Reblog If Your Page Is A Safe Space For Ppl Who Use Neopronouns

This is so wild because I literally had situations like this with my own therapist!

I mean she really tried to shift the focus on what I personally can do for my own personal future and what I want from and for my own future. Which is probably the only way you can really tackle this problem because there is just no way I can change the current political reality of our world in a therapy session.

However I am still left with the knowledge that in the grand scheme of things my future will probably be very difficult to fulfill or even exists in.

What I find very interesting about looking at how other generation have looked at the future is that climate change isn't a new problem. This shit has been going on for a while now and people have been worrying and trying to do their best to raise awareness for decades already. The only difference to young people in the 90s being concerned about this and people in the new 20s (2020) being concerned about this is that now there is enough awareness and knowledge about what will happen and that shit will go down soon. If we assume someone lives 80 years then someone who was 20 in 1990 will die in 2050 and therefore care mainly about what happens till then. People who are 20 in 2020 however will live till 2080 and care for what happens until then. And 30 years should probably not make such a difference yet here we are knowing that if experts say the sea levels will rise and things will get even more shit by 2050 that this affects nearly half of our live span. Our future of when we are 50 will just be dealing with a society that looked away so long that now they have to do damage control of situation that are too big to be able to just keep brushing off.

This is just a small piece of why I hate capitalism so much, because it has become a world view and not just an economic system. We live in capitalism that promotes that the economy is more important than human lives. And not just human lives of the future or human lives of places that are "far far" away but human lives right now, in this place! Ever since the pandemic has been going on the focus has shifted towards the economy and away from people. It is more important that we keep the economy on good course than that we make sure as little lives as possible are ended by this virus.

This shows that people in charge are not only more interested that the economy runs well for the cost of human lives that might seem more abstract (because it's easier to not care about things that happened into the future or far away (which is very shitty)) but that it has come to a point where it doesn't care what human might die as long as the economy is doing well.

On a very morbid level of mine I would like to see how it comes to a point where capitalism as it is established right now takes so many lives that the system doesn't work anymore. Because all the rich people suddenly don't have any work force to keep their factories running. To keep their wealth coming. Because suddenly people can't buy the expensive shit anymore because the gap got so big that there is only stinking rich or dying poor and no in between. Because I want to see their faces when they realize that they can not maintain power if there is noone left to have power over.

This kinda got off rails of what I was talking about but welp. Still bad at ending Tumblr posts XD

You said you weren't into women - I like you oh you like me?

I’ve been contemplating for several days something, and I’ve been trying to distill it into meaning, and put nice little bullet points on how this relates to things that have been bugging me about some common Discourses I’ve been seeing, but at the end, I only really have a story. So here, have a story.

About ten years ago, sometime in the eventful 2006-2007 George W. Bush-ruled hellscape of my identity development, I was just starting to figure out how I felt about my conservative upbringing (not great) and whether I was some brand of queer (probably, but too scared to think about what brand for too long). I was working as a server at a popular Italian-inspired sit-down restaurant that was the closest thing my tiny South Carolinian town had to “fancy” at the time but isn’t really fancy at all.

The host brought a party of four men to one of my tables. It was hard to tell their ages, but my guess is they were teenagers or in their early 20s in the 1980s. Mid-40s, at the time. It was standard to ask if anyone at the table was celebrating anything, so I did. They said they were business partners celebrating a great business deal and would like a bottle of wine.

It was a fairly busy night so I didn’t have a LOT of time to spend at their table, but they were nice guys. They were polite and friendly to me, they didn’t hit on me (as most men were prone to do – sometimes even in front of their girlfriends, a story I’ll tell later if anyone wants me to), and they were racking up a hell of a tab that was going to make my managers happy, so I checked on them as often as I could.

Toward the end of their second bottle of wine, as they were finishing their entrees, I stopped at the table and asked if they wanted any more drinks or dessert or coffee. They were well and truly tipsy by now, giggling, leaning back in their chairs – but so, so careful not to touch each other when anyone was near the table.

They’re all on the fence about dessert, so being a good server, I offered to bring out the dessert menu so they could glance it over and make a decision, “Since you’re celebrating.”

“She’s right!” one of the men said, far too emphatically for a conversation on dessert. “It’s your anniversary! You should get dessert!”

It was like a movie. The whole table went absolutely silent. The clank of silverware at the next table sounded supernaturally loud. Dean Martin warbled “That’s Amore” in some distorted alternate universe where the rest of the restaurant went on acting like this one tipsy man hadn’t just shattered their carefully crafted cover story and blurted out in the middle of a tiny, South Carolina town, surrounded by conservatives and rednecks, that they were gay men celebrating a relationship milestone. 

And I didn’t know what I was yet, but I knew I wasn’t an asshole, and I knew these men were family, and I felt their panic like a monster breathing down all our necks. It’s impossible to emphasize how palpably terrified they were, and how justified their terror was, and how much I wanted them to be happy.

So I did the only thing I knew to do. I said, “Congratulations! How many years?”

The man who’d spoken up burst into tears. His partner stood up and wrapped me in the tightest, warmest hug I’ve ever had – and I’ve never liked being touched by strangers, but this was different, and I hugged him back.

“Thank you,” he whispered, halfway to crying himself. “Thank you so much.”

When he finally let go of me and sat back down, they finally got around to telling me they were, in fact, two couples on a double date, and both celebrating anniversaries. Fifteen years for one of them, I think, and a few years off for the other. It’s hard to remember. It was a jumble of tears and laughter and trembling relief for all of us. They got more relaxed. They started holding hands – under the table, out of sight of anyone but me, but happy.

They did get dessert, and I spent more time at their table, letting them tell me stories about how they met and how they started dating and their lives together, and feeling this odd sense of belonging, like I’d just discovered a missing branch of my family.

When they finally left, all four of them took turns standing up and hugging me, and all four of them reached into their wallets to tip me. I tried to wave them off but they insisted, and the first man who’d hugged me handed me forty dollars and said, “Please. You are an angel. Please take this.”

After they left I hid in the bathroom and cried because I couldn’t process all my thoughts and feelings.

Fast forward to three days ago, when my own partner and I showed up to a dinner reservation at a fancy-casual restaurant to celebrate our fifth anniversary. The whole time I was getting ready to leave, there was a worry in the back of my mind. The internet web form had asked if the reservation was celebrating anything in particular, and I’d selected “Anniversary.” I stood in the bathroom blow-drying my hair, wondering what I would do if we showed up, two women, and the host or the server took one look at us and the “Anniversary” designation on our reservation and refused to serve us. It’s not as ubiquitous anymore, but we’re still in the south, and these things still happen. Eight years of progressive leadership is over, and we’ve got another conservative despot in office who’s emboldening assholes everywhere.

It was on my mind the whole fifteen minutes it took to drive there. I didn’t mention it to my partner because I didn’t want to cast a shadow over the occasion. More than that, I didn’t want to jinx us, superstitious bastard that I am.

We walked into the restaurant. I told the hostess we had a reservation, gave her my last name.

She looked at her screen, then looked back at us. She smiled, broadly and genuinely, and said, “Happy anniversary! Your table is right this way.”

Our server greeted us, said, “I heard you were celebrating!”

“It’s our anniversary,” Kellie said, and our server gasped, beaming.

“That’s great! Congratulations! How many years?”

And I finally breathed a sigh of relief, and I thought about those men at that restaurant ten years ago. I hope they’re still safe and happy, and I hope we all get the satisfaction of helping the world keep blooming into something that’s not so unrelentingly terrible all the time.

Very important addition:

This term has been coined or was picked up by Fascists!!!!!!!!

"Super Straight" = SS

Yes as in FUCKING SchutzStaffel Nazi police!!!

By supporting "Super Straight" people are not only supporting TERFs BUT ALSO Nazis!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

🟥 and 🟧⬛️ are now apparently being used by TERFs, as well as this horseshit. Supergay/superstraight/superlesbian/superbi just means “transphobe”, heads up

“Werft keine Schnebälle. Einmal hat ein Mädchen einen Schneeball mit einem Stein drin ins Auge gekriegt und jetzt ist sie blind.”

— Ancient German Proverb

Reposting this because I need to materialize it somewhere.

I love fanfic writers. Never change.

I love to be gay!