I miss you even though some days it was a kind of hell to watch you fade and know how angry you were, to let you be mad at me instead of your body. I think about it in every silent second, so my headphones live in my ears. You don't know what you have truly until it's gone. For so long I wanted to die, the waste of life that I was, then the jarring moment where my life wasn't important anymore, living it or losing it. Only keeping you alive, keeping you comfortable. Making sure a doctor doesn't just stare at you but listens. It changed me, and who I was. It changed what I care about, what I need from the world and you can never see that. I'm glad we told each other we still care before you left. You're nothing if not abrupt, but you're nothing but years of memories now. Painful memories I'll never forget and beautiful memories I fight to remember. I loved you and I miss you. There's nothing else after the people you love die, but to walk forward at a steady pace until the end of the line. I don't want to die anymore and I thank you for that.
you obsess over your identity in relation to others while your soul rots inside of you
This is good advice, but also why this picture?
It’s hard for two horses to be intimate when there’s an erupting volcano nearby. What’s not clicking
Don’t know the details, but honey, if they didn’t like you before, this interview isn’t going to help.
Fuck these ppl. I hope the locals burn her second house to the ground.
im soooooo sleepy nobody in the whole world understands
except them!!
I hope I am not just a friend to you all but also a potential source of food
Let us briefly survey the scene. Abusers everywhere are battering and molesting their partners and young relatives in the privacy of their properties with increased impunity, since it is more difficult than ever, physically and financially, to flee a home. As with AIDS in the 1980s, the itinerant houseless, the sexually deviant, and the unconventionally housed are once again the object of public suspicion. Meanwhile, a huge proportion of households in the United States are either crowded or under-inhabited, even empty. The pathways of love and care-labor (paid and unpaid) running between them, were they to be diagrammed, would resemble an impenetrable web.
But now, with urban movement so constrained, the already desperately limited legal frameworks of marital union and biogenetic “next of kin” (which are used to gatekeep hospital visits, triage the dead, determine custody, calculate life insurance, and allocate inheritance) are straining at the seams. There is no justice in these rules, which keep chosen kin from seeing one another, treat children like property, and shore up wealth (or poverty) within a class—which is not to say there is a quick fix.
Indeed, for several years now, together with a number of other trans-liberationist Marxists and mothers—notably Michelle O’Brien, Kate Doyle-Griffiths, Madeline Lane-McKinley, and Jules Joanne Gleeson—I have been doing my best to raise the profile again of that old dream “family abolition,” to clarify what it is and isn’t, and to restore the private (repro-normative or patriarchal) nuclear household to its proper place as the principal object of feminist and queer radical critique. And here, critique really means critique: recognition that the family as we know it is, simultaneously, an anti-queer factory for producing productive workers, rife with power asymmetries and violence, and the sole source of love, care, and protection against the brutalization of the police, the market, work, and racism, many of us have got.
this article is so good I fucking hate ‘the (nuclear) family’ concept so much
life tip: you can listen to a song on loop
but watch out