you mouth

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So on Monday my brother asked me to teach him how to crochet so he can make himself a case for his switch. I fully expected him to get frustrated after 10 minutes and I’d have to finish it for him (which isn’t really a problem for me) but he not only persevered but told me he really enjoyed it!

Here’s his final project. I only helped him with the first few rows and sewing on the buttons/attachments. There were a few stitches that were a little bumpy but he did an overall outstanding job in my opinion!!

  • someone: do you want to talk about it?
  • me: maybe when i die
  • me: *chugs an entire bottle of vodka without breaking eye contact with them*
  • me: should be soon

I want to know what she thinks we’re going to do with her.

Because I’m going to do something worse.


sketch that i worked on more than i thought? i saw this and i just lloved it wow

ill probably be doing more screencaps because im just,, not motivated recently

I am Queer.

So, re that convo that keeps occurring about whether Queer is a slur and should not be used.

When I came out, everything was Gay and Lesbian. We all called ourselves Gay and  Lesbian because that was what had been yelled at us as youths. The symbol was the pink triangle. The pink triangle was used by hate groups and oppressors to identify us. 

We took it back. We took gay back.

During my time at Macalester college the student group name changed from Gay and Lesbian Alliance to LGBT Union. We listened, we learned, we included more people more explicitly. The symbols were the pink triangle and the AIDS ribbon. Two badges of death. And you would take them from our cold, dead, hands, motherfucker. Right? 

Right.

After I graduated, the rainbow flag became predominant. Made by AIDS activists, by the way. Still coming out of death. And Queer became the thing. It was more inclusive, and the T was moving from transsexual to transgender, and what about married Bi folks… (I mean, when I came out I knew people who called themselves trannies, because that was still a thing then.)

So, anyway, Queer. Queer was the word, like Gay, that got shouted from passing cars. 

whatareyouafuckingqueer. 

 Queer.

But when accused of  being a hated, vile, thing, you can take two paths. You can deny being the thing, and agree with your accuser that being this thing is AWFUL. The WORST. Of course you are not that thing.

Or. 

Or.

You can INCREASE BEING THE MOTHERFUCKING THING.

Am I a dyke? Really? WATCH me cut my hair and buy a leather jacket and wear silk ties, you sonuvabitch. Call me queer? Really? YOU CAN NOT HANDLE THE QUEER.

Some time after that, other acronyms and terms started being used. QUILTBAG, for instance. Ace/Aro, these are now in use. Lots of terms. But nearly all the things we call ourselves have been used as weapons against us. Nearly all the symbols we use for our resistance have origins in our deaths. 

Not just oppression. 

Death.

So when you say you want the term dyke, I will try to remember that. If you call yourself a flaming faggot, I will nod and move on. If I call myself queer and you flinch, I will try to respect that, but you don’t get to tell me to stop. Everybody who came out before you has taken the rocks and bottles and made them into shields and wind chimes. If I am unashamed of being queer, you do not get to give that word BACK to the fuckwits who made it a slur. 

Resistance, jubilation, and freedom go one way. We grow more expansive, more inclusive, louder, larger, brighter. We don’t have to all like each individual sequin, strobe light, or pixy stick at this party. But you sure as shit don’t lock ANYBODY out.

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♪♪ in the club with JohnJae😎

marinette is the kind of person who could accidentally drink a whole glass of dirty paint water and not notice