ramble ramble whine whine.

the sun is shining in seattle.

queers are coming out of hiding.

i am entertaining gentlemen, and refusing to sleep with anyone who doesn't light my cigarettes and instead hands me a lighter (rude).

i've been incredibly lazy as of recently, like I am trapt in a giant funk of sleepy eyes and exhausted limbs. this makes me very dissappointed in myself. which makes me sleep more, and do less, because I am not happy with who I am currently being.

Cycles are intense my friends.

I'm moving into the city and out of my parents home this August. Hopefully. I think this will be incredibly good for me. I'm terrifed of failing though. I was explaining this to my friend who says that i have "sometimes blue eyes" the other day while they taught me how to throw a frissbee. That I don't do or try at a lot of things because I don't want to be bad at them. Somewhere I got the impression if you never put an effort in you cou

ldn't fail.

As they said, this is a truely terrible idea to have.

I'm just not okay with personal failures. Even logical bit of me knows failing is okay and good and natural, but logic doesn't win most of the time, and reasonable thoughts are over powered by irrational fear.

I never used to believe in having shame, but the feeling has come into my life recently and I can't seem to shake it.

I am so fucking ashamed of myself for not being more of a person. For not being a better person. For not getting out of bed sometimes, and for forgetting to make art, for never showing up when I'm supposed to, for sleeping with those people, for that time I was drunk and did that thing, for every mistake and blunder.

I have shame.

I have shame because society has finally succedded on placing there ideas into my head and not allowing my to shake them.

Or maybe because the sitmulant I've been on for over two years is giving me intense anixety, and its combining with the pressures to grow up and make something of myself in this awkward way that instead of inspiring action I am left dwelling on all of it.

Fuck it.

I'm going to cut off my hair and throw away my shame.

I want to go back to owning everything I am, and stop listening to the little guilty voices in my head.

I can't carry this weight anymore.

Summer.

Summer is here and I am going to sunbath naked.

I am going to read and write and make things.

Starting with posters to get me out of bed that say

"Make your bed" and "brush your teeth" and other things that are simple and take care of me and I forget to do because I guess sometimes I forget to value myself.

I'm awesome.

I AM AWESOME AND I AM GOING TO REMEMBER THIS.

<3

xoxoxoxoxo

the asexual tendencies of this sexual queer.

[ me and my ex, when i was like, 16 ]

Its been a while, folks. I have no excuses. Let's just jump in with a confession.

Its no secret that I have had a fair amount of sex. More than most kids my age. More than most people expect. I've been with a good handful (underestimating) of people, and done quite a few risque things. I'm a tramp. A very proud, and very sweet, tramp. If you know me, or know of me, you have probably caught wind of some of this.

And its true. I've been around the block.

But I'm not a very sexual person, I just have had a lot of sex.

Confused?

ME TOO.

Let me start by saying sex wasn't always about sex for me. For a long time, longer then I am willing to admit, sex was about power. Sex was about reclaiming my body. Sex was about feeling wanted, desired, and lusted after. Sex was about being in control. Sex was about proving to myself that I could still connect to people, proving I wasn't a victim. Sex was about winning people over. Sex was how I made friends.

In retrospect, it is all very silly, and a little shameful. It was unhealthy, but it was what I needed at the time to cope- or avoid coping. These are what I like to call my skanky days. Pre-slut retirement.

Then I figured out how completely fucked up that was, and processed my trauma.

Now sex is sex. Sex is fun, and dirty, and silly, and sexy. At least, good sex is. Sex is consensual! Because i understand consent and am at a point in my life were i can give and deny consent. Which is a fantastic point to be at. I like sex. I like sex and am no longer trying to reclaim anything through sex. I just have sex because I enjoy it, and if I'm not enjoying it, I don't have it. THis works well for me.

But, I still have all these asexual tendencies. Or at least this is what I call them, I'm not sure if there is a better term for it, and I am concerned that this language might be offensive. I hope it isn't. Please inform me if you feel otherwise.

ANYWAY.

I have this inability to approach people or see peop

le in a sexual way. Until they are clearly trying to jump my bones. I never think "oh, i want to fuck that person" when someone catches my interest, its more of an "oh gee, i really would like to be that persons friend and maybe do their dishes and hold their hand!". I have no hidden intentions. If I ask someone over to watch a movie, its because I want to watch a movie with them. If I peck them on the cheek, its because they did something that made me want to peck them on the cheek, not because I secretly want to take them home with me. If I'm dirty dancing with them, its because I want to dirty dance with them, not because I am warming them up for later activities.

Nothing I do is about sex, except for having sex.

This is awkward.

People think I'm flirting sometimes. I am mostly oblivious to this. I wouldn't know how to hit on someone if I wanted too. I also am never aware of when someone is hitting on me until someone else points it out, or we are making out in the dark corner of a party. I'm nice.

I was once told people shouldn't be nice to people unless they want to sleep with them, as it sends the wrong message.

Um, what?

Also, I have this conversation a lot:

Friend: Was anyone hot there?

Me: I don't know?

Friend: How do you not know?

Me: I guess I just don't look at people that way.

I am nice to everyone. I am nice because its how I feel like I'm supposed to be. Its how I am comfortable being. I am a fucking sweetheart.

Does this send the wrong message?

I make eye contact in conversations. I touch elbows. I give long loving hugs. I laugh at peoples jokes and smile a lot.

Does this make people think I am making sexual advances?!

AHHH.

I just want to sun bath and play board games. We can make out if you want to, but mostly I just want to spend time with you. Unless I really really like you and we have amazing sexual chemistry, in which case I may want to do it everywhere all the time.

Is that weird?

This isn't a constant thing. Sometimes I get incredibly sexually frustrated and just want to fuck everyone. Sometimes I get drunk, and I want sex like nothing else ever even mattered. But for the majority of the time, sex doesn't even cross my mind. Unless you're talking about it, because I will talk about it for hours and hours and hours.

And hours.

So yes. I am coming out as a super queer kid with asexual tendencies. I hope you all still like me!

xoxoxoxo.

drugs drugs drugs. the legal prescribed ones.

DO NOT STOP TAKING YOUR PILLS.

(not without a plan at least)

I've always struggled with this whole medication thing. For those of you who are not aware, I'm a boat of crazy things. Okay, not really, but I do have a few little quirky things going on in my head and my body chemistry. I have depression, ADD, generalized anxiety, and post-traumatic-stress-disorder. At least, thats what the doctors said last time I checked. "Mental Illnesses", or what I like to think of as dangerous gifts, run in my family. Hardcore.

We're a bunch of crazies.

I say crazy with pride, mind you. My mother always told me that some people are just "wired differently". That sometimes there is a disconnect between brain and body, between our senses and our minds. That these are medical conditions and its no one's fault.

I was raised by a kick-ass strong single mother, who somehow managed to keep us feed, and clothed, in school, and not dead. Well, more like, not killing each other, which was a very real possibility.

My sister had a tick in her ability to process things. She got anxious and saw things. The only way she could express her emotions was very very extreme. This made my childhood very chaotic and interesting. I don't remember most of it, which is probably a good thing. In fact, I hardly remember any of it, which is frustrating and sad, but maybe for the best. My sister is better now, with drugs, therapy, healing. I think she still harbors a lot of guilt for what happened when we were younger. I'd like to believe its water under the bridge, but its hard to know if I've forgiven her when I have forgotten all but flashes.

I digress.

What I'm trying to say, is I've been raised with the message that mental illness is not weakness. That if there is a medication that works to make it better, helps you function, keeps you from feeling like death constantly, its probably a good idea you go ahead and take it. Needing pills doesn't make you less resilient, its a result of having a chemical imbalance, and knowing your limits in a society that doesn't give room for alternative medicine.

I believe in this very honestly, and very strongly.

Every so often, though, I forget. I'm feeling better and I stop refilling my prescriptions. I think that I can survive and live life without it. That there is power in depression, in feeling all of it. I forget that my medication isn't stopping me from feeling sad, its just giving me more opportunities to experience every thing else, to not be so consumed with the dark that comes from nowhere and thoughts I can't chase out. I forget. I'm human and I forget.

Then six weeks of being free of anti-depressants, and I am slumped over on the kitchen floor. I am crying about nothing, and boiling with rage about crying over nothing. I am awake at night, rocking. I am looking in the mirror and scratching at my face. I am trying not to hate my body, I am trying not to hate everybody. I am so fucking not okay and can't tell anyone about it. Well, no, I could talk to lots of people about it, but I don't. I don't because I feel guilty. Because I feel worthless and dumb and illogical. Because it doesn't make any sense that I am going fucking bat-shit crazy, when I have this awesome life and people that I love.

No, it does make sense.

So after about a week of me freaking out and not being able to function, I go back on my drugs.

It's this really sick cycle and its hurting my body. It's a struggle. It's valid. It happens. I'm on my medication now, stable, and giddy. I hope I can stay on it this time, or if I go off, make a plan about it and re-structure my life to adjust and provide adequate alternatives. I'll probably just get drunk and flush my pills down the toilet because I don't want to be dependent on an artificial substance for happiness- or what every bullshit conflicting message I've somehow gotten from the media and masses. Eh, it happens.

SHIT FUCKING HAPPENS.

There is always chocolate soy milk.

(except in Karlovy Vary, they don't believe in chocolate soy milk.)

(( or candies that have peanut butter and chocolate together))

(( i know, it is blasphemous. ))

i'm coming out.

As the biggest nerd ever.

I got caught a few weekends ago by way too many cute kids that I've known for a while at Sakura Con. An anime convention in seattle. So before the super crazy queer rumor mill eats my alive, I thought I'd let everyone know: I am a giant anime dork. Below is a picture of eleven year old me dressed up s Sailor Saturn at my first anime convention ever.

I have been since I was six or so and obsessed with, you guessed it, sailor moon. I read manga in middle school, made costumes with my mother, attended anime conventions every summer from 5th grade to 8th grade, when I got too cool for that sort of thing.

Honestly though, I never got too cool, I just got busy and couldn't obsess over anime properly.

I have always been and will always be a gaymer. I have a long standing relationship with Guilty Gear, Zelda, Final Fantasy, Soul Caliber, countless first person shooters, and other games that made my childhood less like hell. I play 'pathfinder' (a table top role playing game, much like Dungeons and Dragons,) with my family. My brother taught me how to play magic before I even turned eight, and though I no longer grasp the game, apparently I was 'pretty good' at it. I remember just liking the babes on the cards, and refusing to play with cards that weren't shiny. I understand jokes about 4chan. I know about system 32. I know what a fort. save is, and the difference between a 1d8 and 1d4 weapon.

I have always been surrounded by incredible dorkdom. I have been able to write myself off as a geek by association for the most part, but somethings I can't get away with.

Like cosplaying at Sakura Con, and going by myself. I found these two kids, also dressed up as cowboy bebop characters, and hung out with them for an entire day.

So, yeah.

I'm a dork.

I am a giant dork and this is okay, because so many kids I know are dorks, and it works out great.

Plus, I have this weakness for nerdy queers who read comic books, collect action figures, and play video games. This has always confused my friends, because they didn't know about my secret past.

Nerdy queers for the win?

You now know my best kept secret.

xoxoxoxo.

royal weddings, and other things

I don't watch the news, but some current events make themselves impossible to avoid entirely. These are mostly the events I would never give a shit about. Things that are "monumental to history", that is to the rick white man's history. Yeah.

So I guess there are some royal people getting married.

And apparently this is the BIGGEST DEAL EVER.

You thought the war was important?

Gas prices?

The state of the government?

Debt?

Healthcare?

Civil Rights?

Education?

Hah.

All those things together aren't nearly as important to the united states as this upcoming royal wedding. The nation is obsessed with the upcoming ceremony in which this man and woman will make a formal commitment on paper and to god, that the country will then recognize and confirm that they have an actual relationship.

The news has decided that I need to see every single detail of every miniscule thing involved in this wedding of the century.

Blow me.

Its enough to make me hate weddings.

Okay, maybe I hate the majority of weddings already, as well as the idea of weddings, but still- somethings are just too pretty for me to hate. And this royal wedding is threatening to take the little love I have for wedding ceremonies away.

This is just a little rant.

I'm having trouble trying to think of things to say that aren't utterly gross and depressing, because I'm being moody and homesick in Chicago for the week.

Its actually rather windy here. It looks like gothum city.

april april april.

Spring fever, anyone?

I've spent a ton of money on flowers this last month. Money on flowers and fresh fruit. I have been sunbathing in parks. I have been wearing ray-bans and flirty dresses. Apparently, there is a smile in my eyes. I guess no one told my eyes I was sad, or lonely, or anything. The only message that got to my eyes was spring, was sun, was sparkles.

Life has throw things at me that are beyond my comprehension. Its all out of my control. These are times when all you can do is pray, but I don't believe in God these days. I haven't for a long time. I haven't ever thought I needed to turn to a deity to change my life. I don't rely on stars, I find my strength on the inside. Or, well, in general this is something I have a hold on.

Life is strange. Everything can be turned on its head at any moment and the things you thought you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt- were never true.

I am going to start filling every inch of every wall of every building in every city with my truths.

I'm in this writing group, of queers, of varying ages. We get together every two weeks and I bring at least two things: flowers and food. If I have learned anything, its that I value the beauty in small things and feeding people. It makes me feel all sorts of things. It makes me wonder and need and other things I haven't always been comfortable and cozy with.

Being vulnerable takes practice. Growing from vulnerability takes patients.

If only I could sit with uncomfortably without feeling the need to flee.

Which brings me back to spring.

Spring crawls in my bones and reminds me this soil sometimes produces things. That all gifts are precious, its important to slow down and speed up, and change change change. There are places left un-explored. There are secret spaces inside of me that need air, that need to breathe. I need road beneath my feet.

I'm learning how to stay though. I just wish people in my life would return the favor.

Blah blah blah.

I probably just need to get laid, and start taking my anti-depressants again. Who knows.

dancing with myself.

I've been learning how to be alone, and feel confident in that. Its an interesting experience to take the activities you normally do in public (or private) with another person, and do them alone. I've been taking myself on dates. I've been romancing myself. I've been sitting alone in restaurants, and showing up alone at parties/shows.

It has been a most magnificent adventure. I am learning all sorts of things about myself and how I act when people are watching but no one is interacting with me. There is this bizarre need for me to look loverly and be sweet, even in my lonesome, for the purpose of pleasing myself. I spend just as much time prepping for a date with myself, as I do prepping to go out with a romantic friend/lover. Actually, I spend more time getting ready to date myself. The most liberating thing I do on these dates is not finish dessert all by myself, or dance with the air at shows, or get lost in crowds, but buying myself flowers. Buying myself sunflowers provides this quiet joy, that seeps from my every pore. I become as bright as their yellows, as confident as their tall stalks. The world slows down. The world seems less ugly, less hateful, and more majestic than ever before. Peace creeps up on me.

I am by no means an island, but I am learning that love is something I can find internally. I haven't quite figured out how to make out with myself yet, so I will still need people for a while. No, but sincerely, people are fantastic. I just want to figure out how to rely on myself more.

If I figure out how to sustain my people solitude, I'll be sure to tell you. So far I can spend about three days with myself before needing to hang out with an actual person. These three days are generally very swell though, and I have usually bonded a lot with inanimate objects during them.

In other news, I am getting a zine together. I have some many things I've written gathering electronic dust on my computer, things I am proud of, scared of, happy with. So many of my truths that are doing no good in their solitudes. But in all my years of DIY artistry, I have never made a zine. I have never compiled m writing. I have never even stapled together or photocopied a zine. Its a giant punk shame for me. I'm nervous! What if I don't know how to do it? What if my zine doesn't look like other zines? What if the more experienced zines make fun of my zine, and my zine comes home crying?

My poor zine-to-be. Growing up is so hard.

its been a long while.

I'm not dead. I promise.

Since you last heard from me I've:

dated several different people,

been very disappointed with most of them,
ate a lot of yummy food,
made a lot of yummy food,
dropped off the face of the earth and reappeared, several times actually.
Stopped writing,
Started writing again,
Brought way too many books,
Played video games instead of reading said books,
rearranged my room,
twice.

Broken and fixed my car.

Started referring to my car as my 'angry wife',

Successfully resisted the urge cut off all my hair,

And given Sealie a bath.

I've done nothing terribly exciting and have no excuses for neglecting this blog that at some point was going very well. I've never been very good at using excuses though, this is not for a lack of ability to create them, but for discomfort I find in lying. I developed this discomfort of using excuses some point between my elementary school homework that was always "getting lost", and my shotty at best middle school attendance. There was this line on this slip you filled out that wanted a reason for your late arrivals, and after filling out the same bullshit line of 'illness' or 'appointment', I just started writing 'none'.
I will provide you with the only reason I have, which is 'none'.

My 7th grade english teacher appreciated this.
However, the administration didn't seem as keen.


I have been revived, like zombie jesus or something. April seem like an appropriate month for this resurrection. I'd like to tell you that this was planned to go along with the Christian holidays, and that this blog is, in fact, the love child of god and virgins, but all of that would be a lie. It is in fact a coincidence.
or is it?


no, really it is.
i'm not even christian.
i'm back because i told myself before I reactivated my facebook, if I ever do, I would write in my blog a bunch first. this, and tumblr, are my only connection to the social-ish, over exposing, must let everyone know everything, aspect of the internet.


Can we meet again, and I will try not to treat you like everyone else in my life go missing for months at a time? no promises though, I have a tendency to ghost.

hi.
i'm montgomery,
and i think you are fantastic.

xoxoxo.

PULTO IS STILL A PLANET.

Its the new year!

Its the new year and I haven't changed!

Shocked? I'm not. I like changing with the seasons, with the wind, with the weather, with the tide. I'm not really one who sets start, end, and any other dates. I'm not good with deadlines, or using my planner. My goals have this tendency to be vague, and uncertain. I give my self a lot of leeway. I dont know what this imples about me, if I'm afraid of failure, or if I'd scared to succeed, or if I should start eatting differently, yada yada. Don't care. Its just how I've always been.

I did make one change that started with the new year: to spend more time creating.

I let my art take a backseat to my life. This is not very, well, its not very good for me. It makes me unhappy and unhealthy and generally a robotic version of myself. I like making things, I like working with my hands, I like writing and painting and sewing and cooking, and I would like to do these things more often.

So.

I am going to do these things more often.

You know what else I like to do with my hands?

Its not very dirty.

Well it can be.

But,

Okay, this is dorky and domestic and tragic, but it is also very rad, and fun, and well-

i like interior decorating.

i like painting homes, and wallpapering cabinets, and tiling, and installing lights and... i like everything.

this post makes no sense.

i'll stop wasting your time when 'How I Met Your Mother' isn't distracting me.

love.

...awkward.

I have classically bad timing. This is something that is okay to have on occasion, or every once in a while. THis is not something you want to have blessing your life constantly.

I am always late. It doesn't matter how much time I've given myself to get to a place, I can never show up when I'm supposed to. The earlier I leave, the more hiccups are thrown in the adventure of getting there. When I am 'on-time', its because I've gotten the time wrong. If I am early, something ridiculous catapults itself into me. I wasn't meant for the life of punctuality, and I'v grown to accept this. This is not where my bad timing ends though, oh no, this is just the beginning.

I never show up at the right time in people's lives. Its always right after they needed someone like me, or in the middle of a situation that doesn't want me to join in. It used to be chalked up to 'right person, wrong time', but when everyone you meet doesn't have a place for you in their life, its hard to want to continue meeting people.

I am a moment ruiner. This was a title given to me by four of my friends when during all their serious conversations I popped up with some silly excited comment about ducks, or boots, or the weather. Everyone would be crying and I would burst in with bubbles and unicorns and crazy faces. My family solves uncomfortable situations with humor, its a habit I haven't yet broken and surfaces subconsciously whenever I need an 'out'.

People always seem to walk in on me being ridiculous. I'll be dancing around the daycare I work at, and suddenly I spin around with a baby in my arms, and there is a parent. Staring at me boogie. Or, I'll be belting out songs in my kitchen and the U.P.S. driver will be staring in the window, knocking. I'll be completely alone then spill something all over myself, and a billion people show up. I'll look like a hot mess, go to a grocery store at midnight in suburbia, and there will be the person I've had a crush on for years picking up some juice and flowers.

Things get awkward. Maybe this is the result of me, being awkward.

How does a person survive all these awkward moments?

Well, I'll let you in on a secret. Things are only awkward if you are awkward about them. I am incredibly skilled at not becoming awkward in terribly uncomfortable moments.

I just made a your mom joke and your mom is dead? Oh, well, sorry and your face.

You saw me break into an silly dance when I thought was alone? Oh. I'm just going to keep dancing until you laugh.

I talk about sexual things loudly in public places. I kiss girls in restaurants. I dance everywhere. I say embarrassing honest things about myself to people I want to impress. I make faces. I make noises. I bring up subjects people avoid, and always call people out. People I really don't want to sleep with always want my nuts, and I just pretend they don't.

I an great at making an ass out of myself and still having friends in the morning.

This is because I am adorable. I am adorable and I do the dishes and I take people out to breakfast or make some mean quiche.

You can be awkward as long as you are charming and sweet.

Until you are charming and sweet there are two options. You can either:

A. Pretend it wasn't awkward and be super confident in your actions following the moment.

or B. Call out how ridiculously awkward that moment was, immediately repeat or intimidate said moment and move on to asking questions.

If all else fails, just own the awkwardness that is you, and never aim to impress anyone ever again.

Good luck.

xoxoxoxo

a quick moment of shame.

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