• entries
  • comments
  • views

About this blog

Atheist, trans NB, pan-bi-queer, demimondaine, superhero, urban deity, chocolate aficionado, poet, activist, liberal, left-handed (Them/Their)

Entries in this blog

TW: Rape, abuse, PTSD, talk of suicide.

I thought I had more to write, but do you ever get afraid of losing the people you love because everyone talks about you and talks to you as if there is a ghost of the person they thought you were in the room. There is this ghost person called Charl in the room that everyone knows and loves, but it isn't me. My mom still talks about her "big boy". I don't know who that is. I found myself crying to myself, who is this person they're talking about? Why does nobody see me? Why am I afraid to bring it up. I'm so afraid of losing everyone. Yes. I'm in a very bad place right now. It's ongoing. This is always a bad week for me, this time of year. PTSD is bad, as I wrote before and four years ago other things happened that I can't write about right now, but READ HERE (please trigger warnings for rape). Sorry, this is more rant than coherent thought. It's stupid, but I'm considering getting myself checked in somewhere for help. Strangely I am not suicidal, I generally am when I get like this, but I am safe, I have spoken to my psychologist. I dunno. Sorry. Mostly a rant here.

CW: Child abuse, violence, ptsd, some queerphobia.

I spent years in therapy. Years. I had a good and loving psychologist who helped me in ways I cannot describe. I am a better person because of her help. I was a wreck after I left home as a child. I was disowned for being queer. I was disowned for not being in the ‘right’ career. I was disowned for not accepting my abuse. I went through twenty years of what I can only generously call torture and watching the torture of my mother and my grandmother. For years after that I was incapable of thinking of anything other than the horror. I would literally hear his voice calling me at night when I was alone at home. I would literally see him standing over me with his fist. I employed meditation (among other things) with guidance of my psychologist to help me cleanse my brain of him. I called it my white room. Can I make my brain like a white room? Just a still quiet place where nobody is. Without his voice. Without his fist. Without him.

I improved so much. I got better. I go whole days now without thinking about him, sometimes a week. I make decisions about what I want to do with myself in small ways without considering what he’d say. I freed myself of him.

But on occasion, like today, I just get flooded with memories. I hear him screaming. And it’s stupid because today was him screaming at someone else. And it was vivid like he was sitting next to me as I was driving. I’m not sure what triggered it.

A few years ago (I think this was nearly a decade ago) when we were still in contact his mother died and we were headed to the funeral. His whole life he was a womaniser and an abusive one. For some reason as we were headed down the street from his house, the husband of the woman he’d been seeing raced up to us and nearly crashed into us and it resulted in a screaming match between the two men. I remember how afraid I was. My face hit the window as the car turned and it knocked a tooth loose, a tooth that I would eventually have removed later. But I just sat there. I didn’t say anything. The problem with violence with him was that it was fluid and random and could spill over at anybody in any direction. I lived in that constant culture of violence my whole life and now looking back it’s so alien to me, but today...

...I was driving today and I had to stop, it hit me like a brick wall. I stopped next to the road. My face burned as if it had been slapped. I could hear his voice and smell his stinking cologne as if he was right next to me. I hate this so much. I hate that I remember him so vividly. And the more I thought about it I could hear the things he’d call me and the things he’d say to me. I remember him beating me and calling me, “f****t” and “piece of s***”.

My psychologist says it does go away with many people, but rarely (as seems my case), it can have after effects that last years. Apparently it’s normal for ptsd sufferers. Today started off so good. There was no reason this should have happened. I’m annoyed that this still keeps happening. I’m a grown adult and then suddenly I’m a little child again. I don’t know. I’m just going to sleep now.

I haven't written in a while and I'm sorry. Things have gotten seriously hectically busy suddenly and I'm struggling to cope. How do we go from jobless without money to having too much to do and getting paid too little anyway. So I'm submitting a volume of my poetry for publication. I'm going to get this done. It won't make money at first, but it's a first step. At least I'm motivated... which is a good thing, yes?



I figured I should write something today.

It's way too hot and I'm feeling sick. I'm also in a lot of pain today, but I'll deal with it by just going to bed now, at 6 in the evening.

I played some piano today. Wanted to play this song for my mom, she liked it, so I'm happy. It's very messy, I rushed this recording because my camera battery is going flat.

 Somewhere Over The Rainbow-1.m4v

I'm going to bed now. Feeling meh. 

Sorry, keeping it brief.

All my love.


CW: talk about misgendering, fatphobia, drug abuse, rape, religious abuse.


My relationship with my body has always been a rocky one. To quote Blythe Baird: "As a child fat was the first word people used to describe me, which didn't offend me; until I found out it was supposed to." From the age of four or five I remember being on a diet already. I was taught as a child that food was about bargaining and punishment and reward. If I starve myself for a day then I can eat something I like, but only if it's small. I grew up in a house in which being called a f****t and a pig were a part of life. I learnt to hate my body. I learnt from a very young age that being fat is hateworthy. And my body didn't do the things that it was supposed to do. I remember being thin once in my life and that was a point where I was using so much cocaine to deal with stress, and abuse, and body pain, and dysphoria, and the fact that I was raped, I found myself in my senior year at school in a thin body and strangely none of the girls or boys wanted to sleep with me. I guess the lie that "people only want to sleep with you if you're thin" finally became transparent to me.

Ironically when I finally got over my drug addiction, nearly 12 years ago, my body exploded to sizes it never was before. I had always been fat. Now I was obese. Food was once again a thing of bargaining and the process of coming out as bisexual (the idea of pansexuality was something I didn't really want to talk about) the age of 23 made me feel even more gross as my own minister told me about these special camps they can send people like me to where they "fix" us and how queer people are fundamentally disordered.

I got raped for the second time then. And when I went to the police I was told that I'm too fat to get raped. I was told that I was too ugly to get raped. I was told that rape was something that didn't happen to boys. A double irony given that boys do, in fact, get raped, and the fact that I'm not a boy. My weight went up and down, and up and down. I swung between overweight and obese on a monthly level. I went to the gym and got threatened, had people take my photo, had people make fun of me. Doctors wouldn't treat me for the illnesses I needed help for. Flu? I should lose weight. Pneumonia? I should lose weight. A serious concussion after an accident? I should lose weight. I couldn't see doctors anymore. In many ways I still can't.

When I first started seeing my psychologist and we started working on my issues, of which there were many, I told her about the things I needed to do to get fixed and she told me, "I hear a lot about what you *need* to do, but not enough about what you *want* to do. You're being very hard on yourself." The first thing I then did was stopped dieting. And for the first time in my life, my weight stabilised.

I guess this was the beginning of my recovery. I realised I'll never be thin and healthy. I'll always be me-shaped. And that's okay. I took on fat as a descriptor understanding that fat isn't whats wrong with me, fat became a political part of who I was. I eat now because I want to eat. I eat because food is fuel for my body and mind. I won't bargain anymore. If I'm hungry, I eat. If I'm in the mood for something, I'll eat that. My "diet" is about sustaining my body, not punishing it. I still deal with pain. I still deal with body dysphoria. But putting makeup on is about wanting to be myself, not because I want to fool cisgender people. There is a huge crossover with my weight issues and my gender issues that I don't think a lot of people appreciate.

Obviously this has annoyed a lot of people. For absolutely no reason apart from the fact that I'm queer, and fat, and happy. On twitter I got death threats, rape threats, every kind of hate you can imagine. Purely because I now exhibit a boy that people don't "agree" with, as if my body is a matter of opinion. But I've absolutely started taking no nonsense from people. 2017 is going to be the year of insisting a lot of things on my own behalf. 

  • I don't accept diet advice anymore. From anyone, for any reason. I don't want to hear about what people did to lose weight or what they think I should do.
  • I don't listen to people moralising about bodies and what bodies should be.
  • I don't listen to people telling me what I can or cannot eat. I've gotten them to stop by offering to have them pay for my groceries.
  • I don't listen to people who seem to think that I have the same access to healthcare as they do.
  • I don't accept my body as a topic of discussion, in humour, by contrast, or as a matter of 'debate'.
  • I don't 'debate' with anybody on these issues, my body isn't an opinion.
  • I won't be ashamed of eating in public anymore.
  • I won't take commentary on what I eat.

I've been doing a lot of this already, really putting effort into this since last year, but I wanted this to be my year of insisting on my body, my rules. I'm fat and I'm beautiful. I'm fat and I have lovers. I'm fat and I'm happy. I don't imagine a time in the future when I won't be fat. This is who I am and that won't change.



Spent the day sleeping. Was good. Slept through the worst pain. Spent the rest of the day cooking and baking for tomorrow, going for a picnic with all my favourite peoples. So I made this chocolate fudge pie for tomorrow.


The recipe if you're keen:

The crust is:

1 cup flour 
3 tbp coco
1/2 cup sugar 
1tbp butter 
3tbs oil 
and I added a bit more butter to make it workable.

The filling:
1 tin condensed milk
1/2 cup coco
1 cup milk
1 and a half cups sugar

Bake the shell at 180 for 15 min.

Bring all the filling ingredients to a boil in a pan.

Let everything cool down and fill the crust with your filling. Let it rest overnight. The filling (should hopefully) thicken.

 Going to spend tonight just being lazy in a slight haze of painkillers and hot chocolate and watching random movies and stuff. I hope your Holiday season is good and filled with love and loved ones.




By charllandsberg,

I apologise. It seems every time I come online here it is to complain about something new: work issues, depression, sickness, etc...

I'm in a lot of pain today. I'm struggling. I have chronic pain issues with my back. It probably won't ever go away. One of my biggest problems I deal with is fighting off addiction. I was addicted to cocaine and prescription meds 2002-2005. I'll be sober 12 years this January. But I'm struggling. I'm taking pain meds and I've written about it before how afraid I am of getting addicted. I even under-dose myself out of fear. But the pain is bad. I don't know why today. I haven't done anything stupid. My body is just sore. I cried for four hours this morning when I woke up at one. It's nearly five in the morning now.

I wrote quite a lot of poetry regarding my addiction and my pain and I'm spending time reading it today to cope. I've removed the swearing in the one poem and haven't included the poems with the most swearing in them. But there's a lot of swearing when it comes to chronic pain.

The Skinny Little Man <- click for original

He always sits there
Behind my head
Clinging on with nailed fingers...
...digging into the back of my head
Using my hair like a stepladder
Telling me that I need another go
Another line
Another dose

He's at his worst when I'm around users
And he tells me,
"Look at them,
Aren't they having fun?"

He's been growing thinner
But his voice is just as loud as always
And it's easier sometimes
But not today
I will always be an addict

Myprodol <- click for original

you're a bastard
you know that?
two kisses, three times a day
with every meal
and I can already feel that pull
that old allure of addiction
calling me in for another kiss
and another
and another
till all the pain will be gone
lips full of kisses
arms full of promises
beautiful, blooming, barbituate lover
that precipice you represent
and the promise I made to myself years ago
to keep lovers like you on a f***ing short leash

I'm done with you for today
go back to your side of the bedside table
I'll be off with some water and anger for the pain in the mean time
I'll see you later for my breakfast kiss


So it's the season, and naturally work is hard to come by. Lots of places are closing up till into January, so I find myself waiting on editors and publishers. I get stressed. And so I do the digital art thing. I got some new brushes for Photoshop and I was playing around with them yesterday. Did a random drawing of a guy and a self portrait.

(Messy Brush Portrait)

(Messy Self Portrait)

Anyways. This, as I've said before, is one of the ways I cope.



Hello. I have a friend who is questioning at the moment and they're looking into resources that help with trans issues regarding gender, body issues, breast reduction, binders, and all that. Do you guys have good resources?

Thank you so much.


CW: mention of suicide, sickness, depression.

I don't know what sickness I'm dealing with at the moment. I'm bleeding a lot, which is just a part of my haemophilic nature, but being sick, bleeding, and generally just feeling awful isn't helping. I have work to do, but I don't want to get out of bed. I'm struggling with my "employers" - which is to say the people who have a signed arrangement with me to produce them work, but now they're not paying me and I'm struggling. I wonder what the point is of having a job if being jobless is exactly the same with slightly less stress and deadlines. I'll push ahead anyway, but yea, feeling awful. I got meds, which is nice, so at least the worst of the symptoms are held at bay. If anything, the reason I'm getting out of bed is because I'm hungry as hell.

I slept about 3 hours last night, which is good. That's about average for me and I should get through the day. One of my best friends is leaving town for a week, and I know it sounds pathetic, but I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. They've kindof kept me grounded over the last year of my worst depressive bouts and helped me through my suicidal episodes. I'm better now, but just feeling down, knowing they'll be back in town in two weeks.

Anyways. I'm hungry. Just here to whine a bit.



I loathe being around people. I get nervous and nauseous. When I go to big public engagements I generally have a friend with me, but last night I didn't have that. It's easy with a friend. Makes for good buffering. But I made it through last night. My two paintings did well (R350 and R250 respectively). They were sold perhaps poetically to the same lady who purchased three of my paintings in 2014. It made me happy. Kind of like sending them to a good home.

But I couldn't really spend much time around people. Fortunately the gallery is big and I spent most of the evening upstairs. Everyone was downstairs and it really was packed. The exhibition hall has a terrible reputation of getting really stuffy and there were probably two hundred people packed in a room you couldn't play tennis in. So I'd take a few pics here and there, obviously photos of my two pictures, below (they spelled my name wrong, seven years of contributions and they spell my name wrong, but yea, it happens, the lady who bought them knew who I was):


But apart from saying hello to the few folks I knew and avoiding one or two others, I spend the rest of the evening upstairs. It's big upstairs with one big central hall and halls running all the way around. In the central hall there is a big grand piano, which was locked to my disappointment, or I would have played.


But I spent a good deal of time upstairs. Coming down to take a photo or two of the auction below, which did very well. But otherwise I really enjoyed my time upstairs. I took a picture of my home town's own Picasso, "Cheval Mourant":


And I spent a lot of time in one space where my favourite painting in the gallery is. Irma Stern's "The Flower Seller".


It hangs in this space (on the right, closest to the curtain):


I'm also quite fond of a piece that's either new or I've never noticed it before. Cecil Skotnes' "Figures".


I spend time just taking photos of things that I found interesting. There is a space between doors where the roof curves upwards in an arc to meet the doors which stuck up through the roof in archways and because of the way the rooms are lit they cause these beautiful curves. If you stand really, really still for a second it almost looks as if the curves are painted and the ceiling is entirely flat.


I don't know. This is my weird way of dealing with not dealing with people. I was happy the evening went well. My friend's mom's pieces went for extraordinary prices, as much as R3700, which is really a lot of money to raise for the gallery. I don't know yet how much was raised in total for the gallery, but I hope it was a lot.

Anyway, this was my weird anxiety tour.




By charllandsberg,

It's been a while since I've been out of the house alone since the last time I was attacked in public. I'm nervous. I have a gallery exhibition and auction that I have to attend tonight. I have two paintings up for auction tonight. I'm basically writing this while I'm supposed to be doing my makeup. I'm worried about running into the wrong people. I'm always afraid. I'm hectically dysphoric tonight and feeling stupidly insecure. People don't understand how real the violence is. But I really should get going. I'm going to be late.

Be good and kind to one another.



I really, really miss my mom today. I'm seeing her next month for the first time in a few months. We've both been too busy this year. So I recorded a cover of a song I hope she likes, Bob Dylan's Make You Feel My Love. My voice is very gravelly today and I sound very male which is annoying, but I liked the recording. Hope you like it too. It's up on Soundcloud (HERE or here https://soundcloud.com/charllandsberg/charl-landsberg-to-make-you-feel-my-love-bob-dylan-cover). This was a messy recording, two lawnmowers in the background, dogs running about, and so many birds that I couldn't edit everything out.

Anyways. Have a wonderful rest-of-the-weekend.



It's funny that I found a way with coping with difficult times through collecting dice and playing Dungeons and Dragons. As a kid I wasn't allowed. It was Satanic and Demonic and possibly Communist too. But today I have a growing collection of dice. I play D&D fairly regularly and it's a great way to destress. With all the new work and ongoing financial issues I've started taking photos (as I always do) of my dice and writing little stories around them. It's resonated quite a bit with folks in the D&D community, I figured I should share it with my trans family too <3

This is Nimue. My kindest dice. She's good to my players and my players like her, she's fair but doesn't spoil players.

This is King Lear. Lear is a bit of a goof. When anything is built by Lear things won't turn out all that great. Victories are cheap. Losses are extensive.

Tartarus and Gaia. Gaia makes, Tartarus destroys. This is a bad way of putting it, they're more of a competing force. Whichever one makes the other will undo. Whichever the one undoes the other will reinstate. They're an odd pair.

Lock, Shock, and Barrel (Nightmare before Christmas reference). These are my damage dice. They're cruel and good at what they do.

This is the majestic Queen Morgan. She doesn't care. She rolls high. I call her my cheat dice. She will obliterate her opponent. I don't use her often, it's really unfair to my players.

Shaggy and Scooby. I guess every person has dice like these. These two don't do very well. They don't do very badly. As I've written elsewhere, when they're involved everything goes wrong. Everything breaks. Bad guys do stupid things. Players are rewarded with their own shoes. Epic battles turn into dance-offs. Storm the Castle becomes “Run Away” (Monty Python voice).

This was just a response to a bunch of folks who posted pics of their rainbow dice. There isn't a coherent story here apart from the blue one I call Sting because he always rolls 4 and the purple one is Bullet because they always hit their target.

Aaah... the Twins. Yea. When I bring these out I always say "Beware the Twins". Nothing good happens here. Nothing. All is misery when the Twins are involved. I haven't quite settled on a name for them: "Scilla and Charibdys" works, but they weren't exactly twins. "Tweedledee and Tweedledum" works for the twin reference, but they're far more cruel. "Fred and George" / "Castor and Pollux" have the same problem. I considered "The Grady Sisters" from the Twins in the Shining, but they weren't given individual names as far as I know.

Anyway, this was my bit of frivolity to share with you today. I hope you have a good day.



Ps. This is my current set I use every time I D&D. I have a wider set, but these are my favourites. They seem to take on a personality of their own and make my words so much more interesting. Except the twins. I generally keep them out of play. You'll see them slightly scooched over. Shaggy and Scooby aren't in this photo because I rarely use them.


I didn't get a chance to write yesterday. It was just too busy. We have working stories now and over the next month we'll be looking into production and filming for the stories. I'll keep you folk posted. But first, I need sleep. This has been an emotional rollercoaster of note.




For a script writing conference, this place has certainly lived up to its name. Today was a long, long day. I'm physically sore. But it's entirely worth it. So many transgender stories shared, laughs and tears. Didn't even have time for photos. This isn't going to be a long update because I'm beat. It's only 20h00 this side and I already want to sleep. But I promised I'd do my nails before bed, so at least one or two episodes of my series while my nails dry.

I love you all. Take care of yourselves and each other.



So I've arrived in Johannesburg. My flight was early this morning and today was a long day. Met the people here and it's really something special. It's the first time I've been in spaces where all the people were trans / genderqueer / nonbinary. It's really special. I'm hoping to learn a lot from this. I realise looking at the format and different styles that I'm going to have to learn very quickly and learn a lot, but it's all part of the process.

Funny thing is that I'm very nervous. I have a severe case of impostor syndrome. I'm constantly worried that people will find out that I'm some terrible fake the whole time. I'm so masculine, I dress in male clothes (because honestly I tried buying new clothes for this conference, and clothes are far too damn expensive), and I have very rough mannerisms. I'm constantly worried of not being trans enough. I guess that's a concern of most trans people. (Also, the full length mirror in hotel bathrooms is not got for body and gender dysphoria.)

But either way. These people are amazing. I've already laughed so much my stomach hurts. I've taken so many beautiful photos of our surrounding area. We're staying at this beautiful resort/hotel/conference centre. In many ways this is an incredible privilege to be here working on script writing and queer content creation. I still don't have a hundred percent of the information and so far I'm just sitting on a script that I believe will be developed into a web series. Although, I'll know more tomorrow. I'll try write more as I learn. I'm excited. I'm scared. And I want to learn everything.

I leave you with a few of the photos I took of the place and the animals.



My first article is up on Ravishly (HERE or here: http://www.ravishly.com/2016/09/19/gay-promiscuity-hiv-stigma). I'm so excited I can burst. Next week is the big seminar. It's weird to be working full time again. I'm actually tired at the end of the day for 'good'? reasons. Who knows. Please have a read. It's not my best writing, I come off as a bit robotic in this writing, and the editor clipped my sentences in places so it makes it moreso. But still, yay for me.






Things are going well. I'm overworked, but at least working towards something. Payment is still a white off, but I'm headed to a transgender seminar/workshop thing at the end of the month, all costs paid for. Which is going to be amazing. I'm happy to have work. I'm happy that my life is a bit more liveable at the moment.

I did, however, really badly sprain my foot (which I didn't know was possible till a week-ish ago). It's healing slowly. Still very sore from time to time and I can't walk, but I work from bed being snuggled by my two dogs. Was supposed to get this weird pneumatic boot that I can wear to walk with, but it costs about the same as half my income at the moment, so bed is good. Also pain killers are fantastic.

I run Dungeons and Dragons with a bunch of friends in town on a more regular basis. It helps me get out of my head. It's a good hobby for me. Been making miniature figurines and gaming boards on the weekends. Today I spent making tile sets.


Needs a few more directional strokes and paint wash in brown to finish the wood-like look.


A few random tiles half-painted and textured. Will see how they look when they're dry.


Also been doing a lot of painting / digital work. It's been helping with the pain. Going to do some work with people tomorrow taking their photographs so I have more subjects to paint other than myself (self portraits get boring). Anyways. I guess I'm doing well. Just a little high on pain meds.





CW: Suicidal Feelings

Okay, so, I got a job. Quite a good job. It doesn't pay much, but this is the road to dream job territory. And I'm stressed and anxious. I was so excited, as I should be. But tonight my laptop nearly died. It's a good thing I'm a wizard at electronics (this laptop should have died years ago), but when it died I seriously considered killing myself. I need this laptop to live, just a bit longer, so I can save more money with this new job. I desperately need a new laptop. I'm a writer and graphic designer. I need this laptop to stay alive. It's stupid, but when I got this laptop working again, through magics and miracles only the atheist in me is capable of, all I could do was draw. So the first thing I did was a sketch of a selfie I took this afternoon. Don't know why, but it really, really helps me to draw on this laptop. Drawing just centres me totally. Trying to stay calm. I have the worst insomnia at the moment. Think I slept a total of 6 hours since I found out about this job. I'm excited, anxious, and all over the place. Hopefully I can get at least an hour or two sleep before tomorrow.

But here's the pic I did on Photoshop.


I feel a lot better. Fortunately I have a lot of food prepared for tomorrow, so I don't have to bother with cooking and the kitchen is clean so I don't have to bother with too much cleaning apart from the dishes I use. I just need to get through this now. I'm so tired.

Oh, here's another one I drew earlier today.


I feel bad that I'm this stressed and prone to panic attacks. I should be happy, but I just can't see tomorrow happening. I read through this all again and if my sentences are a bit jumbled I'm sorry.



An old poem of mine that's quite prescient for today, bottle that hope:

"New Year's Potion" by Charl Landsberg

bottle hope in tiny bottles
brewed from thistle, sage, and wattles
cork the glass containers tight
keep them till the dead of night
open them up to the moon
and hope will come to see you soon
a distant face you can’t recall
a wave of joy you can’t forestall
bottle hope in toilsome years
when life is sad and full of tears
keep a stash when all is lost
keep your heart aflame, fingers crossed
relearn the things you once forgot
and savour hope when there’s a lot


Okay, so I was really down beginning of this week. I mean really down. The job that I was hoping for has, for all intents and purposes, ghosted me after big promises and big encouragement. And I was speaking with a friend tonight who basically said, "oh, you're a writer?" and is setting up another possible job for me. So there's that...

So now I'm hopeful again. It's a silly thing, but I'm tired of hope. I don't know if this makes sense to people. I often stop myself from hoping because the disappointment hurts every time. So much. But this job offers a lot. A lot more than I had imagined, and the thing is that this job actually offers me jobs in my field, that actually makes use of my really, really, really obscure Masters degree. So... yea, I'm doing the stupid thing and hoping again, even though I'm still hurting from the last blow.

So basically two things:

1) Be loud and clear about who you are and what you do, you never know who might be listening.

2) And can we find a new source of psychological currency. Hope is exhausting.

Who knows.



This writing business is hard sometimes, but every now and then it pays off a bit. I'm featured in Poetry Potion's next quarterly "Infinite Wonders", please head over and have a read, maybe buy a copy, or submit your own writing. Can never have enough poets.

Have a look here: Poetry Potion Editorial: Infinite Wonders

I'm way more excited over this than it really deserves. But there is something about seeing my name in print. Tomorrow is my birthday and my copy also gets sent tomorrow morning, pity it's a Sunday and I won't get it till Monday. But just having a severe moment of glee right now.