shadow of smoke

The damnable beard shadow really is there and really does bother me and I long for laser now, very much. Then people called me “sir” when passing the security control at the airport, and the sadness stayed at me longer than it has in the past, made me think of how I am seen as some sort of fetishistic, perverted man, not as an insufficiently realized woman. I am proud of being fetishistic and perverted, of course, but that is all regarding other things. Sadness and thinking of how broad and square and wrinkled is my forehead, feeling like I cannot expect to blend female. But meh. These are feelings, their fact dimensions no more relevant than any other concrete fact – concrete facts can be acted on, as opposed to abstract facts. I move. I relinquish things holding me back and move as a subjective creature. There is power in this witch’s pact.