And so comes to pass that she starts another blog. It is not a choice she makes lightly, having written and discarded oh so many of these things in the past. But sometimes we do as needs must, and of late I've noticed that my personal and political thoughts have started creeping into my data science blog in ways I do not enjoy. That blog is special to me. I write about art, and code, and science, and statistics. And oh my do I take joy in being a crass transsexual bitch in the footnotes. From time to time the darker undercurrents of living as a trans woman slide into that blog, but that is simply the nature of things. The writer is not distinct from the words.
Nevertheless, there are some limits to the extent in which I would like my worlds to collide. The Notes from a data witch blog is not meant to be a place for writing about politics per se, or queerness per se, or any of those ancillary things that do sometimes creep into the narrative. They are the background, not the foreground. Were that state of affairs ever to change on that blog, I would likely lose all joy in writing it. I'd prefer not to allow that to happen, but when I found myself writing a post on that blog about Dining With Wolves, a post that had no art, no science, no statistics, and no code, I'd inadvertently opened the door and invited the vampires into my home. I'd exposed my delightful home on the internet to something darker. That state of affairs was simply intolerable to me.
Fortunately, having recently rewatched True Blood and taken great joy at having seven whole seasons of Alexander Skarsgård on my screen, I remembered that in many versions of the vampire myth you can simply rescind the invitation, and the undead are obligated to leave. Accordingly, I deleted the Dining With Wolves post from my data-centric quarto blog, created this entirely new eleventy blog, and moved that post over to here. Should I ever feel the need to write more posts of that nature, they now have a home here.
I do not expect that this blog will be as nice as that one. Any time that I am moved to write about the reality of living as a transsexual woman in the year of our lord 2026, I am never in a good mood. This is for the very obvious reason that people are consistently and exhaustingly cruel to us. Even were I a saint my patience for this behaviour would have been completely eroded many years ago. And as I am not at all saintly in my character, the charity I once extended is all but gone now.
That part of my life needs somewhere it can breathe. This is not a blog about art. Or code, or science, or statistics. This one is about the pain, the blood, and the terror. Because those stories also need to be told.
