#so i took those paragraphs out

[razorsadness]

I’m not obsessively tagging this one, so just a few content warnings: there’s nothing graphic, but there’s some TMI stuff about sex and masturbation; talk of food and alcohol; discussion of grief, death, and illness; and a brief mention of transphobic/transmedicalist stuff. Also it might come across like I’m bragging about some compliments I’ve gotten for my writing recently. Also it’s long.

This is a really long entry, because I started writing it like, ten days ago, but then more stuff happened. This is a common thing for me, with letters and journal entries; I start writing them but don’t have time to finish, then more stuff happens, and I start adding the new stuff, but don’t have time to finish, and then more stuff happens and…you get the idea.

Anyway, these past two weeks have been jam-packed. There’s been a lot of luck & magic & beauty, with some hard stuff mixed in. (That’s life, that’s what all the people say…)

…

The evening of Thursday the 16th, I sent the ‘Mats-inspired vignettes to the editor of a zine I thought it’d be perfect for. Friday morning, I opened my email, and read his response. He loves it, and wants to run it in the next issue. He said I “perfectly captured that lonely midwestern feeling that certain Replacements songs have,” and that my writing is “romantic, but also real, like Kerouac mixed with Cometbus.” And if you know me at all, you know why I practically swooned over those particular compliments.

I also got an email saying our local library’s free seed library was newly restocked for the year, and I wanted to get there before it was all picked over. So, C. and I went to the library and picked up seeds for this year’s garden, along with an info packet on where and when to plant everything. We got seeds for: cayenne and poblano peppers; pickling cucumbers; spinach, mustard greens, collard greens, and kale; eggplant, squash, broccoli; Roma and Wisconsin organic (heirloom) tomatoes; carrots, and radishes. I’m so excited. Last year’s garden was our most successful ever, but we also made a couple mistakes which we learned from, so I’m thinking this year’s garden might be even better.

After that, C. and I popped over to my friend D.’s house. We got to meet his new pitbull-mix, Leonard, who is less than a year old and is therefore super high-energy, but so sweet. And we got to see their two-week-old foster kittens (and their mama), and C. even got to pet one! D. also gave me some cayenne and habanero, which he grew in his garden last year, then dried and ground—he’s been giving it to anyone who wants some, as he grew so many peppers that he can’t possibly use it all. (He also offered me some Carolina Reaper, but I passed on that.) I told him if there was ever anything I could give him in trade, to let me know, and he said: “Just listening to your spoken world album is trade enough,” and went on to say that he’s in awe of my poetic abilities.

All these compliments, a guy could get a big head! Except, I often think my writing is okay at best and I should just quit; when I get compliments like those it just offsets that and makes me realize that if other people are getting something from what I write, I should keep going.

Our last stop was the grocery store, where I got the rest of what I needed for the Dublin coddle, and got my flirt on with a beautiful redhead girl.

I had thought about putting green dye in my hair and painting my nails green for St. Paddy’s Day, but after all that running about town, I didn’t have time. I did, however, put my hair in braids (it’s long enough to braid now!), and put on green eyeliner.

I spent the next while putting together the Dublin coddle and getting it into the oven. I listened to the St. Patrick’s Day mix I listen to every year, then I listened to Hozier’s new EP, which holy fuck, I am trying so hard to be normal about, but it’s difficult. I truly wish I had a close friend who was into Hozier that I could nerd out about it with. Then I made a cup of tea and sat out in the backyard for a bit. One of the neighborhood crows came and lit on the fence, and it was cawing loudly about something. I asked it what was wrong, and we had a little ‘conversation.’

Me: “What is it, what’s wrong?” Crow: *cocks its head from side to side* caw caw. Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t help you with that.” Crow: squirrr-wakkk. Me: “I’m sure it will turn out fine.”

Funnily enough, the crow quieted down after that, stayed there for a while looking at me, then flew off.

It was really windy that day. To paraphrase myself: the wind, my lover, had returned, so I flirted with him a bit.

In the evening, I drank a pint of Guinness and a small glass of Jameson. In the old days, I would have easily downed three pints of stout and at least half a bottle of whiskey, not even because it was St. Patrick’s Day, but because it was a day, and to paraphrase myself, again—if you’re really Irish, you don’t need an excuse to get drunk. But I don’t do that anymore. The thing I do still do is get nostalgically sad (sadly nostalgic?) about old flames, and I had a few moments of that on St. Paddy’s Night. I found myself missing Ruby, and Jack of Spades, who I always miss most at this time of year; and Derry, whom I miss all the time, but always hardest in the spring and fall.

And then I emailed Derry. When I saw him back in October, I told him why I never respond to his periodic emails. And since then, he hasn’t emailed me; we left each other with the ball in my court, with it being up to me if I wanted to ever be in contact with him again. I probably shouldn’t have. I wasn’t even drunk, so I didn’t have that as an excuse. My only excuses are that I miss him so, so, so much, and I’m addicted to bad ideas.

Then P. and the kiddos and I watched Darby O’Gill and the Little People, which I hadn’t seen since I was a child. The movie left an indelible impression on me when I was a kid, though—I was deeply, deeply terrified of the banshee. Watching it the other night, I was no longer afraid, but I do understand why it scared me so back then. The sound she makes is absolutely bone-chilling.

…

Saturday, the temperature dropped, drastically—it was the coldest day we’ve had in weeks, felt more like midwinter again—but we braved the cold to go downtown and see the St. Paddy’s Day parade. It’s a small parade, even smaller this year because some people dropped out due to the weather, but it was still nice. A marching band started it off with a rendition of “Whiskey in the Jar.” One of the bars on Main Street was selling drinks, both alcoholic and non, in to-go cups, so you could grab one and take it outside while you watched the parade. P. and I both got Irish coffees, the kids got hot chocolate. The kids grabbed handfuls of candy and green plastic beads that some of the floats were tossing to the crowd. I sipped from my drink, and half-watched the parade, half-watched the other spectators.

There was a super sexy man standing near us. He was fat and also just big, like over six feet tall. He had a long, gray beard, but it was a very well-kept long beard, not ratty or dirty in any way. He was wearing a black beanie, a black leather jacket, an Irish kilt (with the tartan for County Derry; yes, I looked it up when I got home), and these tall, intricately patterned leather boots. I guess he caught me lookin’, cuz he fucking winked at me, and then I blushed so hard that my face felt hot despite the cold. Jaysis.

The best parts of the parade were the Root River Rollers (our local roller derby team; they looked hella cute in their green plaid skirts and black leggings and derby gear; I have a major thing for derby girls and have for a very long time); the float from McAuliffe’s Pub (they had someone on fiddle and someone on bodhrán, playing a reel); the pirates of Will’s Revenge (they’re a local group who cosplay as pirates for various events, I always love them, but this time they’d added little Irish touches for St. Paddy’s; of course I thought of B. saying of me all those years ago: …you’re and Irish pirate, that’s the best kind); and the girls from a local dance school (they were wearing black hoodies and black leggings and sparkly green tutus; they did a wildly impressive hiphopjazz dance routine).

Later that day, I made some minor edits on my ‘Mats vignettes (at the editor’s suggestion), while listening to The ‘Mats, and “Treatment Bound” came on and for the first time it hit me how much it sounded like some of my old friend L.’s music. I mean, I knew he was a Replacements fan, but it had honestly never hit me until then how much his sound was influenced by some of their stuff. Particularly the stuff off Hootenanny. And then I sat around missing L. for a while. I’ve written about him a lot before. He was one of those friends I had an intense crush on, and I thought I wanted to smooch him or maybe even bone him, but the most we ever did was cuddle/spoon. And then I realized it was better that way; I could get really close to him without worrying about sex making it weird. And then years later, I realized I never had actually wanted to fuck him, I had wanted to be him (or, well, be more like him, anyway). He had such a huge impact on my writing, my music, my life. We never had a falling out, just lost touch, got busy with our separate lives, never ran into each other anymore. The usual. I think of him often, though, and decided to web-search him the other day just so see what he’s up to. I found out that all his albums are now up on Bandcamp, and I’m so excited, because I lost my copies of them ages ago, and I love his music so much.

…

The next day was warmer again, though still windy. I took a long walk by myself. I trysted with the wind, again; he yanked my hair and slapped my cheeks pink. I walked down to the Little Free Library that’s in my neighborhood; I’ve found some great stuff in it before, and it had been months since I’d checked it. This time, I found nothing. I did, however, spot a tow truck with the words Anywhere and Anytime on it, and I snapped a picture. It seemed like a good sign, as the title of my ‘Mats memoir series is Anyplace or Anywhere or Anytime.

When I got home from the walk, I spent the rest of the afternoon writing.

…

Monday, I woke up and got the bullshit stuff I had to do but had been dreading/putting off out of the way first. I am not always able to do that, but the Executive Function fairy truly blessed me that day. Then I did school stuff with the kids. It was warm enough that we could do a (partially) outdoor science experiment. First, the kids designed protective casing for eggs, then we took them out in the backyard and dropped them from various heights to see how far they could drop without breaking. We even recorded our results! It was a lot of fun.

After that, I did some witchy stuff to celebrate the first day of spring. I redecorated my altar, lit some incense, did a little spell/ritual. Then I did a Spring Equinox tarot reading for myself, and it was so clear and right-on that I reached out to Emchy and was like: “Hey, the cards are really talking to me today, want me to pull a few for you?” She said yes, so I did.

Later in the afternoon, I took another solo walk. This time I took photos of some of the sidewalk date stamps in my neighborhood. I also spotted the first crocus of the season, and snapped photos of those. Trysted with the wind again. Sang (quietly, but out loud) as I walked—first Jolie Holland’s “Springtime Can Kill You” (because it is one of my all-time favorite songs), then the Counting Crows’ “Sullivan Street” (because I’d thought of something ‘hanging on the air,’ and it made me think of that song).

When I got home, I wrote a short poem, and then I started working on translating it into Gaeilge. I find that when I’m learning a new language, translating my words/thoughts from English into said language helps.

After that, I checked my email. There was one from Derry; his response to the email I’d sent on St. Patrick’s Day. I am not going to quote from it directly, not here; some things have to be kept just for me. Suffice it to say: we’re not trying to hook up or get together or start things all over again, but we’re mutually unsure where that leaves us; he misses and loves me just as much as I do him.

P. and I made dinner together that night. He made the sides and I made the main dish. We’d already planned on making roasted potatoes with dijon and rosemary (because we already had all the ingredients) and green beans with onions and bacon (because we already had the bacon and onions); we’d already decided to have pork chops as the main dish. But the night before I got a craving for French food, so that morning I looked up “French pork chops,” and found a recipe for pan-cooked pork chops with paprika, in an onion-dijon cream sauce. It was amazing.

We finished off the night by having passionate sex. It was a perfect ending to the first day of spring.

…

Tuesday was kinda crappy. The kids were cranky, and I had some unspecified physical yuck happening; my stomach hurt and I was just exhausted the whole day. But I managed to take another walk, this time with C. And it was World Poetry Day, so I read some poetry and worked more on my translation.

…

Wednesday was a happysad day. It was the ten year anniversary of my grandma’s death, so of course I was thinking about her. I was also thinking about Jason Molina. The 18th had been the ten year anniversary of his death, and my grief over losing my grandma is inextricably bound up with my grief over Jason Molina’s death. When my grandma got seriously ill, and we knew she wasn’t going to live much longer, I was deeply depressed, and I was listening to a lot of Songs: Ohia and Magnolia Electric Co. at the time, and then Jason died, and four days later my grandma died, so yeah, they’re always linked in my mind.

Wednesday was also my dad’s birthday. I wrote a birthday poem for him, and collaged a card to put it in. In the afternoon, P. and I went to a local job fair and found out about some potential employment opportunities for him. Fingers crossed that one of them pans out, because they’re pretty good ones. As we were leaving the job fair, we saw a seagull and a hawk fighting. Then we and the kiddos went to my folks’ house to celebrate my dad’s birthday. We had a nice dinner and some cake, and I gave my dad the card I’d made.

My mom and I reminisced about my grandma (her mom). Then she told me about an old friend of the family who is battling a serious illness. Later, Joni Mitchell came up in conversation, and my mom and I were talking about Joni and her music, and the memories we have attached to it—for both of us, Joni’s songs specifically remind us of being in our twenties. So we were both in our feelings about my grandma and the old family friend and our own pasts and Joni’s music, and we listened to “River” and cried a little together, and it was probably the closest I’ve felt to my mom in a long while.

Later that night, as I lay in the dark trying to fall asleep, I heard coyotes yipping as they wandered through the neighborhood.

…

Thursday, the kids were in bad moods again, and I was feeling anxious about various stuff. But I managed to get past it. I read some, made a collage, drank some tea. I signed up for a temporary money-making side gig. I finished writing/editing the poem about the time Ali and I visited Nancy Spungen’s grave; I have been working on it on-and-off for years, and I’m glad to finally have it in a place where I feel like it’s ready to be out in the world.

Then I watched the crows in the yard. That crow I talked to on St. Patrick’s Day? It returned, and brought its mate, and they are building a nest in the tree that hangs partially over our yard! Maybe that’s what it was making a racket about the first time; maybe it was scouting locations for a nest and was trying to get its mate to come see? In any case, we’re gonna have crow neighbors, and they’re gonna start a family! Oh my god, there are gonna be baby crows! The crows in the area are probably already familiar with me, because I have left out food for them before, and said hello when I’ve been near them; and I’m very glad that my talking to one of them the other day did not deter them from building their nest in/near our yard. (I’ve now started leaving peanuts for them in the backyard, since at least this pair has been coming around that side more often, and they’ve been back every day, but more about that later.)

Thursday night, I had a dream about my old friend J.C. I’ve known him since I was in the sixth grade, and we’ve been in and out of each other’s lives since (again, no falling out, just life drifting us apart), but I haven’t seen him in almost fourteen years now. It was good to see him in the dream, though, and I hope he’s doing well.

…

Friday, I spent most of the day getting ready for that evening’s spoken word gig. I collated zines, gathered together all the merch I wanted to take with me. I gathered together the poems I might want to read; timed a few newer ones/ones I’d never performed at a reading before. I drove to the bank downtown; to get some cash in various smaller denominations of bills, so I’d have change to give when people bought my merch. At one point on the drive, I was behind a car, and I noticed one of their bumper stickers: the background was the pride flag, and the text over it read Make America Gay Again. Awesome. Back at home, I started enacting even more pre-event rituals. (I say ‘event’ because I have long enacted some or all of these rituals whether it’s a spoken word gig, a music gig, a zine fest, an art show, a burlesque performance, a circus performance, etc. etc. Basically, I enact some or all of these rituals, or other, similar ones, whenever I have any kind of event where I’m performing and/or selling stuff, whether it’s in-person or online.) I cut the sleeves off my Keep Books Dangerous tee (a sure sign of spring for me, cutting the sleeves off a t-shirt), and changed out/added to the pins on my leather jacket. I freshened the color in my hair. I did all this while summoning the Undying Spirit of Punk Rock, by blasting the Daycare Swindlers.

Listening to the DC Swindlers of course made me think of N., as he was the lead singer of that band. I know I’ve written about him before, but I was hit with a wave of missing him so hard on Friday. We were platonic soulmates. I was never sexually or romantically attracted to him; as far as I know he was never into me that way either. (In fact I had a huge crush on his girlfriend!) But we just clicked; from the first time we met we had people saying we were like twins. We didn’t look anything alike, but there was just something about us. The way we dressed, our predilections, obviously our taste in women; just our general vibes. Twins. Soulmates. Because not all soulmates are romantic or sexual in nature; in fact, for as many romantic/sexual partners as I’ve had, I’ve had far more platonic soulmates.

Other rituals I enacted pre-gig were putting on my necklace of charms and dabbing a bit of the “Follow Me, Boy” scent on my pulse points.

P. actually got to come with me for once, which was amazing. I’ve said before that my parents are real weird about watching the kids, but this time they offered so P. could go with me, and of course I jumped at the chance.

At about five, we dropped the kiddos at my parents house, then headed north/west, to the far west side of Milwaukee, right on the border of Wauwatosa. Drove up on old familiar roads, saw some excellent graffiti. Parked near the gallery where my reading was, in front of a beautiful soft-yellow house with a pride flag hung from their porch, and a sign in the yard: We Back the Vag. Again, awesome.

The gallery was great, full of funky-cool art. Everyone that worked there was super friendly, so were all the other performers (both featured and open mic). At least half the people there, performers and audience, were some flavor of queer, and there were also several POC and several Jewish people! (I know that last part for a fact because a few of the poets read pieces that mentioned Judaism/being Jewish.) I felt so comfortable and happy. Like, obviously, as a queer person, I get tired of being around only cishets; but even as a white goy, I also get tired of being around only white, (culturally) Christian folks. I guess I just spent enough of my life in big cities and other diverse spaces that I am actually less at ease when everyone looks like me and/or has a similar cultural background. And it’s just fucking boring, ya know? Why would I only wanna be around people who look and act like me?!

Soon after we arrived at the gallery, I was setting up my merch, and the queer kid (I say ‘kid’ because they were in their early 20s, which, now that I’m in my 40s, is definitely in ‘kid’ territory for me) who was the musician for the evening saw my spoken word album—Self Portrait with Ghosts & Trains. “That’s definitely something I would listen to,” they said. “I like ghosts, I like trains.” Pause. “Damn, too bad I only know one train song. I mean, I only know how to play one train song. I know lots of train songs in general.” I told them that I’d made a playlist of train songs a few years ago, and that even though I’d spent time narrowing it down from the original list, it still had 50+ songs on it. “Have you ever seen Metalocalypse?” They asked. “How come all they sings about is trains?” I replied. “That is actually the name of my train song playlist, no kidding.” They laughed, said, “What else is there, really?,” and then we fist bumped.

Then it was time for the open mic part of the evening, and the other featured poet-performers. All of the other poet-performers were really good, in their own ways. Some of them were just good all around, both poetry-wise and performance-wise. Others were not my jam, poetry-wise, but performed their stuff really well. And still others were people whose poems were fantastic but who were fairly new to performing; I know that if they keep at it they will be absolute fire in the not-too-distant future.

Then it was my turn. I opened my set with a poem that is not my own. See, it would have been Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s 104th birthday that day, so I opened with “See, it was like this, when…” Then I did a bit of improv. What I mean by that is—I had brought way more poems with me than I could feasibly read, and I had a couple I knew I for sure wanted to read but for the rest it was like, I’ll just go with what I’m vibing with at the time. And some of the other performers inspired some of my choices. One of the poets read some of their sonnets, so I read two of my sonnets; one of the performers opened with an a capella rendition of “Cabaret,” so I read my Cabaret-inspired poem. I also read two of my Wisconsin poems—a Milwaukee one, and my Beast of Bray Road poem; an excerpt from The Loneliest Show On Earth; and the poem about visiting Nancy’s grave. The crowd was so, so attentive and responsive. Like, they were there to hear poetry. I heard some laughter during parts of some of my poems (not laughing at, laughing with), and also some gasps and ohs. Afterward, I got so many compliments. I mean, people were telling me my stuff was funny but also moving, or saying it was like I cast a spell, saying they got chills at certain points; someone noticed the Diane Di Prima influence on my work, someone else noticed the Lynda Hull influence…god damn. I sold some stuff and got a cut of the door, and it was enough to cover my gas money to and from the gig and still have like thirty bucks left over; gotta love that sweet, sweet poetry money. (To quote myself: How no one warned you it’s hard to make a living writing about your heart. How you don’t make a living, but you sometimes make enough money for wine.) I also got approached by the guy who runs the weekly Poetry Nights at Linneman’s River West Inn, and he wants me to be the featured poet there sometime in July or August. I’m so excited! I haven’t been to Linneman’s since early 2009, but back when I lived in MKE I used to perform there all the time—though back then, I performed on the music open mic nights, as that’s when I was more focused on music than poetry. Speaking of music—when the kid I’d talked to earlier in the evening got up for their set, they played the one train song they knew how to play—“Freight Train,” by Elizabeth Cotten—and dedicated it to me. My heart.

P. and I left, then crossed the border into ‘Tosa, and got a round at a beer & whiskey bar called Draft & Vessel. I had an imperial stout that had chai spices in it, and it was so fuckin’ good.

On the drive home, I got to experience that magical thing that happens on the road at night. You know, where you look down at your lap, and the lights coming in through the windshield from above have striated your skin and clothing, and as you move the stripes move, moving stripes of light/shadow/light/shadow. I wish I could think of a better way to describe it; if I can, I’m going to put it in a poem.

…

Saturday we got a bunch of snow. Early spring snow is not uncommon in the upper midwest—in the immortal words of Prince: sometimes it snows in April. And anyway, we had nowhere we needed to be that day, so we just had a cozy-at-home, creative day. P. and I made meal plans for the coming week. I wrote a bit. I made a necklace, inspired by some I’d seen at the gallery and couldn’t afford. I took some knolling photos of my bottlecap, key, and souvenir penny collections; for no other reason than that I felt like it. I recorded an audio version of my VU-inspired poem from Left of the Dial.

My knee and ankle were hurting all day. The poetry reading had been packed full and there were only about eight chairs available, and there were people in their sixties and seventies there, and I never think of my disabilities as real enough, so I gave the chairs to those I thought needed them more, and I stood the whole time. And yeah, I paid for it, bodily. It sucked to be in pain all the next day, but I did kind of chuckle at the “I’m getting old”-ness of it all. Like, I used to go wild in the pit at punk shows and maybe I’d get banged up and sore but I’d be mostly okay (with the notable exception being that time I broke my ankle in the pit), and now I stand for a couple hours at a poetry reading and I’m in pain for days.

I thought of Sinclair, another old flame, that day; possibly because of that kid playing “Freight Train” the night before, as that was a staple of Sinclair’s repertoire. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in somewhere close to 14 years now, and I haven’t even web-searched him in a decade. Unlike with some of my other exes, it’s not that I fear I’ll decide to contact him and open everything up again, it’s that— Well, I’ve worried that he might be dead or in prison. He was a sweetheart, genuinely one of the best, kindest people I’ve ever known—but he was also an outlaw, and he lived a rough life. He was a queer train-hopping hobo/crusty/circus performer/musician; he was often homeless, and had bouts of trouble with the law and various addictions. Saturday, I decided to look him up to see what I could find…and I was relieved to know that he’s not just living but seemingly thriving, back in his hometown of New Orleans, where he just had a music gig on March 23rd. I’m so relieved. Just knowing that he’s out there, still doin’ his thing, is enough for me.

That night, P. and I had hot, wild, rough sex, and I fell asleep more easily than I normally do. Unfortunately, I did have a terrible dream that woke me up in the middle of the night, and then it took me hours to get back to sleep. I don’t even want to go into detail about it because it was so gruesome and bloody and involved terrible bodily harm being visited on some of my loved ones, including one of my kids. I actually had to go into D.’s room and make sure he was okay, and sit watching him breathe for a while, before I could calm down at all. I don’t have vivid, horrific dreams as much now as I did when I was in my teens and twenties, but when they come? They’re fucking doozies. A lot of horror doesn’t even scare me because I’ve had dreams that were just as graphic, but even worse, because the harm was being visited on me and/or people I love.

…

Sunday, I woke up to the notification that someone had bought some stuff from my online shop, which is always a nice thing to wake up to.

Later in the morning, it snowed a little more, and I saw the crows again. And this time, they’d brought a friend. My first thought was: “They’re a polycule!” Which, okay, I know crows don’t work that way, but I recently read something that said crows are ‘socially monogamous but genetically promiscuous’ so maybe? In any case, they were with a third crow; probably another member of their murder. And they were playing! I watched them leap down from the tree to the top of the neighbors’ garage roof, then slide to the bottom edge near the eaves, from which they’d fly back up to the tree and do it all over again. I was so fucking thrilled; I’ve seen videos of crows playing before, but I’ve never seen it so clearly in person. I wanted to get my own video, but of course by the time I got my phone and got ready to record, they’d stopped. I know, pics or it didn’t happen, but this has just been one of the many amazing things I’ve witnessed or experienced in my life where I do not have any ‘factual’ documentation, and it doesn’t even matter because I know it happened and it lives inside me, now.

In the late afternoon, D. had the worst meltdown he’s had in a while. His anger is getting worse as he edges towards adolescence, but at least now he has a therapist that can help us through it.

For dinner, P. made shrimp, pork, and andouille jambalaya, with a side of greens. We had sex again that night; this time, it was slow, lazy, and deeply sensual.

…

Monday morning, D. had his therapy appointment, then I did schoolwork with the kiddos. Then I got dinner going in the crockpot (one of my favorite go-to meals: Moroccan chicken tagine with chickpeas and apricots) while listening to my favorite radio station; they played banger after banger after banger, and I discovered a bunch of new (to me) favorite songs.

Monday evening, before dinner, we filed our taxes. We’re not getting back as much as I’d hoped (because the fucking Republicans decided to axe the expanded Child Tax Credit), but we’re still getting enough that it will make a positive difference in our lives over the next couple months.

That night, we had sex; wild and hot and fast again, that time.

…

Despite all the sex we’ve been having, I woke up ridiculously horny on Tuesday. I was also really restless and a little bit anxious, but I had to do all this sitting-at-my-desk bullshit like attending the Zoom training session for my new side gig, and applying for energy assistance. In between sit-down tasks, I worked through my restless, horny energy by either pacing around or jacking off. Seriously, it was like, bullshit task, walk up and down the stairs a few times; bullshit task, lock myself in the bathroom to jack off; and so on. I ended up jacking off three times that day. (Twice during the day, once at night in bed after P. had fallen asleep; his chronic back pain was acting up so we couldn’t mess around that night, alas.)

The best things of that day were: 1. Finding out I was such a hit at the gallery on Friday that they want me to be one of their features again in May. Like, according to the person who is my point of contact there, even after I left, people were coming up to her saying: “Wow, Jessie was amazing; when can I see them again?!” 2. The burgers we made for dinner that night: blue cheese, bacon, Buffalo sauce, and tomato burgers.

…

Yesterday I clocked a couple hours for my new side gig. It’s kinda tedious, but at least I can do it on my own time, and I need the money.

After that, I did school stuff with the kiddos, including some art time. They both painted, and I sat down to draw something that I thought was kind of inspired by Paradise Lost (cuz I’m on a Milton kick lately) and Nick Cave, but which turned out to be a figure straight out of that horrifying dream I had on Saturday. And I am  actually entirely freaked out by the drawing; I had to hide it so I won’t see it.

I spent most of the afternoon laying in bed, drinking tea and reading, as my sinuses were acting up and I couldn’t do much else.

Fortunately, I felt better by evening. For dinner, I made fish tacos (with shredded lettuce, pico de gallo, fresh avocado, and lime wedges for garnish) with beans and rice on the side.

And P. and I got to have sex last night, and it was great, again, as it has been lately.

…

Today I woke up restless, horny, and anxious, again. Mostly the anxiety stemmed from a phone call I had to make. Before I made the call, I did yoga, ate a small breakfast, and took my ashwagandha and magnesium supplements, which helped ease my anxiety a little. Then I made the call, and it sucked, but not as bad as I had feared it would, and hey, at least then it was done.

Late morning, I took the kids to the library. They got to play in the play area for a while; I talked with a mom who was there with her three kiddos (all of them true gingers!). We checked out a bunch of books, as per usual. Then came home to make lunch—mini quesadillas, plus avocado & pico de gallo & beans & rice left over from last night.

After lunch, I decided to take a walk. It’s chilly and a bit windy today, but it had been over a week since I took a walk, and I get even antsier/more restless without them. So I bundled up, and took some hot coffee in my travel mug to keep me warm.

When I stepped out the back door, my crow friend was in the tree where it’s building its nest. It saw me and cawed, then went flying toward the front yard, like it wanted me to follow. I was like: “Oooh, side quest!” When I got out to the sidewalk, I saw the crow in the front yard a few houses down, pulling at something in the mud. I got to the crow just as it pulled the object free, and I saw it was this long, silvery piece of something—like maybe tinsel, or part of a mylar balloon. I said: “Oh, good for you, you found a shiny for your mate!” The crow then flew back towards our backyard.

As I said above, I’ve been feeding the crows in this neighborhood on and off for years, and occasionally saying hello to them, but I do not understand why this particular crow (and by extension, its mate and family/friends) has decided we’re besties. I do not understand, but I am fucking delighted.

I took my walk around the block, got home, promptly locked myself in the bathroom and jacked off.

Tonight, for dinner, P. made chicken cacciatore. The recipe he uses has a white (white wine, lemon juice, olive oil) sauce as opposed to the usual tomato-based chicken cacciatore, and it’s so good. And I’m hoping we get to fuck again tonight, cuz like I said, I’m wildly, insatiably horny these days.

…

This weekend is looking like it will be another jam-packed one. I have to meet up with K. to pick up the Joe Strummer piece I commissioned for Ali’s birthday. There’s a couple activist things I’m participating in; tomorrow’s rally for queer youth, plus some voter outreach stuff I signed up to do prior to next Tuesday’s very important election.

Saturday is the start of National Poetry Month/NaPoWriMo. I plan to attempt a 30/30, because I generated so much work last April (and had fun doing it). I’m also working up some curriculum to teach both the kids about reading and writing poetry, at age-appropriate levels.

One of my first projects for NaPoWriMo is gonna be trying to finish translating that poem I wrote last week from English to Gaeilge. It’s been tricky because, though it’s a short poem, it has an odd structure that does not lend itself easily to Gaeilge. Also, my grasp on Gaeilge is rudimentary at best. But then, that’s why I’m doing this, to help me learn.

Next week, I’m hoping to finish getting the New Wave anthology ready for print.

…

Other than all that? Well, there have been more realizations and epiphanies.

I’ve been getting braver, again. Doing things even if I’m scared to; because I remembered that most of the best things in my life have come from moments of “Am I scared? Yeah, but fuck it, I’ll do it anyway.”

I’ve been reincorporating elements of my old life, my old personality. From things as simple as drinking lapsang souchong again, taking walks whenever I can, rereading old favorite books, rediscovering old favorite albums; to things more esoteric. For so long I’d been lamenting the days when I was a mystical romantic lovesick dork, wishing I could be that way again but thinking I was too old. But now I’m allowing myself to behave that way again. I’m romanticizing my daily life, singing as I walk down the street, talking with the crows, cavorting with the wind.

A lot of those things (the tea, the walks, the mystical romantic lovesick dorkiness) sort of rhyme with a very specific time in my life, namely 2006-2008, and it’s funny that I’ve been asked to do a reading at Linneman’s, which was a place I frequented in those years. I know, you can’t go home again—except, sometimes you can.

And I’m also glad that I’m managing to reintegrate the positive aspects of those days without the self-destructive ones (i.e., drinking to excess and hooking up with people I didn’t even really like very much).

Another thing I’m reincorporating into my life is the DIY? Because I Gotta attitude. It’s not that I’ve ever fully lost it, but I’ve been doing a lot of it lately: things like making that necklace for myself, writing the poem and making the collage-card for my dad, etc. I used to get down on myself because I’ve never had enough money to buy gifts for all my loved ones for every occasion, but now I’m like, wait, this is actually a good thing about me. Not the lack-of-money part, but… I might not have money to buy people gifts all the time, but I do things like make them art, write them poems, make them personalized zines, make them mix tapes or playlists, bake them bread or cookies, give them veggies from my garden, give them tarot readings, etc. That’s actually pretty fucking cool.

I’ve been re-redefining success re: my writing career. Once again reminding myself that as long as my words get out in the world and the people who need them find them, that’s the most important thing—doesn’t so much matter what route those words take to get there. Reminding myself that I can look for agents for certain projects, submit to the more established lit journals, enter big name contests, etc., but that I can also continue to publish my own zines and chapbooks, and send stuff out to indie mags and presses. I don’t have to choose! I can try it all!

Speaking of not having to choose—I’ve been re-embracing the fluid nature of both my gender/gender expression and my sexuality.

For a while I was reading too much of that baeddelism stuff, and even though I objectively know it’s bullshit, it kinda got to me. I started thinking to myself: “You’re not currently pursuing medical transition, you have long hair, and you still wear skirts and makeup sometimes. Those people are right—you’re just a penis-obsessed cis woman LARPing as nonbinary.” And then I was like, wait. First of all, though medical transition is an important part of transitioning for many trans people, it is not the only valid way to transition. Second of all, plenty of men, trans and cis, have long hair or wear skirts or makeup; why am I letting a handful of people who are basically TIRFs (trans-inclusive radical feminists) dictate how I present and what that means about my gender? My gender and sexuality have always been fluid, that’s just who and how I am; that’s why I have always preferred the term queer—because it states that I am not cishet, but doesn’t box me into some narrow definition of gender or sexuality that might change the next moment, anyway. So, once again: I’m here, I’m queer, get used to it. And: You cannot misgender me in a way that matters.

Speaking of fluid sexuality—the way my desires are changing lately is fascinating.  Some things that used to turn me on no longer do it for me; other things that I was never into are now super hot.

These past two weeks have made me think of that Aaron Cometbus quote, about the kind of days I’ve been having: Simple days but with little surprises and long walks and good luck.

And it’s spring, it’s spring! Still chilly, but it stays lighter later every night, and the birds are out squawking and singing at all hours, and of course I’m restless and horny, it’s spring!

Overall, I’ve been full of gratitude and joy. I have amazing friends, all over the world. I get so overwhelmed with love for my kids, and for P. Seriously, every day I look at P. and think how lucky I am to have him as my partner in life; as the person I get to raise kids with and have hot sex with and cook good food with and wake up to every morning. And every day, I get to read books and listen to music and make art and write.

Of course things aren’t perfect, with the kids or with P., and I’m tired of being broke, and there’s the anxiety and executive dysfunction, and there’s a lot of bad shit in the world. But I have plans to make my and my family’s future better. And I’m getting more involved with activism again—apparently, when I allow myself to do things that bring me joy, I have more spoons for helping other people! Shocking, I know.

And I cry a lot, and I get nostalgically sad and long for old faces and places I once knew, and I get restless and long for new faces and places and adventures. And my heart breaks every day, from the beauty of the world, and the pain. But if that’s the tax for being a poet, for being a mystical romantic lovesick dork; if that’s the tax for not being closed off to any part of life—then I will gladly, gladly pay it.

[possamble]

forgot i wanted to post one of the other versions of how the final scene of chapter 5 went bc it like... wasn't right for the story but had some crunch to it that i was sad to bench

[uhohdad]

not cod but did y’all see mother suzanne collins is doing a book about haymitch’s games

[magnusbae]

13 books

What’s up readers?! How about a little show and tell? Answer these 13 questions, tag 13 lucky readers and if you’re feeling extra bookish add a shelfie! Let’s Go!

Tagged by @cuubism Thank you!! 💖 Heads up: if you're tagged, you don't need to read it alllll even if you do want to participate 😌

1) The Last book I read:

I'm pretty sure it was Tress of the Emerald Sea, what a delight!

2) A book I recommend:

.... The Way of Kings... (The Stormlight Archive)

3) A book that I couldn’t put down:

The second book of The Stormlight Archive, Words of Radiance had me by my throat like nothing else. wow. 👏🏻

4) A book I’ve read twice (or more):

Listen. I'll list something other than The Stormlight Archive just because this is getting embarrassing. The books I used to regularly reread were: HP, Eragon and Assassin's Apprentice. (full series rereads, crossing the 10 each) 😌

5) A book on my TBR:

I have a hefty amount of books I bought and never read. Ranging from classics to cheap fantasy-- but alas, my brain is fixated on the other author who doesn't disappoint me and so I just stick to his books XD

Some of the books sitting on my ineffective 'shame you into reading' shelf are: Captive Prince, the rest of the Wolfsong series, the.... shadowhunters books... the new trilogy about Fitz which I have in hardcovers yet never read. And some... others...

6) A book I’ve put down:

One of the reasons I am avoidant of taking on new books at all is because I have a very hard time putting down books I started. I'll suffer through entire series just for the few grains of gratification in the end. Or to... spitefullfy and confidently say it sucked balls.

However... three series managed to break me.

First being GoT, I just didn't manage to get through, not even 10 chapters. A true oddedity for me, but I just couldn't.

Second being The Witcher. I managed to power through like 4-5 books? And then I just couldn't do this to myself anymore. It was so, so, so not my vibe. (even while the pc game is about my most favorite game ever.) 🤷🏻‍♀️

And lastly, although I think I did finish the entire series before deciding that if ever a new book came out, I'll never read it, was the-- god what's the name of it... the First Law Trilogy – The Blade Itself etc from joe abercrombie. What a bleak series! Oh my god!

7) A book on my wish list:

My honest wishlist is just to keep on reading Brando Sando in my slow and enjoying-it phase... Although I admit that there's a large amount of those new spicy fantasy books apparently being released that shorts recommend and older folk rant about, so I naturally do want to check it out to see what's up with that but.... in truth... I just want to keep on enjoying Brando Sando XD

8) A favorite book from childhood:

I genuinely really loved Eragon. Oh and Artemis Fowl was all fun. I also really loved Tunnel in the Sky, like really.

9) A book you would give to a friend:

ngl it'll be an unapologetic The Way of Kings with big and passionate begging session of 'please give it a try' like for real.

In case any one of you is actually interested--- (you don't have to read this part) -inhales deeply-

The Way of Kings is a truly misleading book, that might leave you with the impression that the book is all about wars and kings but that is the furthest from the truth a description and a cover and a name can go.

It has fantasy, it has deep and rich world building, elaborate magic system that is deeply embedded into the story, culture and literal every single stone of the world. There's politics, culture, introspection, deep and varied characters, each reading like the main character of the story, having unique and vibrant personality and motivations.

It is not just a book, it is a work of true and deep love for the genre and writing in general. Beautifully done, enriching and enticing.

And what's most important for people who read too many books?

Hard to predict. It managed to pull the rug from underneath my feet in the most surprising and pleasing ways. Brandon writes in a way that is not 'shock just to shock' nor 'drama just for drama'. Every single scene is true, and forward. You always have everything right in front of you, the key is that you do not know how to put it all together just yet.

That can finally give that refreshing 'I don't know where it's heading but I'm enjoying the experience" I feel I had lost over the years, being able to recognize patterns too easily and predict writing intentions.

God, what a book! It does however have a rough learning curve, being such a massive world, it takes time to ease you in. Say about at least 5 chapters in at the minimum. On a personal note, I recommend the audiobooks read by kate reading and michael kramer, literally the best experience I've ever had, listening to those two bring to life every character and accent and scene, wow!

10) A book of poetry or lyrics that you own:

Come to think of it, I don't actually own any. Ha.

11) A nonfiction book you own:

I don't haha! Looking back, it's a lie, I have a few phycology books gathering dust in various hiding spots.

12) What are you currently reading:

........The Way of Kings....

13) What are you planning on reading next?

.....Words of Radiance.... haha. 😋

Y'all don't need to read all them answers in case you just want to answer it for yourself, or you can skip, too 😊😊😊

@mayhemspreadingguy, @pollyp, @nonbinary-nicolo, @msmongoose, @hardly-an-escape,

@ladymatt, @underacalicosky, @grapenehifics, @your-lordsherlockholmes-posts

@acedragontype, @palfriendpatine66, @heretolurkandnothingmore , @virahaus, @wallsinmyhead

@kittttycakes, @elcaballerodragon, @justsuffilike, @pumpkinkingsalem, @handahbear

@willameena

I am certain this is 13, I am certain. Cheers 💖💖💖

[orcelito]

I spent 3.5 hours laying in bed and Not Sleeping simply because it was not foretold. Still tried my best tho, and it was still rest even if it wasn't as good as actual sleep.

I'm up now to focus good and hard on my essay exam for the next...hmmm. well I have 12 pages to write. 3 pages per 4 sections. I did start on one section tho. And these have the benefit of being less heavy of topics as the ones in the first exam. Aka the "explain the differences between sex, gender, and sexuality in depth" and the "talk about how religion has impacted gender presentations" and the "discuss the impact of gender on psychology" etc etc. First one was unexpectedly tricky bc of how Hard it is to describe smth that feels like common knowledge. Like how do you describe the male sex without getting weirdly detailed on it Or just saying "male sex organs" or whatever??? Idk I made do. Religion was the chunkiest one and the hardest to do, by virtue of how much damn research I had to do. The psychology one was the one I rushed lol but the saving grace for it was that it just said "discuss" instead of like. Explain In Depth (like it did for the first two.) Which. The 2nd one was actually pretty easy, aka it was about explaining each term under the LGBTQIA+ acronym. I wrote that one the fastest (for obvious reasons lol) but it was still tedious to write it all out. Still not as hard as the religion question tho.

THIS EXAM....!!! The first question is asking about how sexual language has evolved over time. The second is about gender's effect on nonverbal communication. The third is about gender in TV and film. And the fourth is about sexism in the music industry.

So, certainly topics there are a lot to say about, but also not getting quite so deep in the historical or scientific sides of things. Mostly about modern sociology, I guess 🤔. And they all basically have the "discuss" prompt, so I just need to say some shit that's on-topic and answers the central question and I'll be golden!!!

So I'm Hoping it won't take me too too long. Best case scenario, I finish by... 4 am...? With the last one, it took me maybe 2 hours ish per prompt, except for the last one which I finished in a bit over an hour. Give or take a little. So if I stay on task and focus hard, maybe I can finish it in like 4 or 5 hours. Maybe 6. I'm hoping for not 8 lol. For it is 11:30 pm right now, and I will need to be up by 9 am. I'd like to get at least some sleep tonight!!!! So I will do my best.

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[robotlearnstolove]

2023-000agsddg...

Without any further context, this inconsistent and digressive fiction blog presents its first (and possibly only) movie review. What the heck guys?

Barbie (2023)

Of the movies I have seen that are based on best-selling and/or long-standing brands, Barbie stood out to me as one of the strangest, most compelling and most fun. It’s full of hilariously absurd humour peppered throughout a story that I found to be both thought-provoking and emotionally satisfying. The knowledge of Barbie’s existing brand presence might cause you to assume that the movie can only be enjoyed by women or by young girls but I disagree. Barbie is a movie for everyone. At its heart is a beautifully delivered message about the complicated and contradictory nature of being a woman in the present day. As a whole, Barbie reminds us that, no matter how long you’ve gone without changing, no matter what your purpose you think you were made for, there’s always space to imagine something new. While these themes do come through rather heavy-handedly, I think that’s necessary. They are being given the volume and importance that they both need and, honestly, deserve. In summary, Barbie is a fun and touching movie that carries its important message well and I strongly recommend it to anyone.

[homunculus-argument]

The absolute height of the unintentional comedy of life that I have seen was in the finnish glass museum. Interior design is one of those things that's kind of a big deal here, one of those things that people who grew up somewhere are surprised to hear that their country is not all that known for. My friends share it in the group chat every time an american movie or show they're watching has a vase, water glass or candleholder in the background that they immediately spotted was by a finnish designer. I took up a whole paragraph to make it clear that this is A Whole Thing here.

Anyway, in the glass museum, one of the displays was a feast table set with the absolute classics, hits and highlights of finnish glassware designs - the absolutely fanciest plates and serving dishes, wine glasses and water glasses, carafes and pitchers. I could pretty confidently say that the entire presentation, if sold item-for-item, cost more than my first car. Perhaps twice as much, easy. An unfathomably expensive, fancy, finest table set of finnish design that you and I are too poor to ever get our hands on.

And on one of the plates was a dead fly.

And I had never seen anything funnier in my life. All these fine dishes and plates all empty, and on just one plate at the end of the table was a dead fly chilling on its back like that was the whole feast. The main course. One single dead fly. A human could not have thought of anything more absurdly funny than the specific location that one random fly had died out of pure happenstance. I fought myself so hard to keep my volume to museum-acceptable levels that instead of laughing out loud I went straight into hysterical gasping with tears in my eyes. I could not perfectly recreate the image from memory, but I can't let you go before I try to sketch it nonetheless:

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Google’s enshittification memos

[Note, 9 October 2023: Google disputes the veracity of this claim, but has declined to provide the exhibits and testimony to support its claims. Read more about this here.]

When I think about how the old, good internet turned into the enshitternet, I imagine a series of small compromises, each seemingly reasonable at the time, each contributing to a cultural norm of making good things worse, and worse, and worse.

Think about Unity President Marc Whitten's nonpology for his company's disastrous rug-pull, in which they declared that everyone who had paid good money to use their tool to make a game would have to keep paying, every time someone downloaded that game:

The most fundamental thing that we’re trying to do is we’re building a sustainable business for Unity. And for us, that means that we do need to have a model that includes some sort of balancing change, including shared success.

https://www.wired.com/story/unity-walks-back-policies-lost-trust/

"Shared success" is code for, "If you use our tool to make money, we should make money too." This is bullshit. It's like saying, "We just want to find a way to share the success of the painters who use our brushes, so every time you sell a painting, we want to tax that sale." Or "Every time you sell a house, the company that made the hammer gets to wet its beak."

And note that they're not talking about shared risk here – no one at Unity is saying, "If you try to make a game with our tools and you lose a million bucks, we're on the hook for ten percent of your losses." This isn't partnership, it's extortion.

How did a company like Unity – which became a market leader by making a tool that understood the needs of game developers and filled them – turn into a protection racket? One bad decision at a time. One rationalization and then another. Slowly, and then all at once.

When I think about this enshittification curve, I often think of Google, a company that had its users' backs for years, which created a genuinely innovative search engine that worked so well it seemed like *magic, a company whose employees often had their pick of jobs, but chose the "don't be evil" gig because that mattered to them.

People make fun of that "don't be evil" motto, but if your key employees took the gig because they didn't want to be evil, and then you ask them to be evil, they might just quit. Hell, they might make a stink on the way out the door, too:

https://theintercept.com/2018/09/13/google-china-search-engine-employee-resigns/

Google is a company whose founders started out by publishing a scientific paper describing their search methodology, in which they said, "Oh, and by the way, ads will inevitably turn your search engine into a pile of shit, so we're gonna stay the fuck away from them":

http://infolab.stanford.edu/pub/papers/google.pdf

Those same founders retained a controlling interest in the company after it went IPO, explaining to investors that they were going to run the business without having their elbows jostled by shortsighted Wall Street assholes, so they could keep it from turning into a pile of shit:

https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/

And yet, it's turned into a pile of shit. Google search is so bad you might as well ask Jeeves. The company's big plan to fix it? Replace links to webpages with florid paragraphs of chatbot nonsense filled with a supremely confident lies:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

How did the company get this bad? In part, this is the "curse of bigness." The company can't grow by attracting new users. When you have 90%+ of the market, there are no new customers to sign up. Hypothetically, they could grow by going into new lines of business, but Google is incapable of making a successful product in-house and also kills most of the products it buys from other, more innovative companies:

https://killedbygoogle.com/

Theoretically, the company could pursue new lines of business in-house, and indeed, the current leaders of companies like Amazon, Microsoft and Apple are all execs who figured out how to get the whole company to do something new, and were elevated to the CEO's office, making each one a billionaire and sealing their place in history.

It is for this very reason that any exec at a large firm who tries to make a business-wide improvement gets immediately and repeatedly knifed by all their colleagues, who correctly reason that if someone else becomes CEO, then they won't become CEO. Machiavelli was an optimist:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

With no growth from new customers, and no growth from new businesses, "growth" has to come from squeezing workers (say, laying off 12,000 engineers after a stock buyback that would have paid their salaries for the next 27 years), or business customers (say, by colluding with Facebook to rig the ad market with the Jedi Blue conspiracy), or end-users.

Now, in theory, we might never know exactly what led to the enshittification of Google. In theory, all of compromises, debates and plots could be lost to history. But tech is not an oral culture, it's a written one, and techies write everything down and nothing is ever truly deleted.

Time and again, Big Tech tells on itself. Think of FTX's main conspirators all hanging out in a group chat called "Wirefraud." Amazon naming its program targeting weak, small publishers the "Gazelle Project" ("approach these small publishers the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle”). Amazon documenting the fact that users were unknowingly signing up for Prime and getting pissed; then figuring out how to reduce accidental signups, then deciding not to do it because it liked the money too much. Think of Zuck emailing his CFO in the middle of the night to defend his outsized offer to buy Instagram on the basis that users like Insta better and Facebook couldn't compete with them on quality.

It's like every Big Tech schemer has a folder on their desktop called "Mens Rea" filled with files like "Copy_of_Premeditated_Murder.docx":

https://doctorow.medium.com/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself-f7f0eb6d215a?sk=351f8a54ab8e02d7340620e5eec5024d

Right now, Google's on trial for its sins against antitrust law. It's a hard case to make. To secure a win, the prosecutors at the DoJ Antitrust Division are going to have to prove what was going on in Google execs' minds when the took the actions that led to the company's dominance. They're going to have to show that the company deliberately undertook to harm its users and customers.

Of course, it helps that Google put it all in writing.

Last week, there was a huge kerfuffile over the DoJ's practice of posting its exhibits from the trial to a website each night. This is a totally normal thing to do – a practice that dates back to the Microsoft antitrust trial. But Google pitched a tantrum over this and said that the docs the DoJ were posting would be turned into "clickbait." Which is another way of saying, "the public would find these documents very interesting, and they would be damning to us and our case":

https://www.bigtechontrial.com/p/secrecy-is-systemic

After initially deferring to Google, Judge Amit Mehta finally gave the Justice Department the greenlight to post the document. It's up. It's wild:

https://www.justice.gov/d9/2023-09/416692.pdf

The document is described as "notes for a course on communication" that Google VP for Finance Michael Roszak prepared. Roszak says he can't remember whether he ever gave the presentation, but insists that the remit for the course required him to tell students "things I didn't believe," and that's why the document is "full of hyperbole and exaggeration."

OK.

But here's what the document says: "search advertising is one of the world's greatest business models ever created…illicit businesses (cigarettes or drugs) could rival these economics…[W]e can mostly ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers, ad formats and sales."

It goes on to say that this might be changing, and proposes a way to balance the interests of the search and ads teams, which are at odds, with search worrying that ads are pushing them to produce "unnatural search experiences to chase revenue."

"Unnatural search experiences to chase revenue" is a thinly veiled euphemism for the prophetic warnings in that 1998 Pagerank paper: "The goals of the advertising business model do not always correspond to providing quality search to users." Or, more plainly, "ads will turn our search engine into a pile of shit."

And, as Roszak writes, Google is "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand." That is, the company has become so dominant and cemented its position so thoroughly as the default search engine across every platforms and system that even if it makes its search terrible to goose revenues, users won't leave. As Lily Tomlin put it on SNL: "We don't have to care, we're the phone company."

In the enshittification cycle, companies first lure in users with surpluses – like providing the best search results rather than the most profitable ones – with an eye to locking them in. In Google's case, that lock-in has multiple facets, but the big one is spending billions of dollars – enough to buy a whole Twitter, every single year – to be the default search everywhere.

Google doesn't buy its way to dominance because it has the very best search results and it wants to shield you from inferior competitors. The economically rational case for buying default position is that preventing competition is more profitable than succeeding by outperforming competitors. The best reason to buy the default everywhere is that it lets you lower quality without losing business. You can "ignore the demand side, and only focus on advertisers."

For a lot of people, the analysis stops here. "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product." Google locks in users and sells them to advertisers, who are their co-conspirators in a scheme to screw the rest of us.

But that's not right. For one thing, paying for a product doesn't mean you won't be the product. Apple charges a thousand bucks for an iPhone and then nonconsensually spies on every iOS user in order to target ads to them (and lies about it):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

John Deere charges six figures for its tractors, then runs a grift that blocks farmers from fixing their own machines, and then uses their control over repair to silence farmers who complain about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

Fair treatment from a corporation isn't a loyalty program that you earn by through sufficient spending. Companies that can sell you out, will sell you out, and then cry victim, insisting that they were only doing their fiduciary duty for their sacred shareholders. Companies are disciplined by fear of competition, regulation or – in the case of tech platforms – customers seizing the means of computation and installing ad-blockers, alternative clients, multiprotocol readers, etc:

https://doctorow.medium.com/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse-3cc01e7e4604?sk=85b3f5f7d051804521c3411711f0b554

Which is where the next stage of enshittification comes in: when the platform withdraws the surplus it had allocated to lure in – and then lock in – business customers (like advertisers) and reallocate it to the platform's shareholders.

For Google, there are several rackets that let it screw over advertisers as well as searchers (the advertisers are paying for the product, and they're also the product). Some of those rackets are well-known, like Jedi Blue, the market-rigging conspiracy that Google and Facebook colluded on:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

But thanks to the antitrust trial, we're learning about more of these. Megan Gray – ex-FTC, ex-DuckDuckGo – was in the courtroom last week when evidence was presented on Google execs' panic over a decline in "ad generating searches" and the sleazy gimmick they came up with to address it: manipulating the "semantic matching" on user queries:

https://www.wired.com/story/google-antitrust-lawsuit-search-results/

When you send a query to Google, it expands that query with terms that are similar – for example, if you search on "Weds" it might also search for "Wednesday." In the slides shown in the Google trial, we learned about another kind of semantic matching that Google performed, this one intended to turn your search results into "a twisted shopping mall you can’t escape."

Here's how that worked: when you ran a query like "children's clothing," Google secretly appended the brand name of a kids' clothing manufacturer to the query. This, in turn, triggered a ton of ads – because rival brands will have bought ads against their competitors' name (like Pepsi buying ads that are shown over queries for Coke).

Here we see surpluses being taken away from both end-users and business customers – that is, searchers and advertisers. For searchers, it doesn't matter how much you refine your query, you're still going to get crummy search results because there's an unkillable, hidden search term stuck to your query, like a piece of shit that Google keeps sticking to the sole of your shoe.

But for advertisers, this is also a scam. They're paying to be matched to users who search on a brand name, and you didn't search on that brand name. It's especially bad for the company whose name has been appended to your search, because Google has a protection racket where the company that matches your search has to pay extra in order to show up overtop of rivals who are worse matches. Both the matching company and those rivals have given Google a credit-card that Google gets to bill every time a user searches on the company's name, and Google is just running fraudulent charges through those cards.

And, of course, Google put this in writing. I mean, of course they did. As we learned from the documentary The Incredibles, supervillains can't stop themselves from monologuing, and in big, sprawling monopolists, these monologues have to transmitted electronically – and often indelibly – to far-flung co-cabalists.

As Gray points out, this is an incredibly blunt enshittification technique: "it hadn’t even occurred to me that Google just flat out deletes queries and replaces them with ones that monetize better." We don't know how long Google did this for or how frequently this bait-and-switch was deployed.

But if this is a blunt way of Google smashing its fist down on the scales that balance search quality against ad revenues, there's plenty of subtler ways the company could sneak a thumb on there. A Google exec at the trial rhapsodized about his company's "contract with the user" to deliver an "honest results policy," but given how bad Google search is these days, we're left to either believe he's lying or that Google sucks at search.

The paper trail offers a tantalizing look at how a company went from doing something that was so good it felt like a magic trick to being "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand," able to "ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers."

What's more, this is a system where everyone loses (except for Google): this isn't a grift run by Google and advertisers on users – it's a grift Google runs on everyone.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[wombywoo]

do you have any ghostsoap favorite fics, perhaps?

boy do I....

I should preface this by saying that I'm pretty...particular with what types of fics I enjoy reading (I only like certain character interpretations/tropes/writing styles, etc) so bear with me...

These are all mostly canon-compliant, non-AUs, ones that I regard highly~

Seasons--by StinglessWasp: This is pretty much my go-to fic rec for anyone into CoD and ghostsoap in general. It showcases everything I love about these characters, in a setting that feels as authentic to the games as possible, while also exploring the depth and sincerity hidden under the surface. So well-written and paced--the dialogue and military references all contribute to that 'feels like a mission out of the game' experience. Plus, I just love this interpretation of our boys--the humor, the inner struggles, the intimacy--Wasp 100% *gets* these characters and it's a joy to read <3

Except You, You Can Stay--by Iravaid: While this one isn't *technically* ghostsoap until the last chapter, in my opinion, it's required reading for anyone who gives a shit about Simon Riley. This is *the* character study--an intimate dissection of Ghost's past that seems so realistic and grounded, you forget how ludicrous those comics really are. Ira takes such care in treating these heavy topics with delicacy and effectiveness. Each chapter has you going 'oh wow, this is even better than the last', but as a whole--it's a stunning, fleshed-out glimpse into Simon as the character he was always meant to be. And the final chapter which eases you into his relationship with Johnny is so authentic and sweet, it just makes perfect sense that they should be together, and that this poor poor man deserves some goddamn love <3

bleeding in the house of god--by revolvermonkcelot: This is a really great 'missing scene' fic, a perfect opportunity to explore the in-between moments that the game so carelessly chooses to gloss over. I can't praise Monk's writing enough--it's slick and crisp and very tasty; the imagery just jumps off the page and you can practically feel the sweat. Plus, the dialogue exchanges between our two boys are so well-timed and in-character--love all the slang and British references~ This whole fic reads like an addition to their mission flirting, and I'm all for it! You can truly tell this author has such deep understanding and experience with this franchise (winkwinkwink, this is a joke) Read it--it's good!

The Dead are all Living--by Kabbal: This fic blew me away when I first read it. It's such a unique take on the retirement trope, I just adore this interpretation of Simon as an aging recluse while he builds his home. I tend to lean towards more subtle, grounded characterizations of Mr Riley, and this really fits the bill. All of these glimpses and fragments into his post-military life contribute to an overarching love story; the scenes with Johnny are so poignant, it's like you're pining alongside them both. I love how not-perfect they are; flawed and difficult and real. There are some moments and lines that just....struck something in me so deeply. I'm sure I'll still be thinking about it for a long long time <3

Portrait of Taction--by a_platypus: Another Simon-centric fic that I absolutely love. The character voice in this is off the charts, I can hear him so vividly in all of his inner dialogue and stunted attempts at conversation. Simon is so endearingly dense in this fic, you're just waiting for him to finally get his act together, but the clumsy, oblivious steps he takes in his relationship with Soap are truly a treat to read. I love this version of Johnny too--confident and considerate, but still hopelessly crushing on his superior. It's comedic, well-written, and the paragraphs describing Soap's journal give some of the best insights into his character I've seen <3

come on, haunt me--by flyby2: This was a really good long fic that I took my time savoring. What could have been a typical 'on leave' fic instead took time to develop a unique spin on the backstories as well as throwing our boys into some wholesome encounters. Both Soap and Ghost felt very true to character, and I appreciate the exploration of PTSD and the subsequent struggles that come along with...all that. There was a really nice balance in having their romance spread across the chapters, and I can promise a very sweet, happy conclusion <3

in the mess of it all--by flowersferns: A lovely one-shot that exhibits some of my favorite aspects of these two characters. I'm a sucker for 'one of them is hurt, the other is freaking out, they are both idiots in love, etc'. There are some really great dialogue and character moments in this, plus the overall prose hits hard. Love this take on their romance--the mutual trust, the familiarity of their bond. And just the general theme of impermanence--the inevitability of what this relationship means for them--two soldiers, willing and ready to sacrifice their lives at a moment's notice, still clinging to each other because...god...that's all they have---big fan of this :'D <3

Lapsus--by Lisbetadair: Another really great one-shot and 'missing scene' fic. The authenticity in the writing is spot-on--it's like you can feel Soap's pain right off the bat. I love how smoothly the banter flows between the two, and the attention to detail and references all help lend to that 'hardened military man' exterior. Ghost smelling like flowers because of a face wipe is such a delightful addition, plus the scene where Soap is, ah, donald-ducking it in just a t-shirt with his jewels out is such a funny mental image, I still think of it fondly from time to time. It's funny, it's surprisingly cute, it's very in-character. Stick around for some awkward but adorable cuddles <3

I'm sure I have more to recommend, but these are the ones I can personally endorse for now~

[blastoqueen]

Sunrise.

Chapter 5

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationships: Noa x Mae (Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes)

Content warnings: None

Comments: English is not my first language. I recommend you to watch the deleted scene where Noa and Mae talk about dreams and the telescope, it's not too important but it gives a tiny little bit of context for a short paragraph in the story. Enjoy!

Anaya woke up in the morning with more energy than usual and went to the main tower to look for his best friend, hoping they could do some climbing later, maybe he could convince Noa to go beyond the valley and explore a little more the ancient Echoes civilizations. However, when he arrived at Noa´s room, he found nothing but his empty litter and Dar, who was just waking up.

“Dar!” Anaya said, feeling a little invasive “Good morning. Noa?”

The female ape yawned deeply and scratch her belly.

“Dar?”

“Oh, Anaya, I don´t know” she said uninterested, yet calm; getting up to start her day.

“You… not worried?”

“Why would I? Noa… old enough. Not a baby. Probably… out”

Anaya left the tower, feeling a little worried. Ever since the kidnapping, he started to feel uneasy, like he should be alert and ready to fight. When he couldn’t find his friends, he felt this tight in his stomach.

“It´s called anxiety” Noa explain when they were settling their home again. Anaya was brave enough to express his feelings to his leader, hoping he could give him a peace of mind “Raka… told me so”

Soon enough, that word had spread like a quick virus among the apes. Everyone was using it. Noa wondered if they were truly anxious from what happened, or if they were just interested in using a new word.

Walking through the village, Anaya found his best friend sleeping next to the horses, with a blanket over his head, covering him from the sun.

“Noa! What are you… doing?”

The leader woke up and rapidly sat. He looked around him and spotted Anaya looking down on him like he was crazy. Maybe he was.

“What?”

“Why are you here?”

“Oh, not reason” Noa answered, feeling shy and oddly embarrassed. His friend gave him a look “Okey, I was out… all night. When I came back… to tired to go up. Sleep here”

Anaya looked confused.

“Where?”

“Uh… to the lighting dancers’ field”

“What?!” Anaya screamed with excitement, Noa hushed him with his hand and took him to a more private place, just a few meters away from the village.

“Who is… the lucky one?” the eldest asked.

“What?”

“You know”

“I do not”

“Noa. Romantic place. Take girlfriend” Anaya was too excited at this point, giggling and jumping around his friend, happy to be the first to know the details of how the date had gone.

“No, Anaya, it wasn´t… like that” Noa sighed mildly annoyed. Kind of disappointed.

It had been just a sweet moment between Mae and him, it wasn´t a mating ritual, nor a proposal. It was just a night out with a girl he cared about and wanted to show her something nice and pretty.

He didn’t want anybody to think he was trying to marry Mae (´cause he was not). That would be weird. An ape and an animal, getting together? Now way. That was just unnatural, wasn´t it? It would be like marrying a horse. “Except it would not be like that, and you know it” Noa thought. “She has the same features as you. Apes and human… we are not that different” Except they kind of were “But she is smart. She is not like those animals”

“It was just a nice walk”

Anaya snorted at his answer, like it was an obvious lie.

“With… who?”

Noa wondered if he could trust his friend, in a normal situation he would, but Anaya had imagined a whole scenario about a mate and a proposal, he didn’t want him to get his ideas twisted.

“Mae”

The ape stood in silence. The leader couldn’t figure out his expression. It was a mix between shock and something else, maybe fear?

“But I told you… it wasn’t like that” Noa tried to explain, his voice sounded nervous, and he knew that it seemed like he was lying “Really. The Echo never saw the dancers before”

The silence was getting unbearable, he needed to get out of there soon. Acting annoyed and angry, Noa pushed lightly Anaya to the side and started to walk towards the village.

“Wait” Anaya said, “Did she… like the lights?”

Noa turn around and looked at his friend, a kind smile was growing in his face. Noa tried to give him the same gesture, but the anxiety was just too strong.

“Yes, she liked the lights”

“Enjoyed the night? Both”

“Yes, it was nice”

Anaya walked towards his best friend, with open arms and a sympathetic smile, ready to hug the other ape.

“Then… that is all… that matters”

---------

It was a chilly night, not cold, but Mae felt the need to get a blanket to covered herself from the wind. She was getting goosebumps and a slightly runny nose.

She was with a group of apes, sitting in a circle and just telling stories and legends, some were made up and some were real things that happened in the village a while ago. The human was sitting next to Soona and Case, listening to a semi old male ape talking about the time he saw a creature bigger than a horse, with big paws and very fat. He said it attacked his wife, but fortunately they made it to the village and loose the animal on the way. The other apes were making fun of his story, saying he was probably making all up.

Mae supposed the beast he was talking about was a bear, but she stayed silent. She didn’t know exactly why she felt so scared revealing more stuff about the world to the apes. Except she did know.

She was terrified of them sometimes. She could see how they were improving their speech, at least Noa. Mae tried to fake an ape way of speaking, but it was very difficult to pretend and not let difficult words come out of her mouth. It was easier to stay silent. And the reason? She felt like she was teaching them human ways. And that felt like a nightmare came true. Mae saw the evolution among the apes. Spreading.

She learned to be around them, to joke and live a simple life surrounded by the apes. But she felt like crossing a line when it came to “teach” them.

They learned fast. Noa was the fastest. She remembered their conversation at the fire camp when they were after Proximus, how the ape asked about what they saw inside the telescope. She lied and said she didn’t know. Because she was too scared to talk about things only humans on earth knew about.

That same night, she observed Noa, fixing the electric weapon. She was terrified.

“Cold?” said a male voice behind her. It was Noa, holding a blanket in his hands.

“Yeah, a little” Mae answered. The ape sat beside her, squishing between her and Case.

The female ape rolled her eyes and move next to Soona so Noa wouldn’t suffocate her.

Instead of giving Mae the blanket, the male wrapped it around her shoulders. The human girl stood still.

“What are they talking about?” the leader asked in a quiet voice, so he doesn’t interrupt the story telling.

“About everything” Mae said “That old ape saw a beast one time. Nobody believes him”

“Oh, the big paws monster?” Noa snorted.

“Have you heard his story?”

“Yes, he tells it all the time” Noa took a peach from his little bag and started to eat it. Mae noticed how he only eats with his mouth close now. Something he must have learn from the human girl.

“Do you not believe him?” Mae inquired with a rise eyebrow.

“Nobody does”

“Maybe we could—” the girl was interrupted by a different ape, pointing direct at her.

“Okey everyone! Maybe it´s… time… for the Echo… to tell a… story”

Some apes were exciting to hear what the human had to say, while others stayed silent, cautious.

“Oh, I… I don´t really have a story”

“Everyone has a story” Noa said with a grin, he was enjoying watching Mae get embarrassed.

“Can it be made up?”

“Of course”

“Well, uh… there is this story” Mae started “It was very popular in my home. Every kid knew about it. It´s about a princess, well, she wasn´t really one—”

“What is a… princess?” an ape asked from the opposite side of the circle.

“Uh… they used to rule kingdoms—”

Everyone started to murmur, scared, fresh memories of Proximus and the kidnapping.

“But they were nice kingdoms, they were gentle and kind, and showed mercy” That was a lie “Anyway, she was not really a princess, she was just a girl who worked really hard to get what she wanted. On the other hand, there was this boy, who was actually a prince. So, this prince gets turned into a frog by an evil man, and only a true love kiss could turn him back into a human. Then, this girl, found the frog and became very fond of him, they kissed, and the prince turned back into a human, they were happy after that”

There was a moment of complete silence, Mae held her beath, not knowing what to do or expect. Then, a whole lot of questions were asked, all at the same time, the girl tried to answer all of them, without revealing too much or making them confused. That wasn’t the whole story, she skipped a lot of details, but she knew the apes wouldn’t understand the concept of magic or human customs.

“How were… the princess?”

“They were beautiful girls with castles”

“The frog… talked? Like you?”

“Yes, he did. That is how they got to know each other”

After a whole bunch of questions, Noa noticed Mae getting overwhelmed, so he called it a night and send everyone to sleep.

He accompanied the Echo to her room, stopping at the door.

“Goodnight Mae. That was a good story” he said with a smile.

“Thank you”

“Sleep, princess”

[im-yn-suckers]

me when riki serves bf core

battery level; █ 10% or when youre so tired that even riki knows how to handle it

you were especially tired today. you dont know why. you woke up today, exhausted, you got ready for school, exhausted and came home from school, exhausted. riki knew that your classes can sometimes be a lot to handle. hes also an expert in how you act, others think he may be more on the clueless side of things when it comes to ur feelings but its quite the opposite.

'hi pretty' 'hi ki' a simple interaction was all it took for riki to notice you were down. its been hours and all youve done was start on your paper, if you call an intro paragraph starting.

once you finally finish your paper (after locking in) you go up to your shared bedroom and see riki playing video games, having done his own work a while ago. he knew you needed some space, so he left you to do your work. you walk to him and stand behind his chair, putting your hands on his shoulders. you dont say anything, knowing you could embarrass him while 'playing with the homies'. he looks up,

'hi pretty, you feeling better?' he shuts off the pc, leaving his friends mad. he spins his chair around to face you. you nod in response, he stands up and hugs you tightly before leading you to the bed, he lays down and pulls you down with him and although you guys talked maybe three times today, all the hugs made up for it

a/n: uhm academic comback this year?? i have such good grades guys i might tweak out. IM SO SORRY TO THOSE HWO ACTUALLY WAIT FOR ME TO POST, I SAID ID POST AND I HAVENT IN LIKE A MONTH, ive been so drained and feel really pressured rn so ive been taking for time for ms!

[stonebutchery]

it's kind of baffling to me that entire sub-groups of queer folks endured a decade of being singled out and targeted for being asexual, aromantic, bisexual, pansexual, nonbinary, polyamorous, etc. and i have yet to see any substantial apologies from people who were directly responsible for causing genuine harm. i find it completely bizarre that there are so many people who want to sweep their past contributions to widespread lateral aggression toward specific queer groups under the rug like it didn't happen so they can wash their hands of it... there are people who are irreversibly traumatized because of this. there are people who took their lives because of it.

i'm wording the post like despite the fact that exclusionism targeting these groups (and more) continues to persist partly because it was a really frighteningly common trend to harass people just because they were ace, aro, bi, pan, nonbinary, poly, etc... and it's crazy to me that many of the people who were affected by this massive multi-pronged public online bullying campaign against the 'unacceptable types of queers' are the ones still receiving messages like "my url got put on an aphobe blocklist in 2016 because apparently a post i made making fun of asexuals got some teenage asexuals harassed and i still distrust asexuals to this day because of that" ...are you fucking kidding me?

we will never achieve any kind of unity as a queer community while we are insisting upon ignoring the hurt that lateral aggression has caused, and acting like the burden lies on the shoulders of the people who were harmed to forgive the people who harmed them and 'just move on', many of whom are not sorry for what they did! or they don't consider what they did to be wrong! how is that not deeply disturbing and troubling to more of you?

03/06/2024 edit: i’m putting a complete moratorium on this post because i am really sick and tired of having my point not only completely misconstrued and distorted entirely but also weaponized against transfems (particularly in replies i have decided to delete about how “ugh yes, exclusionism, and now transfems are bullying transmascs”) i find that really sickening and i’m demanding that it stop, and i can make it stop by turning off reblogs. so i have.

my objective in writing this post was never to request an apology from people who have been laterally-aggressive exclusionists in the past. i don’t think we’ll ever get more than a handful of apologies from those people, anyway. my point was that it was pretty terrifying to witness and experience a lot of lateral aggression that transferred from the real, in-person world to the deeply online spaces back into the real, in-person world in a really fucked up feedback loop and being a young queer person during this time and having that shape me, snd shape the experiences of my queer friends who have been traumatized by it.

however, it is absolutely unacceptable to me that the issue of transmisogyny is so blatantly overlooked by our entire community. for decades, transfems have experienced oppression and exclusion from transmisogyny-exempt women and queers. their exclusion from political queer liberation movements has caused many of the major schisms within our community we are still having arguments about to this day. if you want collective queer liberation, you must uplift transfems. there is no other option. you don’t get to write off all transfems just because one person who happened to be transfem was mean to you online or something.

i have answered and responded to way too many conspiracy-brained transmisogynist reactionaries to allow this post to keep fucking snowballing with people writing paragraphs in the tags about “transmisandry” or “transandrophobia.” please get your heads out of your asses.

this absolutely is the transmisogyny website, as always, and the place where all basic textual comprehension skills go to die, apparently.

[glitterycvm]

"I'D UNDERSTAND "

[•~college!au, aged!up kirshima x reader~•]fluff/slight angst/smut

[•~synopsis: you find out your boyfriend was just using you, don't worry ejiro will help you forget all about that~•]

[•~a/n: inspired by a situation my friend was js in, send requests!!~•]

you couldn't believe it. after all that time? all those memories you two had together. it was all for nothing.

you and your (ex) boyfriend had been dating for a couple weeks. even though it was merely a couple weeks, you were convinced that he was the love of your life. you knew that he was the one. or at least you thought so-

gradually things got distant, he stopped making an effort overall, while you put in everything you had. you were confused and frustrated. you didn't do anything to him? so what was going on?...

then earlier this afternoon, you were catching up on some nearly-late homework assignments. as you scribbled your way through some equations a light buzz vibrated against your thigh.

curiously, you took out your phone and glanced over at the notification. you had got a message from your boyfriend.

you open his chats eagerly, for once he started a conversation with you. but your moment of glee soon came to an abrupt end as you read the first couple words.

"y/n. we need to break up"

you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. your stomach dropped making the guilty and panicky feeling overtake your senses even more.

you continue reading the paragraph, each word making that sick feeling grow in you. you couldn't believe that this was happening. it had to be a nightmare.

"tbh i was desperate for a prom date cs all my friends going had one and i didn't wanna be left out and at that point they were making fun of me so yea i shoulda js told the truth from the start instead of lying"

emotions flooded your mind. betrayal. disappointment. anger. were just to name a few. you were at a loss for words. you thought he actually loved you. he treated you better than any other guy you were previously with. and you get played?

you drop your phone, tears flooding your eyes as you fall onto your bed, head buried in the pillow below you. the only thing you felt like doing now was to cry your eyes out dry. sob until you got better if that was possible anymore. you felt stupid.

teardrops dampened the pillowcase below you face as you say there in sorrow. but your moment of mourning was soon interrupted by a series of knocks. a familiar voice following.

"y/n? you left your textbooks in the library-"

you quickly fix yourself up, taking in a couple deep breaths and wiping the tears off your cheeks. you swiftly get up from your bed, praying that the faint pink tint plastered all over your face wasn't too obvious.

your hand curls over the doorknob and you open the door slowly. being greeted with a familiar red haired boy. eijiro kirishima, your best friend. one of his arms holding up a stack of books, while the other was shoved in his jacket pocket.

"h-hey eijiro... thanks for bringing me these" you whispered, hiding your shaky rattled voice. eijiro looked down at you with a small frown. "you okay, y/n?" he asks, handing you the books, worry and concern evident in his tone.

those three words were all it took to make you crack. you erupted back into that familiar sorrow, eyes overfilling with water.

you then feel strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into a warm and comforting embrace. without any thought you cry into his chest, a spot in his hoodie getting soaked.

a hand strokes your back softly as his soothing voice whispers in your ear "let it out, it's all gonna be okay y/n, I promise..." you hug him back even tighter, too lost in your emotions.

a couple moments pass before eijiro pulls away for a quick moment, arms still wrapped around you.

"you wanna tell me what's wrong?..."

you explain to kirishima everything that had just happened. he knew about this boyfriend you had and wasn't too trusting of him to begin with. he has a gut feeling something was off but he didn't want to burst your bubble so he kept quiet.

at least that's what he told himself. in actuality he couldn't tell if he was just jealous of him or if he actually had a guy feeling. something eijiro had never told you was that he had the biggest crush on you ever since you two had met. and every time you mentioned or introduced him to a new guy the only thing he could think of was how much better he was.

this moment was no different either. you told him in the past about how your boyfriend was treating you. from all the dry and lackluster conversations to the lack of attention. he heard it all. and he tried his best to comfort you, to try to look out for the both of you. when in reality he wanted you all for himself. he wanted to tell you how much of a better boyfriend he could be.

his blood boiled and his heart was full of fury. "that is so messed up." he grumbled arm wrapped around one of your shoulders as he held you in close, inhaling tye sweet scent of your shampoo.

"I know... im so tired of this ejiro. am I really that unlovable?.." you ask, glancing back up at the red haired male, eyelashes decorated with tiny teardrops. kirishima feels his cheeks reddened and blush as he thinks carefully about his reply. he could ruin your friendship if this doesn't go his way. but if it does workout, his dreams will come true. a moment passes before he replies.

"y/n, honestly I can't even hide this anymore from you. I love you. I mean it I swear. it drives me mad seeing you let these guys take advantage of you like this, you're too pretty and perfect to be treated like this. please- let me show you how good I could treat you-"

and that's how it all started. you were laid down on your back, thighs pushed all the way to your chest as kirishima towered over you.

"relax for me mamas... ima make you feel so good..." he cooes into your ear, hand caressing your cheek. you listen to him and let go of all the tension you were holding in, a breathy exhale leaving your lips.

kirishima teases his tip in between your fold and clit, making the both of you let out a small moan. soon enough he gently pushes himself in, groaning at the way your wet walls clam down on his length. you grip the bedsheets next to you as the feeling of the pleasureable yet painful stretch engulfs your senses.

"you okay princess? can I start?..." he asks, checking in for any signs of discomfort on your face. it took everything in him to not start moving and pound the life out of you, he had fantasized about this moment since forever and it was finally in his hands.

you nod, and kirishima starts moving at a slow pace, making sure you were okay, after all the last thing he would ever want to do, is to hurt you. but soon enough he picks up the pace gradually, making you cry out for more. "your takin it so well for me mamas..." he praises, his hips bucking into your cunt even quicker.

"f-fuck she was made for me hm? bet that lameass boyfriend couldn't get ya like this" he mumbles, pointing your chin down to make sure you maintain eye contact with him.

he begins to get rougher, hands quickly shifting your legs from pressed against your torso to now your calves on his shoulders. the new position made him ram into that spongy spot, making your moans even louder.

it all felt so good, from the way his cock was now even deeper in you, the way his thrust became harsh and passionate you could only shut your eyes from the ecstasy.

"don't close your eyes on me mama, keep them open or I'll stop." he commands, drilling into your hole even faster now, the sound of skin slapping follow suit. you open your eyes, listening to his warning. he smirks and whispers down into your ear "good girl... you're so obedient for me mamas" he grins.

he pounds into you harshly, faint mumbles of " so-so sorry mamas... can't hold back anymore" as he drills into you, his grip on your hips was sure to leave a purplish bruise the next morning.

you feel the familiar know in your stomach tighten. "m'so close eijiro please!-" you mewl. "cmon baby... tell me who fucks you better? me or him?" he teases. "y-you do..." you mutter out, somewhat inaudible. he lightly slaps your cheek "the fuck was that?. tell me who the fuck you belong to-" he grunts out. "y-you, I only belong to you eijiro-" you cry out

"good girl, listenin to me so well..." eijiro grins and places a hand on your bud, digits rubbing quick circles all over it. bringing you over the edge.

your back arches and your thighs tremble. you let a loud moan as you feel the pleasure overwhelm you. the sight alone was enough to make kirishima reach his own high. he pulls out and begins to stroke his cock, letting out pretty groans as his lips part slightly.

long ropes of cum decorate your stomach as you both pant out heavily. you close your eyes, as you catch your breath. while you do so kirishima notices your phone on the other side of the bed, open.

he grabs it quickly without you noticing and snaps a quick photo. hurriedly tapping on your exes icon and sending him the photo.

"kinda sad that you let such a pretty girl like her go. it's okay i'd understand, you didn't deserve her anyways"

[evilgwrl]

okay ngl, this is an ask I'm sending to multiple people because holy shit why did it pop in my head I need to see this written T^T

reader is part of !141 and is the only one who knows how to ride a motorbike, so she has to go undercover for a biker gang?? idk but just hear me out. Anyway she has no tattoos or piercings so they get her those temporary tattoos that last two weeks and some fake piercings (or real ones in case they fall off) and so none of the 141 know she's having this whole makeover, and when they get the big reveal I just want to know their reactions- I'm sorry I suck at writing, I'm just good at coming up with the ideas lmao. reading back my whole paragraph I realised how much I truly suck at typing, I apologise that you had to deal with this.

Ahhhh!!! I love this. I hope I did your idea justice and you enjoy it anon 🥹 If you want something a lil more racy let me know but I kept it SFW just incase

CW: None

Your body felt exhausted, thighs moulded to the chair as manicured hands rushed around your frame, prodding at your skin with brushes and wet rags, stamping your flesh with intricate designs. The woman’s voice was soft as she took in your expression, an understanding smile adorning her features as she assured you, they were nearly done.

“Voila,” she gasped, moving away from you as you stared at the mirror in front of you. Temporary tattoos snaked around the coil of your arms, muscles stamped with infamous gang signs and your nose and eyebrows dangling with metal jewellery as your fingers prodded at them, your face creased with slight discomfort.

“We’re going to need to get you dressed but you already look the part!”

You winced at the excitement in her voice, a slight simmer of humiliation broiling through you as you took in the look. You looked so… different. “Thank you,” you murmured, turning around to take in the large snake design that was entwined between your spine.

You felt like you were entering a pageant, constant hands smoothing out your skin and hair as you coughed at the lethal amount of hairspray. Grease dribbled down your chin as you choked down some food, disgusted huffs passing through the lady’s mouth as she ushered something about acting the part too.

“You’re all done, sergeant.”

You paced the room anxiously, wire taped to your chest, nestled in between your cleavage as you awaited the remainder of the task force. It was strange, the most they had ever seen you in was a pair of jeans and a simple top beside your military gear, the barracks were no place for fashion. Sweaty hands rubbed at the leather pants; slick stains of residue quickly brushed away nervously as you prodded with the facial piercings in the mirror.

“Hells feckin’ bells, Bonnie,” a swift voice whistled, Soap’s face charmed with a boyish grin, blue eyes sweeping across your exposed skin, “ain’ you a sight for sore eyes?”

“I look ridiculous,” you blurted, folding your arms self-consciously as the Scotsman tsked his tongue, smacking his lips together.

“Ye’ look good… lil too good for the task force, hen. Might need to find ye a new profession after this.”

You rolled his eyes at his playful tone, his lashes flickering as he took in the sight of you. A flirtatious whistle cut through the air as Gaz slapped his hand against the door, mouth wide. “Sergeant Y/N, that you under all those tattoos?” You bit back a bark as he smiled at you, tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips.

“You look good, [callsign]. Them bikers might wanna keep you to themselves.”

“We ain’ gonna let that happen, lass,” Soap jabbered, “Yer’ our girl, ain’ ya?”

Your reply was cut short by a pound against the door as a gruff voice snapped, “Oi, let’s move it. Don’t got all bloody day, Sergeants.”

Ghost’s eyes lingered over you for a moment, blonde lashes flicking up and down your body, pausing on every tattoo almost as if he was memorising them before he turned around, cold physique dusting through the hallway as you all followed. Captain Price was rambling through his headset to Laswell before he paused, dismissing himself as you all waltzed towards him.

A large Yamaha was sleeked against the exit, the tyres slightly worn to feign usage as you whistled lowly. “Got this all for me, Cap?” Your tone was sharp, admiring the ride before you as a tattooed hand wrapped around the leather handles.

“A biker looking like you ain’ gonna ride a shitbox,” he said, his voice holding an underlying meaning as he did a once over, “Y’ get in trouble in there and you call us in immediately, you understand [callsign]?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take care of those tattoos after this as well, suit ya.”

A warm blush settled on the apple of your cheeks before you reached for the helmet, flattening your hair down as you secured it in place.

“Let’s get us a win.”

[lightsoutletsgo]

I’m such an angst girly omg how about lando’s phone not working and reader gets sad he’s not replying or answering her calls for a few days🤨

pairing: lando norris x reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, allusions to a panic attack, reader is v emotional, lando is an idiot ahhhh tysm for sending this in! It was fun to write but ofc I had to make it fluffy to end bc I didn't wanna make myself too sad happy reading! love mimi 🤍

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Long distance relationships were hard, you knew that before you’d even started dating Lando. You’d heard all of the stories before but like the many innocent others who had yet to experience their partner being on the other side of the world, you were determined that everything would be okay. 

Now, as you thought back to how naive you’d been, you scoffed, how could you have thought it would be so simple? If you weren’t battling with time zones, you were battling to find free time, and if you found free time, it was never quiet and peaceful and it never lasted more than a few minutes. You knew you should have been satisfied with those snatched moments you did get, but you missed your boyfriend. 

You missed him even more when he got another podium and you weren’t there to celebrate with him. You’d stayed up until stupid o’clock to watch the race live and you’d cheered and jumped as your boyfriend performed overtake after overtake to move up the grid to claim second place. You knew that once he had done his post-race interviews and meetings he would call you. You sighed as once more Lando’s contact picture flashed up with ‘facetime unavailable’. You’d scheduled this call the night before but he was only a few minutes late. You shook your head as you took a deep breath, he was probably just finishing up in meetings. Half an hour went by and your stomach twisted with worry as you still hadn’t heard from him. You checked your phone but there were no new notifications - not from him at least anyway. 

You curled up on the couch, noticing Lando’s hoodie still resting over the arm of the couch. Pulling it towards you, you nuzzled your face into it and inhaled, the smell of his cologne washing over you. You felt tears well up in your eyes. No matter how busy or tired he was, he had never once missed your call. You grew angry, not with Lando, never with Lando, but just at the situation. 

You huffed and grabbed your phone once more, deciding to doom scroll through instagram until Lando finally called. You noticed that a few people had posted new stories and so you pressed on the first one, absentmindedly tapping your screen until you paused, sitting up quickly as you realised the story you were looking at was Max Fewtrell’s. He’d posted a video in the club at a post-race party. You normally wouldn’t have batted an eyelid, but you could have sworn in the back corner of the dimly-lit club video was a figure that looked suspiciously like Lando. Going back to the start of his story and scrolling through again you realised it was Lando, wearing the black shirt you’d given him for his birthday the previous year. 

Turns out you could be mad at Lando. Something uncomfortable and hot flashed in your stomach as nausea hit you. Anger curled its way up your spine and through your chest, tightening around your lungs and making it hard to breathe. He was out at a club? And that’s why he hadn’t called you? You growled and glared at your screen, thumbs jabbing into the keyboard as you furiously typed a message to Max. He was online, you noted, as you hit ‘send’ and waited for him to read it. You barely had to wait five minutes before Max was apologising profusely and sending you a long paragraph about how he was sure Lando had texted you and would be letting him know straight away. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, throwing your phone down on the couch next to you with a ‘hmmph’. You sat in silence for a while, your emotions slowly welling up as tears gathered on your lash line. Was this how your relationship was going to end? Long nights alone while Lando partied it up on the other side of the world? Surrounded by scores of choices of pretty women and an endless supply of alcohol? You couldn’t help the way you sobbed as you grabbed his hoodie once more, desperately trying to catch your breath. You were crying so hard you almost didn’t hear the way your phone vibrated on the cushion. You gasped for air as you picked it up and turned it over, Max’s name flashing on the screen. You snatched your phone up and pressed the green button to accept, not even registering that it was a facetime call and he was going to see you crying.

You inhaled sharply as it was Lando’s worried face that appeared on the screen, he looked panicked and you could hear the music thumping in the background although slightly muffled. Despite the fluorescent lights he was standing under, he still looked good, “Baby? Oh my god…” He took in your tear stained cheeks and the way your eyes were red. He noted your sniffling noises and the way your bottom lip trembled, “Love I’m so so sorry!” You let out a laugh and rolled your eyes, trying to not let him see the next wave of tears that were threatening to fall, “Sure.” He sighed, “Honey, I promise you, I didn't mean it. I did text you! I didn’t realise it didn’t go through because I was in the post-race meeting!” “I wanted to celebrate your win with you!” Lando gently shushed you as he saw your chest heave, your breathing quickening once more, “Baby, baby, shh sh sh it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m right here.” He looked off screen for a moment to a person you assumed to be Max before the music got louder again and then quiet, as if Max had left Lando alone. You followed along with his breathing as he over exaggerated for you to copy.

“Love I promise you it was just an accident okay? I texted you to ask if you were ready to call but when there was no reply I assumed you’d fallen asleep so then I texted you to ask if you could be at the airport for 4am…” He winced, “I decided to fly home early and have a few days with you before the next race.” You melted back against the couch, hugging his hoodie to your chest as you tucked your knees up under your chin and rested your phone there, “4am?” You sniffled with a giggle, “Is that my hoodie?” He said, doing his best to distract you and you let out a proper giggle this time, “Lando! 4am is so early!” He laughed, relieved to see you feeling better, “I figured we could go for a super early breakfast and then go home and fall asleep together, in our bed, in our apartment which is my favourite place to be, with my love. Your bottom lip wobbled once more, “You promise?” He nodded to assure you, “I promise.” You inhaled deeply and let out an exhale with a sigh, “I can’t wait to see you,” your thumb gently rubbed across his cheek even through the screen. “I can’t wait to see you either love, can’t wait to be home”