Pinned toot

friendship ended with girl gender

tired hairy legs middle-aged lesbian* enveloped in clouds of smoke** is new best gender

* not actually lesbian
** not actually smoke

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vegan asks, :boost_ok:​ 


- CW animal products, including milk/honey/leather/wool/etc., including text

- no big deal but please avoid calling veganism a diet

- arguments about ecology are missing the point (also I didn’t invite arguments in the first place)

Those are the asks. I’ll just speak bluntly for the rest of this toot; please avoid reading it if the strident tone is not good for you.


CW is the big one. CW your food posts for food, for the sake of people with eating issues and the like. But also mark them as nonvegan, meat, milk or however you prefer to word it. CW text-only posts talking about those things.

including milk, please. especially milk, please. there’s a reason for the vegan saying ‘dairy is the cruelest of all’. being reminded of what’s being done to dairy cows and their babies as we speak can ruin my mood for the rest of the day. on a vulnerable day it can, and has, more than once, reduced me to a blubbering crying mess. just tag it.

(fellow vegans: it is useful to CW food posts as "vegan" because so many people fail to mark animal abuse that I usually avoid clicking "food" toots, unless I know the person to be vegan.)

please also CW selfies or photos with things made of animal bodies, or things taken from animals, like animal leather, wool, horn, honey, beeswax etc. and CW animals in conditions of exploitation, like farm animals.

I’m not triggered by those things. It’s not abuse done to _me_ after all, I hold the speciesist privilege like all of us. I’m not disgusted or squeamish either, that’s not how any of this works. When I look at a photo with an animal product, I’m not looking at a piece of animal tissue and going ‘ew, gooey’. I’m looking at a nightmare machine of entirely unnecessary exploitation and pain, at a powerful ideological system wrapped around it to normalise it. I’m thinking of what was done to a living, feeling, sensitive being to produce that thing, and then trying to multiply it in my head times 990 million cows or 23 billion chickens etc. I can't help myself from doing the algebra of integer times pain. I’m thinking of what happens to human workers in the animal industry. I can’t turn it _off_, once I learned to see processes I can’t unsee them. I’m looking at my own impotence to make this absurd situation just stop, stop, at my own guilt to just carry on with life as if this inconceivable maelstrom of gratuitous suffering didn’t matter.

So it’s a little bit depressing.


The other ones are just terminological quibbles and not super important or anything, I understand why people say that and I take it in stride, they just reflect common misconceptions.

• Not "vegan diet". It's not a diet. Plant-based is a diet. Veganism is an ethical position, holding that all beings capable of suffering are moral subjects. It’s no more a diet than ‘Kantian consequentialism’ or ‘Vedic nītiśāstra’. Reducing it to diet is already taken for granted the objectification of other animals which is just the point in question.

- Not "dietary restriction" either. If I don’t rob candy from a child I’m not restricting my diet, I’m trying to be a good person. Not eating honey robbed from bees is literally, exactly, exactly, the same.

- Not "you can/can’t eat this?" It’s not that I can’t eat a thing, it’s that I don’t want to.

- Not "but isn’t X is worse for global warming" (soy farming, palmtree industry etc.).

As it happens, the animal industry is terrible for the environment, and eating plants is a much more efficient use of resources (necessarily, because of trophic loss). If you think this or that form of animal exploitation is better for the environment chances are it’s capitalist propaganda and will turn out to be wrong upon examination. Even if we are thinking purely of saving humanity from the looming catastrophe, stopping animal exploitation is about the best measure we can make.

But this is just a happy coincidence. Even if it was the other way around and killing other animals could save millions, it would be still wrong. The self-interest of humans, however aligned to it, is not the reason why it’s wrong. (In this hypothetical scenario, if we _had_ to choose, then I wouldn’t blame people for choosing self-preservation. But then the task would be to find out ways to get the necessary resources without all the killing. In our reality, that step is already given, all we needed was to figure out B12 production and that's long been solved.)

I don’t argue vegan stuff and I don’t ask for arguments, but leaving that aside, to bring me ecological (or, even worse, nutritional) arguments is to miss the point.

> Stannis: I know the cost! […] If Joffrey should die... what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?
> Davos: Everything.

(A Song of Ice and Fire)

re: dating, co-living, breakup, prefiguration, gayness 

I don't know how to solve the conflict issue (or the architecture issue, or the landlords issue, or the "if a teen girl runs from her abusive family and we give her a friendly place to crash, I'll be accused of kidnapping and transing her" issue. or, you know, the "world is literally burning" issue). it seems to me that under capitalism there is just too much friction in moving. ideally you would want it to be easy, fluid, convenient to move together, and easy to unmove together. it is particularly hard in Germany, but it's hard in all capitalist societies. the only way I can see out of that is a much deeper prefiguration of property abolition, of ownership under usufruct. whole libraries of stuff that are never yours, always the community's, but you can otherwise hold onto as much as you want (para todos todo, para nosotros nada. will get that tattoo yet.) clothes, why not? computer monitors, why not? heavy stuff stay in the house, whatever house you move into is already fully furnished. we all own nothing, we all own everything, we consume less and take care of things more. we take care of one another. most people are not attracted to ideas like this, though.

anyway easy to dream but irl here am I in my big apartment, alone with my headache, owning as sole proprietess all this cruft I couldn't care less about, the one girlfriend who wanted to move in with me, gone. the one girl I ever been with who was not just tolerant, but downright enthusiastic, about having a house with me with doors wide open, dates and friends coming in and out all the time. all the things that normally people tell me "I understand your enthusiasm but that's not for me."

still. perhaps I'm looking at this whole thing wrong. I'm too lesbian, I want all the U-haul trucks parking here on second date. people have stuff to deal with, have their own life plans to work on. but I spent the last weekend with 2 people I love doing perverted gay stuff like cuddling all night, or walking in the part to see the litle duckieses babbyes. I had my darling catgirl around for a couple days, possum enby is coming tomorrow, then I get the sweetest demiboy you can imagine for a whooping 6 days, then the snep sweetheart for, what, 9 in a row?? and she'll bring a new girl along, too. it's easy to get used to it, but wow, what even is this life. it's easy to forget how magical. sometimes I think of getting back into couchsurfing, then I realise I don't need to.

and the stays overlap a bit, which means they'll get to know one another. which means my apartment is one step closer to public space.

perhaps this is the prefiguration I can handle for now. if I get any of those jobs I can afford even this big apartment alone. probably. and then I make it more and more guest-friendly, and I just invite people to use it for stays of a length comfortable for them, as many people as I can find.

if vaccination does calm down this one crisis at least, I bet there will be a good number of friends wanting to travel to Germany and in need of a safe house to stay.

"Nosotros nacimos de la noche. En ella vivimos. Moriremos en ella. Pero la luz será mañana para los más, para todos aquellos que hoy lloran la noche, para quienes se niega el día, para quienes es regalo la muerte, para quienes está prohibida la vida. Para todos la luz. Para todos todo.""

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dating, co-living, breakup, prefiguration, gayness 

I knew of course that structuring Anarchist Catgirl Commune in terms purely of romantic relationships would be a mistake. Romantic relationships have Feelings in them, and sometimes when Feelings break people need space. if your goal is to create a safe shelter community for trans people who can't otherwise find shelter or community, that creates one heck of a power differential if they don't want to be around you after a breakup.

I guess this is another reason the breakup hit so hard. I was just thinking of the conflict issue as, dunno, something to solve at some point, like the architecture issue, the "systemic failure of capitalism that was inevitable all along but we are all pretending isn't happening right now" issue. small implementation details.

or maybe I was just overconfident in my ability to be a safe haven. I am, as I often say, Not Young, and also Yes Promiscuous. so I've been through any number of breakups. all of them were difficult, some of them were conflict-heavy.

but I am at friendly speaking terms at least with all my exes, am still an intimate emotional support friend of all my post-transition exes. well not "all" anymore I guess 🤷‍♀️

the thing with the recent breakup is, we were such a perfect match on everything _else_, it's so frustrating. she was the first person I met who felt the same way I did about aiming at a new S.T.A.R. house. we were discussing moving together. we were discussing concrete plans for communal living. it's still hard for me to believe it's all over.

with me disillusioned over a career, disillusioned over Japan, disillusioned over academia, disillusioned over the 9-year-long relationship that didn't work out. it's hard not to feel like, am I just unlivable with. what am I even living for anymore, ok the kids, but the kids won't be kids forever, heck they're teens already somehow. am I only ever tolerable in small doses. I'm almost 40, will I have to submit to the nuclear family model for life. I've hated every single day of the nuclear family model, from a child up to this instant. these cursed little jails of brick and glass, locking us with one another. or even worse, will I have to just be alone. I,, do not do well alone. all high-minded ideals of a S.T.A.R. house aside. if I have nobody to take care of, my levels of dysfunction just explode.

re: I miss my girlfriend so much 

…aaand just like that, a memory. from 15 years ago. 16, give or take. the girl who taught me polyamory, the girl who got me into literature, humanities. the girl I wanted to slowly turn into.

me feeling like this about her. we would send one another CD compilations, retro mixtapes, I think it was already retro back then. she recorded me a CDR with video messages once. I completely forgot about that, the memory just came back unrequested.

a song I had sent her, I had forgotten the song, I had forgotten the whole artist.

maybe just because I can't remember a thing, doesn't mean it's gone forever. maybe it will return someday, out of own accord. maybe it is not death in life.

or if it is, then what is dead may never die.

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oh wow, pretty proud of this. give me validation and tell me I'm fantastic—wait no I don’t need it, I already know.

brb getting a job, a shock absorber, pop filter? does that make it better or worse for asmr?, learning how to produce it properly.

listen with headphones. stereo mic so that the seawitch whisper into your ears :)

lol was doing a mic test of whisper and just induced asmr on self

I mean literal asmr, like, the shiver on spine thingie. not even what I want to do when I say I want to do "asmr", I mean it in the fantasy comfort sense. but I'm taking this as a success <3

counseling somebody to break up if their partner keeps not fulfilling their needs. unsure whether they're actually bad for them or it's the black bile in me trying to spread itself.

I mean they have been talking for months of this one core need being ignored no matter what they do, and I'm trying to be very explicit and direct about the fact I'm speaking from an awful place and probably overly pessimistic etc. but still I worry about doing harm rather than good counsel

friendship ended with girl gender

tired hairy legs middle-aged lesbian* enveloped in clouds of smoke** is new best gender

* not actually lesbian
** not actually smoke

our protagonist is secretly high on girlchunks during this scene, hiding it from her minimum age radioactive waste collector job, her panties still secretly sparkling

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the poet is a faker.
she fakes it all so much
that she even pretends it's pain
the pain she indeed feels.

Fernando Pessoa, about me streaming Porpentine.

cw: job search, heavy themes, fictional drug abuse, me vaping industrial strawberry chemical flavour as if it was some drug

My children are in a very vulnerable and precarious situation right now, both of them, for material as well as emotional reasons.

I have to be strong, if not for me, for them. Strength doesn't mean self-reliance, it means leveraging all the help I can. And job. And learning React. One weekend.

> I have just written the word "infinite"

> have not included that adjective out of mere rhetorical habit

> I hereby state that it is not illogical to think that the world is infinite. Those who believe it to have limits hypothesize that in some remote place or places the corridors and staircases and hexa­gons may, inconceivably, end—which is absurd.
>And yet those who picture the world as unlimited forget that the number of possible books is *not* .
> I will be bold enough to suggest this solution to the ancient problem:

> The Li­brary is
> unlimited
> but periodic.

> If an eternal traveler should journey in any direction, they would find after untold centuries that the same volumes are repeated in the same disorder—which, thus repeated, becomes order:
> the Order.
> My solitude is cheered by that elegant hope.

emotional flashbacks of past depressive periods, the weight of absolute solitude in são paulo streets, the scents the shouts the taste of permafear hormones in your blood. glue-sniffing little boys approaching you for your cellphone, trying to sound threatening. "just kidding, mister, i’m just kidding" when something evil in you stares back. buying a pastel for a street kid, having a dozen more pop up, having to say no twelve times for every yes. saying no to the longing gazes of gay men. living signs everywhere, a thousand eateries all alike, fruits hanging everywhere and bready fluffy pizza and alcoholic men. stopping at places for comfort more than food. living with twelve million people, in absolute solitude. being called "boss" and "champion" and "German". reading Burroughs it’s hard to explain, I’m trying to pinpoint that very particular mood or feeling I had on those streets, but I’m not Woolf I’m not Sartre or Beauvoir, I can’t find the words that evoke its hues. so many days in São Paulo, all bad. the common but distant humanity of the buses, stuck in traffic forever. you’re never stuck in traffic you are being traffic, the city all around you like the entrails of incognizability.

House of the Dragon 

Rational brain: It's going to suck. They'll break it apart. They'll break your heart too. Don't forget last time.


re: relationship-, memories 

with computers you are little Kai, putting together ice-puzzles in the Mirror of Reason under the ægis of the Snow Queen.

with literature it feels like your most subtle feelings, things you weren’t even aware existed, are multiplied in infinite resonances. you escape into literature by becoming multitudes, it’s language for the heart. I am craving this language, because I don’t want to forget my heart.

reaproacching tech feelings, ranting about literature 

reapproaching tech feels weird. first of all, tech was pre-transition stuff, so there’s gender stuff involved, feeling like I’m regressing. but I have learned to deal with those.

then there’s a sense of defeat; I spent the larger part of the last, let’s see, 15 years or so trying to move from tech into humanities. at some point I succeeded; only to run back to it with tail between my legs seemingly at the first sign of trouble. have talked with therapist about this at length: it wasn’t really "at the first sign of trouble", it was some pretty big trouble, it was full disillusionment with academia, and also I’m not the person I was before, I don’t have the same values, goals, needs. for the place I am right now, a stable tech job is a much better deal than the exploitative positions at academia; there’s nothing wrong with that.

one thing that never went away, though, is the sense that I in some sense just fit better with the humanities crowd. this was in large part due to the lit folk being woke and politically aware, while the techies near me were all chauvinistic (u.s.-style) "apolitical" "libertarians"; esp. the experience of Google made me very aversive to tech culture. literature, by comparison, was like finding an oasis after a desert.

post-transition, turns out a lot of trans folk are into tech and you can feel like you can relate to them, at a tech level at least. so even if you’re tired of techbro culture you can vent with people who understand you, or see them venting about the same things, and it doesn’t feel nearly so bad as it did for me back in 2008.

but there’s still that sense of solitude. there’s a kind of wall of incomprehension I hit whenever I get too much humanities, usually in the form of the familiar words: "but what is the *point* of this? what is it all *for*?" and I just fail to convey the magic, the music in the words, the poetry of it. and I can’t help but miss them, those professors who sparked with enthusiasm for the thing-in-itself, for the thing without further purpose than sheer delight; the one who was into Greimas and the one into Barthes, the one into Valéry and the one who taught me to think about Poe, the one who did erotic shunga gravures and the one who went over 8th-century Classical Japanese poetry with me, word by word, as slow read as it gets… browsing the green Loeb editions of the Odyssey without knowing Greek, for the sheer joy in the musicality of the song, discovering Foley’s "How To Read An Oral Poem" by chance…

the girl who taught me about polyamory. she was literature incarnate. the extreme fascination she caused in people, me included, the briefness of our affair, my distant longing for years. she still watches my Instagram stories, never interacts. me reading Mélusine thinking of her, me reading provençal poetry thinking of her, me listening to her songs thinking of her, White Stripes, "Fever", I still think of her, every time… she probably moved on from that stuff years ago, I have no idea what she’s up to these days, it hurts to look. her sincere respect that I expressed our breaking up with song. how I loved her for it. how I still do.

I won’t go as far as saying that the whole of my literature studies was chasing my early 2000s polyamory activist lit girl, but she was a catalyst in my life. I would sing to her, song from her band,

> Then something else came to mind, that was the mirror
> …And it might sound a little strange for me to say to you
> But I'm proud to be you
> And I'm slowly turning into you
> And I'm slowly turning into you
> And I'm slowly
> turning
> into
> you.

oh if only we knew.

I am not 19 anymore. I know how to relate to people now, how to make contacts and build community. I have at least a couple people to talk about theory, at least one person into Greek stuff, at least one person into art, at least one person into philosophy and math. but I seem to have no one to share enthusiasm about, say, mid-20th-century Argentinian literature, or phonæsthetic theory in artlangs, or stream of consciousness. ("I tried to read Orlando on your account", said my ex, back when we were together. "I couldn't make head or tails of it." and also: "hearing you talk is like reading Virginia Woolf". I've never felt so simultaneously proud and lonely at a single remark.) it’s like this whole section of my life was buried – ok that’s true of the whole pre-transition life, all buried under the sea, but this was the part I _liked_, academia never worked as well for me as it did during literature undergrad, previous me’s golden age for sure.

this peculiar sterility of tech life.
if I am to do this, I can’t forget to feed my lit side. I am, technically, an award-winning writer and fiction translator. gotta do something with that, if only to keep sane.
get in touch with the scene.
during my lit period, I kept playing with tech as a hobby; now it should be the other way around.
I will write poems.

standing bags for boxing 

ok these seem to be good enough for a casual like me. they can be filled with water, which would make them lighter but would be a good makeshift to not having to carry a ton of sand upstairs.

I’m worried if the noise transmits through the floor and bothers the neighbours, but then I realised I could put one in the attic if I open up some space there. the attic is above my own apartment, and it’s even moody because it got those UFC-style cages partitioning the space. currently my space is full of stuff but I could either leave the thing in the corridor, don’t thing anybody would mind, or move my own tralha around; basement is still mostly empty.

at a bit over 100€ for entry-level models these are not for comfort spending during unemployment, but after I get a job… hmm…...

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clumsiness vs. self-harm 

sometimes I wonder if I hurt myself so much and so often out of some subconscious impulse to self-harm. just tried to open the sofa-bed and somehow dropped it on my foot upon opening, hurting it bad. then I realised I don’t even need the sofa-bed, there’s not enough people left in the house to need 2 beds. then I spilled half the gin.

(and I did the libation, wasn’t even them charging it or anything).

I’m not aware of any desire to destroy or punish myself. on the contrary, I want to live forever, even on the hardest moments, if but out of spite. I *am* aware of the desire to destroy or punish whatever else. maybe that gets twisted by the subsconscious if I don’t have an outlet, and result in things like opening the sofa on your toes and breaking all the gifts you treasure.

I am Daenerys of house Targaryen, part of me just wants to burn everything, all the time. I’m aware of it. That, or it’s just poor motor coordination, comes with the condition they say.

The other day by chance I saw a stand-up boxing bag. Took all I had to resist the temptation of hardening my shins then and there. I was not aware that these exist; I thought putting up a standard punching bag on this ceiling would be inviting trouble, what’s with poor construction and evil landlord and all. But I think I could benefit a lot of something that I could just vent on freely, teenage-like, and it would take it all without damage done. I wonder how stand-up punching bags compare to heavy bags, if you can use them for power not speed or coördination. In the absense of sparring for the foreseeable future, perhaps if I did this I would magically stop cutting, burning, cracking, breaking etc. myself and surrounding objects. Or it won’t make a difference because it’s just clumsiness and not a mysterious subconscious impulse, but at least I’d get to punch something.

bitching about emacs 

> Warning (initialization): An error occurred while loading ‘/home/ramona/.emacs.el’:

> Wrong number of arguments: (1 . 1), 2

sigh. I love open source software.

(this won’t even be in the .emacs.el, these error messages don’t follow the source when you load others. yup it has existed for 45 years and still does that by default. this will be in some obscure library I wasn’t even aware of which is conflicting about some function signature they changed in the current release, this is emacs dev’s favourite hobby it keeps us in our place, oh look it’s elpy yay.)

((how did I find that? to actually get any context abt what’s happening you need to restart with --debug-init, even though _not_ doing --debug-init doesn’t seem to have any benefit. maybe it made it run 3% faster on a PDP-11 once, it’s impossible to know, the thing that makes emacs actually slow is that it’s an OS without multitasking, these microoptimisations don’t make any difference in the actual latency even in a raspberry or pinebook. it’s what is called a "fix my application toggle". emacs has a lot, and I mean a ~lot~, of fix-my-application toggles. 45 years of problems being fixed in the form of toggles that come off by default, though nobody in the world leaves them off. one’s first step in emacsland is to learn about which toggles to flip up before you start.))

(((there’s two or three entire Emacs distributions whose reason for existence is somebody found and flipped all the fix-my-application toggles before you open the box.)))

((((these are widely derided by emacsbrethen as ableist-slur-ed inferior versions for babies.))))

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Elilla’s personal server.