Category Archives: perception

why does the devil get all the good accessories?

Noooo those are not religious bigots reminiscent of early pitchfork-wielding mobs of angry peasants!  All they are saying is that demons own homosexuals like kugels have handbags.  It’s a STYLE thing and you know that whatever’s fashionable in hell this season will be global soon.

{Westboro Baptist Coming to SF to Protest Jews, Musical Theater and Twitter}

Apparently god hates South Africa too.

butch enough to fight baboons

How many baboons could you take in a fight? (armed only with a giant dildo)There’s been an interesting little exchange of blogpinions here at WordPress lately, about butch identity.  If you’re interested, it’d probably be a good idea to start here or here and then you’ll get the link to the post she reacted to and various reactions all over.  Good stuff.  At the end of the day, as ever, I guess “how to” things are just ever-evolving definitions of ever-evolving things and … om …

As ever, the question of identity become entangled with the issue of labels and then you get people going oh hey let’s add more labels and that tie-dyed crowd who just want, like, nooo labels at aaaaall, maaaan.

What do I want?

Oh, fucknose.

I want labels to be as fluid as identity should be.  I want academics to stop studying identity and everyone to just get on with being.  I want to study gender and identity.  I want a cigarette.

Having always been a tomboy and having also always been “otherwise,” I embrace labels like “dyke” and “butch” and “queer” partly because they fit my exterior so comfortably, but also because they remain unfashionable and are perennially ripe for reclamation.

I neither know nor care what the butch manifesto says i am supposed to be or do or wear.  I wear boxer shorts, yes, but i also wear bras and have never and will never (oh I have just fucked the tense up nicely) bound/bind my breasts.  I don’t pack, I do use a strapon.  I can change a wheel, I can also sew a little green elephant patch on a jacket.  I wear men’s clothing, except for that blue shirt my gf gave me, but frankly it’s rather boyish.  I cry easily, I have no fluffy toys, I talk to my dog and pretend he talks back … eh, blah blah BLAH if you CUT me, do I not BLEED and so forth.

Where I do get all misty eyed about butch pride, is the same place I get it about drag pride i.e. diesel dykes and screaming queens are the people who get picked out and picked on, because they are the ones who are noticed.  They are also the ones right at the front of many important marches, where marches matter ito activism.

I wrote stuff about it all a while back, if anyone’s especially bored.

Secrets are sanity’s suicide.

An HIV awareness campaign gave us the slogan silence = death and that’s all too true.  The problem with silence and with secrets is, they don’t kill you quickly – they drive you completely, subtly, violently insane first.  Secrets are sanity’s suicide.

{this blog post sponsored and fuelled by pms}

Society sucks – and not in a good way.

Everybody has the chance to be heroic.

Oh yes, you were here with the gentleman ..

You drop off the prescription at the pharmacy and tell the pharmacist your girlfriend will collect it in a few days and when your girlfriend does so, the pharmacist says, “Oh yes, you were here with the gentleman the other day.”