Monthly Archives: March 2007


I have an appointment with a councellor, and there’s a trans support group that meets this coming Wednesday and I think I have to stop being isolated. I think I need to actually start planning what to do now. And one of the things I’ve decided is to do hormones. I wasn’t sure about it before, but I think it is something I have to do. I’m kind of freaked about having to go through puberty AGAIN, but I’m appraised of the risks. It will be weird. The only thing is I don’t know how my stupid psych diagnosis will affect my decision to take hormones. I know it used to be that you couldn’t have ANY psych diagnosis and get on hormones. Then again, I know people who have done it, so it is possible.

I feel a lot calmer, actually, now I know where I’m going to. I remember at the end of my hospitalization I started doing the Gender Workbook and then I forgot why, I mean, I really didn’t know. So I just walked away from it. But now I remember, that’s where I was aiming for this whole time, just to finally say, fucking hell, fine I’m a boy, let’s deal with it.

I have been researching this for like, over ten years. This is in no way a new thing. I just wanted to be totally sure, absolutely, I mean, it’s the biggest body mod ever!

So I’m going to spend some time thinking about my gender. I know I’m already starting to lean back towards the goofy punk kid I always was. I want to dye my hair again, and I dunno, wear big boots. Well, not always. Get more tattoos.

And I’m going to go meet some trans people in town. I mean, of all the places to transition, Saskatoon? That’s silly. But it can be done. I’m not in a rush though, I think now it’s just calm and thoughtful. I would have to find the gender clinic here. I would have to do my “Year as a Man” where I just live full time as a guy and see what happens. I would have to get a packer and figure out what the hell to do with E cups. I’d have to check the process of legal name changes and if you can change gender legally yet, I mean, go from F to M on your id. I know Samonte got his gender changed once on his ID, I don’t know if it was a slip or what. But it made him happy.

I don’t know about chest surgery, that’s kind of intense, I don’t know if I want to go under the knife. But I don’t have to think about that yet anyway. I’m kind of scared of doing a gender change in Saskatoon though, because it does seem like a red neck city. But I guess I should meet other trans folks here first. So weird, SO WEIRD! Why did I have to do this here? Why not Vancouver, or even Montreal, where there’s transmen running around willy nilly. I’m worried about bathroom issues, I might make a mental note to track unisex stalls about town. Stupid bathrooms! I should just carry a cup around and pee in it. No, that’s gross. But honestly, I have to pee somewhere!

The good thing is I have watched so many friends transition, so it’s not completely unknown territory. And I know how it goes. And for the most part they do end up being totally sexy folks who are pretty content. Although everyone seems to go through an ugly duckling feeling.

So, hmm, going to go back to looking at this stuff. I have to sort out my options. And I have to figure out if my thing from four years ago is going to totally demolish any chance I have of getting legal hormones. I kind of think it will be okay though.

And I’m not really mad at anyone anymore, I’m just kind of like, please, back off. I need to sort my head out on the gender thing. And I have all the books, I mean, it’s not like starting from scratch. And I do know a shitload of people online who are or have transitioned.

I’m worried I’ll grow a beard! Aboriginals don’t have much facial hair, but metis guys, they can get pretty hairy. How hairy will I get? Oh man. I guess now I can pay attention to Gillette advertisements, which might take my mind of things. Oh, and now I do have to learn to pee standing up in an emergency. Emergency standing pees!! That’s kind of silly. I’ll probably just use some device. Stupid pee issues.

Coming Out

You people drive me crazy. I’ve been trying to talk about my identity in a thousand different ways, and I think I’m just going to fucking say it so that people stop pathologizing me.

I am a transman. I have always been a boy. I’ve spent ages trying to figure out how to articulate it though, because I have decided against hormones, for various reasons, some having to do with side effects like anger issues and high cancer rates. I also don’t want to shave. I’m just fussy like that. I like having a female body, strangely enough. It works fine for me, it does all the stuff I want it to do. Being a bottom probably helps!

I’ve been wrestling with Sarain’s life because I do know I was him, but also because if I had been born with male genitalia that would have been my name. I was okay with Thirza for a while because it was a weird name, but it’s still a girls name and it doesn’t correlate with who I am. I’ve tried to talk with various people around me about being trans, but only other trans people seem to be able to spot me. Aside from that I’m just some boy-girl.

I tried a shot of testosterone off some friends back in Vancouver, I wanted to see what would happen. And stuff did happen, and it was interesting, and I really liked getting a bigger clit just because I’m a show off. But I didn’t want to go through the hardcore transition, I wasn’t interested in having to bind and schedule surgery and save up money to chop myself up and spend all that money on a little vial of fluid. I wasn’t happy with the medical options for my gender. I know tons of guys go and do the whole transition thing, and I’m happy for them. But I don’t want to get trapped in one pole. I like having some blended gender characteristics in this body. And I like that I’m just naturally a flamey boy. I think ideas of masculinity are so fucked these days, and that seems to be what my identity gets judged by.

I’ve seen transmen go through the misogyny phase and it’s sick. I think it’s gross to suddenly hate all lesbians or punch each other out for fun or try to prove ones masculinity. Men come in all forms, and I’m one of them. And I’m a funny guy because I’m a screaming queen, and I like being a queeny boy. It’s ridiculously fun.

I don’t know what would have happened if transmen and women hadn’t started noticing me and helping me along. I remember in high school I was at the Fringe and David Harrison was putting on his one man show about his transition. And he saw me hanging around with my friend Laurel and just smiled at me and gave me an ad for his show. And I went, and it was really good, especially because he talked about liking parts of his female body but still feeling like a man.

Later on in first year at Emily Carr some friends abducted me from my art history class and took me to see Kate Bornstein talk, who I had already read. She was great, and she pointed me out again! I got so ridiculously shy. I think I had blue and yellow hair at the time. And then Ben asked if she liked Julie Andrews, but that’s a side note. She does, by the way. But she seemed really taken with who ever I was, and I didn’t even have a fixed name for it yet. And I felt encouraged again. And she mentioned Ma Vie En Rose, which I watched and loved.

Later on in the art scene I met people like Del la Grace Volcano, who was great fun to hang out with and said some really cool things about remaining part of the lesbian community while also being trans. When I went to the Two Spirited conference in Seattle in 1996 I also met Mike and Sky, who were looking like they were having tons of fun and were pretty upfront about being what is really Two Spirited. I met some intersexed people too, and that broadened my mind, especially when you get into there actually being like five to seven different genders. I knew this boy/girl thing was so limited, especially for me.

My last official girlfriend demanded to know if I was a boy once. I denied it, mostly because she was kind of aggressive about asking, and I didn’t feel comfortable with that. I think she was sick of boys and I had no idea of letting her know I wasn’t a macho pig. So that didn’t work.

Stone Butch Blues was the first book that ever spoke to me. I know some transmen get pissy because Leslie Feinberg didn’t stay in the male category and started blending it again. But I got it. It was my story. People always wanted to know what I was, not who I was, WHAT I was. And being a what is a lot different from being a who.

I don’t think people ever realize how much abuse is heaped on gender variant children. Growing up was hell. I hated children, except for a few. I hung out with boys because that’s where I belonged, but then they grew up and stopped being my friends. And then I was stuck with girls, who I couldn’t comprehend at all because I wasn’t one. They were super cute though, which is why it was kind of fun to hang out with them. And I did get an advantage in learning about women’s lives. But then whenever I tried to step out of being a woman, they would freak and put me back.

I get frustrated in the aboriginal community, because it seems like gender variance is still misunderstood. Aiyanna Maracle was fun to hang out with though, because she was just out there, and doing stuff, and respected. And she’s in Montreal now, that’s the last place I saw her. Mirha Soleil Ross is great fun, because she’s got this amazing showmanship about her gender and she even rejects the queer label because she doesn’t feel it suits her, since she dates straight men. And I think that is wicked, although I know it confuses some of us who like to feel kinship with her. But it is her decision because she knows her identity the best.

I guess I would like to bulk up really, I want more musculature. I want some alterations but not all. I don’t care for a penis, but I have dreams about having one and that is good enough for me. I mean, whatever works man.

I think in our community we forgot about the ability of certain people to choose alternate genders and live them fully. It drives me crazy to not be able to do mens ceremonies, to the point where I just don’t bother with my culture anymore. It has frozen me out. I like spending time with women, because they are pretty fucking cool. But I also like having the space to be recognized as a man, even a swishy little man. I don’t want to have to get an anchor tattoo like all the other boys! Sorry guys. And being male does have a funny bearing on my sexuality, and that’s fine by me. I don’t know, it’s a curious thing.

I seem to have a bad habit of falling for women who want men, and then they never clue in that I am a guy and tra la la off. I date bisexual women because they seem to get it, sometimes, although often not at all! Sorry ladies. But really! This is just silly. I thought you guys were more open to gender.

I will never wear a dress again unless I am doing drag, which I do sometimes. But I don’t care to pretend to be a girl, or even try to be one. I think this whole traditionalist wear skirts thing is assinine.

And there are some gay men in my life I want to have sex with, and I know some of them want to too, but we’re all being super shy with each other.

I went to this gay mens leather bar with some friends once and we got hassled at the door for our gender identity. I tried to talk with a friend about it and she just kind of dismissed it, she didn’t see why I would care about being excluded from male space. It was frustrating, and I remember it upset all of us who got hassled, and some of the guys I was with were passing really well.

I dunno, I will miss women only space, but it’s not mine anymore. It was fun, but I need to go spend time in more fully inclusive venues. Amber Dawn was fun to date just because she was creating a pan sexual open space for persons of all genders to romp and watch someone get fucked by a chair leg. I mean, that was super fun, so I thank her for starting File This and all it’s ongoing incarnations. I went to a lesbian leather party once and I felt so weird, so not my scene. I liked pansexual leather events better, it made more sense to me.

I think lesbians are cool though, because they do have the butch femme thing going on, some of them. And I did like hanging out with them, and I probably always will because they were some of my earliest friends. But gay men were also the ones who really supported me when I was an isolated openly queer teenager, and so I have an affinity for them. I like gay mens space, and gay men are fun to make out with and don’t mind being scandalous, and that’s kind of my speed. So if people wondered why I never wanted to date lesbians, it’s because my identity shuts me out from them. It doesn’t work and I know that because I dated a closet lesbian once and it got stupid.

But I don’t want to go through the medical route of being “treated” for my gender identity. I don’t want to have to access myself through the mental health system, and that’s where I would have to go to be assessed on the merits of my manhood. And I hate the mental health system, honestly!

I dunno though, I kind of think people are going to have a hard time using male pronouns for someone who stays in a very female body. I won’t be pissed if you still accidentally call me she, because I know it takes like, forever and a day to get used to alternate genders. And I know you might still call me Thirza, because you’re used to that too.

But my name is Sarain and I am a he. And it would be nice if people could start learning to respect that.

To All My Fans

*** From Mirha-Soleil Ross***
To my fans everywhere,

Last evening was a special one. I had been wanting to jump on the scale for the last two weeks ‘cause I thought I had lost 10-20 pounds over the last month… Well, I actually gained another 10… I’m now 180 pounds, that’s at least 50 more pounds than last time any of you would have seen me in person. My huge mother has been slowly loosing weight over the last year and our bond is so powerful that every single pound she loses, I, mirha-soleil, la chair de sa chair, I gain… I’ve never seen her excited like that before, melting away, and singing that her magic’s operating, that her work is finally taking shape and mirroring her own image.

I must have an unusual psychiatric disorder ‘cause when I look at myself in the mirror, I see an emaciated, blême, sick-looking woman. Imagine the shock when I saw these pictures mon beau Karbou took of me last night… Well since he’s enjoying like never before the buffet à volonté, I concluded I made everyone happy and so decided to share a little of that happiness with all of you, my dedicated fans. The following shots offer even more glamour, more visual pleasure than before. Little Seamus, however, was not that amused. He says there’s nothing left to eat in the house, that it’s my fault, k’shu-saf, pis k’my fat ass ain’t something I should expect him to party about. I failed to get the slightest smile out of him. Ce sera pour la prochaine fois… ‘Til then, je pense à vous, avec une émotion… déscombobulante. Ricallez-vous l’adage de cette sage vieille naine, Madame Rose Ouellette La Poune…

« J’aim’mon’publik’passk’mon’publik’m’aim’… »

Ces mots d’amour, je les emprunte, ce soir, à Mam’-la-Poune, afin de vous les dédier, avec, encore une fois, toute la passion et la sincérité auxquelles je vous ai habituées.

C’mon Seamus, try a little harder…

Make your beautiful mommy happy by shooting them a big large smile…

Dans de telles circonstances, il faut garder la tête haute, et, surtout, rester digne !

En s’étirant à la verticale, on peut créer une parfaite illusion

de minceur, de beauté… L’élégance incarnée…

« No they won’t take away my DIGNEETEEEEEEEEEEEEE… because I stretch myself vertically like an old gomme baloune! »

Plus femme que ça tu meurs!

… s’cuze my French, mais ton flash y flash en tabarnak !

Si c’-tu voulas, c’tas m’pêter in pêtard en pleine face, t-r’as-dû me’l’dire, m’chra’amné une paire de shade !

Stay tuned for the NEXT INSTALLATION:

Le régime miracle aux p’tites cârottes de jardin


The Quiet Room

I can’t seem to upload my video, and I need to, for you to understand this story completely. But I will try again. This is the only video I know that describes life in the Quiet Room, in maybe a way you might be able to finally comprehend. I don’t know if I can ever get my message across. Maybe.

Creative Process

I feel like I should come clean with most of what this blogging process over the last ten years has been about. I was interested in the idea of confessing because I wanted to chart a creative process. And I started following all the places that creative process took me. And some were very unusual places. Some things here are true. Some are not. The key is trying to learn how to discern which is which. Some things are not even necessary to think about. I wanted to see if putting myself under surveillance for ten years would make me GO to certain places I needed to go. And I think they did, in a funny way. I’ve had a strange ten year journey. I did deal a lot in archtypal imagery, because The Hero’s Journey always uses archetypes. It’s the foundation of all story telling. I wanted to find out what my own Hero’s Journey would be.

And it was a strange journey. It went odd places. It made a spiritual awakening into a spiritual emergency. The emergency is over. It’s actually back at a gentle rhythm that is more easily corralled. It got weird again because I did get frozen in the middle of a spiritual emergency, and all those massive archetypal forces came pouring back out. That’s the way it works. I did burn all my stuff, and I’m not burning this but I am ready to hand the reins over to the people. I have various creative folks in my life who are interested in talking about deep thoughts that form their practice. It’s for them that I have gone this far out. I wanted to make a high profile place for them to talk about being gifted and creative and the issues involved in all kinds of things. And they probably won’t go many of the places I went. They have their own places to go. And that’s good, they are ready for that. And I am ready to quit being an online director and go back to the mundane business of writing feature screenplays in the privacy of my own home. But I was curious you know, what would show up if I voluntarily put my creative process gibberish online. And some of it is gibberish. And some of it makes sense. And you get to decide which, which is the point.

I did finish my positive disintegration, it’s over, I’m at secondary and I have a moral code I didn’t have before. And that’s a good thing. And maybe other people have also found their own moral codes. But I was healing from psych meds, and I did have an abusive time in the psych ward, and I do have a sense of spirituality. And I am relearning who I am. I’ve carried other people’s stories because I felt I needed to protect them or something. But they aren’t my stories at all. They’re cosmic stories because we have had to go through a cosmic journey. And now, other people get to direct that journey. And I am retiring from this blog. But I do want to see my friends take it over, I think they have all kinds of interesting things to say, because they have inspired me in many ways.

You know why I went this far? Honestly, because I knew I could. I knew this turned into just me being a director and seeing what happened, and showing a creative process and seeing what happened with that. I know I’m going to just be an auteur director and needed to put my name way out there. But I do like festivals over covert agents. Film festivals are awesome. And I am ready to rejoin the land of the bizarrely talented artists again. I think I worked through everyone else’s stories and I am ready to go back and find my own. And my story, honestly, is just another vampire movie. I like vampires, I can’t help it. They are fascinating figures. I learned everything I felt I needed to learn and said everything I felt I needed to say. And now, some other people can start talking. And some of the things they say will make more sense to people now, because they didn’t carry everyone’s story with them. I don’t know what these people will say, I think they have their own plans. And I do think we need a Soteria house, definitely, because we need a safe place for these emergencies. And I’m glad my emergency is over. I’m glad to just be a regular human.

But really, I think people did need to see what a creative process looks like. And this is what that process looks like. It’s messy, bizarre, outrageous, silly, and some of it may be totally true. But honestly, you’re going to have to discern truth for yourself, because I can’t do it for you. And that’s cool.

I do hope you like my movie, when I finish it. I have a bunch I am planning, and some are dark and some are funny and some are just things I have noticed about the world. I’m going to miss writing in this blog, but I know other people are also having Fits of Pique. And they have a place to have them.

Destroying William

***From Psycho Magazine: Queen Street’s Patients Voice Vol 2 1994***
Destroying “William” (by Geoffrey Reaume)

“William” was upset. The 28 year-old inmate of St. Thomas Psychiatric Hospital had been alternatively depressed and then angry for several days, for reasons which were not clear to me. But one thing was certain. He resented the insistence by staff that he had to take his medication. In the six weeks I knew him, William never had any visitors to look to for support should the need arise. He was, in effect, an isolated patient. This isolation was about to become much more severe.

Early on Thursday evening in March, 1979, William poured out his feelings of resentment towards the staff at a ward “therapy” session. Rather than listen to him, other staff told him to “cool off” in the absurdly named “Quiet Room.” He went in one of those bare, concrete rooms without being forced, though he shouted his defiance as the door shut behind him.

Within a couple of hours, William was crying uncontrollably, pleading for release. His voice changed to sounding like that of a child, constantly begging for his hat (which had been taken from him). His terrifying, pitiful cries resounded throughout the ward all night.

Early on Friday morning, just before breakfast, William was forcibly drugged by six or seven burly men, most of whom I had never seen before, presumably staff from other wards. They literally burst into his cell, tackled him, and injected one of his buttocks with some drug as he screamed in terror. Later that day, after he was sufficiently dazed, and while most of us were working at industrial or occupational “therapy,” William was transferred to a more oppressive ward.

A few weeks later I saw him in a walking party accompanied by staff. He was completely changed, almost emotion-less with his eyes half-closed, drugged into submission, not seeming to recognize me as he walked by, which was unlike his previous demeanor. I never saw him again, nor heard what happened to him after this last fleeting glimpse of a spirit that had been crushed by the brutal use of physical and chemical restraints.

Songs of Solomon

The song of songs, which is Solomon’s.
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine.
Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee.
Draw me, we will run after thee: the king hath brought me into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy love more than wine: the upright love thee.
I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon.
Look not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me: my mother’s children were angry with me; they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I not kept.
Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where thou makest thy flock to rest at noon: for why should I be as one that turneth aside by the flocks of thy companions?
If thou know not, O thou fairest among women, go thy way forth by the footsteps of the flock, and feed thy kids beside the shepherds’ tents.
I have compared thee, O my love, to a company of horses in Pharaoh’s chariots.
Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels, thy neck with chains of gold.
We will make thee borders of gold with studs of silver.
While the king sitteth at his table, my spikenard sendeth forth the smell thereof.
A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.
My beloved is unto me as a cluster of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi.
Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes.
Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant: also our bed is green.
The beams of our house are cedar, and our rafters of fir.

I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.
As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.
As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.
Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.
His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.
I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.
The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.
My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice.
My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.
Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.
My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.
Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.

By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.
I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.
The watchmen that go about the city found me: to whom I said, Saw ye him whom my soul loveth?
It was but a little that I passed from them, but I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mother’s house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me.
I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.
Who is this that cometh out of the wilderness like pillars of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, with all powders of the merchant?
Behold his bed, which is Solomon’s; threescore valiant men are about it, of the valiant of Israel.
They all hold swords, being expert in war: every man hath his sword upon his thigh because of fear in the night.
King Solomon made himself a chariot of the wood of Lebanon.
He made the pillars thereof of silver, the bottom thereof of gold, the covering of it of purple, the midst thereof being paved with love, for the daughters of Jerusalem.
Go forth, O ye daughters of Zion, and behold king Solomon with the crown wherewith his mother crowned him in the day of his espousals, and in the day of the gladness of his heart.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.
Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them.
Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks.
Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men.
Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.
Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense.
Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.
Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, with me from Lebanon: look from the top of Amana, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, from the lions’ dens, from the mountains of the leopards.
Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.
How fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse! how much better is thy love than wine! and the smell of thine ointments than all spices!
Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.
A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.
Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits; camphire, with spikenard,
Spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices:
A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon.
Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.

I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse: I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk: eat, O friends; drink, yea, drink abundantly, O beloved.
I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.
I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?
My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, and my bowels were moved for him.
I rose up to open to my beloved; and my hands dropped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.
I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone: my soul failed when he spake: I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.
The watchmen that went about the city found me, they smote me, they wounded me; the keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.
I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love.
What is thy beloved more than another beloved, O thou fairest among women? what is thy beloved more than another beloved, that thou dost so charge us?
My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.
His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.
His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.
His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dropping sweet smelling myrrh.
His hands are as gold rings set with the beryl: his belly is as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires.
His legs are as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold: his countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.
His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.

Whither is thy beloved gone, O thou fairest among women? whither is thy beloved turned aside? that we may seek him with thee.
My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies.
I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine: he feedeth among the lilies.
Thou art beautiful, O my love, as Tirzah, comely as Jerusalem, terrible as an army with banners.
Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome me: thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from Gilead.
Thy teeth are as a flock of sheep which go up from the washing, whereof every one beareth twins, and there is not one barren among them.
As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples within thy locks.
There are threescore queens, and fourscore concubines, and virgins without number.
My dove, my undefiled is but one; she is the only one of her mother, she is the choice one of her that bare her. The daughters saw her, and blessed her; yea, the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.
Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners?
I went down into the garden of nuts to see the fruits of the valley, and to see whether the vine flourished and the pomegranates budded.
Or ever I was aware, my soul made me like the chariots of Amminadib.
Return, return, O Shulamite; return, return, that we may look upon thee. What will ye see in the Shulamite? As it were the company of two armies.

How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince’s daughter! the joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman.
Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor: thy belly is like an heap of wheat set about with lilies.
Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins.
Thy neck is as a tower of ivory; thine eyes like the fishpools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bathrabbim: thy nose is as the tower of Lebanon which looketh toward Damascus.
Thine head upon thee is like Carmel, and the hair of thine head like purple; the king is held in the galleries.
How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights!
This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.
I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the boughs thereof: now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the vine, and the smell of thy nose like apples;
And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak.
I am my beloved’s, and his desire is toward me.
Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; let us lodge in the villages.
Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth: there will I give thee my loves.
The mandrakes give a smell, and at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved.

O that thou wert as my brother, that sucked the breasts of my mother! when I should find thee without, I would kiss thee; yea, I should not be despised.
I would lead thee, and bring thee into my mother’s house, who would instruct me: I would cause thee to drink of spiced wine of the juice of my pomegranate.
His left hand should be under my head, and his right hand should embrace me.
I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, until he please.
Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved? I raised thee up under the apple tree: there thy mother brought thee forth: there she brought thee forth that bare thee.
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.
Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned.
We have a little sister, and she hath no breasts: what shall we do for our sister in the day when she shall be spoken for?
If she be a wall, we will build upon her a palace of silver: and if she be a door, we will inclose her with boards of cedar.
I am a wall, and my breasts like towers: then was I in his eyes as one that found favour.
Solomon had a vineyard at Baalhamon; he let out the vineyard unto keepers; every one for the fruit thereof was to bring a thousand pieces of silver.
My vineyard, which is mine, is before me: thou, O Solomon, must have a thousand, and those that keep the fruit thereof two hundred.
Thou that dwellest in the gardens, the companions hearken to thy voice: cause me to hear it.
Make haste, my beloved, and be thou like to a roe or to a young hart upon the mountains of spices.

I heard New York Call my Name

My mom promised me when I was a kid that she would take me to New York. And she did, I was, oh, hmm, 22 or something? I don’t know, the World Trade Center was still standing anyway. We had fun, I made her see a Broadway play with me, Cabaret at Studio 54. I mean, how appropriate. That little dude from 6 Feet Under was the Emcee, he did a good job. And I did get to go into Studio 54, which is legendary anyway, so that was fun. I got a Cosmopolitan, it was 18 bucks! That’s insanity. But I mean, you have to do that. I wanted to do on a pub crawl in LA when I was 26 just because of the Bran Van 2000 song, but instead I went a few months after the hospital when I had a retrospective at 25 at UCR. I got to meet some wicked Americans, and drink beer with James Duvall and talk about the emotions involved in the acting process. I think he had just wrapped up May then. But enough of LA, except they have so many cars! Too many cars in LA. And those butt shaking women, holy crap, I still can’t do that. That’s talent.

Yes, but New York pre-911 was interesting. I mean, so many interesting things. We saw the Whitney Bienniale while we were there. We went to the Guggenheim. I mean, lots of cool places, I do love America. That’s the sad thing, we all hate America now, but it is a fun place really, with a lot of cool people.

I remember my mom and I noticed people kept saying my name. And Thirza is a weird name, not many people know it. But she and I kept hearing people say it EVERYWHERE, it was just like this utterance. I don’t know what language that was or why they kept saying it, but they did. And they said it perfectly, which is hard because people mispronounce it all the time. But no, they said it excellently, which is why it was so weird. She and I talked about it actually, we couldn’t figure out why that one city had so many people saying my name. I still don’t know why, I mean, I kind of know why in a grand cosmic sense, but I don’t know how they started saying it.

It’s a biblical name actually, you can find it in the erotic poetry of Songs of Solomon. It was a city. But apparently it also appears in this quote:
“When he [Satan] spoke of the sale of Magdalene’s property, I could no longer keep silence, and exclaimed: ‘How canst thou reproach him with the sale of this property as with a crime? Did I not myself see our Lord spend the sum which was given him by Lazarus in works of mercy, and deliver twenty-eight debtors imprisoned at Thirza?’” I don’t know if this comes from the Bible actually, I stumbled across it on a page debunking the Passion of the Christ by Mel Gibson, which I never saw because it sounds gross.

So, whatev man. Did I imprison debtors? Eh, probably, now.

I can feel the mood of the world changing, your surface thoughts have really calmed down, and that is good. In fact, I pretty much don’t have to read minds right now, I can just look at you and tell what is going on, and that’s good. I hate reading minds. I’m not looking at the news these days because it’s being used for disinformation still, only now it’s honest disinfo about what is really happening. But honestly, terrorism spiked dramatically during this war, it’s just most people didn’t hear about all of it.

The thing about what happened at the World Trade Center was it was an attack on the WORLD. Not just America. That place involved people of all nations, it wasn’t a solely American institution. That’s why we were all upset, it wasn’t just a slight on New York, it was a slight on all of us. Everyone had connections of some sort to those buildings, including Native people because Canadian Mohawk ironworkers built it, and cleaned it up, and are now trying to do spiritual healing on the site to help people move across. It belonged to us as much as any of you. But I think some of us were jerks when it happened, because we’d all been watching America do this global domination for so long so it was almost expected for that to happen. But I think eventually we realized that it was being used as a political tool, and then we got more serious about it. Because who ever plotted to destroy it, it did end up being used as a politically galvanizing icon. We watched thousands of people die in seconds, I mean, that’s harsh. It was the most widely distributed snuff film ever. And it had a ridiculous amount of symbolism being used, even the date itself. Of course it triggered people.

I feel badly that the people who perished that day were used to get everyone to agree to what’s going on now. I doubt any of them would have wanted their deaths to be used in this way. I mean, how many people have been killed since then using that iconography? Way more American soldiers themselves have died compared to the people who died at the WTC. And WAY more have been horribly maimed. I mean, was it worth it? What did it accomplish? We were all terrified, it was terrorism of a global sort, and using the name of fighting terrorism to continue it.

Anyway, yes New York, I did hear you, loud and clear, it just took me longer to stop it than I had hoped.

Covert Studies

I don’t honestly remember why I started studying covert operations. Maybe I was just fascinated and horrified by this seamy underworld of megalomaniacs. I had to know how it worked. I studied just about everything I could get my hands on, disinformation, Illuminati, One World Order, espionage, cults, abuse, various military programs like MONARCH and MKULTRA. I read about all these bizarre underground experiments to make like super human fighters, where they would take people and throw them out of helicopters to see if they could survive the fall yet. It was insanity, I couldn’t believe they would do so much stupid shit just to rule the world. I mean, why? What kind of a boring world would that be? And you know, some of the stuff I read was FAR OUT stuff. But I always applied it to the Nazi Holocaust, because then I could see it as a case study really, in a sick way. We know the Nazi’s were horrible, but still they did an insane amount of stuff before getting stopped. How? Why? I looked at all the mistakes they made, I read every shred I could find. Apparently the war ended when they found out about Cabbala and realized it was useful, there was a turn coat. Before that they didn’t honestly believe there was much use to the Jewish people. And still, all the other people murdered in the holocaust don’t get much press. I mean, you don’t hear about the Roma, or the homosexuals, or the communists, or the disabled. Did you know after the camps were liberated, the homosexuals were kept imprisoned? They weren’t ever allowed to be free. They stayed there and died there.

But they really used the complicity of the people to uphold their empire. I mean, Hitler did do some useful things for the German people, which is why so many people followed him. He implemented the Autobahn, he invented the Volkswagen. He was also a failed artist and put on a show of modern art called the Degenerate Art Show, but everyone loved it. I wonder what would have happened if he’d been allowed to just paint somewhere and make bad art and leave us alone. But he was just a figurehead, there were people who used him because he was a good spokesperson. He could rile people up. He wasn’t the only one thinking that way. And common people who supported him when he was working on their behalf had no idea how to stop supporting his party after it went all fucked up. It’s like, they had made a promise to support that and they didn’t know how to admit they made a mistake. So they just kept on with it. Stones from The River by Ursula Hegi is probably the best novel about the rise and fall of Nazism, because it’s a story from someone who watches it all unfold. And Ursula Hegi is a German, which is why I liked it, I mean, she knows the importance of telling that story, while a lot of Germans still don’t know how to relate to that part of their history. I mean, it is really amazing the way they’ve incorporated it into their lives though, they don’t try to completely deny it, except for the Neo Nazis. At Sachsenhausen one of the barracks was set on fire by some neo nazis who wanted to destroy the evidence, and it was so amazing how they dealt with that. They preserved the burned structure of that barrack and made it into a museum, so even that arson was preserved as part of the history of that place. It’s really quite fascinating.

So yes, covert operations. Numbers stations fascinated me, I listened to them all the time, I didn’t have the pad so they were all nonsensical, but they were still fascinating to listen to. I mean, a whole shortwave station that is only transmitting to one spy, wow. And anyone can hear it. So I guess, this is my numbers station, only without the codes. Actually, that’s not true, I threw some codes in here but I don’t know if the people will pick them up or not.

But it seemed like they made some dumb mistakes. Like trying to enslave spirits, now that is a dumbass mistake. And basically all the ways they used magic was guaranteed to backfire. I was always like, why would the Skull and Bones people take Geronimo’s head? Don’t they know what his mission is? But it is brilliant, I mean of all the moles to have, you’d pick Geronimo. He just sits there and watches, and then he starts talking. I don’t know if he has started talking yet, but he’s a brilliant military strategist so he could be feeding them disinformation. I mean, fuck, eventually all these things start repatriating themselves. They don’t wait around forever. So I realized they were making stupid mistakes with the pretend magic they got to play with.

When I was much younger I read a lot of occult stuff, magic, rituals, universal law, etc etc. I was going to be a Wiccan but I got bored, probably because I was reading the New Age Wiccan stuff, and it was like “Don’t ever hurt anyone or it will come back to you.” And that is a good law, I mean, most people here do live by that law.

But then I found out about my friend’s Rede which was like, as it harm none, do as thou will, as it harm some, do as thou must. And it didn’t make any sense to me at the time, why hurt people? But then I found out that the Rede comes from the old Craft, when they were being persecuted. I mean, they DID have to hurt people, you can’t just take that kind of stuff. It would be nice if no one had to get hurt, but then some people really just use that general spiritual law against people, so people get hurt and don’t realize that it means they have permission to fight back. I mean, Jesus didn’t die to absolve people of sins, he died because people were sinning. He was never taking on people’s crap, he just got caught in the crossfire of a police state. Only now we think it’s a good thing to sacrifice yourself.

Not everyone can fight back honestly though, I mean, some people haven’t been persecuted at all, or they’ve been persecuting other people as part of their liberation movement. Like feminists who bash trans people, now that is persecution, that kind of shit is not okay. Just because you’re fighting for the rights of one group of people doesn’t give you the green light to oppress others in your struggle.

The Dalai Lama is on his last life. So am I actually, I think I’m pretty much finishing what I’ve been coming here to do. A lot of people are on their last lives right now, which is exciting. I mean, finally!

I remember when I was doing my residency at Video Pool in Winnipeg, Daniel Barrow and I were having lunch and I got CIA Diary by Phillip Agee, and he started teasing me. Because I was just starting a course in Native Lit. Daniel said “April Raintree was good, but not as good as CIA Diary by Phillip Agee.” Bitch! It was an interesting book though. And no, I never did read April Raintree. I did grow up with Maria Campbell and Winona Wheeler and various other intensely strong Native women, which was fun. I would be really quiet and small so that I could hang out with them and listen to all their stories. They used to sit at kitchen tables and talk, and laugh, they could make you pee your pants they were so funny. And they would call me the old lady, because I always hung around them. I didn’t care much for kids my own age, except for a few of them. A lot of boys mostly, I grew up with the guys. I used to go down the street and my friend Michael would play the accordian for me while his mom was getting electrolysis.

In the gifted program we did have a Muslim classmate, and I remember the teacher was baffled during Ramadan because he had to fast during the day and he got all unhappy and hungry and she was like “Why don’t you just eat?” And he said “I can’t!” Poor little guy. He did share a whole bunch of food with us at the end of Ramadan though, which was cool. I liked knowing a few things about his faith, just because then we could understand him on his own terms. And people did respect him. I wasn’t very respected, but the other aboriginal in our class was, but she ran out the window one day and never came back. She’s becoming a police officer now, last time I ran into her.

When I was in the ward there was a Muslim man in there too, a few actually, and people were pretty horrid to them which was gross. There was another boy who would be quiet and then suddenly he would start growling and say “Excuse me.” Actually, most of the people in there were going through a spiritual awakening, they were pretty fascinating people to be around. I think I got into shit because I was riling them up to take over the hospital, actually, and so they made an example out of me. And people kept falling in love, it was like, ugh, leave me alone. Oh well. I mean, better to have a bunch of people fall in love though. And then I’d be doing all these drawings and someone would say “Did you know” and then tell me some obscure fact that made a hell of a lot of sense. When I started drawing Anubis my psychiatrist kind of freaked out. I honestly didn’t know it was Anubis, I was just drawing stuff out.

I don’t mind that I burnt it all, I remember it pretty well, so that’s good enough for me.

But really, Illuminati stuff is irritating. But the only way it survives is by staying secret, which is basically the weakness of the group, it’s the fatal flaw. And people have left the Illuminati, I mean, high profile trainers have just up and walked, and they get into shit. If you did want to read that stuff, Svali explains it all, but again, it’s pretty traumatizing. You can go crazy reading about it, or else just demand yourself to wake up to stop it, which I think is really what I was doing. But I was trying to figure out how to help RA survivors, because I know most of them are good at heart, they just got trapped in something. And so that’s how I ended up learning about psychopaths. Because those are the people that can keep that stuff going, they don’t have empathy so they don’t really see why they are doing bad things. Pretty much everyone else has the tools at their disposal to walk away, except for shame that seems to enslave them. You can’t be ashamed of things someone else made you do. Or that you just didn’t know was wrong because no one taught you. I mean, obviously it is important to people to try and make amends, but that’s hard for most, especially if they don’t want to remember what they did wrong or why it would hurt someone. And especially if they don’t know why they did it in the first place.

I have made mistakes, of course, but whatever. That’s part of learning. It’s when you keep making the same mistake over and over that you get silly. And most covert operations really are the same silly mistake being used over and over.

When I was a little kid one time I told my mum “Every song has a message.” And I think she was like “That’s nice kid, of course they do.” And I was like “No, a message for ME.” Yeah. And it’s true, that’s where the best codes were found.


I seem to have met the only person who can make me take a stand and disarm me at the same time. Holy fuck. It’s such a relief, now my whole dark side can go back to my sex life where it belongs. I’m so freakin’ relieved. That is too ridiculously fun.

I did have to talk about ritual abuse in this blog though, because it is how the psychiatric system I ended up in treated me. And since this whole blog is about my healing process from this crazy time period of domination, psych ritual abuse just had to be talked about.

I don’t think people realize how damaging psychiatry is to the people who end up in it, especially people who today are just having a common new experience of spiritual awakening. People may be going to the edge these days, but it’s because everything is changing. I don’t know if I would have been so heavily ritually abused by the Montreal psych ward if they had known I was an internationally recognized director, but then again to them I was just some dumb Indian. So there you go.

Montreal is racist. In fact, a lot of Quebec is. In fact, the whole of Canada is, as is the whole world. I will protect people close to me by any means necessary, and by god if that involves space aliens so be it. I think we can start to disarm things in an intelligent way. I’ve decided to disarm you all by starting to talk openly about spirituality and awakenings and the honesty of mutually agreed upon power exchange relationships. It may seem like a funny thing for me to end up wanting to discuss, but honestly, to get through this, that is what I think you need to know. There is all the dark stuff in my blog, you’re free to read it if you want, just be aware that it was the darkest time period of my life, and probably of all our lives.

We all have dark histories now, we’ve been pushed so far because of world wide abuse. I’m perfectly willing to lead people off to the places I know are safe, because I did tangle with the Forces. They do have weaknesses that can be exploited, like all of us, and that’s what I learned on this journey. One weakness is this idea that people won’t be honest about what’s going on. It’s not necessarily secrecy that is the problem so much as silence. Although secrecy can be used against you.

Maybe I have damaged the mental health of the psych workers in Montreal by laying my four years of hell at their feet. But it is true. It’s not my fault I couldn’t stop the war. It’s the fault of the people who decided in their finite wisdom to take me someplace they had no understanding of. the whole time they tried to take me I resisted, I fought so hard to avoid being sent there. I never gave in. I was taken down by the cops, in a really violent way, and then just off and on spent time drugged to the gills in restraints with sexual offenders wandering willy nilly. I hope the Montreal psych system is happy with the war in Iraq, because in many ways they were responsible for it.