TAKE NOTES

Here in Appalachia, they just kill the trans kids.

After torturing them.

I’ve seen gasoline poured on them. People looked down. At their feet. People walked away. No one would help this screaming, naked kid. I picked up a rug and wrapped him in it and got him out of there. Let’s face it. Americans are bitter, hateful, and it is my experience that they will kill you and set you on fire. Americans are evil. This is the place where I should be writing the word – her or she – not him. Call her her.

This was going to be some little comment about how good this writing was. Lydia Polgreen knocks my socks off.

This kid is fighting for her life. “The gasoline taste was in my mouth for months.” The assailant won’t be pouring gasoline into anyone’s mouth again. Ever. It can be done to him. Wow. I was shocked to hear this. Sometimes, you have to do what you have to do.

I don’t use proper English. Because I do not care. Quotes especially. No quotation marks if I can get away with it. Who is talking is so not the point. Kids are more important than my slum English. You all. Let’s just say I was not very nice. I am a nice person. But. Do. Not. Push. Me.

I made him talk to me. This is the talk the talk part. The walk the walk is hell on wheels.

His eyes are red. He wants perverts to die and Jesus Christ told him to do it, so there. When you play the Christ card, you get to skip home free. No cops. The kid begged me not to call them because he had been beaten up by cops many times. The thing about ripping off this kid’s clothes was obvious to me. They want to see his genitals. I rarely write that word. Genitals. He was wearing a dress. In Appalachia, they will kill you for this life-and-death crime. It felt a lot like rape.

So, how do you like the taste of gasoline, punk.

Men are cry babies. A dress. Put it on.

But he’s going to give our children AIDS.

Put it on. And I want to see your little dick.

Don’t hurt me, okay.

No promises. Put the dress on. 

I am not allowed to write the word stupid. The New York Times says it’s a bad word.

I’m autistic. I know how smart works. 

Columnists can get away with it. They are allowed to say, stupid. But I dare not write that bad word: Stupid. I will get kicked off NYT comments again. And again. And again.

One trick Trans kids do is disappear. You don’t exist. Kinda like mist. You move again. Maybe another neighborhood. But there is no place to move to. Hurricane Helena saw to that. Remember Asheville. Streets to raging rivers. Human body parts are still in the trees. This kid became my friend. No one will hire her. I showed her where all the good dumpsters are. She does have a job. Of sorts. She sweeps the streets. The pay is — low. But here’s the gig. She sweeps streets in her dress.

It made an impact on the entire community. Can’t he just wear jeans. The dress is the point.

I put my kids on a flight out of the United States of the United States of America. I do not want to see them living in a country nursed on hate, death, and indifference. This country makes me vomit. There was not a mean bone in her body.

Cars troll her. Stalking her. Men kick her on the street. She gets pushed up against walls. She’s suicidal. At night, she turns tricks. With the same exact men who wanted to light her up. You can talk the talk does not mean you cannot walk the walk. I will walk that walk for you. I am not a vigilante. I am sick and tired of reading about what Trump might do. All I can ever tell you is what I will do. We now live in 1949. Where men (here in Southern Appalachia) understand there will be no consequences. They act accordingly. Good times.

I found the assailant alone in his trailer. I can either put you on the bus, or…

There is no or. I put his ass on the next bus out. I kicked that ass, too, in my cowboy boots. I did not care where he was going. He’s gone. But I will always know his face.

I snarled at him. I’m a professional photographer. I will send these photos of you I took where you’re pouring the gasoline. I do know the media landscape. It would all be titillation to them. Twenty-four hour news cycle.

I have a very small camera. Smaller than a little finger. I use it for occasions when no one would would know I am taking their picture. It works like a charm. The pictures are compelling. Photography editors will think so, too.

Would you like to see them. – tim barrus