relieved to be at a point in my radicalism where i don't have to choose between the people i love and the revolution, because the people i love ARE the revolution
the thing about getting beat up by a bunch of cops is that afterwards, nothing else gets close to touching you in a way that matters (even if you want it to)
today i saw a bird trying to wake it's dead friend up
(i feel safest around other criminals) the camaraderie of an open secret, the mutual acknowledgement of risk, the relief of rebellion, the comfort of community, the normalcy of anecdote, the network of triumph, the sharp joy of escape, the rawness of release, the cyclical humor of operational security, how i'm not the only one in the room who thinks these lights look too much like sirens, how i'm not the only one in the room who knows what those lights look like from the inside
she said "i feel like i'm lying to you" (about something she does with him) and then she said "i feel like i'm lying to him" (about something she does with me)
whenever i think about the allegory of the long spoons (or the long chopsticks) i think about mutual aid - if you freely share your resources with others, then others will just as freely share their resources with you. i have been in situations where people have given me money, food, a place to crash, and literally bailing me out of jail, and i truly believe that's not because i particularly deserve special treatment or anything, but because when i have resources, i make an effort to distribute them amongst my loved ones and beyond. one could think of it as karma, doing to others as you would have them do to you, and those may be correct in a sense, but to me, as an anti-capitalist anarchist non-denominational leftist, it feels more like intentional community building, and benefitting from the abundance we have when we pool our resources. no one has to be without shelter or nourishment, we have all the skills we need to create connections that allow redistribution amongst our wider networks. if we keep our resources to ourselves, we end up hurting ourselves as well as others, in denying us all of an opportunity to not just survive but thrive. so when you feed others, you in turn are fed. das mutual aid bayybeee
i realized recently that i've been teaching myself to cook the same way i've been teaching myself how to code (difficult to explain rn but i feel like the same things are lighting up in my brain whenever i do each of them)
some adjectives to describe me:
working on my end game, tough convos, intentional trinkets, unfettered spit, a new word to describe myself, a terrible sinking feeling, finally a good trip (in every sense), locking in habits, cooking for myself and others, waiting around, cat-naps in the warm breeze, boots getting grosser, undelivered gifts, sweating despite texture, linear time mishaps, some new skills, making lists just to cross things off, it's getting easier to cum, it's getting harder to leave
the hurt i feel is from how unprepared i was and how my vulnerability in that unpreparedness felt under-appreciated and my embarrassment at being unable to say what i need or to ask for what i want and my longing for an experience that rivals my previous ones and my frustration at myself for fumbling a chance. my anxiety is in knowing how replaceable my body is. i am having a hard time reconciling with my body's mutilator. g-d is a surgeon and her knife made me hate the mirror even more. i am objectively horrifying. i startle even myself. to lose being told that i am beautiful hurts so much more than it did when i actually was. shuffle this city until i'm just another joker in your hands. i want what doesn't want me. i can't have what i don't ask for. i can't ask for it if i don't know what i want.