What I need you to know is that we inch closer to the inauguration of Donald (only call him Donald because he hates that), the next four years aren't going to be something we recognize as we survive yet another collective trauma in the United States. When it becomes too much for you to bare in all the bullshit that's going to come through with this new timeline that was totally avoidable in the first place, remember this:
However it unfolds, Donald will die of natural causes, and you deserve to be alive and see that day. Know that it's valid and okay between now and then to find comfort in this, that for any reason for you to experience life and keeping on going while the vitality continues to diminish from his Swiss-syphallus cheesed brain.
While new generations and incarnations of ghouls either await in the wings, the graveyard looks pretty nice in its current collection of losers like Ronald Reagan, George Wallace, Bull Connor, Rush Limbaugh, Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, and that one day Donald will have his turn.
May we dance atop the graves that ceased the ones we loved from dancing with us today and on that day when another bigot dies. May you, I, and all see that day together.
This right here is a bloggy blog where posts about current happenings interweave with gay, beautiful, "pin-up" men for whom need to lift me, carry me, and pin all this 5'6" bussy up to a wall.
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🚫—"gnatzis" and other fascist dumbasses who are always one of same (but not limited to), antivaxxers, eugenicists and their ableism, covid-deniers, anti-maskers, cops and their bootlicking lovers (looking at some of y’all’s “leather” blogs), and all Zionists, all racists, all homophobes, queerphobes, transphobes, etc. Also, spam profiles and empty or incomplete profiles.
Okay, now to the fun stuff!
🏳️⚧️—Non-Binary, Queer.
💖—Demisexual, nonmonogamous, and poly-minded here. My love is fiery, attentive, and intense. And I’m a good boyo too, hehehe.
♿️—Cane user, possibly an ambulatory wheelchair user soon. Themes of CPTSD/PTSD and Long Covid rage vents through here. It’s ruined my life, my body, my brain, my peace of mind. I am not able to do the things I once did. I just want to land somewhere safe and receive the healthcare I need to feel comfortable in my own body and heal.
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I'm so ready to feel sexually liberated. You have no idea, and only if you knew, how hard it is here to even exist. Nobody knows how to take the time because it's time that's taken from us.
This is form fatigued, disgusted by the dominant society that dictates our despair, judges our joy, legislates the legalities of our lives.
I have not come, make it your mission for this moment to fuck me into happiness, put that "moanin'" in "serotonin" here, please?
Today, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., would be celebrating his 97th Birthday, if only our government hadn't murdered him in 1968. There are elders out there, today, celebrating their 100th Birthday.
Never forget the trashing and whitewashing of his legacy; King is not some distant figure, he is a contemporary who would still be alive today. He, amongst the lives of countless other leaders, marchers, and protestors, were maimed and murdered at the price for the rights being eviscerated ever since such reforms were codified into law.
In our timeline, our 2026, the neo-Confederates won the power they are using against all of us now as they did in 1968 or in 1868. Strike. Keep disobeying and take it to the streets. Finish Reconstruction.
I have disdain and disgust for what the United States is because it can do better by first being accountable for its long list of injustices. Instead of "liberty and justice for all," it's "liberty BY justice TO all." Focus outward, ask "Shall We Overcome?"
Feeling some sense of an old, familiar agnst tonight. Stuck in that of a sticky fog, walking with my eyes shut, reaching for somewhere to land, to brace myself in the embrace of anothers' arms. The struggle is this yearning, this chronic restlessness in search to satisfy, to satiate this need for intimacy's nourishment. I cannot find resolve in what is akin to an arrested development of my sexual needs, marred by multiple instances of traumatic episodes since my late teens.
I need resolve, but it's an itch I cannot scratch out of fear of letting down my guard in such a hostile environment that is the American South. I need touch, love, belonging so that I no longer long, that I can simply be.
If you read this, do you see me? Do you see me, even where I feel invisibile? Invisible as a way to survive?
I had to get this one out so I may breathe. I need to be seen, be loved, be felt, be given the space to develop into what I need. One day, I will be ready for that one day when the fog lifts. I find my way, but I hope to be found and be seen, be validated, be safe.