I don't want to be known for my writing or clothes.
I want to be known for my anger.
Writing just seems to be the form where examples are the simplest and situations the realest.
My frustration is the fuel which my characters face and just limiting the value of my writing to good prose is Kubrick cutting the end of A Clockwork Orange to make a shallow movie about violence.
My work is my anger and everyone's anger at ignorance at those who will limit anyone to the background.
The further work is not about love, love is the aid to get us through society which we've created, born into and have to struggle with every day.
And love is the fuel, the fuel to the anger which I have to bear for being queer and deviant.
And I am not a love story. I am not something to cry over. I am something which should make you realize if you are at a privileged position that you should make a change, if you are discriminated, that you are not alone, that we should all have this fuel and should never just be limited to love.
Because our anger is valid.
We became our anger, so that the love will not only nourish us now, but later when all is done and we are no longer deviant to a society who hates itself.
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I feel like I’ve gained a home. Alex forced me to try and find a job, but realized that I’m not there yet, I’m in mourning still, even if I’m home.
I try cooking and I end up burning everything, so that Alex always orders take away, he doesn’t eat, he just watches me and drinks someone’s blood by the end of the night. I think we get too many murders to be noticed, I honestly don’t know and Alex doesn’t care too much. He can move and that’s about it and his pub is pretty much… not noticed, but people still come here. I don’t know if the bodies come back alive, because they don’t look alive.
I ask him that one day and he says he can just drink some blood and that’s about it, sometimes he kills, so there goes my theory that there are some dead people, but usually they’re so drunk that he jokes that the wives don’t want them back. I don’t know why wouldn’t you go drinking with whomever you are registered with for a while.
what business do you have calling yourself queer if you’re cis and you exclusively...
Dear Puberty, aren’t you suppose to be making me look pretty?
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