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Long time no write.I couldn't think of anything post-worthy. Sadly, I don't have the funk; I'm in a funk. Work ugliness. Pho in Everett again with ensuing excitement on the bus home after dark. No ladies. Circumflatulation. Re-bar had good choonz & eye candy last night - a Burner party for the Distrikt sound camp, courtesy of Kyle Douglas - but that made me miss ladies more.
OK, here's some good stuff: I hit the consignment shop just up the hill from me and completed next weekend's outfit for a date with the Tickler. I love that I can do that in my neighborhood. No spoilers about the outfit.
Also, I discovered that I appeared to have put one of my leather bras away after Burning Man without cleaning it, or at least without cleaning it adequately. Getting playa out of leather is next to impossible. And why bother with this now? Because there have been a few calls for people not to be too sexy at Pride because of the cheeyuldrun.
I think you know where I stand: fuck that shit. It's assimilationism, which is a fancy word for appeasement of the straights who would have us quietly, conveniently vanish. Stonewall was a riot, so I'm wearing leather, sassy leggings, and hopefully a new corset on Pride weekend. I'm not in your face with this queer stuff; I'm up your nose, pulling on the hairs until you yell for your mommy.
OK, maybe I'm not pulling your nose hairs - ew, mucus - but the central message of the queer rights movement must not be, "We're just like you." That's a transparent lie, and it won't liberate anybody; if it were true, there'd be no point to the movement. Our message must be, "We're not like you, and that's fine."
I'm sorry if I've said something like this before here, or if I'm preaching to the choir, but this is something I feel strongly about.
I guess I had more to write about than I thought.
OK, here's some good stuff: I hit the consignment shop just up the hill from me and completed next weekend's outfit for a date with the Tickler. I love that I can do that in my neighborhood. No spoilers about the outfit.
Also, I discovered that I appeared to have put one of my leather bras away after Burning Man without cleaning it, or at least without cleaning it adequately. Getting playa out of leather is next to impossible. And why bother with this now? Because there have been a few calls for people not to be too sexy at Pride because of the cheeyuldrun.
I think you know where I stand: fuck that shit. It's assimilationism, which is a fancy word for appeasement of the straights who would have us quietly, conveniently vanish. Stonewall was a riot, so I'm wearing leather, sassy leggings, and hopefully a new corset on Pride weekend. I'm not in your face with this queer stuff; I'm up your nose, pulling on the hairs until you yell for your mommy.
OK, maybe I'm not pulling your nose hairs - ew, mucus - but the central message of the queer rights movement must not be, "We're just like you." That's a transparent lie, and it won't liberate anybody; if it were true, there'd be no point to the movement. Our message must be, "We're not like you, and that's fine."
I'm sorry if I've said something like this before here, or if I'm preaching to the choir, but this is something I feel strongly about.
I guess I had more to write about than I thought.
