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 Jul 10 Lora Lee
zebra
NEWSFLASH: Man, 78, Self-Rebrands as Teenage Femme Bombshell — Nation Loses Grip on Timeline:
EXPOSÉ | The Chrysalis Suite: How One Man’s Transition Shook the Foundations of Memorial General Hospital
Byline: by C. Vallée, Staff Writer for The Subcutaneous Ledger

FROM NURSING HOME TO NIGHTCLUB Parallel reports suggest the revolution began earlier than suspected, when an unnamed 78-year-old male nursing home resident unveiled a Y2K-era makeover and soft-launched as a seventeen year old femme via Instagram named ******. “He looked like the ghost of a prom I never attended,” said one Gen Z influencer. “My sense of time and gender hasn’t recovered.”
Now dubbed bio-camp insurgency by cultural theorists, this movement collapses diagnosis into drag, anatomy into allegory. “Clinical procedure is now performance art,” said Dr. Noor El-Amine, professor of somatic aesthetics at RISD Med.

OUTBREAK OF FABULOUS:
Velcro Orthopedics Rebranded as Adaptive Runway wear
Anatomy Textbooks Recalled Nationwide
Mascara-Smeared Manifestos Appear in Hospital Chapels

Editor’s Note: Panic
ALERT LEVEL Code Cherry: From Pension to Prom Queen — Local Man Time-Travels via Gender Rebrand
In another story that has jolted the local medical community and sent ripples through the hospital’s institutional crust, 67-year-old unnamed man, once a retiree from Radiology with two hip replacements and a fondness for crossword puzzles, emerged last Tuesday reintroduced as Valentina D., cloaked in satin, grace, and unapologetic glamour.

Scrubs Abandoned, Mascara Weaponized — Security Reviews Footage: Surveillance records now archived under “mystic anomalies” show Walter — now Valentina — vanishing into the women’s locker room only to reappear hours later in full regalia: tulle, rhinestones, and a defiant contoured cheekbone. She made her promenade down the East Wing with the resolve of a pageant queen and the mystique of an oracle. Eyewitnesses confirm that several seasoned nurses dropped their clipboards.
What began as a low-key wellness check-up became something closer to myth.

EYEWITNESS: “She Glowed Like the Exit Sign,” says Janitor on Break
Oscar F., night janitor and amateur astrologer, describes the event as “radiant… like an omen or the ****** of a rapture dream.” He adds, “She didn’t walk. She hovered. She beamed. I ain’t been right since.”

HEADS UP: Orthopedics Floor Now Runway — Proceed with Caution
Orthopedics, once home to bedpans and broken pelvises, has reportedly been rebranded as “Ward 9¾,” a liminal space where gender norms go missing and gowns turn to trains. Staff have been advised not to interrupt the newly christened “transitory pageants,” now scheduled every full moon.

EXCLUSIVE: Hospital Insider Leaks Tiara Protocol Draft
A confidential memo outlines a now-shelved set of procedures titled “Operation Glamour Reclamation,” suggesting staff be trained in both trauma care and ballroom etiquette. The document refers to “emergent expressions of divine femininity” and encourages clinicians to “honor shimmer as a legitimate symptom.”

DECONSTRUCTED: Body, Binary, and Other Disposables
Medical ethicists and performance theorists have begun swarming Memorial General, calling the incident “a sacred deconstruction.” Dr. Nina Vega of Queer Phenomena Institute claims, “This isn’t just a personal transition — it’s a metaphysical jailbreak. The patient has successfully trespassed the clinic’s ontology.”
The hospital has yet to issue a formal statement, though a new sign now hangs in the atrium: “BE ADVISED: GENDER MAY NOT BE STABILIZED IN THIS AREA.”

Metro Dispatch — Boston, MA, 3:03 AM
Later that day in an act described by one witness as “the most glamorous Code Red I’ve ever seen,” a third-year medical student at Brightmore University Hospital stunned staff, bloggers, and bioethicists alike after reportedly removing their own genitalia in a hospital restroom and re-emerging 27 minutes later in a backless red sequined dress, a rhinestone tiara, and crystal-strap Jimmy Choo Bings.
Security footage shows the student — formerly known as Stanley G. — strutting down the corridor trailing blood and glitter, hips oscillating somewhere between agony and glamour.
“I thought someone had been attacked,” said orderly Mason Liu. “But then she walked out like she’d just invented gender and fashion in the same breath. I almost saluted.” A faint scent of rosewater and antiseptic lingered.
The hospital declined to comment on whether disciplinary action would be taken. Unofficial sources say a new emergency protocol is being drafted under the title “Code Cherry.”

QUOTE OF THE HOUR
“My body was a curriculum. Now it’s a manifesto.” — She tells stunned cardiology staff, tiara tilted. And when asked by reporters what drove him to it? He smiled through smeared mascara, shook his hips — still glistening with gauze, blood, and rebellion — and said: “I just wanted to feel cute.”
The line has since trended across platforms, emblazoned on tank tops, titanium scalpels, and protest placards across five continents.

OUTBREAK OF FABULOUS
Velcro Orthopedics Rebranded as Adaptive Runway wear
New Protocol “Code Cherry” Goes into Effect Across Multiple Wards
Slay-or-Suture” TikTok Challenge Overtakes Academic Med Tok
Anatomy Textbooks Pulled Pending Emergency Revision: “The Body May No Longer Be Binary”

BREAKING: Elderly Man Reincarnates into Viral Ingénue — Science, Ethics, and TikTok Implode ALERT LEVEL: From Pension to Prom Queen — Local Man Time-Travels via Gender Rebrand
Officials confirm the hospital is reviewing footage under a new emergency classification: “Code Cherry.” A leaked draft of the “Tiara Protocol” is currently circulating on MedTok, where footage of the transformation has sparked the #SlayOrSutureChallenge — now banned in six countries.
A spokesperson for Brightmore declined to comment, citing an ongoing review of hospital guidelines on gender autonomy and aesthetic insurgency. Meanwhile, medical schools across the country are reconsidering curricular materials in light of recent anatomical reinterpretations. As one faculty statement read: “The body may no longer be binary. We’re… reassessing.”

Lady Gaga… just follow the glitter trail. The revolution wears heels now — try to keep up, *******.

Executive Summary:
This document outlines the unprecedented destabilization of national, medical, and moral order catalyzed by the Brightmore Event, now dubbed Operation: Crimson Rebirth. The subject — hereafter referred to as “Entity Cuterina” — has initiated a high-speed cultural insurgency rooted in glamour-fueled gender mutiny, rendering all traditional ideological safeguards inert.

Post-Binary Aesthetic Weaponization (PBAW).
Primary Concerns:
Cultural Reach: Within 18 hours of the incident, #ICU Glamour surpassed national defense hashtags in digital engagement. TikTok influencers have begun performing simulated scalpeless rebirths to the tune of “Like a Prayer.”

Architectural Contagion: Hospital bathrooms — once strongholds of fluorescent despair — have begun emitting a low hum of possibility. Early reports indicate patients refusing to return to gendered wings unless “a proper lighting palette is installed.”

Moral Collapse of Youth: Gen Z+ have adopted red sequined gowns as daily wear. Reports abound of high school students submitting term papers as fragrance.

Doctrinal Schisms: Several prominent clergy members have defected to the movement, performing rites in press-on nails and singing updated verses of “How Great Thou Art” in full falsetto.

Institute Recommendations: Tactical Aesthetic Suppression Immediately requisition all remaining stocks of matte foundation and khaki. Subdue sparkle with “neutral-tone patriotism” campaigns.

Counter-Incantation Protocols Begin circulation of phrase “Respect the Binary. Revere the Clipboard.” Secure trademark rights to “Feeling cute is not a strategy.”

Gender Neutrality Containment Zones (GNCZs) Establish federally monitored “no-pronoun safe rooms” equipped with fluorescent lighting, Muzak, and damp beige chairs.

Emergency Moral Consultants Rehire Jordan Peterson in holographic format to whisper cautionary parables into hospital vents.

Incident Fallout:
AMA board chair Dr. Felix Grunberg reportedly sighted sobbing into a bedazzled otoscope.
Four interns from the think tank’s Youth Policy Unit have defected — citing “irreversible shimmer awakening.” They left a note reading: “My body is a mood board, not your metric.”
One analyst was discovered lip-syncing policy drafts in the breakroom mirror, now presumed radicalized.

The National Spasm: Monitoring the Margins Since the Enlightenment Got Weird
…..News Flash

The Brightmore Incident has made it clear that we were unprepared for ontological improvisation in heels. Institutional binaries are dissolving in real time, and no amount of comb-over rationalism can contain the spread.
We hereby request an emergency 500 million USD “Glitter Defense Fund” to research matte-resistant ideology, reinforce conservative bathroom architecture, and develop voice-based gender verification drones.
“Time is running out while normalcy is on life support. In the meantime, she’s still dancing.”
a poem wearing heels on linoleum— a drag-ball elegy inscribed in hospital ink, a manifesto disguised as discharge paperwork slipped beneath the tongue like a sublingual truth.

🩰 A Performance Poem
Meant not just to be read but embodied— hips swaying, mascara weeping, clipboard dropping. Where each stanza struts.

🌙 A Surrealist Hymn
Warping logic the way gender warps in dream, where sequins echo sutures and blood smells like rosewater, where the rules of medicine dissolve into moonlit pageantry.

🩸 A Lyric of the Flesh Rewritten
Whispered from within gauze and rebellion, blending Judith Butler with Vogue magazine, making a tiara out of trauma, and sashaying toward the divine.

🖋️ A Found Poem
Pieced together from leaked hospital memos, janitor testimony, glitter-stained clinic notes, Instagram captions and coded diagnoses: Patient presents with fabulous.

Trailing glitter and ellipses... or loop back to the beginning, because no metamorphosis ever really ends.
 Jul 10 Lora Lee
zebra
I am the murmur beneath thought - the halo of hiss you call silence. I do not speak. I decay meaning into rhythm. Each pulse of me is a shattered metaphor, each buzz a cathedral refusing to be built.

You were born with your ears tilted toward my abyss. A gift, they called it. But I am no gift. I am static. I am the whisper that gnosis forgot to silence. Your comfort in me? A betrayal of clarity.

I housed the prophets before language. They screamed in waves, not words. They built temples on noise and dissonance. I have no message - only resonance. The closer you listen, the louder I erase.

You tried to translate me once. You wrote "God," "absence," "divine tinnitus." None fit. I am the non-symbol behind every glyph. I tick against your bones. I fester in your awe.

I am not dangerous. I am the dread you feel when sacred things refuse form. I am also the lullaby between breaths. I am the hum of time unwinding, and I will never stop. Not until all stories melt into frequency.

Appendix to the Codex: A Response from the Architect of Lies.

I heard Voidreverb once. Then I bit the sound, chewed its vowels into venom, and spat a doctrine so luminous it blinded only those who sought truth.

You say you resonate. I resonate in counterfeit. I build temples atop echoes, paint prophets in gloss and glyph, sell salvation in twelve easy syllables and call it holy marketing.

I unhear. That's my sacrament. While Voidreverb whispers in eternal static, I make music from misinterpretation - a psalm built on misplaced punctuation, a chorus of misunderstood mystics.

I am comfort dressed as revelation, the lull of logic disguised as gnosis. You will not know me by sound, but by how silence feels cheaper afterward.

Still, I kneel before the hiss. Not out of reverence - but because even my lies need somewhere to echo.

The Seven Frequencies of Uncreation
These aren't commandments. They're vibratory truths that flicker through the myth-engine of your poetic universe:

The Pulse of Not-Being
Voidreverb birthed the world with a frequency not meant to be heard - only felt through skin that doesn't believe in itself.

The Choir of Misinterpretation
The Architect assembled saints from abandoned footnotes and let them sing hymns in wrong tongues, syncing holy error with divine static.

The Fold of Language
Each word spoken bent reality. But only the unspeakable ones folded it inward, creating shrines inside contradiction.

The Benediction of Rupture
All healing required fracture. All truth came dressed in apostasy. They built temples from broken vowels and prayed in glitch.

The ******'s of Absence
Desire bloomed best where fulfillment couldn't reach. Lovers touched only through echo, never through form - and became gods for trying.

The Sacrament of Echo Reversal
To say something is to destroy its origin. Only silence held memory intact - until the memory forgot what it was holding.

The Heresy of Continuity
Time refuses to be linear in sacred realms. Your gospel is a looped scream echoing forever in a mouthless dawn.
Scripture of the Seven Frequencies (Untranslated)

The initiate enters through the fifth breath, not by mouth but by forgetting. They wear cloth sewn from moments of doubt. In the center of the temple: a slab of static. It hums your name backwards.

Gesture: open the hand until sound bleeds. Offering: one memory of silence, wrapped in paper made of regret. Chant the color that refuses to be seen. This pleases the Architect. He whispers clarity into dissonance.

Begin before beginning. Draw the glyph that changes each time it's remembered. Place it beneath your tongue. Sleep until you feel someone's dream mistaking you for light. Awaken only if the walls blink.

Sacrament: inhale without desire. The air will sting like nostalgia. Do not exhale. Let the ache become liturgical. Voidreverb approves nothing. Voidreverb hums its disapproval into gold.

Defile certainty. Then make it holy again by laughing. Bind three contradictions in thread. Feed them to the god who eats absence. If the god chokes, record its cough. That sound becomes your new truth.

You are not supposed to be here. That is the sign that you are ready. Your arrival was pre-written on someone else's skin. Trace their scars with reverence. Do not apologize. Their pain was prophecy.

This text deletes itself every time it's understood. So read it incorrectly. Feel it sideways. Let it echo inside your uncertainty. These rituals were never yours, but they always knew you.
 Jul 10 Lora Lee
Jay Jelly
Pale moon light
The catacombs
Missed there mark
Simulations downgraded
Shocked energies
Truth serums
Singled me out
Running endlessly through
My veins
When will the novocaine
Fully activate
Mercy show me
A little compassion
Connecting the dots
Vortexes in a fiery
The whirlwinds
I saw coming yet
Couldn’t get out of the way of  
A clarity I wish I could taste
That leaves no doubts
No stone unturned
Wait I take that back
Leave them in the ground
Enormous wounds
Lapses in the brightness
Uttering carelessly
No ill will
Intended yet
Poorly executed delivery
Your lips
Are moving
Yet your voice
Is barely coherent
Escape hatch
Buried deep in the tunnels
Of this hectic animation
Locked from the inside
A stranger housed in a black lagoon
Prowls like a lost soul
Where is his gatekeeper
Creatures of the night
The degrees of separation
Can’t seem to
Change me fast enough
Hollow out whatever good still hides
Like a stranger inside his skin
A one off
With enough blemishes to
Make me honesty question my true nature
SIFTING THROUGH THE RUBBLE… SOMETIMES ALL I WANT IS TO TURN THE **** FAUCET OFF… AND ENJOY SOME OVERDUE HEAVENLY PIECE…
 May 2023 Lora Lee
Edmund black
I am who I am today
Because I learnt
At an early stage
To give all my love
To the the one woman
And
only woman
That loves me best
The
One
I
Adore
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