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KIROKAZE
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Origami Around
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One Nice Bug Per Day
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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Peter Solarz
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@radiantglare
Girl who has a crush on me: How was your trip?
Me: Good. Kinda tiring. Unrelated, btw did you know you're cute?
Girl who has a crush on me: *sends me a six minute long audio note*
She must like me a lot, I feel I got my own personal podcast.
A different girl sent me a crush request on Fetlife too. My charisma roles are hitting hard towards women recently for some reason. But where are the booooooys, I need MASCULINITY in my life.
13 days of peace and my sister chooses violence on the last day of my vacation. I'll have to summon the wisdom of all of Buddha's returns to get through this day.
She apologized. Still a bit of a bitch, but I love her. I hope she follows the recommendation she got from the ancestors and seeks psychiatric help.
13 days of peace and my sister chooses violence on the last day of my vacation. I'll have to summon the wisdom of all of Buddha's returns to get through this day.
All of this, for a drop of blood.
I have recently dropped below 200 pounds. This is my lowest weight since my university days, the early ones after I shed even more weight in my first post-breakup depression.
In 2018 when I ran 10km for a race, the one and only time I've done so (so far), I briefly weighed 199, but that didn't last more than a couple days. 200 was the uncrossable line my journey ended at.
Time chipped away at it and I eventually returned to 275ish, my original weight. I was happier than I've ever been though. High self esteem, lots of sexual partners and unknowingly diabetic.
It's been less than a year now since I started working to fix that. I dragged myself to the gym three times a week, cooked like a madman on death row and learned EVERYTHING there was to know about my condition.
The medication sure helped, the support of my partners was indispensable and my love of cooking came in handy, but boy did I work fucking hard at it. Still to this day there are days where I find myself stuck in bed with incurable nausea and praying to any listening god to help me understand the point of this.
I bled for this. Literally, every morning. A single drop serving as a reminder of all I must sacrifice to keep on living.
Last week it was my third body composition test, about 40 pounds down from my first one. About 20 pounds in and I did not see the needle move at all. I lost weight but my body contained just as much fat. This time though, I made it bleed back.
2.3% body fat down. 0.6% lean mass up. All of that, for a drop of blood. But it is blood nonetheless, and drop by drop it will become a river.
I promise myself. I will beat this. I will do better.
My sister is gonna give me an aneurism one of these days.
I find myself in need of the kind of psychological support only a journal can provide, but unfortunately my physical journal (aka Untitled Journal #18) isn't in my backpack today and I don't wanna wait until I'm back home, so my good old tumblr wi ll have to do.
I just got rejected from a job. I had an interview on Monday and spent most of Tuesday in a depressive haze. I thought it was because the interview made me realize how much I wanted the job, but I don't think that's true. I don't want any job, especially not the one I'm in right now.
I don't know if I wanna make games anymore, but it's the only thing I know how to do well enough to maintain my life style. Curse the day I bought my apartment and these golden shackles got locked for good.
I've got no other prospects right now. No way out. So I have no choice other than to lock in. Double down. Fuck being passionate, if I can't like what I'm doing then I'm gonna do it disliking it.
Fuck capitalism.
Idk what it is about traveling alone on airports that males me so horny in an abdl way. Tho it could also just be the fact I haven't nutted in over a week, which has to be some sort of record for me. And I'm still going strong until Wednesday, then all bets are off with a nice dose of mushrooms
It rained a lot yesterday. Perhaps the most it has ever rained since I moved here.
i feel like a lot of queer discourse is just confusion between 'identity as a description of your habits or history,' 'identity as an identitarian label,' and 'identity as a community to which you claim allegiance.'
for example, telling an average person "i am a lesbian" intelligibly communicates that you're a woman who's only into women (or perhaps in queer spaces, "non-cis-man into non-cis-men"). but you may choose to instead identify yourself with labels like 'sapphic,' 'dyke,' 'wlw' etc. to categorize yourself internally or in your bio etc. communities and subcultures are formed around these labels which might not necessarily align with either - you can be a 'sapphic' at a 'lesbian' event, or a trans guy whose community is lesbian even if he doesn't say he's a lesbian himself.
ultimately this kind of discourse is mostly just obtusely confusing one type of meaning for another, and treats queerness as a set of ingroup cliques that must be defended instead of a mechanism of collective liberation - it's just playing masturbatory language games instead of getting closer to something true and real.
The gay hockey boys show? Now that's some good fucking food, not that will byers crap. Give more dick sucking and less moping pls
Random Access Memory #7
I'm 9 and it's the end of the year. School is almost out so one of the moms organizes a little end of the year party for all the kids. Everyone's invited and almost everyone shows up, including the uber religious evangelical Christian girl.
She's weird in a Carrie kinda way. No one treats her particularly badly (that I was aware of), but she's skittish and keeps to herself most of the time.
Me and my best friends are nerdy and goofy and still love to play pretend. The other kids say they don't, but we don't care. We're having fun at the party and playing "Harry Potter", shooting spells at each other like we saw in the movie that just came out. Carrie is sorta hanging around on the outskirts, watching us play, sorta giggling at our fun and whatnot.
I lock eyes with her and seeing the fun she's having watching us I decide to try and engage her and get her to join us. I point my imaginary wand at her and say something along the lines of "there she is, Harry Potter's girlfriend!".
Oh boy.
She immediately bursts into intense inconsolable sobbing tears. Like hiccups and snot and no matter what any of us say she will not calm down. Inevitably the other kids show up, and then the adults.
This girl is crying like I killed her mother. The other kids are pissed at me and start chastizing me.
"She can't even wear jewelry because of her religion dude!"
I remember feeling indignant, how the fuck was I supposed to know calling her "Harry Potter's girlfriend" would be the most traumatizing insult humanly possible??? Her parents filled her poor little head with stories of fire and brimstone, of hell and damnation and neverending evil. I just wanted to play. And I know she did too. She was a fucking child and instead of running along with the other children this poor girl was hugging her knees and whimpering "I just want to go back to my little church" over and over again.
I hope she got out, I really do.
I don't remember the rest of the party. I think I might have called my mom to pick me up, I don't know.
Dear tumblr, just because I'm gay doesn't mean I give a fuck about stranger things. Sick of seeing that zio little shit pop up on my dashboard ffs
I WANNA QUIT MY JOB AAAAAAAAAAAAA
If my lonely middle/high school saw me now he'd be delighted by the amount of bitches (gender neutral, all genders want me) that are pining after me and horrified about the ones I end up rejecting. That little boy didn't know his true value, so the idea that I can pick and choose is not something he'd be willing to accept. Hell, sometimes I don't quite accept it. I'm happy tho. I feel healed from that particular trauma.
A couple years ago I stashed away my jeans and started wearing sweatpants to work. The pandemic years got me used to the comfort of loose fitting soft pants and made me uncaring towards my personal aesthetics in the office.
Jeans were too uncomfortable and the promise of the eventual weight loss prevented me from spending money on better fitting ones.
Today they still don't fit. No matter how much I tighten my belt they still drop down. Some intense health issues brought upon me the promised coveted weight loss, but instead of celebrating, I'm grieving.
I'm grieving the years of internal work it took for me to accept myself. I'm grieving how sexy I learned I was with my big belly, hairy chest and imposing masculinity. I'm grieving every time a well intentioned coworker tells me I look great.
I can never be that guy again. Despite the depression I have no desire to die.
So I guess I'm buying my diabetic ass some new pants.
Acknowledging the powerlessness of existing within a linear time frame unfortunately does nothing to relieve oneself of life's regrets.
What if I could always know the consequences of my choices?
