Swing Low Sweet Chariot

Transmitter wrote this in the late evening:

I feel guilty for not feeling guilty.

Mitosis: Pulling Against Oneself

Transmitter wrote this at around evening time:

My family operates as a cell, a single unit made of several parts designed to function as a whole, yet mandated to divide. The cell reproduces by mitosis, splitting itself in half and in half and in half and in half and in half again. The process results in the production of thousands of cells.

My family got stuck in mid-mitosis, a perpetual state of pulling together and apart. A few partially-formed families have spun off from the spriraling, ripping bundle of cells, but none have left with enough structure to stay whole.

The Fast Track to Poverty

Transmitter wrote this late at night:
  1. Eat out.
  2. Chat up the gay men while antique shopping.
  3. Peruse the modern furniture store.
  4. Eat out again.
  5. Impulsively buy apple laptops.
  6. Order furniture, clothes, and accessories online.
  7. Pay to host a blog that no one will ever read because you are too ashamed and poor to market it.

Alone in Crowds

Transmitter wrote this in the early morning:

From my childhood things were always different. As an only child until the age of eight and treated as such for some years to come, I was left alone with nothing but my surroundings and my imagination to entertain me. While the other boys played tackle football on the asphalt square mile that served as a playground, I walked the perimeter, tracing the tar-filled cracks, and jumped rope with the girls. I played with the girls not because I wanted to be one, but because I felt disconnected, above, the boys. The boys were stupid, struggling to evolve beyond apes. Their social circle was a constant battle of dominance: the strongest, the fastest, the biggest, the loudest. In second grade the girls displayed a clearly higher level of development, a maturity that I could relate to. While the other boys reenacted war games with their G.I. Joes, mine were organized by color into plastic bins. My isolation taught me attention to detail.

I was queer in the sense of being truly different. I still liked girls and they liked me. I probably went further with any girl in second grade than the other boys. I still like girls. If I ever had any homosexual tendencies during my development, they were instantly repelled by the overall stupidity/repulsiveness of the male stereotype. I could engage the girls. They were both attractive and intellectual. They quickly grasped social concepts of conversation and reason, while the boys sorted things out with a king-of-the-hill, strongest-takes-all system. Being small, I couldn’t survive in this system even if I wanted to. I suffered the wrath of the boys at first, but they quickly became distracted by inflated balls and egos.

Squid Pro Quo

Transmitter wrote this mid-afternoon:


The giant squid has never been observed in its natural habitat. The little we know of them comes from washed up carcasses and the remains found in sperm whale bellies. Often large tentacle scars are found on sperm whales, suggesting fierce undersea battles between the titans of the deep. We know little of our own world. Evolution didn’t stop at man.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor

Transmitter wrote this in the early morning:

You can hear everything through my apartment walls. I’ve only met my neighbor across the hall once. His name is Michael. He has colon cancer.

He has spent the last eight months being misdiagnosed and racking up thousands of dollars worth of medical expenses. He spends his time watching sports. He’ll probably die soon.

Hoping You Were There

Transmitter wrote this in the early morning:

In a world without any messiahs there is little hope for salvation.