To Loki:
I almost typed your name as Loko. I guess it's partly true.
I know I've been hesitant to talk to you and I don't even know why.
I guess I'm afraid I won't hear anything back. I'm sure you're busy.
There's definitely enough going on, on earth for you to have your hands full.
I'm struggling with the chaos and the change. I keep trying to remind myself that this chaos won't be constant. That it's hopefully only four years and that it will end eventually.
But how many will have died or suffered?
How many of my trans, immigrant, black, indigenous siblings will die or suffer. How many will no longer exist because of their own doing?
Many did not survive last time.
This one is worse.
I don't want the US to be 1930s Germany but those in power don't care what we want. We tell and scream and unless we continuously, thousands of us, scream at them to stop, then they won't.
They have backed off on some trivial things about day to day life. But then they flop again and say they will do something even worse than they said before.
I am scared. I have certain privileges that are restricted by my being disabled and trans and queer and female assigned. But I will scream with the white citizen mouth that I have. However long that privilege lasts.
I know I probably sound like a broken record from the last time we talked in November. And it's partly true. But it's worse now. And I'm even more scared.
I know I also sound like a twelve year old writing in their diary to a god. That's also partway true. Sometimes it feels like I never grew up. They're still in there. Scared shitless and feeling alone.
I don't know what I expected you to do. I guess I just find comfort in your change, in your chaos, in your ability to turn a situation that is scary into an opportunity. One to possibly turn a page or swing the balance of history back to something brighter.
Anyway Loki, I think about you often. Maybe too much. Maybe just enough. And I'm still scared. But I know you hear me, and are listening.








