​You don’t need “Straight Pride” or “Heterosexual Pride” day, month week, or any time that I can think of. 
No one has been discriminated against because they were straight. 

No one has had their experiences and identity erased for being straight. 

No one has been the target of a massacre for being straight. 

Weddings, marriages, cakes—godsdamned cakes, pastry!—aren’t systematically denied to you for being straight. 

Straight people are not arbitrarily told they’re going to hell for existing

They are not sent to “pray away the straight” reprogramming torture camps. 

They are not disowned for being straight. 

Straight people are allowed to exist unbothered unnoticed, unharassed, unjudged—and people want a celebration for this unearned privilege

No. 

You do not get a present for living on the default setting

Have several seats. Listen. Learn. 

Learn and listen to your LGBTQIA friends and learn why we need ours, and why trying to take away from it is beyond shameful.

We celebrate who are gone. We celebrate who paved our way. We celebrate who lived to make inroads. 

That is why we are Proud. 

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On the new transantagonism

The recent influx of these so called bathroom bills is just the latest round of body policing and transantagonism that has been going on since the time of the colonizers. People don’t understand something, so instead of trying to understand it, they seek to violate, dehumanize, or rationalize away their own internal revulsion of it.

It happened before in every culture that embraces nonbinary identities as something to be acknowledged—but, slowly, we remember our heritage as our spirits wake. And it happens now as our sisthren, brethren, and sibthren come into their identities and walk their truths. At the same time, they—we—live lives like the other people, like those people who do so dislike being called what they are—the cisgender.

And it is with the cisgender that I take my current beef.

(Any comments to the effects of “not all cis” are subject to a metric buttload of side-eye. Only warning.)

It should be no one’s business what is in anyone’s trousers/kilt/skirt/long dashiki except their significant other and the owner of the parts, yet a mob of legislators wants to control where people can go to the bathroom or change clothes at the gym based on this. Were we to subject the cisgender populations to this treatment it would be called invasive harassment and overturned so quickly that your head would spin.

But since it’s “for their protection,” this is fine. The double standard is disgusting. It makes me furious. And more than a little sick.

It has also brought back the old chestnut that equates gender to genitalia, and I’m seeing more and more talk about how people would immediately drop a partner—even a long time partner—if their genitals didn’t match the perceived or presenting gender. No other justification is even given, just “I thought you had X” and “bye, Felicia.”

This revelation makes me sick. Just plain sick. And I don’t understand how this line of thinking could be interpreted as anything but transphobic. Putting my cards on the table as nonbinary gets the same reaction. And the reaction is always the same:

“Never mind. Thought you was a woman” and a fast walk away with much dusting of shoulders.

Determining partners on plumbing exclusively is fetishist at best, phobic bull at worst, and needs to stop.

People forget: we are whole persons, with minds and lives and interests and hobbies. Not just sets of genitalia for you to fixate on.

On Black Power

As a black person hearing people compare black power to the KKK, I have a few words on TV matter.

Here’s the thing. Invoking Black Pride is us punching up at CENTURIES of (usually white) boots on our necks and celebrating our achievements.

Invoking “White Pride” usually means some heavy  dangerous shit is going down and someone is going to get hurt, destroyed, or killed.

People who get nervous when the former comes up think we’re going to wake up in the morning and do the same shit they did to us—which is untrue. We don’t have a fucking death wish. They’re not going to listen to reason, not for a while.

So if someone is unreasonably paranoid when you voice your Black Pride… Watch your six. Don’t hide your pride by any means, but watch your damn six.

“We are all one race” Erases Struggle and I’m Sick of Hearing It.

image

«Unknown source. My Google Fu has failed me»

Not exactly a rant… Just tired.  Work with me here.

If you can honestly believe in a “We Are One Race” argument, you’re touched by the hand of privilege. (This is also a classic version of the “I don’t see color” argument that Black America is getting tired of hearing, but that’s another rant.)

I cannot. I am not. It is exhausting to argue with the people who really and truly believe this, because when there is no way to offer the perspective—despite trying—all you get is frustration.

If you argue that racial dividers are manmade and only really tribal markers made to divide us, I’ll agree with you—and I will remind you that one half of my family’s “tribe” was yanked from its home continent to be used as slaves and had its culture beaten out of it, while the other half has been nigh exterminated, both by the “division/tribe” called “White Man.” “We are all one race” in response to someone bringing up injustice only serves to silence. And if you haven’t noticed, people are very tired of having people use the privilege of being a step up in the form of a boot on the neck.

Yes, this is on my mind a lot. It’s a thing that I have in the back of my mind most days. Every time I get a “You don’t sound [this word is always in a stage whisper] Black.” When a new person gets promoted over me. When I get passed on a hire because “I don’t fit the aesthetic” and I meet the new hire, with perfect alabaster complexion.

In today’s world, the way it works, “We are all one race” only applies practically in a gaming group or a video game. It does not advance discussion of the problems that exist. It pushes them under the rug. I see where people are trying to get at with it, but it will never, ever work. Not in the world we live in.

It simply is not that simple.

100 Points to Rickman for lives forever touched

Where I was: On the train, trying to get a busybody out of my ears. It changed to trying to prove this was a hoax pretty fast—but, the source? NPR. Pretty reliable.

The plan was to entertain myself with the newsfeed during the commute. Instead I found out that we have lost Alan Rickman to—excuse me while I curse the sky—cancer.

I was introduced to his work through the irreverent Dogma, and seeing him in serious roles (MR. Potter…”) was something of an adjustment. The man’s range was incredible, from the almost despotic to serious that bordered on silly.

And now he’s gone.

I’ll say it again:

Fuck cancer.

A Day Late, A Buddha of Suburbia Short: Farewell, Mr. Bowie

Where I was: Sitting at an improvised chair revising a chapter. It was 1:30 in the morning, prefaced with a text message of simplest nature: “Are you up?”


Nothing remains
We could run
when the rain slows
(–from Sunday)

On his birthday, David Bowie put out an absoultely smashingly excellent album, titled unpronounceably with a graphic but translateable as Blackstar. He celebrated his sixty-ninth birthday in festive fashion, we heard. I excitedly planned on getting that album in hard copy—struggle season be damned.
That was on Friday.

 

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