Attention Aussie and/or New Zealand Butch Women

Because of a bold workshop on Butch Erasure created/given by a brave Femme at a recent Feminist Conference in Australia, a few of the Butch women who had attended were so inspired they thought to put together a Butch woman anthology of the Butch woman experience and are calling for submissions.

Their Facebook page can be found here with pertinent info.

All other Butches; as you can see we are not alone. Butches across the world are facing the same issues we all face created through Butch shame and Butch invisibility. The climate may currently be ugly and in some cases unrecognizable, it will remain so unless older Butch women represent our beautiful, strong and proud Butch woman's minds and bodies through writing, filming, videoing etc of our unique Butch experiences. Experiences that the Butch youth of today need to hear much more than ever so they do not fully develop the Butch shame that leads so often to sexual dysfunction (stone) at the least or worse, the misogynistic self hating "trans" disorder which in essence is about murdering the woman they are.

Be Butch
Be Proud
Be Woman

dirt

ftM reinforces binary and other comments

A comment from an ftM I received last night.



Some ftM googles, as you can see "ftm ladies man" (as if) and doesn't like what they find when they get my blog. The shear misogyny in these comments is both frightening and loathsome and quite clear why this person trannified to begin with. This person hates women, lesbians and especially Butch lesbians as their comments indicate. Their stressing their "hetero-ness" indicates like most ftMYSOGINIST that their natural lesbianism along with their femaleness has to been altered with injection after injection of "T". I would wager this person has/is soliciting bio male sex partners on the sly from gay personals/craigs list. I would also wager their Butch hatred stems from their being a tweener dyke like most ftMISOGYNYST were, and like the tweeners who trannify they are jealous of Butch butchness as well as the beautiful Femmes who desire us. Foolishly soooooo many of these sad and confused tweener lesbians believe through "T" they can attain some measure of Butch-hood, but as we know and they prove, Butches are born of our mothers, not of a needle.

But I dont post this to simply dismantle this individual ftMISOGYNYST's character, but to illustrate just what us Butches, both young, middle aged and older are dealing with. This is sadly the climate Butch women are currently having to navigate within our own Femme-Butch communities, both online and off. The very thing (our femaleness) that makes us the Butch women that we are and the butchness that we love and take pride in is being threatened in our very own communities, by those claiming to "know", "understand" and "support" us!!!! There is NOTHING more unique and beautiful than a Butch woman, in mind, body and spirit!

Especially those over 35 Butch women who have walked across fire for the entirety of their lives, and to see finally them make it across, placing one foot into the cool sand, then another, then the beautiful peacefulness that spreads across their being. Peaceful because they finally understand and appreciate their unique butch qualities, qualities that lie solely in the female mind as well as the supreme female body! This is why if you are a Butch or love a Butch it is essential to speak out whenever Butch is assumed, claimed, ID'd as anything but female/woman! Our butchness is no more male than the pussy that lies between our legs, it is like our pussy's, uniquely female and uniquely powerful, it informs our walk, our talk, our swagger, our energy and their aint NOTHING male or manly about it! 

dirt-a couldnt be prouder if I tried Butch Woman!

ps another comment I found interesting and equally revealing regarding our Femme-Butch spaces:

ftMYSOGYNIST continue utilizing our identities and our spaces because underneath the hairy body and bald head, they are what they began as, scared little girls who know as well as the rest of us, the patriarchal world is no place for women.

Memorial Day

George Santayana succinctly said “Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it”, but I prefer this:

 

 

 

 

Getting There (sylvia plath)

How far is it?
How far is it now?
The gigantic gorilla interior
Of the wheels move, they appall me ---
The terrible brains
Of Krupp, black muzzles
Revolving, the sound
Punching out Absence! Like cannon.
It is Russia I have to get across, it is some was or other.
I am dragging my body
Quietly through the straw of the boxcars.
Now is the time for bribery.
What do wheels eat, these wheels
Fixed to their arcs like gods,
The silver leash of the will ----
Inexorable. And their pride!
All the gods know destinations.
I am a letter in this slot!
I fly to a name, two eyes.
Will there be fire, will there be bread?
Here there is such mud.
It is a trainstop, the nurses
Undergoing the faucet water, its veils, veils in a nunnery,
Touching their wounded,
The men the blood still pumps forward,
Legs, arms piled outside
The tent of unending cries ----
A hospital of dolls.
And the men, what is left of the men
Pumped ahead by these pistons, this blood
Into the next mile,
The next hour ----
Dynasty of broken arrows!
How far is it?
There is mud on my feet,
Thick, red and slipping. It is Adam's side,
This earth I rise from, and I in agony.
I cannot undo myself, and the train is steaming.
Steaming and breathing, its teeth
Ready to roll, like a devil's.
There is a minute at the end of it
A minute, a dewdrop.
How far is it?
It is so small
The place I am getting to, why are there these obstacles ----
The body of this woman,
Charred skirts and deathmask
Mourned by religious figures, by garlanded children.
And now detonations ----
Thunder and guns.
The fire's between us.
Is there no place
Turning and turning in the middle air,
Untouchable and untouchable.
The train is dragging itself, it is screaming ----
An animal
Insane for the destination,
The bloodspot,
The face at the end of the flare.
I shall bury the wounded like pupas,
I shall count and bury the dead.
Let their souls writhe in like dew,
Incense in my track.
The carriages rock, they are cradles.
And I, stepping from this skin
Of old bandages, boredoms, old faces
Step up to you from the black car of Lethe,
Pure as a baby.

dirt