B.J. Cyprian's Blog

I got a message this morning I wanted to share… AS I’m working on the screenplay. My sophomore novel The Gray Line is a finalist in the LGBTQ category of the 2022 IAN Book of the Year awards! I’m both shocked and humbled by this. If you haven’t read The Gray Line yet, get your copy now. Kindle, Paperback or even Hardcover if that’s your thing!

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So, I’m going to start off with a secret.  I’m not an author.  Not even remotely. I’m a writer. I’m a storyteller. (For the love of God, don’t ask me to tell you about my weekend, I’ll have you here for a half hour.) But I’m not an author. A storyteller entertains and is good at parties. An author puts themseles out to be judged. An author is expected to know proper grammar. (By the way, I do not guarantee anything in this blog, this doesn’t have an editor, okay?) An author understands the literary community, (or so I assume… I mean, how else does one get a fancy agent and whatnot?) So when I decided to try to follow this dream of writing for a broader audience, I had a whole lot to learn about the difference between a writer and an author. I’m still not sure I fully get it. But there is one thing that I’m certain of– in order to be a mainstream author, I have to find a box to jump into.  So, the way *I* see it, (and this is just me, I will never say my impressions or ideas are right, they are just mine), is that publishers and agents and marketing people want to be able to put your work in a specific genre of sorts. The main question I get is, “What genre is your novel?”  The truth is, friends, I have no freaking idea.  Throughout my process of writing this first Shadow Resitance novel, I really had to ruminate on “boxes.” As a child, early in my life, I realized I was different in so many ways. I wasn’t pretty enough, I wasn’t skinny enough, I wasn’t Black enough, I wasn’t girlie enough, etc. So many boxes, and I didn’t seem to fit into any of them. I thought because of that, something was wrong with me. Because I couldn’t fit into a box, I was the problem. As I got older, I learned that there were specialized boxes. LGBT, butch/stud, talented/gifted, blah blah blah. But even within those specialized boxes, there are even MORE FREAKING BOXES!  Guys, it’s exhausting really.  Within the last few years, I finally came to realization that, the boxes aren’t for the individual but for everyone else. People want to “figure you out.” They want to put you into a box for their own understanding, but at the same time it can sometimes dimish self-realization. I will tell you, writing this novel has uncovered a lot of truths about myself that either I knew and ignored, or I had no idea about until I wrote it down. But one thing is very clear… I do not fit into a box.  So if I don’t, why should my writing?

The post The Literary Game first appeared on BJ Cyprian.

","library":"fa-solid"},"full_width":"stretch","layout":"horizontal","toggle":"burger"}" data-widget_type="nav-menu.default"> HomeAboutBooksEventsMediaContactBlog Menu HomeAboutBooksEventsMediaContactBlog £0.00 Cart Search It could have been me Written by fineelementdesigns Published on July 1, 2022 ","library":"fa-solid"},"full_width":"stretch","layout":"horizontal","toggle":"burger"}" data-widget_type="nav-menu.default"> HomeAboutBooksEventsMediaContactBlog Menu HomeAboutBooksEventsMediaContactBlog £0.00 Cart Search It could have been me Written by fineelementdesigns Published on July 1, 2022 fineelementdesigns fineelementdesigns

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I'm having a lot of feelings as of late. So many feelings, that I'm not sure HOW I've been holding it together lately. From Breonna to George and the multitude between and since, to realizing that people I once loved tremendously REALLY don't think my life matters. I think this is enough to stretch the emotions of ANY Black person in these States...(cause we damn sure ain't United.) Add the fact that I'm an empath, and I'm still grieving my sister, (coming on 1 year without her) and I'm getting older...

It's a lot. I know that people in my life see the change in me lately. For those who have, I'm sorry. An empath can carry a LOT of emotional weight, but at times it gets to be way too much. I have 3 chapters left in my sophomore novel, and I was a writing machine up until about 3 weeks ago. Crushing depression and grief has been whippin' my ass lately. You'll get the book though, I promise.

Anyway... I've been trying to figure out what to say, and at first, I just felt like I was too overwhelmed and depressed to say ANYTHING. But today, a story came to mind that I want to tell you guys. This is a story that I've told numerous times over the years to people who know me personally, usually in an anecdote type situation. But as it crossed my mind, it took on a new meaning in today's climate.

This is the story about when B's Best Friend made her jump out of a moving car....

Seriously, that's how I've always told the story; cause usually it's funny... but today... not so much.

When I was 15, after a basketball game, a few of us girls decided we wanted to go to the movies. We were in 2 cars and there were about 8 or 9 of us; only 2 of us were Black. The movies were in Cleburne, Texas. That's where I told my momma I'd be. But we ended up at the Burleson skating rink. My best friend needed to find her cousin who owed her money, which she needed for the movies. I had a pager back then and I warned them that if my mother paged me and I DIDN'T call from the movie theater, I'd likely be grounded for life. It was promised that this would be a quick stop. So we went.

When we got there, I went in with my best friend to find her cousin. At the window the little old White lady (who I later learned owned the place with her husband) refused us entry. Not because we were Black of course, but because they didn't allow in and out entry. My best friend tried to appeal to her, promising to pay the door charge after obtaining the money before we left the building, but she wasn't budging. So we left.

Outside, we learned that the other car had disappeared. Apparently, one of the girls got a page and needed to find a phone. The other driver set off to find a gas station, thinking they'd be back by the time we emerged from the rink. Of course us not being allowed in kinda sped up the timetable. It was a cold night, so we all piled into the remaining car for warmth. We were sitting six deep in one of my classmate's grandmother's car, a long boat like Oldsmobile. (If you're over 35, you know the rides I'm talking about. If you're younger, Google it.)

As we sat shivering and hunched together like we were trying out for an early version of Survivor, we laughed, and talked about how silly it was that they wouldn't let us in when we promised to pay even though we weren't skating. I don't remember who it was, but someone realized that the other car had been gone for an inordinate amount of time just to go to the gas station. Another girl chimed in that the driver of said car was TERRIBLE with directions and they could be lost.

Oh the days before cell phones and GPS, right?

So we decided to go to the nearest gas station to see if we could find them. We set off through the dark back roads of Burleson. We'd gone about a mile or two when we saw the other car pass us going back towards the rink.

Because...naturally.

So after a 7 point turn, we were able to reverse our direction in an attempt to catch up with them. (Why 7 point turn? Because it was a boat Oldmobile and we were on small country back roads... keep up.)

Our driver drove at a very unsafe speed to get us caught up with the other 2 girls because we were concerned that once they didn't find us, they'd think we left them. But as we turned into the parking lot of the skating rink, we saw them heading into the rink. Of course my best friend and I had just been made privy to the whole, "No in and out, must pay" policy and we were like: "Oh Noooo!!!" (Kinda in the manner of Bruce from Family Guy)

Here is where I usually laugh... As we were skidding up to the entrance, my best friend, who was sitting in the middle of the front bench seat between me and the driver, yelled, "B! Jump out and go catch them!"

To which I replied, "But we're still moving!" (I felt like that was a justifiable argument.)

To which my best friend repeated, "GO CATCH THEM!"

Now let me pause here... I'm not gonna go down the whole rabbit hole, but earlier in the year, I made a REALLY REALLY stupid request that my friend agreed to. This request led to her utter mortification at an Omega frat party (that our 15 year old asses had NO business being at) and ever since, when she told me to do something... I did it. Because in her words, "You owe me!"

In retrospect, I kinda did owe her. I'll tell that story another day.

So I jumped out of the car well before we were stopped and took off running for the skating rink. I opened the entrance just as the other 2 were pushing open the 2nd door to go into the rink proper. Breathlessly I announced, "Hey! We're not in there. We're leaving."

One of the girls turned quickly to the lady at the window and said, "We didn't go inside, so we want our money back." I assume they had a similar argument as my friend had. The woman tried to argue that they'd already paid and pointed to the "No Refund" sign on the window. However, the girl, a 90s Karen-in-the-making, wouldn't budge. "We never stepped foot into your rink, so we want our money back now." Begrudgingly the old woman relented and provided them with their refund, and again... We left.

Once we were outside, we found the rest of the girls standing out by the cars waiting. We were laughing at what had just transpired and I swear I muttered, "I can't believe you made me jump out of a moving car." Fully regrouped, we began dividing ourselves back into the two cars to head back to Cleburne and the movies.

Now here's where it gets a bit dark with the mindset of today's time....

As we were talking and laughing about the refund debacle, an older White man emerged from the building....carrying a baseball bat. We didn't notice him at first, because we were 15-16 year old girls and we were trying to simultaneously explain the mix up to the other car while trying to figure out who was riding in which. It wasn't until he was standing right next to our group yelling for us to get off his property that we took notice.

I can't remember who initially calmed him down and assured him we were leaving, but I know it wasn't me or my best friend, and he backed off once we started getting into cars. Because of his appearance, and the baseball bat, we kind of just got into the closest open door we were by to leave.

There was a girl with us, our starting shooting guard, who had torn her ACL earlier in the season. She came to every single game and practically helped coach from the bench, but she was on crutches for a long time. This was shortly after her ACL surgery, so she couldn't bend her knee. Unfortunately for her, the closest door to her was the passenger rear door. Her right ACL had been torn. Therefore, she had a problem.

For those in the cheap seats, in order to get into a car, one must bend one's knees. If a knee cannot be bent, it's generally easier to get into the car on the injured leg side to put weight on the good leg and then you can bend the good leg to close the door. But she was on the wrong side.

So we had this old White man, glaring at us holding a bat, and everyone was in the car, except her, because she couldn't bend her leg. I was in the rear driver's side of my car, so I hopped back out to help her get in. Apparently, Mr. Man didn't appreciate this action, because he began to get agitated and yell at us even more, particularly me, since I was out of the car.

As I was ignoring his demands trying to help my friend get into the car, he inched closer, raising his bat slightly. His yelling became cussing. The more he yelled, the more the other girls encouraged us to get a freaking move on so we can leave. But I was concerned about my friend's leg, so I wasn't going to manhandle her. As she leaned back in, and I held her injured leg up to not bang anything and allow her to slide backwards in the rear seat, his insistent yelling started to get to me. Finally I stopped, spun on him and screamed back, "HOLD THE FUCK ON! CAN'T YOU SEE SHE CAN'T BEND HER FUCKING LEG?!"

The "Gangsta" in me would like to think my 15 year old ass talking back to him was enough to make him back off. But I saw his eyes flit to my friend and it was like he hadn't noticed at first. He backed off and we got her in and left.

That's it... that's the story.

Now, why did it come to mind you ask? (If you have to ask... are you NOT paying attention to... like... ANYTHING?)

Black folks carry this weight at all times, especially these days. The knowledge that if someone were to harm or kill us just because they feel like it or because we somehow invaded a White space (see sundown towns), they very likely would go unpunished, is something enough to cause anxiety in even the strongest heart.

I knew that Louisville wouldn't indict any of those cops for the murder of Breonna Taylor, just like I believe that even though there WERE charges filed on the cops that murdered George Floyd, they will likely get off too. But then I think about how close I've been in the past from being just like them.

If that story had taken place in 2020 rather than 1994/95, I probably would have been hurt or worse. I was trying to help my friend, and because I wasn't moving fast enough, that would have signed my death warrant today.

I think what's getting to me is how so many people are justifying the lack of justice, even as far up to White House. When we say Black Lives Matter, people hear politics, and all I hear is a common sense acknowledgement. I wonder how many of the people who I used to love tremendously would blame me for my own death in this instance. Knowing exactly who I am and my heart, how many would still scream from the rooftops to protest my death would be anti-cop or anti-American?

I think, along with everything else I'm feeling, realizing the racism I experienced in the 90s, that DID scar me to an extent, is NOTHING compared to what we're seeing today.... and it's from people I KNOW. It's disheartening and it's sad.

I don't think if this happened in 2020 I'd get justice either. I'd be a hashtag for a few months and we'd move on to the next. And that also makes me sad, especially for Breonna.

I can't imagine how many people she may have touched in her life - but that's not who has the megaphone.

I can't imagine what her dreams and aspirations were - because she doesn't get to see them through.

I'm just so very sad guys, and today it really hit me for the first time.... It could have been me.

Rest in Peace, Queen. I didn't know you, but I won't forget you.

I’m having a lot of feelings as of late. So many feelings, that I’m not sure HOW I’ve been holding it together lately. From Breonna to George and the multitude between and since, to realizing that people I once loved tremendously REALLY don’t think my life matters. I think this is enough to stretch the emotions of ANY Black person in these States…(cause we damn sure ain’t United.) Add the fact that I’m an empath, and I’m still grieving my sister, (coming on 1 year without her) and I’m getting older…  It’s a lot. I know that people in my life see the change in me lately. For those who have, I’m sorry. An empath can carry a LOT of emotional weight, but at times it gets to be way too much. I have 3 chapters left in my sophomore novel, and I was a writing machine up until about 3 weeks ago. Crushing depression and grief has been whippin’ my ass lately. You’ll get the book though, I promise.  Anyway… I’ve been trying to figure out what to say, and at first, I just felt like I was too overwhelmed and depressed to say ANYTHING. But today, a story came to mind that I want to tell you guys. This is a story that I’ve told numerous times over the years to people who know me personally, usually in an anecdote type situation. But as it crossed my mind, it took on a new meaning in today’s climate.  This is the story about when B’s Best Friend made her jump out of a moving car…. Seriously, that’s how I’ve always told the story; cause usually it’s funny… but today… not so much. When I was 15, after a basketball game, a few of us girls decided we wanted to go to the movies. We were in 2 cars and there were about 8 or 9 of us; only 2 of us were Black. The movies were in Cleburne, Texas. That’s where I told my momma I’d be. But we ended up at the Burleson skating rink. My best friend needed to find her cousin who owed her money, which she needed for the movies. I had a pager back then and I warned them that if my mother paged me and I DIDN’T call from the movie theater, I’d likely be grounded for life. It was promised that this would be a quick stop. So we went. When we got there, I went in with my best friend to find her cousin. At the window the little old White lady (who I later learned owned the place with her husband) refused us entry. Not because we were Black of course, but because they didn’t allow in and out entry. My best friend tried to appeal to her, promising to pay the door charge after obtaining the money before we left the building, but she wasn’t budging. So we left. Outside, we learned that the other car had disappeared. Apparently, one of the girls got a page and needed to find a phone. The other driver set off to find a gas station, thinking they’d be back by the time we emerged from the rink. Of course us not being allowed in kinda sped up the timetable. It was a cold night, so we all piled into the remaining car for warmth. We were sitting six deep in one of my classmate’s grandmother’s car, a long boat like Oldsmobile. (If you’re over 35, you know the rides I’m talking about. If you’re younger, Google it.)  As we sat shivering and hunched together like we were trying out for an early version of Survivor, we laughed, and talked about how silly it was that they wouldn’t let us in when we promised to pay even though we weren’t skating. I don’t remember who it was, but someone realized that the other car had been gone for an inordinate amount of time just to go to the gas station. Another girl chimed in that the driver of said car was TERRIBLE with directions and they could be lost.  Oh the days before cell phones and GPS, right? So we decided to go to the nearest gas station to see if we could find them. We set off through the dark back roads of Burleson. We’d gone about a mile or two when we saw the other car pass us going back towards the rink.  Because…naturally.  So after a 7 point turn, we were able to reverse our direction in an attempt to catch up with them. (Why 7 point turn? Because it was a boat Oldmobile and we were on small country back roads… keep up.) Our driver drove at a very unsafe speed to get us caught up with the other 2 girls because we were concerned that once they didn’t find us, they’d think we left them. But as we turned into the parking lot of the skating rink, we saw them heading into the rink. Of course my best friend and I had just been made privy to the whole, “No in and out, must pay” policy and we were like: “Oh Noooo!!!” (Kinda in the manner of Bruce from Family Guy) Here is where I usually laugh… As we were skidding up to the entrance, my best friend, who was sitting in the middle of the front bench seat between me and the driver, yelled, “B! Jump out and go catch them!” To which I replied, “But we’re still moving!” (I felt like that was a justifiable argument.)  To which my best friend repeated, “GO CATCH THEM!” Now let me pause here… I’m not gonna go down the whole rabbit hole, but earlier in the year, I made a REALLY REALLY stupid request that my friend agreed to. This request led to her utter mortification at an Omega frat party (that our 15 year old asses had NO business being at) and ever since, when she told me to do something… I did it. Because in her words, “You owe me!” In retrospect, I kinda did owe her. I’ll tell that story another day.  So I jumped out of the car well before we were stopped and took off running for the skating rink. I opened the entrance just as the other 2 were pushing open the 2nd door to go into the rink proper. Breathlessly I announced, “Hey! We’re not in there. We’re leaving.”  One of the girls turned quickly to the lady at the window and said, “We didn’t go inside, so we want our money back.” I assume they had a similar argument as my friend had. The woman tried to argue that they’d already paid and pointed to the “No Refund” sign on the window. However, the girl, a 90s Karen-in-the-making, wouldn’t budge. “We never stepped foot into your rink, so we want our money back now.” Begrudgingly the old woman relented and provided them with their refund, and again… We left.  Once we were outside, we found the rest of the girls standing out by the cars waiting. We were laughing at what had just transpired and I swear I muttered, “I can’t believe you made me jump out of a moving car.” Fully regrouped, we began dividing ourselves back into the two cars to head back to Cleburne and the movies.  Now here’s where it gets a bit dark with the mindset of today’s time…. As we were talking and laughing about the refund debacle, an older White man emerged from the building….carrying a baseball bat. We didn’t notice him at first, because we were 15-16 year old girls and we were trying to simultaneously explain the mix up to the other car while trying to figure out who was riding in which. It wasn’t until he was standing right next to our group yelling for us to get off his property that we took notice.  I can’t remember who initially calmed him down and assured him we were leaving, but I know it wasn’t me or my best friend, and he backed off once we started getting into cars. Because of his appearance, and the baseball bat, we kind of just got into the closest open door we were by to leave. There was a girl with us, our starting shooting guard, who had torn her ACL earlier in the season. She came to every single game and practically helped coach from the bench, but she was on crutches for a long time. This was shortly after her ACL surgery, so she couldn’t bend her knee. Unfortunately for her, the closest door to her was the passenger rear door. Her right ACL had been torn. Therefore, she had a problem.  For those in the cheap seats, in order to get into a car, one must bend one’s knees. If a knee cannot be bent, it’s generally easier to get into the car on the injured leg side to put weight on the good leg and then you can bend the good leg to close the door. But she was on the wrong side.  So we had this old White man, glaring at us holding a bat, and everyone was in the car, except her, because she couldn’t bend her leg. I was in the rear driver’s side of my car, so I hopped back out to help her get in. Apparently, Mr. Man didn’t appreciate this action, because he began to get agitated and yell at us even more, particularly me, since I was out of the car.  As I was ignoring his demands trying to help my friend get into the car, he inched closer, raising his bat slightly. His yelling became cussing. The more he yelled, the more the other girls encouraged us to get a freaking move on so we can leave. But I was concerned about my friend’s leg, so I wasn’t going to manhandle her. As she leaned back in, and I held her injured leg up to not bang anything and allow her to slide backwards in the rear seat, his insistent yelling started to get to me. Finally I stopped, spun on him and screamed back, “HOLD THE FUCK ON! CAN’T YOU SEE SHE CAN’T BEND HER FUCKING LEG?!”  The “Gangsta” in me would like to think my 15 year old ass talking back to him was enough to make him back off. But I saw his eyes flit to my friend and it was like he hadn’t noticed at first. He backed off and we got her in and left.  That’s it… that’s the story.  Now, why did it come to mind you ask? (If you have to ask… are you NOT paying attention to… like… ANYTHING?)  Black folks carry this weight at all times, especially these days. The knowledge that if someone were to harm or kill us just because they feel like it or because we somehow invaded a White space (see sundown towns), they very likely would go unpunished, is something enough to cause anxiety in even the strongest heart.  I knew that Louisville wouldn’t indict any of those cops for the murder of Breonna Taylor, just like I believe that even though there WERE charges filed on the cops that murdered George Floyd, they will likely get off too. But then I think about how close I’ve been in the past from being just like them.  If that story had taken place in 2020 rather than 1994/95, I probably would have been hurt or worse. I was trying to help my friend, and because I wasn’t moving fast enough, that would have signed my death warrant today.  I think what’s getting to me is how so many people are justifying the lack of justice, even as far up to White House. When we say Black Lives Matter, people hear politics, and all I hear is a common sense acknowledgement. I wonder how many of the people who I used to love tremendously would blame me for my own death in this instance. Knowing exactly who I am and my heart, how many would still scream from the rooftops to protest my death would be anti-cop or anti-American?  I think, along with everything else I’m feeling, realizing the racism I experienced in the 90s, that DID scar me to an extent, is NOTHING compared to what we’re seeing today…. and it’s from people I KNOW. It’s disheartening and it’s sad.  I don’t think if this happened in 2020 I’d get justice either. I’d be a hashtag for a few months and we’d move on to the next. And that also makes me sad, especially for Breonna.  I can’t imagine how many people she may have touched in her life – but that’s not who has the megaphone.  I can’t imagine what her dreams and aspirations were – because she doesn’t get to see them through.  I’m just so very sad guys, and today it really hit me for the first time…. It could have been me.   Rest in Peace, Queen. I didn’t know you, but I won’t forget you.   

The post It Could Have Been Me first appeared on BJ Cyprian.

Love hurts. It’s messy, it’s crazy, it’s stressful and it’s chaotic.

You know what else is chaotic? *large gesture to the whole ass Earth*

See the thing is, because we come into this world alone, we are shaped by our experiences. Because this world is messy and chaotic and just flat out HARD… The level of difficulty can be increased or decreased depending on the circumstances in which one is shaped.

Case in point: I love to play video games… I find that it is really relaxing taking out ones frustrations with a nice assault rifle or frag grenade. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a super competitive person, so I don't have a crazy gamer set up with a bunch of screens and a Twitch account, but I like a good chill session of killing folks. Lol

But I was also born in the late 70s. Therefore by the time gaming technology, graphics, and even socialization got more awesome for my inner introverted nerd; I’m now an adult. Therefore, for a good 8 hours a day, I must do something that makes me money to be able to buy these nice fancy video games (that are getting pricer and pricer every generation…) Ergo, I must work. Then there’s this whole liking to have some form of social life because it’s fine to be a child playing games for hours on end in a dark room with blackout drapes because you’re entertaining yourself.. As an adult… apparently you’re “reclusive” and “creepy.”

I digress…

Since I must work, my ability to get better and more proficient at gaming is limited. Whereas a child with no job and possibly little supervision OR someone who may not have a desire or need for a social life, or someone who doesn’t have to work all day because they have plenty of money for their gaming desires… they kick my ass all the time.

This is a blatantly ridiculous example, but hopefully you get the point. We all are humans, but our outlooks are molded by our individual pasts, traumas, and circumstances. If there are too many negatives or trauma points in the molding of a person, then there will be a lot of lasting pain. This is where we get our outlook, values and ideology.

When you come into contact with someone who has a very different set of circumstances and outlook than yourself, if you are too attached to that ideology to the point of where even the mere mention of anything outside of that ideal is upsetting and triggering… Then it will be hard to truly love someone.

I mean… I get it. Our values and outlooks are engrained into us by different means. In a more positive situation, these ideals are not forced onto us by some traumatic means, but rather we are guided to them by empathy and love. In other cases, experience can be the cruelest and most vicious teacher.

If you hold onto the negative or more traumatic aspects of these experiences, then any thing that challenges or even evokes the negative connotations will force you to either choose one of two options. Either you will open your mind and consider that your experience was your own and other experiences could help further shape your outlook. The other option is to allow the negative aspects of these experiences to cause you to reject being open to hearing any other perspectives.

It’s hard to do that. It’s hard to have the energy to deal with your own shit as well as other peoples’ shit. To allow yourself be exposed to the pain of someone you love is to also hurt yourself.

But see, the more we do that, the more apathetic we become. We sometimes don’t even see it in ourselves. It happens over time until we decide that it’s just too hard to deal with other people.

But to truly love… to care about others is to WANT to share your pain and to WANT to hear the pain of others. The thing is though, when you truly love someone and want to LISTEN to their pain and understand them, you have to know that it doesn’t negate your own experiences. It doesn’t dismiss you or your own negative past.

If you were more outraged by the treatment of Amy Cooper's dog, whether or not you believed she was right or wrong for calling the police... (Which..come on.)

If you're insisted that there were "better ways to protest" than peacefully kneeling on the sidelines during the national anthem. And now claim he current protests and riots sweeping the country after the murder of George Floyd are too far because there are more "peaceful ways to protest..." Whether you believe it was murder or not... (Which.... again... come on.)

If your answer to Black Lives Matter is "All Lives Matter"

Then you are apathetic, and you probably don't even realize it.

To quote myself in Shadow Resistance: "It is often assumed that the opposite of love is hate, but that is erroneous. Apathy is a more fitting antonym for love. That is not saying apathy in itself is good or bad, but the human condition seems to favor apathy over love..."

Hate isn't killing us. Apathy is.

Hate doesn't destroy relationships. Apathy does.

Apathy is the true enemy of love. And as an empath, I get it...

Love hurts...

Love hurts. It’s messy, it’s crazy, it’s stressful and it’s chaotic.  You know what else is chaotic? *large gesture to the whole ass Earth* See the thing is, because we come into this world alone, we are shaped by our experiences. Because this world is messy and chaotic and just flat out HARD… The level of difficulty can be increased or decreased depending on the circumstances in which one is shaped. Case in point: I love to play video games… I find that it is really relaxing taking out ones frustrations with a nice assault rifle or frag grenade. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a super competitive person, so I don’t have a crazy gamer set up with a bunch of screens and a Twitch account, but I like a good chill session of killing folks. Lol  But I was also born in the late 70s. Therefore by the time gaming technology, graphics, and even socialization got more awesome for my inner introverted nerd; I’m now an adult. Therefore, for a good 8 hours a day, I must do something that makes me money to be able to buy these nice fancy video games (that are getting pricer and pricer every generation…) Ergo, I must work. Then there’s this whole liking to have some form of social life because it’s fine to be a child playing games for hours on end in a dark room with blackout drapes because you’re entertaining yourself.. As an adult… apparently you’re “reclusive” and “creepy.”  I digress…  Since I must work, my ability to get better and more proficient at gaming is limited. Whereas a child with no job and possibly little supervision OR someone who may not have a desire or need for a social life, or someone who doesn’t have to work all day because they have plenty of money for their gaming desires… they kick my ass all the time.  This is a blatantly ridiculous example, but hopefully you get the point. We all are humans, but our outlooks are molded by our individual pasts, traumas, and circumstances. If there are too many negatives or trauma points in the molding of a person, then there will be a lot of lasting pain. This is where we get our outlook, values and ideology.  When you come into contact with someone who has a very different set of circumstances and outlook than yourself, if you are too attached to that ideology to the point of where even the mere mention of anything outside of that ideal is upsetting and triggering… Then it will be hard to truly love someone.  I mean… I get it. Our values and outlooks are engrained into us by different means. In a more positive situation, these ideals are not forced onto us by some traumatic means, but rather we are guided to them by empathy and love. In other cases, experience can be the cruelest and most vicious teacher. If you hold onto the negative or more traumatic aspects of these experiences, then any thing that challenges or even evokes the negative connotations will force you to either choose one of two options. Either you will open your mind and consider that your experience was your own and other experiences could help further shape your outlook. The other option is to allow the negative aspects of these experiences to cause you to reject being open to hearing any other perspectives.  It’s hard to do that. It’s hard to have the energy to deal with your own shit as well as other peoples’ shit. To allow yourself be exposed to the pain of someone you love is to also hurt yourself. But see, the more we do that, the more apathetic we become. We sometimes don’t even see it in ourselves. It happens over time until we decide that it’s just too hard to deal with other people.  But to truly love… to care about others is to WANT to share your pain and to WANT to hear the pain of others. The thing is though, when you truly love someone and want to LISTEN to their pain and understand them, you have to know that it doesn’t negate your own experiences. It doesn’t dismiss you or your own negative past.  If you were more outraged by the treatment of Amy Cooper’s dog, whether or not you believed she was right or wrong for calling the police… (Which..come on.) If you’re insisted that there were “better ways to protest” than peacefully kneeling on the sidelines during the national anthem. And now claim he current protests and riots sweeping the country after the murder of George Floyd are too far because there are more “peaceful ways to protest…” Whether you believe it was murder or not… (Which…. again… come on.) If your answer to Black Lives Matter is “All Lives Matter” Then you are apathetic, and you probably don’t even realize it.  To quote myself in Shadow Resistance: “It is often assumed that the opposite of love is hate, but that is erroneous. Apathy is a more fitting antonym for love. That is not saying apathy in itself is good or bad, but the human condition seems to favor apathy over love…”  Hate isn’t killing us. Apathy is. Hate doesn’t destroy relationships. Apathy does.  Apathy is the true enemy of love. And as an empath, I get it… Love hurts…

The post Love Hurts first appeared on BJ Cyprian.

Recently, I stumbled across an editorial on a lesbian entertainment website that I have been a long follower and fan of. The article was titled: “Butch Eradication, Served with a Progressive Smile.” It piqued my interest. As discussed in prior writings, the LGBT community have boxes within boxes, and as far as I understand, my box is a butch/stud lesbian. 

So, I opened it. I mean if there is some undercover plot to get rid of people like me, I’d rather know about it than not, ya dig? 

What I read bothered me to my core. You are more than welcome to read the article yourself, but I’ll summarize it for you. The author, who apparently is a mature butch lesbian, feels appalled and offended by trans-men who are working at her local Starbucks. In her opinion, these men are actually butch lesbians who feel shame about their butch-ness and is embracing some sort of societal gender-normative role, perpetuated by the trans community, to belong so they choose to transition rather than to live their best butch life. In the author’s opinion, this is akin to a genocide (which was later corrected to eugenic destruction) of the butch lesbian community. The author goes on to say that she weeps for the youth of today who are being swayed into transitioning their gender because they are ashamed to live as themselves. 

The article is full of judgment, trans-hatred and since NEVER ONCE does the author indicate that she spoke to any of these men, full of a whole lot of misguided assumptions based on ignorance at best or an anti-trans agenda at worst. 

My first reading of the article, (because yes, I read it at least twice, so that you don’t have to if you don’t want to) left me feeling uneasy, but also torn. The thing is, I know firsthand how hard it is to be more masculine presenting than feminine. In fact, it’s something I’m covering in book 2 of Shadow Resistance. (Like I legit wrote about this over 3 months ago.) Here’s just a little of my experience: 

I am rarely treated as female by men. I will get on an elevator with a mixed crowd, and the guys will hold open the doors for the other ladies, and then step out in front of me as if I am a dude like them. I am called sir at least three times a week. (Despite having a DDD bust) Children often walk up to me and ask me if I’m a girl or a boy. The more overt homophobes visibly cringe when they see me or they become actively hostile. I’ve been told I’m going to hell more times than I care to count. (For simply EXISTING you guys, not like I was tonguing down anyone. Just breathing air and condemned to hell.) People have freaked out when I enter the women’s restroom. Men believe they can say the most foul and perverted things about other women to me, because I’m “just one of the bros.” 

That’s just the “best of” hits…We aren’t even bringing in the whole being Black and in the South thing.

The thing is, when you “present” as something outside of the norm, it short circuits the brain cells of small-minded Homo sapiens. If your box is not what they are used to, they don’t know what to do with you. So instead of just letting you live your life in your own bubble that has nothing to do with them, they judge and treat you as improper or incorrect. 

But see, that’s the problem with society as a whole, isn’t it? You must fit in a box that’s easy to understand or you’re pushed away as an “other.” If it’s skin color, sexuality, gender identity, etc, it’s all the same. (Read my book people, it’s all there!)

However, as I spoke to my lovely wife about the topic and how it made me feel, the problem that I’m having with this article, (and believe me, there are many problems) is the extreme either/or tone, as well as the irony in the author's erasure of trans people in an article lamenting the erasure of butch people. 

So, of course in our house, topics like this spark discussion. As the resident mental health specialist, Shauna had some strong feelings on the erroneous nature of the information presented. I felt the same way, but added a little outrage to the fact that I am a part of the “butch” community and for someone who allegedly represents my interest to present themselves in such a way makes me feel like… well… embarrassed. 

Why would I be embarrassed by a post that has absolutely NOTHING to do with me?

The thing is, in a society where equality for all is nothing more than an idyllic dream, there is a problem with viewing people who seem to be the same as the exact same. Black people see this quite frequently. The way we are portrayed in the media often is the only way small-minded humans can see us. 

Because small minds, you see.  (Seriously it’s all in there, here’s a link to it! It’s even available on Kindle Unlimited now!)

It’s the same with every group that is not considered to be the “majority” or “normal” or whatever ridiculousness you wanna call it. So, to have this butch woman, who surely has been the target of discrimination for her sexuality as well as her gender expression, write an article so full of hatred towards another group, who is in a similar camp, just makes butch lesbians look like bitter and angry men haters.  I mean, to be honest, probably every angry bitter lesbian joke is likely taken from a portrayal of a butch lesbian JUST like the one who wrote this editorial.

Now, let me get down to the part that is all about ignorance. Here’s where I teach you something. There is a difference between gender expression, gender identity, and gender assignment.

I know, it’s a lot, and to be honest I’m still learning myself, but thankfully I have a built-in therapist at home, so I’m trying to give you the info I have.

Gender assignment is basic biology. It’s simply the parts you have when you are born. If you can pee standing up, don’t have the monthly bloodletting going on, and people listen to you when you speak, whether you know what you’re talking about or not; you’re likely assigned male.

If you don’t have an extra appendage that allows for peeing in public without worrying about what disease the toilet seat may give you if there is no toilet cover, are usually smarter than most people in the room but are simultaneously the most ignored person in the room, and have the ability to biologically carry an ungrateful human on the roll of the dice that they will end up hating you because they have a fancy penis and you do not… well then congrats! You’re assigned female.

It’s simple really. And before we Earthborn fully understood psychology, that’s all we had to go on.

Now, as we started understanding the human mind, we have learned that there is a difference between gender assignment and gender identity. Gender identity is the gender your BRAIN sees yourself as. In most cases, the assignment and identity match up. But in some cases, they do not, and that’s where we get transgender people. A trans person suffers from gender dysmorphia which is basically caused because the gender they see themselves as is not what they were assigned with at birth. This causes major distress and is often dangerous to the psychological well-being of the person. In most cases, no amount of counseling, talking or berating will change the gender of which they see themselves.

Now, back in the old days, these people were often written off by society as “funny” or “queer” or “gay.” Sometimes these people were committed into institutions against their will, and dangerous experiments were conducted on them up to and including lobotomizing and electro-shock therapy. The existence of these people were taboo, often by their own families but definitely by society and the medical community.

But then, science happened.

Finally, there is gender expression. This has absolutely nothing to do with the biological or mental aspect of gender. This is simply, “how do you feel comfortable?” Some women, like myself, “present” more masculine than other women. Some men “present” more feminine than other men. This concept is dumb really, but it’s heavily rooted in the whole gender-normative concept of our patriarchal society that of course has roots in the notion that gender assignment was the only thing there is.

This is not even touching on the fact that everything is on a spectrum, from sexuality to gender. (Shout out to my non-binary & ace folks)

Okay… I’m getting to my point, if you’ve stuck with me thus far, you’re the real rock stars.

First of all, this article completely negates the existence of trans-men. In the author’s all-knowing mind, trans-men are simply butch women who are ashamed of being masculine presenting women and decide to transition because of some patriarchal pressure put on by the trans community.

(There is so much wrong with that sentence, but that’s still my takeaway.)

Trans men exist! Trans women exist! I cannot fully understand the mindset of a trans person because I’m not trans. I’m a lesbian. I do understand the trials and bigotry a masculine presenting lesbian faces from society, not just in the hetero-normative space but also in the LGBT community. Femme lesbians can be rough on the butch/stud clan. Yeah, some love us, but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “If I wanted to be with a man, I’d just date a man.”

(Yeah, that’s not how lesbianism works at all. The whole idea of being a lesbian is that you don’t want a man. That’s what we’re all here for. WTF are you talking about?)

Conversely, gay men can be pretty vicious to us because perhaps some of us make them uncomfortable by presenting too masculine? (I honestly don’t know, that’s a wild guess on my part but I’ve felt the shade from gay men all the same.)

This is where my problem is. WHY ARE WE DOING THE JOB OF THE MAJORITY FOR THEM?!! Look, the whole reason we march, we go to court, we write, we hope, and take action towards equal rights is because we just want to live. We just want to exist and be protected like everyone else! Just about everyone in the Rainbow Coalition has been overtly or covertly discriminated against. We have been the subject of hatred borne from lack of understanding. Small minded people who cannot understand a box that is not their own try to tell us we chose the lives we live. They try to force us to live in a box they give us or want to silence us all together.

Why are we doing this to each other?!

There is no need to lament about the problems of one group by dumping on and trying to erase the existence of another. WE ARE ALL IN A SIMILAR BOAT. The small-minded majority wants us to just go away. And then with us being hard on each other, they use that as ammunition to pit us against each other.

And THEN… Oh and then… the heifer had the nerve to use a term like genocide and eugenics. I don’t think those words mean what she thinks they mean.

Sure, perhaps there COULD be butch lesbians who think transitioning would make it easier to function in society, but IS IT?! The author started out speaking about her very real very RUDE judgement she had towards the trans-men at her Starbucks when they were just living their lives trying to give her coffee. HOW IS THAT EASIER?? Now they have to deal with the hateful discrimination of cis-gendered hetero-normative folks AND people within the Rainbow Coalition WHERE THEY SHOULD FEEL SAFE!!

What’s doubly infuriating is that as someone who is a minority several times over, to not even have the small amount of empathy to try to at least remember what life was like BEFORE one became comfortable in their skin. How are you going to look at people who are already judged by the rest of society for something *very* close to what you’ve likely been judged for and pile on??

That’s like someone who grew up poor, scratched and clawed for everything they had, despite being viewed as trash for being poor, then looking down on the “help” because now they’re the rich ones and the help is poor. YOU WERE THERE TOO!! It’s like you forgot that you’ve had your own struggles as well!

Or maybe you’re privileged and you have always been surrounded by accepting and loving people. Well la-dee-dah. Good for you! That isn’t the case for all of us.

So you do you, boo-boo. You go to your Starbucks and silently judge the trans-men behind the counter as “shamed butch lesbians” and stew at how their existence is an indicator of butch erasure.

I will choose the route of being respectful and kind to those who are different than me, whether I get it or not. Because God knows I’ve had my fair share of hatred and judgement thrown at me in my forty years. I will embrace the mantra touted by the Rainbow Coalition.

Love is love.

Ah technology... What a remarkable, incredible, magnificent, horrible, waste-land mankind has created, amirite?

I mean, it just depends on what kind of day you’re having! Maybe you want to look at hilarious videos of goats in pajamas, (which was something I didn’t know I needed in my life until my good friends Amy and Deci introduced me to them on my birthday.) or whether you want to find some Reddit thread hating all women for existing and having the nerve to not even give YOU the time of day. (I mean, how dare these bitches, right? What? Do they think they have their own minds or something? Don’t they know they’re property! Any broad would be lucky to have me!)

Oh gosh, yes, they’re out there. They’re called Incels. I just gave you a taste but sure.. if you wanna get angry at the pure audacity of anything… look ‘em up.

From innocent to evil, from pure to dirty, from knowledge to incredible stupidity and everything in between, you can find it on the good ol’ world wide web. For someone like me, who is way more Dom than anyone else, (Of course I’ll have a Shadow Resistance reference here… READ THE DAMN BOOK) growing up feeling like a lonely outcast made the internet a place to go when you’re too awkward to be sociable in the real world.

With the current pandemic and the Stay at Home plan in effect, the internet has REALLY come with it with the memes, tech upgrades to allow us to interact even remotely, and all the bells in whistles to try to help us pass the time while people way smarter than us figure out how the hell to kill this damn virus.

As mentioned before, my family is close and we’re still dealing with the grief of losing my sister. This makes it much harder since we can’t really see each other. My mother is among the very high risk people, and I just can’t chance that I may pick up the virus and pass it to her. So this leads me to a not so shiny aspect of technology;

The video call.

My mother and my brother have taken to video calling me from time to time. To be honest, most of the time I miss the calls. (Not on purpose, I just miss them.) Today was the first day I actually caught one. As we chatted, teased, laughed, had a moment to miss my sister and my brother’s dad, and got caught up on everything, we turned our discussion to the current pandemic and politics. OF COURSE we discussed the recent comments made by y’alls president inquiring whether injecting or ingesting disinfectant could help kill the virus in patients.

Now, I’m not all that good on the science stuff… My father is a surgical registered nurse and has been my whole life. He has been married to my step mother who is an orthopedic surgeon. I grew up around doctors and nurses, but to be honest, I never had an interest in it. BUT… Even *I* knew that was an insane and dangerous comment to make.

After discussing the news reports of people ACTUALLY DOING THIS MADNESS (No seriously… they are.) I had to lighten the mood. So I turned to reminiscing about an event that happened when I was a toddler. It happened when I was about 2 1/2 or almost 3. I remember teetering my happy ass into the family bathroom and going under the sink. There I spied a bottle of apple juice. I was perplexed. Even at that age, I knew that apple juice did not live in the bathroom. Always the helpful child, I decided I should remove the problem. I THEN decided that it looked quite refreshing and that I could go for a nice drink of apple juice. So I helped myself.

It tasted funny; and it burned.

The next part, I don't fully recall; you'd have to ask my parents or my brother. I don't remember how I got caught on the floor of the bathroom gagging on the Pine Sol my toddler mind just knew was apple juice. I DO recall the treatment, however. My father burned me two slices of toast and basically forced fed it to me. (I mean look, my palate was no where as refined as it is now, but even at 2ish I knew burnt toast was... as I would've said back then... "yucky.") I recall the treatment because in retrospect, I wondered WHY my father THE NURSE force fed me burnt toast instead of taking me to the hospital or something....

Then I remembered... hey... he's a nurse dummy.

Anyway, as we discussed this story I said, "I wonder if I'm now immune to the virus because of that. Maybe they can make an antibody from my blood or something."

My brother suggested I give plasma to see, but I hear that hurts, so I think he's just being a jerk.

Guys... I drank Pine Sol for the following reasons: I was TWO (and some change), I happened to be out of eye-shot from the adults, and I couldn't read...cause I was TWO.

Please continue to follow the social distancing guidelines laid out by the doctors at the CDC... you know.. the ones who went to school for what they do? I can't believe we are being led by someone who suggests ingesting or injecting disinfectant into our systems to try to combat this virus. That's not science, that's stupid...

Also... Two year old B.J. wants me to tell you, it's also very yucky.

~Fin~