aneldritchbeing

[aneldritchbeing]

Mods? Take him to the stump of his favorite childhood tree.

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Made the worst brownies ever created just now

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Pete Buttigieg is just a faggot.

It's very important to me that younger queers understand this: to the people who you're trying to be more respectable for when you say things like neopronouns set the trans movement back or you're why the cishets don't accept us or including [aces/bi people with the 'wrong kind' of partners/non-binary people/kinksters/non-passing trans ppl/furries/polyam people] just hurts us, can't you wait until we get all our rights before we talk about some of yours? -- to those people? Pete Buttigieg is just a fag.

On Sunday at Pride Northwest, some kids -- late teens, early 20s -- asked what our button I survived Reagan for this? meant. All of the queer adults at the tables making up our ad hoc counter looked at each other and sighed a little. Emet and another adult started to explain the way that the Reagan Administration handled -- or didn't handle -- the beginning of the AIDS crisis. How many people died. How much we were ignored. The Ashes Action. The Time Magazine article which explicitly blamed bisexual men for passing the pandemic to the cishet community, playing on all the worst stereotypical bullshit. The way that even when the CDC started paying attention, they were so focused on gay men that they ignored AIDS in the lesbian community, leading to the "women don't get AIDS, they just die from it" poster. And so on.

I finished counting out change and passed the last Bear Pride raised fist pin over to a bear a little older than me, then turned my head and interjected, "they didn't care until it started infecting more than just the fags." I turned my head back and handed him his change. He laughed bitterly and said, "remember when they called it 'gay cancer?'"

That what I need you to understand. The people for whom you are folding yourself into smaller and smaller boxes will never see you as anything but a freak. A queer. A dyke. A tranny. A fag.

Never.

These are people who will stand by and let you wither away and die alone, gasping for breath in a cinderblock room, and not even claim your ashes, and they will say you deserve it, because of your lifestyle. If they speak of you at all it will be by the wrong name, with the pictures you hate the most. They will curse at your lover, throw him out of the home you shared, and steal the gift you gave last Christmas to throw it in the trash just so he can't have it and they'll say Jesus loves you! while they do it. They'll feel good and righteous and blessed and holy and pure for doing it.

And for them, you spit in the eye of your sister. For them, you disavow your sibling. For their sake, you trim away bits of your heart and lace yourself up tight. Never too loud. Never too queer. Never inconvenient or embarrassing, never asking for too much.

Pete Buttigieg is what happens when your Boomer dad turns out gay. Middle America. Parents still married. Suburban-sprouted. Valedictorian. Harvard-educated. Rhodes Scholarship. Military service. More power to him: I hope he and Chasten are very happy together. Genuinely, I do.

You couldn't create a more respectable gay if you grew one in a lab run by concerned voter focus groups.

But Pete Buttigieg? Is just a fag.

That's the part you don't seem to get: when they abandoned us, they abandoned all of us. Rock Hudson was a beloved movie star and even personally friendly with that horrid pair of ambitious jackals. Nancy Reagan refused to help him get into the only place in the world that could treat him at the time, and he died.

It was 1985, 4 years after the CDC first released papers on what would eventually become known as HIV/AIDS and 7 years after the first known death from an infection from HIV-2. Reagan hadn't even said the word AIDS by the time Hudson died.

Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, and so am I. Unless I'm a dyke, which seems to depend on who's yelling what from which window and what day it is.

Yes, there will be people who genuinely love and accept you. Those people are worth all the frustration of the rest, thankfully, and they're the ones who love you in a pup mask or a leather harness and a neon jock like the ones sold by the men up the row from us last weekend. They're the ones who laugh out loud when you tell them you hid the word "dyke" in your company name, the ones who love you in all your messiness and uncertainty and the way you don't fit into neat boxes all scrubbed up and clean.

Most cishets, though... well, they don't actively mean you specifically any harm, at least not when they have to look at you. Not when you're right there in front of them. Maybe they'll be okay with you, personally, especially if you're the kind of gay who makes a good rhetorical device, and as long as you remain a good rhetorical device.

They need people to know that they don't have a problem with the gays, after all, and there you are, being all convenient. You make a nice token, and as long as you do, well. You're useful.

But they call you by your deadname when you're not around, and they put the wrong pronouns in your medical record even though they met you years after you came out, and they won't put themselves out to save you. Not one little bit.

I didn't want to be here again. The year I graduated from high school was the worst year of the AIDS crisis. The world into which I became an adult was a world in which an advisor and friend to Reagan, William F. Buckley, openly advocated for forcibly tattooing the HIV status of HIV+ gay men on their buttocks (and IV drug users on their forearms), and in which my father not only told me that when I was 14 or so, but when was told me that he'd advocated for that tattoo being "over their assholes."

(Buckley wrote that in '86, but he doubled down on it in 2005.

Fucker.)

But yeah. I didn't want to be here again. I wanted my daughter to inherit a better world. I wanted Obergefell and Lawrence v. Texas and Hope & Change to really mean something. I work for it, today and all days. I haven't given up.

I need you to know that, too. This isn't a white flag. I'm not surrendering. This isn't over. To misquote Henry Rollins, this is what Marsha and Sylvia and Stormé and Leslie and Brenda and Auntie Sugar trained us for. This is punk rock time.

But I need you to understand that if Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, if that human embodiment of a Wonder Bread, mayo and Oscar Meyer bologna sandwich is not respectable enough for them -- and he's not -- then the rest of us have absolutely no hope of measuring up. Not even if we trim away every colorful, beautiful piece of our community, not even if the Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence vanish into the ether, not even if we sacrifice the five elements of vogue on the altar of white supremacist cishet middle-class conformity: we can't trim ourselves down to something they'll accept.

The only other option is radical acceptance of our queer selves. The only other option is solidarity. The only other option is for fats and femme queens and drags and kinksters and queers and zine writers and sex workers and furries and addicts and kids and the ones who can look us in the eye and see all of us to say we're here, we're queer, get used to it just the way we did 30 years ago. It's revolutionary, complete and total acceptance of our entire community, not just the ones the cishets can pretend to be comfortable with as long as we don't challenge them too much, or it's conceding the shoreline inch by inch to the rising waters of fascism until we've got nowhere left to stand and some of us start drowning.

That's it. Either it's all of us or it's none of us, because if we leave the answer up to the Reagans of the world and all the people who enabled him in the name of lower taxes and Democrats who wring their hands, weeping oh I don't agree with it but we'll lose the election if we fight it right now, the answer is none of us.

The brunch gays can come, too, I guess.

[aneldritchbeing]

Reblog if you didn’t write My Immortal

We’re going to find the author by process of elimination.

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[aneldritchbeing]

My grandmother Naifa al-Sawada was born in June 1932. A beautiful girl with blue eyes, she was the only daughter to her parents. They were originally from Gaza but moved to nearby Bir al-Saba, where Naifa’s father Rizq worked as a merchant. She did well at school and in 1947 obtained the necessary certificate from the British – then the rulers of Palestine – to attend university. She did not do so, however. Her father was fearful about what could happen to her at a time when war in Palestine appeared imminent. At a young age, she married my grandfather Salman al-Nawaty and went to live in Gaza. Between 1947 and 1949, Zionist forces expelled approximately 800,000 Palestinians from their homes. Among those directly affected by the Nakba – Arabic for catastrophe – were Naifa’s own parents, who fled their home in Bir al-Saba for Gaza. Having witnessed the Nakba, Naifa encouraged her own children to defend Palestine. Naifa gave birth to four girls and six boys.Like so many mothers in Gaza, she experienced great loss. Her son Moataz went missing while traveling to Jerusalem in 1982. It is still not known what happened to him. Another son Moheeb, a journalist, left Palestine for Norway in 2007. Three years later he traveled to Syria. In January 2011, he went missing. The Syrian authorities subsequently confirmed to the Norwegian diplomatic service that he was imprisoned. But he has not been allowed to contact his family.We do not know his current whereabouts or even if he is alive or dead. My grandmother witnessed the first intifada from 1987 and 1993. On the streets around her, youngsters with stones and slingshots rose up against armed Israeli soldiers in tanks and military jeeps. During that time, her son Moheeb – the aforementioned journalist – was held for more than a year without charge or trial. That infamous practice is called administrative detention. My grandmother lived close to al-Shifa, Gaza’s largest hospital. She took great care of arranging everything in her home with her delicate hands. She used those same hands to comb her hair into braids. She memorized the Quran and took great interest in the education of her children and grandchildren. On 21 March this year, Israeli troops broke into my grandmother’s home. The soldiers displayed immense brutality. They ordered the women in our family to evacuate on foot and arrested the men. They would not allow the women to take my grandmother, who had Alzheimer’s disease, with them. The soldiers claimed that my grandmother would be safe. That was a lie. The invasion of my grandmother’s house took place amid Israel’s siege on al-Shifa hospital. My grandmother’s house was destroyed during that siege and she was killed. Her remains were found days after the Israeli troops eventually withdrew from the hospital earlier this month. She was killed – alone – in the same house where she had lived since 1955. We do not know if she suffered or if she died quickly. We do know that she was older than Israel’s merciless occupation.

[aneldritchbeing]

Me: Okay guys remember that it’s important in improv to establish your characters at the beginning of the scene.

Students: ok

Student 1: Hello. I am the president of the United States.

Student 2: Hello madame president. I’m William Shakespeare and I’m here to assassinate you.

[aneldritchbeing]

interesting fact i have titanium in my spine

[aneldritchbeing]

It should be a bigger scandal that J.K. Rowling is threatening to sue small accounts for accurately calling her a Holocaust denier. So glad the Streisand effect exists. Now we can all rebuke her reprehensible views more than ever.

[aneldritchbeing]

started watching mlp for the first time i dont know why i havent ,anyway

[aneldritchbeing]

they need to invent a writing that is easy. and fast also

[aneldritchbeing]

i need “Happier than a necromancer in a natural history museum” to become a known phrase immediately

[aneldritchbeing]

I... dont even know what to call it... a kittypillar? a Catercat? Cursed? Something I regret making?

[aneldritchbeing]

an incomplete collection of tweets i consider to be short poems

[aneldritchbeing]

dude your pussy just skittered away. like a insect

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