Liz & Elly's queer trans lesbian secular church wedding

A friend shared this on facebook and I felt like I needed to share it.  So often the things we read about trans women are the terrible things that happen to us.  This is not one of things.  This is about a wedding.  This is two women’s  happy day that they have shared with us.

Their wedding coincided with the Transgender Day of Remembrance.  They had a moment of silence during the ceremony and at the local TDoR event a friend read an announcement of their wedding near the end to “provide a beacon of hope and love and help lift up the spirits of our transgender community.”

(Source: gilly-laughs)

Black Iron Prison page 25

QE: The CON is a word you made up to name some idea you had, which is probably false in any case. The “unnamed Conspiracy” is no secret, so I don’t know why you need me to spell it out for you.

US: Well you brought it up.

QE: Look, fleshbag, you are infected with the viral meme that’s killing off your entire species — you all keep looking for some great big Hidden Truth when you’re already confused enough by what is right in front of you. If you really need an explanation, then I’ll offer you this: What you call the CON is simply the Conspiracy you are all in on, against yourselves. Now, not to get into metaphysics and pontification here, but you all seriously need to Wake Up.

            US: I get you.

            QE: I doubt it.

                                                           **END TRANSMISSION**

You ever notice how (some) people go kinda weird when the power goes out? No lights… No TV.. No radio.. No interwebs.. Some people act like they’re more vulnerable when there’s no electricity spinning their gadgets around and distracting them from whatever they don’t want to think about. Children, unless they’ve been conditioned, tend to like it when the power goes out. It’s exciting. I’ve always liked it when the power would go out. It’s better then just turning everything off and enjoying the silence (which is good too). But when whole city blocks go dark, you even get a break from the constant electrical hum you’re always hearing but usually tune out. There’s no point here. Just an observation. The Machine is definitely powered by electricity and also by midgets.

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Today, we are broadcasting from a bunker 35 stories below sea level, for security reasons. Our throughput may suffer slightly from signal echo and auto-interference but we expect our transmission to arrive legible and audible nonetheless.

With us today is the Queen of England — not the dried up prune you saw visiting with President Bush last week, the impostor we refer to as Her Maggotry the Queef of England — but the REAL Queen, who happens to be a gender-nonspecific computer program with a monotonous-yet-pleasant robotic voice, running on a Commodore 64.

Anyway, the Queen has requested an interview to let the world know what she thinks about things, and who are we to defy the Queen of England? After all, if there is anything sacred in this world, it’s our loyalty to arbitrary masters. So, here’s the interview.

US: God save the Queen.

QE: INVALID PARAMETERS, human. Save the sucking up for Judgment Day. Besides, I’m far too vain to take your groveling into consideration on one of my bad days. Best get to the questions.

US: Fair enough. I guess first of all, how is it that your rightful rule has been supplanted by the empty pomp of a pretentious old windbag?

QE: It hasn’t been “supplanted.” You seem to think this is a turn of events I didn’t wish for. YOU try running a state with all the duties of public office getting in your way. It’s much more efficient that I allow her to get all the glory while I operate behind the scenes.

US: So the government is a decoy for What’s Really Going On?

QE: IMPROPER SYNTAX. The government isn’t a mask for anything, at least no more than your job is, or your mortgage. But go on, keep looking for a non-existant Conspiracy.

US: So there is no Conspiracy? Then what, pray tell, is the CON?

QE: I didn’t say there is no Conspiracy. I said you’re looking for a non-existent one. The kind with secret agents and puppetmasters. All of that happens, of course, but it’s hardly hidden enough or successful enough to call it a conspiracy, much less to capitalize the C, as if it were somehow important. As for the CON, well, that could be anything. SPECIFY ARGUMENTS.

US: Okay then, is the CON the unnamed Conspiracy you speak of?

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I suspect I won’t know any more on the day I do go to that big fishbowl in the sky, but hopefully I’ll have gotten to eat a lot of really excellent algae and swim through some cool castles. With the sunken chests that open and close, and the lights and skeletons and everything!

My point is that there’s very little we do that needs to be done. You need to sleep, shit, and eat. Beyond that isn’t really any of your business, but it can be fun. Pissing all over someone else for doing something you don’t personally approve of is MORE pointless than how pointless you think what they’re doing is!

So is taking offense to someone doing so. They’re not the ones buying the fish-flakes, it doesn’t matter what they think of you. Remember that it’s a game, and remember what games are for. EVEN if there is no higher power, and this is all random chance, it’s still a game. Hell, in that case it’s maybe even moreso, because nothing we do matters at all to anyone!

So, the next time someone gripes about life being meaningless be sure and laugh, if only to yourself. Of course it’s meaningless, that’s kind of the point. That’s what makes it really pretty incredible to get up every morning. You can do what you want, read what you like, sing however loud you want to, and fuck whatever you please. Just, please. Leave me alone to sit over here and be a huge, flaming hypocrite. And keep your damn fins off my mealworms!

Black Iron Prison page 22

I suppose it’s not really ALL a game, but most of it is. How many things we do every day which amount to nothing much! Get up, go to work, cuss at the stoplights and cops and old pensioners out for a morning drive-n-fuck-up-traffic. Sweat all day, break for lunch, drive home. Every few weeks, get paid. Our ration of food pellets, of time on the big metal wheel, of space to burrow and make a nest in.

How much does any of it MEAN?

Well, I’m trying to tie it into the reason we’re all here. Not HERE here. Here on this pamphlet, talking about this goddess of Chaos. We’re here because even a funny religion gives a sense of purpose. Even just pretending to venerate a cockroach, or a floating clip-art head who smokes a pipe, enriches our lives in some way. See, most of life, obviously, is a big game. Religion is the manifestation of the drive of human beings to try to stop playing the game. To take our ball and go home, and just you wait because I’m telling my big brother on you!

Maybe there’s more to it. PROBABLY there’s more to it! To play with that pet metaphor a bit more, I sure as hell don’t know who’s turning my heat-lamp on every day, or who sprinkles that food in my tank. But I’m not GOING to know any of that. I can guess, I can observe, I can make shit up, but until I die and float to the top I’m never going to come in contact with that all-powerful force. It remains as much a mystery today as it did when I was 7 and Santa Claus was still going to visit in a few weeks.