GEOGRAPH,322A,38.250765,-85.745122

 My beard, still insurgent, refuses neutering; I must CUT I must shave to the bare smoothed skin like good gurl; these old reminders of the-hated keep growing, crabgrass daily almost mown Friday night here I am told by parties womanly that I do not quite fit in a good damnation that needs to be for one who's show despisement re that imprisonment into which I was born a peewee destiny that dangles yet a little but which nonetheless begins add to look passably girlfriend I shall endure the solitude it is my sentence for crimes I have committed in all ways do to my mail genitalia for which there can be no good riddance I still shave the white grass on my face needs a daily mowing what once was blonde then brown then dark brown turned into a snowy look a despicable look reminding me that there can be no escape from genetic destiny this blog intends to be almost entirely audio and visual I shall try to make some essay in essay form of how these little tokens of iconography speak to that...

  \/ SPEAKERS Speaker 1  My Place begins with my body my chest and drawers. This is my Geograph a locus in position and in no position it is in the quantum sense, both vibrating and fixed the geography of my cell please do not call it a womb even though the WOMBwarmth is my sanctuary to be worshipped from this kind and bedtimes bitter distance... born in an accident, which cast me crazily, macho, in kind, from which kind, I changed my mind and all other aspects of mankind into that kind, which is the one whose emblem is the emblem of the moon . A picture one might say, the divinity which I venerate moon which is illuminated time it did brighten and unbrighten it at times. She is a shadow and a shine. And I close all these things. No, this is not a womb. This is a veneration of the womb. A God a Goddess who is light and dark. Pleasure and pain. Largely good but she has her miscarriages hear HER wiggl, a little corpus' curvatures, her little corpus a revolves around and men in l...