Remember the 1980s Animated Series, Robotech?

I do. I dearly loved the Transformers’ only Autobot jet, and had my grandma Alice birthday-gift it to me as a toy PRECICELY because it transformed EXACTLY like how genuine anime-correct Robotech mech-battle toys transformed.

I was in love with the series hero, Rick Hunter, in love the way a sci-fi anime-stricken lad younger than puberty would most deeply be. I identified closely with Rick’s girlfriend not as a transgender thing (I didn’t want to be her), but in that, in place of jealousy I trans-spiritually felt the beauty of her sorrow: she never knew from episode to episode, if those dangeorous space missions he flew would finally bring his end, but he wouldn’t be the singular hero of the series without that constant peril. In that way, the infinate macho of his manhood became the seat of her most delicate womanly longing; THAT is what I identified with. Indeed, I fantasized about me somehow being equally loved and cherished by him as he cherished her, even as I flew along side him in missions in my own Robotech mech, in his squadron.

Why am I also tagging this post trans liberation? Because I realize just now, a stylistic choice common to the anime style of the series incidentally also meant that Rick Hunter’s face was so lean and delicate as to be profoundly androgynous. He could, in his face, easily have the face of a real man who presents only the ambiguity of his gender not even in his shoulders, but in the undecided question of the shape of his face. He was boyish, if not girly, not as a poltical or sexual statement, but as an artistic understanding that his manhood was in the honor and valor of his life’s mission, but that the body bringing that valor forth was as wan and delicate as a body’s face could be.

Places Who We Are Today

Well, no, we are not Jews, but
We do know the same
God—4 letters—Mr. Quad
Fourier, Four, Yeah—Way
Way out there:
We are the thirteenth

That sun—over there—never
sets on Thirteenth Soil;
The House Of The Rising Sun
Rests upon the Midnight Dawn.

Bullet of absolute heat and
Prayer could and blue and
Absolute Zero—Kelvin, Kevin,
Calvin, Calvery, Cross, Compact
Ranbow, Double Blue, Racked
Red like pool table cues and Green
Verdant Velvet
—if you please—
Rolling roiling brawling battle

Love is love is love
Love is, was, and forever shall be
Love is.
Viva las—
Viva de colores—

Que Vive Le Roi!

Ruddy red
Raspberry Supernova Red
Cherry creek-in-show red
My main militant Ulysses, I still
Stand here, waiting for our
Red Rapture.

Tachyon Violet (for Daniel)

The thing about a poem–
It travels forward backward–
The deeper you press in,
The more sense that first
Read a little while back–
Becomes defined to you–
Like a highway sign in reverse.

It purifies the colors: bright spectre!
And the mind and soul of sunlight,
Hidden, awash in sol-light, becomes
Violet violet blue
It makes all the details
Makes them real–

Tachyon definition
as the mind sees more of detail
The more it takes in
at the future’s
soak-in point--to right now.

And there you are.

Somehow, you flip-foward
and beauty
and me
As I walk next to you.
You, with the fear of a Local God
–quiet and intense at the prospect
of being given name.

And there and then suddenly I realize
I have
Always been right

–my whole life–
–about THIS:

Sometime ago God

from one being into
countless within formless

and God, speaking his own name
in his own tongue
is how he begins a prayer to himself
a prayer that before it ends,
it mentions YOU.

It all began during a big, distant bang
And will eventually fling apart too far
to see one galaxy from the next,

but, Daniel, may love–
how are YOU today?