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My partners and therapists have been asking how I am feeling, post-election results. That’s the easy part: Disgust. Frustration. Rage. Determination and Resolve. Exhaustion. But out of all the emotions I can list, I can’t say I was surprised. A large part of me suspected the worst case scenario, and was proven right. And I hate it when my cynicism is justified.

My secondary feelings (the “emotions-to-the-emotions”) is an overwhelming… it’s not sadness. It’s resignation.

You’ve probably seen the images circulating around of the vote breakdown according to race. Most of the votes for Trump were overwhelmingly white– very similar to how 2016 shook out. And those numbers are damning. There have been various speculation as to why this happened. I keep tabbing out of this window and coming back, trying to sum up everything.

To be honest, I don’t want to.

I don’t see the point. Others have already said, and better. In a similar vein I permanently shelved a writing project debunking racist thought patterns that arrest potential dialogue because what’s the fucking point in adding another thinkpiece to the pile that is clearly getting dismissed?

I’m resigned because the vast majority of this country does not care to actually change things for the better. It would rather uphold Whiteness, and capitalism, and systematic oppression, and all the buzzwords the average Karen will tune out than grow and improve. Stacey said, if I may be glib, that there is no point in trusting white women, because performative pink pussy hats and blue bracelets are far more easier than turning the mirror on yourself and your culture.

I am resigned to the feeling that solidarity is so, so far out of reach. In my darkest thoughts, maybe it never was.

It would be so easy to isolate, shut down, don’t stick my neck out for nobody because fuck everybody else they don’t care about me. I am exhausted at defending my very existence, and for what? Those exit poll numbers? What was the fucking point?!

But I know that is wrong. My feelings are valid, yes, but me climbing into a hole of despair, disappointment, and bitterness won’t help anyone.

That’s what they want: to isolate myself.

So I will still not only exist, but be visible. I will help where I can, any way I can. I will still try to form community bonds and friendships and other ways of living in this world. I have family created and forged that I can rely on. I know who my people are.

And I will focus on that.

Outwardly, I am much more cautious and jaded.

I’m no longer extending the olive branch of my personhood and knowledge just so maybe I’ll be seen as human and treated as such. Perhaps every once in awhile I’ll get a bee in my bonnet and discuss this sort of thing, because that is just how I roll. But it won’t be in that outward, educating voice anymore.

I find myself exasperated as some are still insisting on “meeting in the middle,” trying to “change hearts and minds,” when that energy could be spent doing more productive things.

But.

It takes all kinds in a community, doesn’t it? If someone has more patience and energy than I in this endeavor, then I wish them the best. Maybe they’ll have more luck than I ever did.

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FUCK TRUMP

Fuck every one of you who voted for him.

Fuck the system for not being broken, but working just as intended.

To the Queers, the Black and Brown People, The Poor, The Disabled, The Marginalized, and anyone else terrified and angry and numb and everything else:

I know you’re scared right now. I am, too. And I’m feeling despair right along with you.

But remember. We will have each other. Remember mutual aid, community, helping one another.

It is long past to be trying to change people’s minds. The numbers have made it abundantly clear we can’t olive branch ourselves out of this one.

Use your energy to lift up those that will lift you up.

Don’t feel bad if you can’t fight. We need warriors. Healers. Tanks.
But most importantly, we need you to survive.

“Don’t panic. Organize!”

Even better, join those that have been organized.

But it’s okay if all you can do is keep living.

They want you to die, or they don’t care.

Don’t let them take you.

Every so often there is invoked a Blood of Eden mission protocol – we call it Protocol One. It is used in times of either terrible joy or the worst possible outcomes. Protocol One means there are no more formal orders… Now I give you Protocol One . . . and Protocol One is ‘Live.’ Nona the Ninth

For those applicable, enjoy your lil victory lap and be sure to get your stretches in. The lot of us are going to give you hell.

I’m going to do what I can. I am going to live for those that didn’t make it. I will live and fight my sorrow. I hope to see you beside me.

Now to survey what is left.

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I am not happy. If you know, you know.

I am only going to pivot and say a few things that are now, more important than ever. And by saying, I’ll probably just end up posting links. My wordsmithing isn’t great at the moment, but I’ve been collecting links.

The Fediverse is a viable option. It may be the only option.

SpaceHey will be one of the few exceptions for me going forward, because at least there’s no algorithm screwing with things. I’ll revisit my thoughts on [that] platform occasionally.

Web3.0, as we call it colloquially, is frankly terrible. No to generative AI, Crypto, NFTs, and so on. And did I mention algorithms already

About Mastodon, Specifically

https://fedi.garden/ can help you get up and running in Mastodon.

But with one huge caveat, I cannot stress this enough: Friends don’t let friends sign up for any ol’ Mastodon instance. And before you join any instance, be sure to look into them carefully. I have a handful of recommendations, if anyone is curious; these were spaces I have personally seen actually caring for their communities.

To quote Nova:

Every other app is setup to be quick, simple, and easy. But Mastodon requires, and I really mean it, requires that you investigate the server you’re looking into joining. It’s like we’re back in the 90s, and your avenue for social interaction online is internet forums, and you definitely don’t want to join a forum full of people with interests you don’t enjoy.

Regardless, keep an eye on the hashtag Fediblock and The Bad Space project to keep yourself and your communities safer. https://thebad.space/.

If you have the time, learn to build.

Or at least be aware of alternatives other than the corporate social media sites, networks, and programs. For starters:

Be in charge of your online spaces.

When searching for hosting, avoid Endurance International Group and its partners. Terrible customer service, to put it lightly. For more info and the full list: https://researchasahobby.com/full-list-eig-hosting-companies-brands/

And once again, say no to Web3.0.

There are cheap and even free options out there if you’re on a tight budget. The aformentioned 32bit Cafe link has a huge list of options, and even Reddit is helpful here: https://www.reddit.com/r/webhosting/wiki/pickingahost/ .

I’m currently on NekoWeb, myself, and I’ve heard good things about NearlyFreeSpeech.Net and Lexi’s Hosting.

And lastly…

Privacy and Surveillance

If you’re starting up a service, considering hosting, or whatever else, be mindful of the Five Eyes (“FVEY”) surveillance alliance. Encrypt your data (end-to-end and on your devices), use VPNs, minimize your data collected, don’t be too open in public online spheres.

That’s all, I guess.

Protocol One: Live.

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So for funsies, I’m making a pronouns.page account and when I’m not looking up the unfamiliar terms, I’m wrapped up in the nuances of

  • agender
  • neutrois
  • nonbinary
  • gendervoid
  • genderqueer

And. So. On.

I love noodling over stuff like this. This is why I appreciate and enjoy microlabels. For the people that need them, they can convey exactly what they mean. And for ruminating introspective overthinkers such as myself, it is like a really good snack that I can’t put down.

I started out genderqueer… then neutrois… non-binary… now I’m feeling agender nowadays. Maybe gendervoid. Definitely staticgender–

Derek from The Good Place saying "there is television static where my gender should be."
I love making these.

–and oh my glob do not get me started on xenogenders we could be here all day! and neopronouns—

Ahem.

Some are happy with their Factory Settings, but I was always one of those folx who’ll mess with the settings menu and layout and colors until I get it just right. And change them again whenever.

It’s so cool how we can just customize our experience like this. If we want to.

All this creativity. We did that. We do that.

Fascinating.

…

…Maybe I’m genderfluid on a technicality.

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It’s a rough month for me. I know I say this every year, but truly. It has every reason to be.

Some of the most harrowing events of my personal life occurred during this month. I try not to ruminate (weak emphasis on try) but I just end up stressing myself out by remembering. I also like to think that things just happen around this time, and I finally have a theory for it: SAD. It’s getting colder, and it’s becoming easier to just go home, curl up in bed, and shut off. Things hit harder. Everyone’s groove is off as we slide into the colder parts of the year.

And every four years, there’s the additional stressor of whether democracy (oligarchy) will continue limping along or this will be The One to finally… something. I don’t know. Something bad, most likely. And this year the dread is at a fever pitch.

I can admit that I am scared. I have to, to be realistic. But no amount of therapy is going to make the reality any easier. I can cope all day but what’d be the point if my rights are stripped away, if I am not safe? I’m grappling with the possibility that I won’t be safe any more. Or, I was just lucky all this time, and that luck is finally bleeding out.

What next, then?

We’ll still have each other.

I will keep going for those that can’t.

If it calls for it, I will despair.

I will feel.

But I’ll put the steel back in my spine.

I will cope the best I can.

Then I will begin.

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GOD save us from Your Followers
I’m still waiting on a god to do this.

That was the very first bumper sticker I ever put on my car… let’s say, almost two decades ago. Out of all the packers, rainbows, wigs, and glitter in that little LGBTQ shop, that was the item I ultimately came away with. It said everything I needed to say: I don’t have a problem with the whole god concept… I have a problem with the people that do horrible things in the name of their god. You don’t need to go far into the recent news cycles– and take note of the context of where I bought said bumper sticker– to see exactly what I mean.

When I slapped that thing on, I was a bit naive (or a bit dim): I didn’t think about any confrontation I may have had to endure. In the Bible Belt. And twice I was walked up to and asked to explain what I meant by that bumper sticker. Fortunately, everyone involved remained civil (the other party didn’t escalate and I kept my composure). I was also fortunate that they seemed satisfied with my response and didn’t get belligerent or even violent– doubly so when it was white folks stepping up to me, a Black stranger.

What was my answer? I simply had to Not All Religious People out those conversations. I specified “only the bad ones, and I assume you’re not one of them since we’re having a rational discussion in a parking lot instead of giving me an asphalt sandwich.”

I did have one more incident, and I promise it’s a funny one: I was dropping someone off and we were stopped at a red light. A car comes up behind me, and in the rearview mirror I see the driver absolutely losing his shit. It was after I stopped panicking that I realized that he was laughing, clapping, and pointing to the back of my car before giving me a thumbs up: turns out, that bumper sticker made his day.

I thought of that guy in my commute to work today, and I hope he’s living his best life.

I also thought of that bumper sticker… and how I’d probably get assaulted over it nowadays. Sigh.

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As the WordPress environment is set aflame by one guy throwing a tantrum and lawyers sending each other strongly worded leaflets, I’m just sitting here glad that I made the switch to ClassicPress months ago. And, not for the first time, I noticed a trend in my social media restructuring: when it isn’t FOSS or decentalised, the sites I’m now most active on is a fork or reconstruction of what I grew up with.

While NekoWeb is admittedly a stretch (free hosting never went out of style), I have listed it because of how nostalgic it has made me. It’s what I keep repeating: the Old Web and how people used to build and decorate their online spaces. However, two services are forked from earlier concepts of their modern-day counterparts:

  • 2018: WordPress 5.0 introduced the Block system
  • Dreamwidth forked from LJ as early as 2009

And SpaceHey is basically resurrected MySpace from the early 2000s or so… I was never on that platform proper pre-botched migration (it got better). It’s been interesting to see how it was, right now… and not as a kid, but an adult that does their own taxes and everything. I would’ve loved MySpace, especially for the hack to inject CSS. And I’m liking it now as an alternative to Facebook.

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I wrote this in like, March 2012. I’m much better, now capable of cussing you out!

“Can Not Spit It Out.”

Sometimes, I can. Most times, I can’t.

It’s a little bit hinted at in my profile, “Fight or flight” overactive, especially the “flight” part. (The “Fight” portion is a whole other post.)

I bolt. Like the bunny, like the deer. I mentally hold myself still and the instant something becomes Something I take off for cover.

I don’t know what it is. “I’m shy” appears to cover the gist of it. I could speculate til the cows come home over all the points- bullied? check. Worried about peers/fear of judgment? check-o. But there’s certainty in two points: the sometimes crippling fear of rejection and pain, and the fact I’m so restrained- don’t say what I like most of the time (until Liquid Courage steps in, and even then, it’ll take some coaxing) and try (perhaps much too hard) to have my emotions under control- I worry that if I say what I felt, I’d hurt someone- a learned thing (grew up in a household of “emotions are weak” mentality). Or I’d lose perspective.

The Restraints, especially, cause me to stop short of admitting many things.

The hell do I do once I get tongue-tied, other than keep working on it?

Push through it.

The most recent kerfunkle happened because I couldn’t just come out and say it (yes, it is the one I mentioned in the last aptly-filtered post on some other blog site: “Some angst and heartache could’ve been avoided if I had outright said so earlier.”). But earlier before that, I had mentioned I was scared, but went ahead and told her my feelings anyway- the beginnings of a sweet crush.

But I find myself still making the same mistakes.

I have to remember that it’s better to speak up- and the most important things are sometimes the hardest to say….

I also take my sweet time processing a response- mostly, wondering, if it’s the right thing to say or if I should even say it. And if it’s worded adequately.

So… that’s why I do what I do. Why I look down at my hands and chuckle nervously. Why I don’t say anything even though you could probably see it on my face anyway, because I utterly fail at the poker face trick. Why your message would sit in my inbox for over three days because I’m mulling over whether my first reaction was appropriate- or should be toned down- or should be mentioned at all- or– it goes on.

Critiquing is easy. It’s heart-matters I have trouble with.

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Sometimes I give in to the impulse to reach out to people I lost contact with. The results can be… jarring. Especially when the other party stayed the fucking same. Wait, no. That doesn’t seem fair. I suppose everyone is dynamic– it’s just a matter of how they changed.

If it feels like someone didn’t change at all, then what they always seemed to be is just more obvious. That was how I felt when one of the oldest friends briefly flared back into my life. With distance and growth, I saw them as they always were. The friend, on the other hand, was stunned at how different I’ve become (“Glowed up” was how an acquaintance put it). And I could see that, like, of course I did, and I was offended. I remember thinking What on earth did you do these X amount of years, stagnate?!

Well, no.

They just moved perpendicular to how I did. Our catching-up stories included eyerolls at the same pratfalls we keep making, but we laughed in delight as we traded news about a new hobby or love we found because of course we’d be into that, should’ve seen it coming.

Then again… the only person that underwent change could’ve been just me. I knew a friend group that’s frozen in time. A good damn almost-decade later it had shrunk down to the bare essentials and core folx. And oh, yo, have I outgrown a lot of shit. My prime objective no longer meshed with their mission, and our attempts to work around that fact caused significant friction.

And I think a lot about my post-college growing and learning when I was in my second Serious Relationship. Not only was I finding additional facets of my queerness, but I was putting words and concepts together about how I move around in this world and how it treats me. Frankly, my then-partner couldn’t keep up. We split due to the growing incompatibilities– and that included what I would no longer tolerate. We couldn’t make it work as amicable exes either, for the same reason.

Change happens, always, always in flux.

You either outgrow or grow into or reveal.

If you find us walking along the same beach, I suppose I’ll ask if you’ll change with me. I expect you to. I’d be worried if you didn’t.