In Defense of the Text Message Breakup

Oh no you didn’t with that title. That’s what you’re saying, I can feel you thinking it. I see those fists gurl, hol up real quick, lemme finish.

So after I read this: http://www.buzzfeed.com/ryanhatesthis/this-is-one-of-the-most-brutal-responses-to-a-break-up-text

I got to thinking. And while this chick clearly has a whole nother kit and kaboodle of shit going on. I thought to myself, is there really a Correct Way to end things?

When person A breaks up with person B chances are that no matter how person A does the deed person B is not going to be happy. Why? Because no one fucking likes being broken up with. No one is trying to deal with heartbreak. No one is trying to have to start dating again after they’ve been in a highly comfortable relationship. No one is trying to have to deal with the comments and opinions from friends when they have to break the news – that awkward silence that follows their questioning of where so and so is. Being single is well and grand but when someone cunt punts (or dick punts) your heart chances are you’re going to be a wee bit resentful towards love.

Cool, so much like queer peoples inevitable campaigning and bitching about the proper use of the Oxford Comma (shut.up.already) break ups are gonna happen.

Much like how there is no proper way to murder someone there is no right or wrong way to break up. Like yes I suppose there is a scale of douchebaggery to consider but really no matter if you are calling someone on the phone or taking them out to their Final Supper you are still fucking telling them that their love ain’t the kind of love that makes your heart piece beat. And no matter how you fucking go about it, you’re hurting someone else. Period.

Now, I am not saying that it is totally ok to end a serious relationship in emoji. But let us assess this, who is trying to have a “this isn’t working” talk in public? On the same note, who is trying to be in someone’s home, sitting in their space being like…well this has been a blast but this shall be the last time your couch touches my ass.

I send a lot of emails throughout the day, and a countless number of texts. I’ve had some pretty serious conversations spanning multiple topics via my keypad. And you know what? It doesn’t bother me one bit. I prefer it actually. The solid thing though that one does miss via text is tone. Telling a girl I love her for the first time in a text message might be a bit flat. Or taken a hell of a lot less seriously. But break ups aren’t usually a time for compassion. Yeah people may end things and say shit like I will always love you, this is my shit not yours, you’re amazing, I hope you find happiness, you can do better than me anyway, YADA YADA YADA but the period at the end of their rant is BUT DIS AINT WORKING.

Also no one is trying I get that ominous “we need to talk” text. And then have to anticipate the shit storm that is to come. I’m not justifying text message breakups but I also don’t think that they’re the worst thing in the world.

Should the last words you have to say to your soon to be ex, be via text? I’m not sure. Because, I don’t know your relationship. But I do know, either way, no one enjoys being broken up with. It is going to suck any way. You can’t exactly be a gentlemen in a breakup, no matter how “nice” you end things the person on the receiving end is going to have to deal with the emotions that come with feeling that they aren’t good enough. Even if that feeling only lasts for a minute, they will feel it, and really who ever wants that?

Falling Into Fire.

I’m not scared of much
Except that I’m terrified of everything
When I was young
I would hold my hand over my heart and count out each breath as I fell asleep
Sometimes late at night when I am up to my usual restlessness I find my hand creep
It lays itself on my heart and in my manic head
I try not to panic

I feel more myself in the Fall
Crunch on leaves that I can feel up to my aching knees
Joints angry at the weather
The urge for fire is ever present
For a lit cigarette
A bonfire
Smoke that will linger
That will fly up into black skies into leaves the color of fire
Fall breathes fire

Her mouth never opens much more than slightly
But her arms and her eyes
They are so alive
Dancing while talking
Dancing like the fire that burns itself into all of my thoughts
She is
She is fire and she sways and prances
She captivates and romances
Words
Her words they come out with the pressure of a fire hose
A contradiction in the most alluring fashion
Her body is fire
Her words pressure
Fire
Pressure
And in this moment my brain is soothed
My panic that manic that mania that engulfs me

It’s silent

Stretch my arms out
And spin
Like a top that doesn’t know it can stop
Like the hands of clock
Like a skydiver falling down to earth
And pretending that the hard ground beneath them is nothing more than a myth
Fall instead into bed
Feel the warmth of her embers
She is charcoal after the cookout
Warm and softly crackling

Old antique stores sell keys by the dozen
Keys that have lost their owners and locks long ago
Keys that kept secrets
Keys that opened the doors to childhood homes
Keys that locked sheds that held the tools to grow gardens
Keys that lovers slipped to each other
Starting new life with one another
I am the key that got left behind
And you are the lock that has rusted with time

Let me be yours
Let’s make up for lost time
Fall

Beyonce Day Say Hai

You GUYZZZZZ today is a day that makes all other days look like Monday mornings. TODAY IS BEYONCE DAY. Which like I am really unsure as to why my phone did not alert me as I woke up this morning (yet for weather alerts you go fucking bat shit LEARN WHAT I CARE ABOOUT) anyway, someone just bestowed me with the knowledge of what today Tuesday October the mother fucking 15th is.

HAPPY DAY GURRRLLL

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Don’t just say it once:

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But seriously world cool your fucking jets:

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Because seriously Beyonce and that man she married, maybe you’ve heard of him: Jay – Z. Basically own the universe.
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I mean there really is no question as to why. Rihanna comes close you say?
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I mean who else gets you all the ready to go out?
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WHO ELSE?!?
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Who else gives you better send offs?
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Beyonce is basically the voice that voices all the words that are worth musical backgrounds. But honestly Beyonce needs no music. Because. BECAUSE.

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Also.
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AND LET US NOT EVEN FORGET THE GIFT THAT IS DESTINYS CHILD

Though a queens gotta do what a QUEENS gotta do.
RIP you guys. RIP.
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As far as I’m concerned every day the world turns is Beyonce day. Because Beyonce is obviously the one making it do so.
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A Closet is No Place for a Queen or a King

On September 23rd 1989 two young parents took home a baby from Texas. Everything was new. And every day would prove to be a challenge. See even though much has changed in our country, when two white Jews adopt a black baby, people will voice their opinions. And they will voice them loudly. Looking back 24 years later, I see how my adoption provided me with the tools to deal with the homophobia and transphobia I would come to face.

On this day, today, a day of celebration for LGBTQ folks and their allies October 11th 2013; this national day of coming out I feel comfort and pride in coming out again.That baby that came home from Texas, that baby girl named Nina, would one day grow up to be a trans* individual named Ryley.

Ryley like Nina would have to hear much of the same things. The same insults, the same ignorance. The same stares of questioning, the whispers of judgement and sometimes even hate. But Ryley much like Nina refuses to let society leave them with a hateful internal dialougue. There will always be allies. For every jackass that mutters anything at you, there is another beautiful stranger that will stand up for you. Who when you least expect them to, will knock you off your feet with their acceptance.

My past is…my past is like the rings of a tree. It will stay with me forever, carved into my trunk of a body. And on those rings lay the friends who have never let me go. The ex’s who have become friends. The friends who have become family.

That is what I love the most about the gay community. The family. What happens when you lose your parents? When you lose the life you’ve always known? Because you were born choosing to love the hard way. Hard because society hasn’t caught up yet. Right because, love is never wrong. It can hurt, it can knock you down, but love should never be pushed back because someone else tells you that who you are choosing to love is wrong. You are the only one who can decide who you want to give your heart to, and hopefully that person wants to give theirs back to you. Two hearts. Two bodies. Multiple limbs. Tied up and tangled together.

You can gain a family. You can grow one. You can choose these amazing beautiful people who will get you. That is beauty. That is love. That is so many absolutely gorgeous things. You will find love. You will find it in unexpected places. You will find solidarity just as often as you will find hate. Heads or tails.

No matter how hard life gets. No matter how alone or empty you may feel. Remember that every summer a hundred PRIDE parades happen. Every night a drag queen takes the stage, and not always in a big city. Sometimes in a dive bar, in a town just like your hometown. Hell it might be your hometown. Every day people go to work at LGBT centers, and non profits, to fight for your rights and protect you. The love is there. The fight is there. The mainstream is just that, it will always be in your face because it demands all of the attention. That is not your mainstream. You are above that and you are more than that. It might be harder to see those in the trenches but they are there. And they are fighting just as hard.

I don’t really live with regret, but the one thing I do wish is that I could have come out to my mom. She died before I had the chance to tell her who I was. I wish that I could tell her about all of the girls I’ve loved. About the ones who have broken my heart; the ones whose hearts I’ve broken. I wish that at all the Pride’s I’ve marched in, she was marching alongside me. In theory she always has. Her picture has been in my pocket for years. Every journey I take she takes with me. I never got to tell her that I wasn’t actually interested in the boys I pretended to like in middle school. I don’t know much about heaven, I don’t know if it exists, or if when we die we linger. But my mom always told me that she believed that after death we never really leave. She promised me when I was a kid, when I would have panic attacks based on what felt like an inconsolable fear; the fear of death, of being left alone. She would hold me and she would say: Your life will feel like forever, and I will be here forever, and after forever is over, another forever will start. She told me that she would never leave. And even though she is physically not here. She is here. Inside of me. And mom, I’m ok. And gay. And a million other things. Maybe one day, in some way, we can talk about it.

Whenever I move I do so with plastic bags. Boxes are too hard to come by, and too hard to maneuver. And when you’re done with them they just become excess, they become trash, they take up spaces even when they aren’t filled with your belongings. Boxes have no place in my life. For too long I tried to place myself in box after box. Never really feeling like one fit. If a label suits you, when you find one that suits you: embrace it. But don’t spend your life searching for one. Nothing is concrete. Nothing. What inspires you one day will bore you the next. Exhaust yourself with your passions, in them your will find your labels, who you are.

Exercise your voice often and freely.
Come out.

Society We Need to Talk.

Has the world lost its mind? Is that what’s happened? I mean clearly it has. We don’t even technically have a government right now. The National Weather Center is naming hurricanes after characters from Mean Girls. And it’s October which means everyone is going bat shit for pumpkin everything. Which like ok I get it, except I don’t because in actual true fact pumpkin lattes are fucking disgusting.
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Oh also the internet has again proven that people actually don’t know what the fuck is up. What am I talking about? I am talking about sex and gender and how people can not seem to be able to see women as anything more than sluts, hoe’s, or confused fragile bunny rabbits who obviously can not own their sexuality because their lady uteruses get in the way. And AND somehow can confess to being raped as an 8 year old and the media calls them an asshat.

Who am I talking about? Miley Cyrus and Chris Brown.

As we all know by now Sinead O’Connor ever so nicely came out the self righteous condo for celebrities no one gives a fuck about unless it’s time for a VH1 Most Shocking countdown. To grace us with how she feels about Miley Cyrus. To which. Really Sinead, shut up. Actually all of you shut up. Look I am in no way saying that every little thing Miley does is justified. But she is growing up, and she is doing so (as she has always done) in the public eye. Let us for a second imagine that our formative years were discussed daily all over the internet and on t.v. IMAGINE that someone wrote you a fucking letter online that was seen by millions stating where you are failing and why you need to fix your life. That would be a whole fucking kit and kaboodle of fun for you wouldn’t it?

Now the VMA’s as a whole were a shit show of horrible. So the fact that we’re even still talking about something that was such a piece of crap is beyond me BUT ANYWAY has everyone just up and forgotten Robin Thicke’s grown married man self gyrating INTO Miley? How can we 1. Expect her to make “good” decisions when the adults around her are not. 2. WHY THE FUCK ARE WE EXCUSING HIM? All I could hear in my head while she was dancing with him was “I know you want it.” As in the line from his song Blurred Lines, which since its debut has undergone a shit ton of scrutiny from people who think with their thinking caps about how maybe that song kind of sounds like you know the words a sexual predator may say to a victim. But alas LET THE MUSIC PLAY. And yes it is catchy, yes I will readily admit that, but you sit and listen to those lyrics, maybe after an episode of Law and Order SVU and you tell me – you try and tell me that you don’t feel a little uncomfortable.

A few months ago when Danny Brown got his dick sucked on stage while performing, other men folk tweeted their congrats at him. Because some random person invading your space and getting on your person IS A HIGH FIVE WORTHY MOMENT. Danny’s girlfriend Kitty Pryde took to the internet to question societies usual fuck fuckery. Asking how on Earth people could think that something as traumatizing as being sexually assaulted was worthy of a handshake? If a woman attacks a man it isn’t actually an attack. It’s ok. Because. WHAT? How are we still this fucking moronically confused?

When anyone touches anyone else in a sexual manner with a lack of said person’s consent. It is assault. No matter the fucking gender.

Chris Brown did an interview last week in which he stated that he lost his virginity when he was 8 to a teenage girl. Note to everyone: THAT IS NOT LOSING YOUR VIRGINITY. IT IS BEING RAPED. Brown has clearly chosen to claim the situation as losing his virginity, because well it could be for a multitude of reasons. But no matter what those reasons are. He was raped. But in our society, men don’t get raped. Right? Chris Brown, is not going to admit to the public that he was raped, because he would then not be seen as a Don Juan, he would be a victim, and men can’t be victims. Which is why we are righting letters to Miley Cyrus and calling Chris Brown a fucking asshole for bragging about having sex when he was 8.

I just. I can’t.

We can not empower ourselves, and expect younger generations to empower THEMSELVES if we keep playing by these utterly stupid misogynistic gender roles. A victim does not come in any shape, shade, gender, or size. And neither does a predator or attacker.
It doesn’t make you any less of a person if you are a victim NO MATTER WHAT YOUR GENDER IS. We need to shake ourselves of these gender restrictions.

A woman can be as sexy as she feels. Can wear the shortest skirts. The most see through of tops. And while you can call it bad fashion YOU PROBABLY NEED TO SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT CALLING HER A SLUT. It does not open the door for her to be attacked verbally or physically.

No matter how strong you are, how much of a quote on quote MAN someone is, it does not mean that in their past or their right now that they haven’t been assaulted. And if that have it has nothing to do with their masculinity or lack of it. It has to do with the fact that there are shitty people out there who prey on other people. And by you not sympathizing or at least understanding that you are possibly keeping that person in the closet forever. Leaving them alone and without the conversation and the help that they so desperately need.

Thank you.
I’m done.