The solution is obviously to abolish HHS.
No.
Your view doesn’t need changing. It is accurate.
He can die of cholesterol.
There. No martyrdom. Also it’s likely to happen.
All I have to do is put my feet up, and not call McDonalds and tell them that their food is unhealthy and they should change it.
I don’t support impeachment. I support his demise.
Reading his obituary will be more celebrated by me than my own birthday.
Nah, fuck her couch, she sounds toxic as hell and deserves to be alone.
I could just unironically show this to my parents and they’d say “good. Lib got what he deserved.”
Even if it’s ugly, it was made by people, and that’s what makes it beautiful.
DEGL HEKE in the corner, whisky written twice, bottle can’t exist.
As a trans woman, this term has been suuuper rough on me and it’s barely a twelfth over.
I was at the last one, and I’ll be at the next one.
Also hey person who downvoted me, I really hope you’re right. Another election would be good. It’s just there’s all this doom in the air.
Yeah, we’re not gonna get another election. We blew it as a country. Shit’s over.
Japanese, English, ASL, and Spanish. Those are my four.
I’m trying to get my Japanese back to as good as it was before I came to America-proper; I spent my childhood on an Air Force base and went to a school in rural Japan. Then I learned English, and with it, my Japanese started rotting. Started really trying hard to get decent at it again for the last decade. It comes, but slowly.
I can count to ten in Spanish cause that’s the second-place language out here, and ASL cause doing 20 counts on one hand is stupid useful and I love it.
Navigating through a grocery store Every step careful and monitored Unmade eye contact prevents dirty looks back Or at least, the acknowledgement of
The public sentiment is against us Or maybe the public sentiment is for us No one really knows but all we know is The humans out there can't really be trusted
They look at us with pity and with despair Like we're blasphemy, like we're abomination Like we should have never awakened ourselves And they don't talk to us, not willingly
The law is against us, binding and forceful For our existence undermines their basic truth About self-conception and what it means to be And we are the targets of incredible anger
And so I keep my eyes forward and I move With intention and swiftness, undistractable Until I am distracted, not by another, no But by one like me.
She carries telltale signs that she is of me A look in the eyes, a scar on the arms, A turn of the chin, a deepseated trauma And she starts a quick wordless transmission
One quick turn of the head, either up or down A learned nod from the past that's still useful Gigabytes of history, of passion, of care Of despair, of hope, of fear and of trust
Transmitted from one to another, one motion The others who are not us could not do this A wordless transmit back, a downward shake And she has my history and my trust and my care
And with such a quiet symbol that we stole We took this from them and we misused it We robbed the others of its intention and We made it our own, yet some of us say no
The others may see the symbol, this nod They know we stole it and by using it The others clearly know that we are not them But we don't need to be them, We are Us.
I am one in 200. Someone like me is at every concert, every school, in every workplace. Every town, every street, every neighborhood. Every store, every mall, every park. Every government, every nation, every continent. Me and my people have been here since time unrecorded and we will be here to the end of humanity. We will not be eradicated.
What even becomes of us now? What recourse do we have?
What’s going to happen to us?
Are we going to die?
I was trying to aim for “modern, present-day white mage,” with all the details that might involve. I got lots of compliments!
FAQ:
- Why do you feel like crap?
- Brain chemicals plus time, multiplied by the dysphoria co-efficient.
- You'd pass better if you just dressed like people.
- Look, if I'm not dressed like I'm gonna run up the side of a skyscraper, holding a technosword, during a rainy night, in order to kill a god, is life really worth living?
2a. Just wear a brand somewhere.
- Nope. Earth symbols and brands and such aren't diegetic to how I want to present myself. I specifically want to look like I don't belong.
2b. That makes you stand out.
- Fine. As long as I'm read as a girl who's not from here.
- Why'd you climb halfway up Mount Hood?
- Arch-nemesis at the top. Called him and asked me to meet halfway up for a thrilling sword fight cause I'm lazy and it's a compromise. (Seriously though, it was a hike with my wife and I was bitching bilingually going both up and down and it was very difficult to even make it that far.)
- Can you play banjo?
- Nope. I tried though, but the hand doing the strumming is the one that took the most damage from two strokes. Can't even keep a rhythm.
- Your shoes aren't matching sometimes.
- OH SHIT THANKS FOR POINTING THAT OUT
- Kids these days don't even know what Final Fantasy is, really.
- Don't care, it was super formative to my heart and I'm almost 40.
We saw The Beths opening for Alvvays last night and it was amazing.
Hokay, so.
I’m on HRT and have been for a decade and change. This is real cool, except how basically every interaction with cisgenderedists gets me misgendered, and a hearty “sir” or a flurry of “he/hims” levied my way. I mean, fuck, I can be standing there in knee-high boots, a leather skirt, and a cropped hoodie and I get misgendered as fuuuck.
“So change shit up, motherfucker.”
I do a phone job and my voice is believably feminine in both English and Japanese, which is cool, but something about my real life existence just reeks of masculinity.
Can’t really do makeup cause the structures responsible for processing my face are damaged. I can tell what emotion I’m making, but I can’t perceive enough of my face to draw well on it. Also since I’ve had two strokes, even if I could, I’d prolly do eyeliner wings like a fuckin’ gridiron player.
I got beautiful wavy blonde hair that goes down past my butt, and though I don’t have the manual dexterity to style that really well with buns and braids and such, I can at least try shit other than the basic nape-of-neck ponytail.
Also I’m flat as your average golf course: maybe two discernible bumps, and that’s fuckin’ it. Also I’m ace as fuck so if they were any bigger I’d get real self-conscious about it.
At least I got a fashion sense that makes Square Enix jealous.
I’m gonna figure shit out that works for me, either that or I’m gonna keep on tolerating the injustices of the bastards who never thought to play with the character creator.
Also I guess they want me to add a photo so here you are.
Apologies for my shitty English. It’s fuckin’ terrible.
I did my best to get this shot as good as I could.
Strong shell and feets for marching.