One weird experience of transitioning is failing at ur assigned gender role the whole time and everyone constantly deriding you for it but then u come out and it's like we lost a beautiful gender conforming warrior today. Must grieve for my wonderful child who pissed me off by being ugly and weird since day 1

"you can't even be butch anymore!" says cis woman who has mocked every butch woman she ever met

*superwholock was defined by the submitter as Supernatural, Dr Who, and Sherlock.

This poll was submitted to this blog by a tumblr user! If you want a poll run, you can submit it and it may be posted!

Reblogs for larger sample size is appreciated!

EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP SCIENTISTS AT THE SCHMIDT OCEAN INSTITUTE HAVE FOOTAGE OF A LIVE COLOSSAL SQUID FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

🦑‼️🦑‼️🦑‼️🦑‼️🦑‼️🦑

for context, scientists have know about these mfs for like a HUNDRED YEARS but only now have they actually seen one ALIVE !!

brainfog girlies make some noise if you're fuckin uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Remember this

Hunger has been eating away at us for two months now and no one can help us. Save us from hunger and killing.

Help us with anything you can. Donate here.

Any share or simple donation helps us a lot.

Ok also but I do think the subtext of a bunch of "long COVID is why ppl are stupid/mean/shitty" takes is like 1) straightforwardly ableist (the threshold for pathologizing other ppl attributing their decisions/actions/politics to that pathology should be so fucking high and 2) wrapped up in the idea that being conservative = not taking COVID seriously = catching it multiple times = having severe long COVID such that it's like......woke coding using ableist logics to dismiss huge portions of the population + dipping frighteningly far into the idea that being sick is a moral failing. Like come on y'all.

Doctors are like: ughhhhh. You're confusing. Come back if you die

How long will you stay silent while we die in front of your eyes? The murderous Zionists have bombed Al-Ahli Baptist Hospital — the only hospital serving Gaza City. They destroyed the surgery ward, the oxygen station, and hit the ICU.

My family is left to suffer, and the world watches in silence. Help my family in Gaza. Your support could mean their survival.

Donate to us here on GoFundMe or directly via PayPal.

Vetted on @/gazavetters list no 77

Zionists are the biggest fucking morons and don't know shit about their own fascist ideology. It's unbelievable that they're all living within this bubble of delusion, spouting this nonsense. Even when assholes like Herzl, Ben-Gurion and Jabotinsky say "Oh, this is colonialism, make no mistake", these people try to engage in historical revisionism.

I am absolutely convinced that Zionists don't read their own material and lack the fundamental understanding of their ideology, given that it was a prominent issue that Herzl and early Zionist thinkers discussed. Their only understanding of Zionism is through their upbringing and the amount of hasbara they've been exposed to. You have an entire pamphlet where the most important Zionist thinker compares the Zionist project to that of Cortez and the Pilgrim fathers, and even Herzl himself was inspired by Cecil Rhodes and tried, on several occasions, to meet him. As much as these people want to whitewash that history, Zionism was a colonial project, because that's what Hess, Ha'am, Herzl, Jabotinksy, Borochov and Ben Gurion thought.

Reject any Zionist talking point, because they're just a bunch of liars.

This is why New Historians rose to prominence, because the Israeli regime declassified historical records during the 80s, and all of this has served challenge the Zionist narrative of history. However, Israeli society and culture are so stubbornly entrenched in this historical revisionism that the idea of decolonialism and self-defense are just facts to them.

Even Arthur Ruppin was a praised leader among Zionists for his role in establishing the Kibbutzim and the Tel Aviv colony, but his connection to the NSDAP and his contributions to Nazi race theory was only unearthed in 2011.

one consequence of transmisogyny (but not unique to it) is that it makes you into a paranoiac. take the example of the "degendering they" or like the "backhanded compliment," relatively minor interpersonal interactions that trans women increasingly feel hypervigilant about. it's probably counterproductive to assume everyone who gives you a compliment or refers to you as "they" or "this person" (<- phrase that actually revolts me a little now in this context) is doing so condescendingly, in a malicious or even just incidentally diminishing way. but also, everything about your life as a trans woman encourages you to be on alert for these kinds of cues, because if you're not paying attention to them then when the hammer drops it will hit that much harder.

just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you.

I’m waiting at a straight bar for this really cute trans guy I have a crush on to show up for a drink. He noted, teasingly, that I was a “fancy bitch,” and so picked a craft cocktail bar that billed itself as a “whiskey and bitters emporium.” Unfortunately, the only mixed drink I tolerate is pineapple juice and spicy tequila. The bartender, a dimpled woman with envious curls, eyed me with curiosity when I ordered it, and then said “on the house” when I began to rummage through my purse for a loose ten. I knew why the drink was free, but just in case I didn’t, the bartender said that she’d seen me around and I was a really interesting person. I thought my crush would understand my irritation at this: like, please, I already know I’m trans, just let me forget it for a second while I try to be a girl on a date with a boy. But when he arrived, he didn’t get it. A free drink was a free drink, and she didn’t give him one. 

Now he wants to know why all the trans girls in Seattle are so angry, act so traumatized. “It’s not like you’re a bunch of child soldiers. Your parents weren’t killed in front of you.” He asserts that even when something nice happens, like a free drink, trans girls get triggered. Like everything is a wound, everything is trauma. He starts talking about this trans girl he met a few months ago; how all she did was bitch about AFABS and encourage cis scum to die. He wanted to be her friend, but she called trans guys Aidens, and did things like pick up all her meals drive-through, because she was convinced people inside would stare at her or misgender her. He describes the house this girl lives in—a coven of trans women polyamorously fucking each other to biblical levels of drama over the soundtrack of Skyrim on PS3, all the while telling each other how shitty the world was away from each other, until they so confused micro-aggressions for deep violence that they walked around with knives in their boots and canisters of mace dangling from their purses—and I exhale with frustration when I realize exactly which girl he’s talking about. 

Two feelings rise. I don’t want to be categorized with Lexi. I want to be appealing to my crush. So I tell him I’m not like that. I’m not angry all the time, much less armed. But internally, I’m thinking, of course trans girls all love and fuck each other. Who else will? When I first learned the term brick for those square never-will-be-passable trans women, it was auxiliary to an explanation for another term, masonry: as in brick-on-brick love— only bricks get stuck to other bricks. 

Except what do you do with the meanness of the word masonry itself—it was other trans women, the only ones that bricks could supposedly trust, who came up with that hilariously cruel slang. Brick-on-brick betrayal. But we have to understand each other well to be so cruel. 

Most of the cruelty I’ve experienced has been inadvertant, the kind that comes from getting trampled so often that inevitablely someone steps somewhere sensitive. My first boyfriend after Sidney was a married man who fell in love with me accidentally. He could not see past his own bafflement at his attraction to see me well enough for anything like intentional cruelty. We met in hotels or he came to my studio apartment after work, and his cruelty, like his love, came accidentally. Once, he took me for a weekend in a fancy hotel in Portland—the Nines—where the Los Angeles Lakers were staying. When I came out of the shower, buoyed on a carpet of steam spilling into a hotel room designed in a modern style—no door, only a frosted glass divider between tiled bathroom and lush bedroom—I stood naked with my back to him, combing my hair and heard him murmur, “You’re so beautiful, I feel sick.” I looked at myself, then his reflection in the mirror and saw it was true. I was beautiful and it hurt him. I doubt he ever complimented his wife that way. His wife did not possess the kind of beauty that triggered a desire that made him disgusted with himself. My kind of beauty does not trace a path to stable relationships, a dining room set from Crate and Barrel, a Thanksgiving turkey with his folks. He had no conception of what to do with my beauty other than choke on it. 

My friends who date women have it just as bad. Once in a queer bar, I heard a cute woman in a leather motorcycle jacket joke about her gold star status—she’d never once touched a penis. My friend Zoe had been drinking G & Ts for an hour before that, working up the nerve to ask this woman out. I found Zoe fifteen minutes later, outside the bar, soaked from hiding in someone’s dew-covered hedge on 15th, where she had cried softly in frustration. 

“Yeah, that’s transphobia,” my crush agrees, “but not trauma.” He glances at my now finished drink, and I take it as a rebuke. Go pay for the next one of those. The more I try to explain, to list the tiny grievances that added up to an intolerable day in my life, the more I sound unhinged. A man hissed at me on the bus. A bunch of teenagers loudly discussed whether I was really a guy. A girl I only knew on the Internet left a suicide note. The cashier at Whole Foods smirkingly called me “bro.” The TV at the nail salon, playing soundlessly, featured some nonsensical ghoul that I realized, with a shock, was someone’s idea of a trans woman, someone’s idea of me. The guy at the local corner store revealed that he knew where I lived and shrugged when I asked how: everyone around here knows about you. And now, I get irritated at one thing: a free drink, and I sound crazy complaining about that, right? Some total loony acting traumatized ‘cause a bartender tried to be kind. 

My crush sighs and pulls out an ace. He knows people that have actually been raped, have actually been beaten—hell, half of the trans dudes he knows have been, and they aren’t paralyzed with anger, convinced they’re constantly persecuted. We’re talking real Trauma, not someone whispering about them on the bus, much less the burden of free drinks. To which I know I can probably come up with some of my own friends’ real Trauma, but I’m too affronted, so I just shriek: THE WHOLE WORLD MONITORS AND MOCKS MY EVERY WAKING MOMENT! 

Needless to say, he and I do not hook up. He leaves me to my free drinks and my tinfoil rage hat. 

When he’s gone, I miss Lexi for the first time.

— Torrey Peters, Infect Your Friends And Loved Ones, pg 40–45

over tourism is ruining the beach that makes you old

it doesn't even make you that old anymore.

last time i went i saw a baby there. that shouldn’t even be possible

"getting laid" is very hot and sexy. "getting off"? great news as well. so you would think "getting laid off" would be wonderful news for your penis. but alas