and radical and awesome, i swear.
i want people to write about why their own particular lololol sexual minority is full of wankarghs. don't worry, i'll only hate on my own! it's what i do best. well, mostly.

i am also working on my perzine, HOMO BAD! which will win at failing. so far it is mostly tales of HOMOSEXUAL DEBAUCHERY. well jackson.

i am tired of my brain never shutting up. fifteen years or more of near constant dissociation makes me really need a rest, but i can't have one. I don't even know what i'm protecting myself from.

i fucking hate being crazy. i hate never being alone in my own head. nothing ever seems real. i just want some rest.

i am writing from a motel in long beach. i got here on friday, i went to warped yesterday, i am horrifically sunburnt, stupidly broke until tomorrow afternoon, and very, very happy.

very short warped recap:
cobra starship own my heart. the academy is... are a million times better live than on record, in my humble opinion. travis mccoy needs to be president or something, he is far too awesome for this world. gabe saporta? still radiates cool, still stupidly, ridiculously beautiful. also caught some of street dogs' set. there was a circle pit. exciting!

and on saturday i got to hang with a friend of mine who i've known on the internet literally since pete doherty made good music. and that's a long time ago, people. ahahah i am mean. but yes, anyway.

ryland told me my shirt was badass. it has a roland synth on it and as such, of course, is just that. but you guys, i have a RYLAND APPROVED T-SHIRT. i win.

off to the east coast in a couple of days, to new york and boston to hang with some friends. should be good fun, and i'm glad i'll get to see that part of the country as well.

so. it's late, i've been reading gender outlaw by kate bornstein, and so here is yet another rambly post about gender and body image from the kasper j. obscene.

my flat is positioned such that no one can look through my windows. because of this, i've been spending a great deal of my time indoors topless. and dudes, it has worked wonders for my relationship with my body. well, of course it's not just that i'm bouncing around the house without a top on, but a combination of that and a general shift in how i view myself and my own situation regarding my gender has caused me to finally be able to see my body for what it is, and to slowly begin to appreciate it for exactly what it is: my body.

because the thing is, it's not exactly the way i'd like it to be, and i'm not planning on it staying the way it is for the rest of my life, but for now it's what i've got to work with, and i have the right to be OK with that. and i am. it's taken me a long time, but finally, at the age of twenty-three, my body and i? we're cool. there is no beef. i can look at myself topless in the mirror and go "yeah, i'm alright". from a certain angle, in a certain light, y'know, i don't look so bad, even with my clothes off, and i'm finally ready to accept that.

people who are not trans have a lot of ideas about what it means to be trans, and those of us who are trans sometimes agree with these, and sometimes we don't. and sometimes we don't agree with each other, and that's ok, too. personally, i don't see myself as a "man trapped in a woman's body". i am a man, and the body i inhabit is mine, no one else's, and as such, it is a man's body. because it is my body, and i am a man. do you see? it really is that simple.

and by defining my body in such a way, i am reclaiming it and redefining my relationship with it. because i have the right to define my body. it does not define me.

another thing i can't stop thinking about is how my physical appearance is read by other people. at this point, i have no idea if most people read me as male or female, gay or straight, or if i just confuse the hell out of most people i encounter. probably the latter, and i am beginning to realise that i really don't mind.

i do think, however, that i read pretty easily as queer to most anyone who has any idea about this sort of thing. that is, if you realise that queer people exist, you will probably think i am one of them. and i am even more OK with that; it's what i am, it is who i am, and being read as what i am makes a lot more sense to me and makes me feel a lot more comfortable than being read as something i'm not (in this case, straight).

except for when it becomes a problem. and i realise i am incredibly privileged in that i live somewhere i am unlikely to ever run into any huge problems because of being or being read as queer. because i have that privilege - the privilege of both living in a fairly quiet, non-violent, accepting area, and of having the law on my side should any discrimination occur at any point - i don't need to hide who i am. so i don't.

i must clarify at this point that i don't actually, nor have i ever, make a point of trying to look queer. in all honesty, i'm not even sure how i would do that. what i do know, though, is that, purely because i am pretty androgynous looking both from nature's side and in terms of how i dress, i would have to make a concerted effort in order to pass convincingly as straight. and i am not prepared to do that; i don't really do "effort", and the only reason i ever would try to pass as straight, or as anything else that i'm not, would be for my own personal safety, and as stated above, that is thankfully not an issue. again, i realise how privileged i am that this is the case.

of course, i did endure those years of absolute hell known as high school where i was less lucky, where looking "normal" did matter, where you would get in trouble for being different, and definitely for looking gay, and i failed spectacularly at passing as what i wasn't then, too. but even then, i got off light. i did a lot of shouting and scared the boys by wearing badges that said things like "suck my left one" and "dead men don't rape". to any  teenage girls reading this: seriously, if you're being harrassed by boys in school, get badges like that. they work a treat.

but i digress. my point: the only thing i've ever made an effort to look like is me. and i think i do a pretty  good job of looking like a kasper. but i have no idea what other people see when they see me, aside from the fact that if they know anything about anything, they probably read me as not being entirely straight. but do they read me as a boy or a girl?

it depends. when interacting with people who don't know me, i sometimes get "she"d, sometimes "he"d, and sometimes i notice people making an effort not to use pronouns because they don't know which ones to use.

and it's awkward, sometimes, because i'm a pretty shy, timid kinda guy, really. i don't like correcting people, and i don't like drawing attention to myself, so having to go "actually, i'm a guy" when people think i'm a girl isn't something i'm overly fond of doing. sometimes i do correct people, sometimes my friends do it for me, and sometimes i just let it slide, either because i figure the person will realise their mistake sooner or later, or because they're someone i won't be seeing again and so it doesn't matter.

and what's my point with telling you all of this? my point is that i am realising more and more what i look like, what other people think i look like, how i read to other people, and how much i confuse people. and more importantly i am realising that i don't mind. as long as my safety isn't at stake, i don't mind confusing people. i don't mind that most people probably can't tell if i'm a girl or a boy at first glance. and i like being read as queer and quite androgynous, because that is what i am.

and you know what? i like what i am, and i like who i am.  i  am finally starting to feel  like my presentation matches my  identity, i feel at home in my own body even though i've got some changes planned for it, and god damn it, i like the way i look.

a song in my head to drown out the rest
all the ugliness that traps me, tries to bring me down
i will not let it swallow me whole
i will not go down that road again

words like a hug from a stranger who understands
or kisses on your neck when you need it
a smile not meant for you, but still you take it
and you hold on to it, because it works
you take what you can get because you need it

anything that works is worth the pain
every song a reminder to hold on
every word, every line sung like a prayer
to some god that comes alive with the guitars

it is loud and it is dirty, it is urgent
it is everything, your life, it holds your heart
your soul spills out when you sing along, you come to life again
and you know what this is: this is your home.

my mother sees greatness fighting sadness
always focusing on the polar opposites
of my potential and that which might be my downfall
and she cries, she wants to save me, but she can't

my father sees a grin, he hears a laugh
he sees hope in me that others overlook
he gave me back my strength when i needed it the most
and people sees him in me; he agrees

my grandmother sees a little girl grown up
into something she doesn't quite understand
she sees me in a suit, and she laughs: "you're a boy!"
but she doesn't know. she must never know.

my friends saw me change, saw my anger build
they saw me grow; some cheered me on,
some fell by the wayside
as i made myself into a person i could face in the mirror

i see a boy, frightened
a man, trying to be strong,
that scared little kid still in there somewhere
holding back the screams, trying to disappear

and i cannot be everything to everyone
but i try to give pieces of myself
to the people who want them, those that will see
what i want them to see when they look at me

there's no dignity in this
your self control flushed down the drain
and whatever you thought you were doing this for is gone now

headaches where your mind once was
a fog surrounding everything  you see
(you'll lose yourself in it if you're not careful)

keep telling yourself that if you hurt yourself enough
it means other people can't
(repeat it until it comes true)

the temporary rush will soon give way to more sadness
it's not worth it, this you know, but you don't care

throwing up just to feel your heart beat
(at least that way you know it's still there)

those intense conversations, early morning
after bedtime, but before we went to sleep
it felt like something big, something important
(but it can't be, no, it never is, not with us)

hands going where hands shouldn't go
(but it feels right, so how can it be wrong?)
confessions whispered, some things left unspoken
(i'll tell you later, i know i will, i must)

and there's a yearning, a longing, such a softness
and we both know it can't be - we can pretend
is it over now? perhaps it never started
but it felt so real when you were in my hands.

when i was her i fought with the boys
in the playground, refusing to admit defeat
knowing i was weaker, i was clumsy
but needing to prove that i was strong

i grew older, they grew meaner, and i fought
with my eyes and with my words,
their mouths wide open as i spoke
of something they had never known,
would never know

and my anger grew, as did my defiance
and there was something, not quite hope,
more like a daydream
that kept me snarling, shouting, fighting back

when i became him, i was softer,
feeling the touch of another boy
the way it should be, for the first time

there are songs i remember, touches
glances and words, a few pictures
and i tried to piece it all together
to make a person who looked a bit like me

so i made that person, somehow
and became him
but the cracks still show, the glue won't stick
and i find myself so scared
to be exposed, to be found weak
like the child i once was on that playground
a lifted t-shirt exposing something they didn't have

my fear turns to anger and back again to fear
and as i long for peace i know i must keep fighting
for people like me there is no escape

i SO wasn't going to, because i SO hate this kind of shit for so many really wanky but TOTALLY POLITICAL AND IMPORTANT reasons, but i'm in oslo now and my friends are going, so i kind of have no choice.

plus, the people i'm going with are cool kids, and obviously i'll be with the anarchists and that, not the really twatty homos.

but still. ugh. i normally vow to go straight in june just so i won't have to take part in this shit.

:(

PRAY FOR MY TINY HOMO HEART.

ok, i'll stop spamming now. LOL i love how i've made two blogs within 5 seconds and they're about, like, MISANDRY AND GAYOSITY i am amazing and blates hate myself.

so knowing that its author, valerie solanas, had tried to murder warhol, didn't bother me much.

then i developed more of an idea of who he was, and it bothered me even less.

what i am trying to say here, should you not be paying attention, is that i really fucking hate andy fucking warhol. and the scum manifesto is a really fucking important book.

i mean, ok, she was batshit, and the book more than proves that, but i still genuinely believe it to be an important work. i should probably re-read it, it's been about eight years, but it left a stronger impression on me than almost anything else i've read.

man, though. andy fucking warhol. most overrated, talentless piece of shit ever. not that i'm advocating murder or anything, but...

no fucking, just kissing
and skin against skin
my hands on your torso
your lips on my neck

an urgency not felt for years,
like the youth i feel is slipping through my fingers
but now in my hands there is you.

the heat is rising
Intensity builds
can i touch you there?
(you can touch me anywhere)

public indecency, but
this is not rebellion
this is much softer than that.

and now my life is veering dangerously close to slight drama territory. i am such an asshole.

no, really. i am a complete dickhead.

"you should try saying no once in a while"

yeah. probably. ahaha. but booze and cute boys is just so much... easier. and i've always been a sucker for the easy way out. or in. whichever.

why is it that absolutely everything i do is a symptom of how fucked in the head i am?

urgh. i swear, if i'd just gone straight edge at 16 like i considered back then, and stuck with it, i would actually be a fairly decent person now. but instead i dance and drink and screw because there's nothing else to doo-ooooo-ooooooooo.

this whole "respect for oneself and other people" thing? what is that about? how does that work?

when i was nineteen, i concluded that it would be pointless for me to attempt to form a relationship with someone because i would never love anyone as much as i loved morrissey.

and now, four years and a failed relationship or two later, i am realising that, as much as i wish this wasn't the case, i was completely right back then. i really, really loved morrissey then, more than i can muster up the energy to love anything or anyone, real or fictional or somewhere inbetween, now. and i was so fucking sincere about it.

i still love morrissey. more than i remember that i do sometimes. but all my energy has gone, i can no longer bring myself to throw myself so fully into loving something or someone, be it a real person i know or a pop star. where there used to be sincerety and honesty, there is now only irony and half truth upon half truth. and i am so tired of this.

sigh. i know it's over, still i cling...

i need to go home as soon as i can and curl up in bed with endless cups of tea and the queen is dead. it knows my pain like no one else. not even pete fucking wentz.

i don't know. it's one of those days... weeks... months. the smiths have always been and will always be the greatest band ever to have existed. i have always known this. but sometimes they just seem that much more important.

i am much more comfortable with sex than i am with nonsexual physical contact. i will sleep with literally anyone (seriously. go on. fucking try me. ... wait, that sounded wrong), but i cannot deal with most people trying to be affectionate with me in a physical way. seriously, just stick it in me and leave, please.

sometimes i think i am overly sexual because there is nothing else to me. it's pretty pathetic. i don't really have any self worth to speak of, so it's like, hey, i'm pretty worthless, but everyone needs somewhere to stick it sometimes, right? so it makes sense for some people to want me around sometimes.


i wish i wasn't so fucking damaged.

i'm kinda sorta semi-new to buzznet. i've only been active here since about december last year, and i tend to stick with the kids who produce original content; the fantastic photographers, the ridiculously talented writers, the kids who are just downright awesome in their own right.

so i don't know all that much about the fanfic community here. let this be my disclaimer; i may get a few things wrong, because i'm not a part of this particular fic community. if i do get a few facts wrong, please feel free to correct me.

so, now that my disclaimer is out of the way: i am sort of baffled by the way the fankids - and by that i mean the kids active on the fic end of the fandom - operate, and the way they seem to do everything so openly, almost shoving their fic on unsuspecting buzznet users who might just be browsing the site looking for pictures of or media relating to pete wentz. hey, pete himself could be buzzwanking and ending up finding a fic about himself. which, yeah, wouldn't really matter, because he's pete wentz, the daddy of all creepsters, but it's the principle of the thing. let's not make it that easy for them, you know?

so, as may have become apparent, my first issue is with the way people tag their fic. why do people tag their fic with the names of the people it's about? isn't that a bit... embarrassing? the way buzznet is set up, that means anyone looking for content relating to these people could stumble upon it, and, let's face it, most people do not want to see your fanfiction. i say this with love, i say this as someone who likes fanfic, but it is true. it really is not for everyone.

secondly, and this is more an issue of personal preference than anything else, but i'm going to throw it out there anyway: what is with all the mary-sue fic? seriously, since when are self-inserts acceptable in fanfic? in fandom at large it's frowned upon, but on buzznet it seems completely acceptable. is this some new culture within fandom that's blossomed on this particular part of the internet within the last year or so?

and just as a heads-up, i have been active in various online fandom, mainly real person ones, for years. i know what fanfiction entails, i see the value in it, i really do. i just wish people would be a bit more discrete sometimes. especially on this site, which is so important for some of the bands in the "scene".

so yeah. what gives, people? is it just that most of the writers here are quite young and inexperienced, maybe too naïve to understand how this kind of fiction might make some people feel? or do people just not care?

EXPLAIN THIS TO ME, BUZZNETZ0RZ.

this feels AWESOME. i hate people. i love having as few ties to other people as possible. i fucking hate the internet.

except for buzznet. buzznet can stay and gives me no social drama headaches.

i am turning into an exceptionally bitter, evil, twisted, horrible person. i kind of like it, though.

i am beginning to realise that i am going to die alone. and, indeed, "i will live my life as i will undoubtedly die..."

i just quoted morrissey. this is officially an emo post.


but so yes. buzznet gets all my e-attention now (except for a bit of it which will be spent on PORNFICTION elsewhere). aren't you glad?

but really,
i fucking hate the internet.

first, let's have a wiki definition:
Chav also Charv/Charver are mainly derogatory slang terms in the United Kingdom for a stereotype fixated on low quality or counterfeit goods. It commonly refers to those belonging to a youth sub-culture, often stereotypically associated with a low socio-economic class, a striking dress sense and criminal activity.

some chavs, looking a bit bewildered, yesterday.

i have recently come to the realisation that i really fucking love chavs and chav culture. of course, being an obnoxious middle class indie kid, my love for this subculture and these people can only ever be from afar, and could be seen as some as a patronising and even classist fascination. but i swear, i genuinely have a lot of love for them. which makes no sense, as if they remind me of anyone i've encountered throughout life, it's the kids who made my life miserable in school - at least as far as the boys go. i've known some fantastic girls in my time who would've been considered chavs if they were british. but the boys - yeah, not so much. but then again, i never said i wasn't a perverted motherfucker, so maybe that actually goes a long way to explain exactly why i love them so much. because i totally have wrong and bad sexual feelings towards chavs. just like a complete middle class homo stereotype, oh dear.


some teenage chavs, looking like tiny children and drinking carling in a park, yesterday.

but why? why do i love them so much? is it their short hair? is it the baseball caps? the trackie bottoms? the fact that they can drink way, way more beer than i can without getting absolutely shitfaced, but always end up drinking enough to get utterly  twatted anyway and then threaten to beat people up? is it their amazingly special walk that makes them look like they're disabled? is it the fact that i have absolutely nothing in common with them, at least on a superficial level, and that your standard average chav stereotype would sooner beat the shit out of me than be anywhere near friendly towards me? maybe that's it - it makes a lot of sense. i've always had a thing for dudes who want to beat me up, ever since the first boy i ever crushed on kicked me in the face when i was 11. he wasn't a chav, though, sadly - motherfucker was more middle class than me. much more, in fact.

or maybe this dude is to blame:


mike skinner, the original king of chavs, being really fit.

LOOK  AT HIM. LOOK AT HIM BE ALL FIT AND CHAVVY. MY LOVE FOR HIM IS LIKE A TRUCK BERSERKER. this, should you not know, is mike skinner off of the streets, chav icon, musical genius and complete supabuff hottie. i still rock the fuck out to his first album, though i wasn't overly impressed with his later output. but that's besides the point. the point is that he is fucking buff, and i'm pretty sure he was the first chav i ever fancied, way back in 2002. so yes. it all started there, i am  quite sure. but oh. chavs.

i am told there are chav themed gay clubs in london. i am not a fan of gay clubs at all, but i would so go to a chavvy one. i would have to go IN DISGUISE, though, as they wouldn't let me in otherwise. but i would so totally do that. zomg. chavs.

WARNING: incredibly  graphic language, lots of mentions of genitalia, rampant gayosity, TRAN RAGE.

you know who i hate? non-trans gay people who don't see the irony in their continued refusal to accept me as someone who might sometimes exist in the same space as them. because even though i may  be as gay as they are - and there was definitely a time where i was pretty sure i was, and lived as though i was - they simply cannot get over the fact that OH MY GOD THERE'S A DUDE HERE WHO CLAIMS HE'S ONE OF US, BUT YOU GUYS, HE HAS A VAGINA EWW RUNNNNNNNNNN.

 

listen, you fuckers. i don't want your cock. at all. i'm not going to sneak up on you and somehow make you smell my cunt (yeah, i said it. i have one, i'm allowed. get over it). i just want the freedom to exist in the same space, environment and community as you without being made to feel like a second-class citizen. sound familiar? i fucking thought so, you laughably hypocritical little bags of shit.

and as bad as said gay men are the lesbians who still insist i am one of them. oh, fuck you. i gave that shit up in high school, fucking pay attention and stop trying to argue with me that i am "on some level" a lesbian  because i have a poon and am quite fond of eating other people's. that logic only works if you're exactly the kind of asshole i try my best to distance myself from as much as at all possible.

you motherfuckers make me wish i were straight. i have tried so hard to be straighter than i am, and so much of that is because of you assholes making me feel about as welcome as a genital wart into your speshul little homogay ~~community.

ugh. fuck you all.

 

i am just so fucking tired of all of this. i am tired of feeling second rate, tired of constantly being reminded that to most people that is exactly what i am. tired of having nothing and no one to relate to in the media or popular culture. tired of people whose rights i fight for not giving a shit about mine.

and look. if you're a white, middle-class, able-bodied, non-trans cis guy, shut the fuck up about how fucking discriminated you are and how hard it is to be gay. because fuck you, at least you have a dick. you can suck as much cock and take it up the arse as much as you want to, no one can take away that or the privilege it brings. so shove your fucking self-pity up your arse. but not in that nice way.