Hazel Clive

After spending a few months on BlueSky, I’ve come to believe my time would mostly be better spent talking to tombstones. I believe I’ll go do that for a bit. I may see you again, or I may not.

I don’t come to social media to be social. I come to social media to masturbate!

I can go days at a time without thinking of men at all. It’s low-stress and lovely. Frees me up to stress about other things.

This is why, in my collection of persona poems, men are almost entirely absent, even though all the women speaking are straight. Only Cleopatra speaks of her lovers, because she can’t disentangle herself from them. It really doesn’t have to be about the men all the time.

All books are equal, but some are more equal than others.

The best evidence for the existence of the soul is that some people so obviously don’t have one.

Here’s your daily Ottoline.

Did Kassandra feel a twinge of satisfaction when the walls came down in flame?

I should’ve had the surgeon hand mine back so I could hurl them through somebody’s doorway. I could have gotten some sweet raiment out of it. Ha! Who am I kidding. They would’ve given me jeans and a t-shirt, or sweatpants, like the whole unfashionable world wears. No wonder the gods are silent.

You who would serve the Mighty Mother, Come; Consecrate with crimson rain Her hungry earth.

Another day ending in Y, another Lady Ottoline Morrell appreciation post. I’ll run out of these soon, the pity of it.

I’ve enjoyed the chips and bedtime cereal and junk food for far too long. It’s time to enter the lean days now. Bonus: it prepares me for losing my job, being out on the street, and, eventually, the camps.

I’m not supposed to offer commentary, but I feel we transies torpedoed ourselves when we surrendered our innate gift of channeling the divine. No one wants to mess with you when your outraged patroness could let the city starve to death.

Millions of people have gone through it, and we will too. There’s nothing special about it, or us.

I think Anicula is going to have to come to terms with the fact that Iuvenis is an idiot and is going to wreck everything and there’s nothing Anicula can do about it.

The Kalends of October are on their way! What are you doing for Iuno, Queen of the Roman Sky? Nothing, I know. You bums.

At some point, we, as a society, are going to have to accept the cold hard truth that Publius Vergilius Maro is full of sh*t.

Born too late to make out with Lady Ottoline Morrell, alas. Is there no end to the cruelties of destiny.

You can hate the sin and hate me too. What are you to me.

I have been thinking a lot today about the fall of Carthage. It was pretty horrific. But it’s been over and done for a long, long time. Nobody cries for the victims now, except me. Much sooner than we think, we will all be done with this, unwritten characters in a history nobody reads.

Rules for online engagement with Hazel: fawn on me.

Anyone who calls me ‘dude’ or ‘bro’ insults me. And trans women should know better.

I use ‘hon’ for everyone. Always have. But I offended my partner (another trans woman) the first time I called her this. Had to train myself not to do it with her.

I admit to being absolutely fascinated by the disappearance of Dr. George Parkman. I’m rather nervous around folks who get turned on by true crime - I mean being excited by it and discussing it like entertainment. But I wonder, what is it that makes a particular case latch onto someone?

Horrifying. I’ve got a few pix on Facebook, which I only joined because groups I’m in insisted on using it to communicate. God knows what transmogrifications AI will make from photos of my horrifying transsexual horse face. I’ll probably show up in a “Republicans versus Trans” political ad.

Ah, rural Ohio! The crisp clean smell of cow poop and neighbors burning plastic. I love country life 😍

In a world that will soon be entirely online and under the domination of AI, the unensouled are going to have a massive advantage.

If he thinks that’s terrifying, he should read some of my poems!

Any other trans women poets getting the sense that the journals who claim to welcome trans voices really just mean trans men and enbies?

The nice thing about being trans is that we’ll be among the first to go. Cis folks are the ones who are gonna be stuck swimming through the whole vast river of fudge. Dommage.

This is true, I think, but it’s still not gonna stop me from wasting my last few years of life on this planet desperately trying to earn love from strangers.

In my case, almost certainly true. No need to go into it, but I was not kind to my meat vehicle.

Name a Pixar character, wrong answers only.

The warnings on my estrogen patches make it sound like I’m putting radioactive waste on my skin.

When life gives you an opportunity for justifiable homicide, TAKE IT

I was visiting a lighthouse once in NC (not by choice) and the tour guide was an undergroomed 20-something with a hammer and sickle pin. A middle-aged Eastern European woman (accent was obvious) asked him what the pin was. He said, very smugly, “I’m a Trotskyist, ma’am.” She said nothing.

You know what sucks? Plucking your eyebrows. I have a great eyebrow gal, but I can’t afford to go to her as often as I need. She’s a luxury treat. “But, Hazel! You don’t HAVE to pluck your eyebrows!” Yeah. I do. Otherwise I end up looking like this jerk. But with better hair.