Fucking Truvada. Always catches me unawares and suddenly the room is spinning at 400mph and I feel like I’m about to collapse.

Then it slows down, you rise from where you were huddled to avoid having your brains smacked into the desk/sink/pavement, and you get on with your day. You can’t really stay on the floor forever.


Equal Marriage – Being for and against


Above is a photo of me and my boyfriend at an equal marriage demonstration on the night of the House of Commons vote. I look like quite an ardent supporter don’t I?
I always have been, but my attitude is less fixed now. My opinions do a 180 at times which can only add to my flaky, unfocused charm.
My support stemmed from my usual desire to have whatever breeders get that I’m currently not allowed. Rights-wise, they have, I want. The exception being queers in the military – no LBGTQ person becoming a state-funded murderer would ever make me watery eyed with the joys of equality. But what ‘equality’ are we really getting here?

The state of being married has traditionally been a way to create inequality, with married persons occupying the top slot and singletons taking the lower rung. Tax breaks to make people¬† aspire to this righteous institution. More rights, and freedom from the pitying gaze that society reserves for the single. This is why out of many issues affecting the world, the idea of homosexuals being able to participate in this creates fury in conservatives, more so I’d say than the influence of certain archaic books.

There is also the issue of in a sense owning your partner and their body – something I’ve given less thought to as it’s been a long time since I’ve had a partner who was expected to only participate in sexual activities with me alone. Also in my social circle there are those for whom marriage is on the table, and exclusivity is very much not.

It’ll normalise us. A thing a great many of us want.
I can’t say the same.
We can carry on trying to join this old institution, or we can start tearing it apart.

I was picturing my dream wedding earlier. I’d be dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, obviously. My partner, (who knows how many I’d have at the time, the winner would be most likely decided from a committee of badgers, or their name pulled out of a fedora) idk, maybe they’d be wearing a raccoon onesie. The moving, loving words I’d have to say to them in a room full of people staring at us would be hampered by the insane amount of benzos I’d have taken to offset the horror of having to say things while being looked at. But I’d slur them out, and then we’d sign a book(!) and one of us would have to take the other’s dumb name, or not idk.

Then for the reception we’d go outside where I could bask in the sunlight, with some minion or other sent to fetch me cocktails from an open bar that I suspect we’d have been escorting for to afford – we should get our share. Maybe read a book or some other social thing, spend time with other partner(s) to make up for their losses.
I’d miss the best person’s speech as I’d be in the toilet vomiting, or crying, or cryvomiting. And at the end of the night I’d hit the marital bed with 3 or 4 other people, one of them possibly the person I’d just married. And we’d crawl over each other like baby mice in the dark before realising everyone is far too gone to be able to get it up. Cue snoring, and the end to the happiest day of my life.

Now this sounds like a hilarious party and should really happen, but I’m not sure if the bit with the vows and the book and name changing is necessary. Just a completely insane day with an Adventure Time themed wedding cake.

Note: Once equal marriage becomes a thing I will probably still start campaigning pretty heavily for polyamorous marriage. Why? Because some cages will surely be rattled, and the collective right-wing screech of “I TOLD YOU THIS WOULD HAPPEN” cannot be resisted.

Paragon of Tofu

I was an overdramatic little cupcake yesterday wasn’t I?

But I’ll let myself off this once. Having apologised to my friend for being a little bitch we’re back to our typical friendship styles. I.e. the sort where he yanks down my boxers and sprays old spice on my dick, so the next time I roll a fag I jam some rolling tobacco into his mouth. So he likens my politics to those of Thatcher’s and so I belt him with his cafeti√®re.

We’ve also agreed to just get it over with and have sex, once we sort out the insane amount of narcotics we’ll need to not be aware it’s each other.

My wanderings paid off today, I found a Chinese supermarket. Glutinous rice balls and duck eggs and enough bricks of tofu to keep a Guardian-reader well fed for half an hour. Yeah, today hasn’t been the worst ever.