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non-being

@femboywithreverb

Men stop hitting on me then changing yr mind as soon as I respond, I will suck you off you just have to stop shooting yrself in the foot

Like, I have a lot of capacity, but I don't have the emotional range to let our body recover at all which leads to this not mattering anyway. It's really annoying and I think one of the primary issues I've been having for the last year or so. I feel really stuck and don't know what to do.

One of the funny things about this url is that I don't really listen to post-punk anymore

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Why is “barely legal” pornography always about age? I think they should experiment with teetering on other types of illegality. For example, they could film just outside of a restricted military area.

pornography with an ownership and accounting structure so complicated the SEC and IRS can't decipher it

An IPO but the prospectus is in the form of an erotic dialog (like Plato's stuff, but with fucking), and it's not disclosing all that's legally required but counting on distracting the SEC through arousal

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porn where the characters start reciting the aacs encryption key but never quite manage to get to the end before being interrupted by moaning

So i was just putting my grindr profile back together, wrote that military, cops, and medical should all go die in my profile, and *immediately* this dude sends me a picture of him in his fucking army uniform and this message, and never messages back, like come on I thought you were a faggot??

“Calamus Books, like its namesake, went under after the world it loved-- the world it was published for-- drowned before its eyes. AIDS claimed The Faggots and Their Friends, along with the utopia in its pages and the corporeal world it had been written for. But as the book itself states, the faggots follow no leaders, only the dead. They yearn for connection to memories encoded in their bones. I stopped believing in coincidences some time ago, and it was certainly not a coincidence when a friend discovered this book for the first time, neglected at a rummage sale, and rushed home to share it with me. I could say the same about finding it again miraculously, years later, buried in a box in a warehouse, overlooked and waiting to be unearthed. This text reaches to us through time, a soft rustle on the wind.  A song so subtle that most would mistake it or miss it all together. But those who know to listen will hear this song of lament. We receive and transmit that whisper of another world so that our friends may, in turn, trace a thread through time.”

— introduction to the 2016 edition to the faggots and their friends in between revolutions