Local Solano County and adjacent Discord Server. Itâs Inclusive! Talking about events, local drama, and subculture stuff.
Check out the Solano Collective community on Discord - hang out with 91 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.
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Claire Keane

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Discoholic đȘ©
hello vonnie

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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

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@juni1999
Local Solano County and adjacent Discord Server. Itâs Inclusive! Talking about events, local drama, and subculture stuff.
Check out the Solano Collective community on Discord - hang out with 91 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.
Blue collar work sucks
Iâm feeling dysphoric and ruminating again, so it sounds like story time!
A consistent thing that would happen in my life, especially in elementary and middle school, was people saying my sister Emra looked like the female version of me, or vice versa. Emra and I were only two years apart, and we had a lot of similarities and differences. I kind of hate her for her behavior, both towards me and in general. Our relationship grew from being like 'frenemies' to essentially antagonistic roommates.
Those comments from others always stuck with me, as we were constantly compared. I was seen as the competent one, though. People kept seeing me in a good light and her in a bad light as a reflection of our outward behavior. I donât want to badmouth her, but I donât see her as a good person. She has a lot of internal work to do to heal and grow. Still, those comments floated in the back of my mind. I overthought it, but it also stuck with me more as I aged. I always wanted to be seen as better than my siblings. It was not because I saw most of them as competition, but as a standard below the bar I aspired to. I failed a lot, but I got better.
There was something deeply dissatisfying about being seen as the 'male version' of her, though back then I didn't think about why I had those thoughts. I only really started meta-cognitively reflecting on my own thinking around mid-high school. I did a lot of internal work, what felt like a purification of toxic behaviors that online content creators pointed out and that I noticed in myself. Yet I kept coming back to those thoughts about being better: Is this really what I was being compared to? I would definitely be a better girl than her.
Looking back, my PE teachers even noticed the competitive tone between us and used it to motivate us. There were cracks long before the egg shell fully cracked. Some were fine, others were more obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. Part of me resents her for living an experience that felt stolen from me. I know that isnât entirely fair, thatâs just frustration and pain talking. Itâs rooted in dysphoria, but also in my intolerance of her. She didnât manage her bipolar behavior well, which was just fuel thrown on the fire. I felt like she was embodying the negative traits of both our parents, and I tried to reject that energy, even to the point of adding to the screaming matches.
Before moving out, my life was defined largely by what I wasnât. I knew I wanted more, but I didnât have much to work off of. Now, after only eight months on my own, I feel like I have a few solid foundation pieces. I know what I want for the most part. I know I have far more interesting traits than just being an emotionally hurt transgender poor person. I just catch myself grieving something I feel I can never fully have, wondering if I'm settling for a consolation prize. But thatâs the dysphoria talking.
Hmm, idk.
I'm drawing a blank today I guess.
The openvibe app is kinda interesting
I burned the flag. I filmed it. I posted it.
And I have heard every version of the same response. You have the right, but. The issues are real, but. People do care, but. You did it the wrong way. The suboptimal way. The way that makes people tune out. The way that adds to division. The way that is shock value instead of real message.
Every time, the but is the same thing dressed in different clothes. It is discomfort looking for a reason to be my problem instead of theirs.
Here is what I actually said tho.The outrage is the lesson. Not the flag. The outrage. The fact that a burned symbol generates more emotional investment than the burned lives that symbol is supposed to represent. The fact that people will perform elaborate intellectual gymnastics to avoid owning that. The fact that the same people who say they care about veterans, about poverty, about government accountability, will spend their energy correcting my method instead of sitting with what my method revealed about their priorities.
That is the misplaced anger. That is the misplaced priority. A comfort object mattering more than the material conditions of the people it claims to stand for. And when confronted with that, the response is not self-examination. It is telling me I should have been more palatable so they would not have to feel this.
I am not going to modulate my expression so you can avoid sitting with your own reaction. There is no comfortable way to make people uncomfortable.
That is the point.
Your discomfort is not an argument. It is not a rebuttal. It is not evidence that I failed to communicate. It is just discomfort. And you need to learn to hold it without making it my job to soothe it for you. I am not available for that labor. I never was.
This country started with genocide, built its foundation on slavery, rose on Latino and Asian labor only to discard them when convenient. Its culture was forged by minorities from Black to queer while the state kept choosing war against its own citizens and allies.
I am tired of wearing the mask that says be quiet. Tired of watching neighbors stolen by ICE, shot in the street by state thugs taking orders from a predator in the highest office. Tired of the prison industrial complex swallowing generations of Black and Brown bodies for profit while politicians sell tough on crime theater. Tired of watching friends drown in a generational mental health crisis while their rights get stripped away one bill at a time.
I am tired of the economic collapse the news keeps denying. People cannot make families. Cannot afford rent. Cannot afford to get sick. Everything is cheap and expensive at the same time. Homes are unaffordable; elders die in retirement homes their families bleed to pay for, if they are lucky. I knew too many who died in squalor.
Our kids cannot read, cannot do math, but teachers are supposed to perform miracles while getting harassed by parents who have been told their discomfort is someone else's fault.
And meanwhile, working class brothers, sisters, sons and daughters get shipped off to die or be broken in endless foreign wars. Children die there from violence and here from resources that never arrive. And Iâm constantly seeing videos of vets talking about the horror and how they fought for something greater. Was this it?
Iâm tired of wearing a mask and being told what I do to what is in appropriate. This is weaponized etiquette and people do it people they only truly care about their own self image. They are fine smothering you as you choke.
So if you want to get angry, get angry at the system that takes everything and gives nothing back. A system that cages, extracts, and discards. You will not find answers yelling slurs at me over a piece of plastic. You will not find answers in the comments section while the machine keeps grinding.
You know whatâs kinda fucked up? When someone says the government gave me my rights. They didnât give me anything. Rights are natural law, they are inherent. The US government doesnât give people rights, you canât give a right away. You can give privileges.
The US government protects and facilitates rights, that is the point, and itâs a low bar morally speaking. But at the time of the founding of the nation is was special. So no, I was not giving rights by a government and it even says it in the governments own words.
So I feel like a lot of people donât have a good understanding of the government or their rights.
This country started with genocide, built its foundation on slavery, rose on Latino and Asian labor only to discard them when convenient. Its culture was forged by minorities from Black to queer while the state kept choosing war against its own citizens and allies.
I am tired of wearing the mask that says be quiet. Tired of watching neighbors stolen by ICE, shot in the street by state thugs taking orders from a predator in the highest office. Tired of the prison industrial complex swallowing generations of Black and Brown bodies for profit while politicians sell tough on crime theater. Tired of watching friends drown in a generational mental health crisis while their rights get stripped away one bill at a time.
I am tired of the economic collapse the news keeps denying. People cannot make families. Cannot afford rent. Cannot afford to get sick. Everything is cheap and expensive at the same time. Homes are unaffordable; elders die in retirement homes their families bleed to pay for, if they are lucky. I knew too many who died in squalor.
Our kids cannot read, cannot do math, but teachers are supposed to perform miracles while getting harassed by parents who have been told their discomfort is someone else's fault.
And meanwhile, working class brothers, sisters, sons and daughters get shipped off to die or be broken in endless foreign wars. Children die there from violence and here from resources that never arrive. And Iâm constantly seeing videos of vets talking about the horror and how they fought for something greater. Was this it?
Iâm tired of wearing a mask and being told what I do to what is in appropriate. This is weaponized etiquette and people do it people they only truly care about their own self image. They are fine smothering you as you choke.
So if you want to get angry, get angry at the system that takes everything and gives nothing back. A system that cages, extracts, and discards. You will not find answers yelling slurs at me over a piece of plastic. You will not find answers in the comments section while the machine keeps grinding.
250 Years.
Iâm thinking of burning the US flag today for the 250th Bday
âCaptain Clark (the Terrible) and His Son Clarkâ
watched the backrooms movie, enjoyed it immensely, everyone had already remade that one goya painting so i went for this one :)
animated portrait commissions
Legendary Ford and Chrysler CEO Lee Iacocca, the man responsible for the Ford Mustang, Pinto, Chrysler K-Car, and the entire concept of the minivan, used twitter for 34 minutes on April 30, 2009 and decided it was too much for him.
YEAH FINE WHATEVER SYNONYM MAKES YOU HAPPIEST
Not enough people are talking about how Clark Backrooms canât make any decision by himself, not even to save his life. All his major life decisions, including the final one that determined his fate, were influenced by the women in his life. He started his own business to support his then-wife, who then had enough of his abusive behavior and divorced him. He discovered the Backrooms himself, but only decided to stay there because of the advice given to him via his therapistâs methods, to âfind the window withinâ. And at the dinner scene, when Mary finally breaks down whatâs wrong with him, Clarkâs decision to not change was given to him by Mary.
From what we can gather in the movie, this man has gone through life by going with the flow and letting others make decisions for him, and hating himself for it every time. He didnât want to run a furniture store, he didnât want to divorce, and he didnât want to change his ways. What he wanted was to chase his architect career, to not give up on that dream, and when he found the Backrooms, this desire warped with it. He wanted to stay and live in a facsimile of his old life, to become an architect of the Backrooms and continue to map it out.
But he needed someone to confirm that this was something he could do. He needed validation that this was the right choice for him, that he had always been right, because at the core of him he is a heavily insecure narcissist. The world and his ex-wife, he believed, was wrong not to conform to his worldview, but he never had the courage to speak against it. He impotently, begrudgingly accepted his circumstances and lashed out at every opportunity, and coped with his lack of power over his life thru drinking. The Backrooms became a way to assert the dominance he lacked in the real world.
Being hit by reality thru Maryâs final breakdown shook him up, and he regressed back to being an insecure and indecisive person. He knows what he wants but doesnât know how to verbalize it. Mary had to outright tell him he doesnât have to change. And being told what to do is such a relief for him, the burden of decision off his shoulders once again. But this time for something he wants.
I donât know, Iâm a bit all over the place here but he constantly wants to command power over his life and feels like he has none, when in reality he had every opportunity to change himself to improve his circumstances. The metaphor of being a failed architect yet clinging to the title. Heâs trying to get out of his own messes but refuses to accept any responsibility for how he got into them, and doesnât see why he should change.
Itâs a tragic tale that you can see all the time in the real world.
yes im addicted to attention and orgasms and food and shiny jewlery and 7$ Iced Lattes. does that really not sound like an awesome lifestyle to you