Memory Police

My legs are cold.

This isn’t now, where my legs are warm, but in the past where I’m cold, where my legs are freezing. Not that I’ve been in the bath that long. My fingers now are typing slowly, high, warm, fuzzy. My fingers then are cold. On my left hand. My fingers are very cold. On my left hand. They stroke my wet, sticking-to-me boxers. In the other hand….

I hate police. Yes I fucking hate police, and at some point I’ll tell you why. Do I call them pigs? Not really. Do I think that they provide much, well, any value at all….well now you’ve got me going through my person files, the parent’s friend who I enthusiastically hug along with her awesome children, who worked for years on child protection and for whom having children can be of no benefit to that career.

Digging out more personal files…there might have been alcohol-blurry encounters that afterwards resulted in a bit of embarrassment. Ah, you’re a tool of the state…should have guessed by the fascination with my doing mephedrone off of your cock. Or maybe none of that is relevant to anything.

Or who could forget you,  *J – with fascist written all over you from the moment we met. Mixed-race, gay, scrawny like I am (oh aren’t you just dying to get them all back for the shit you’ve had to endure aren’t you just dying to), and tall like I am, only you had a good few inches on me didn’t you officer? Can’t say I ever experienced the joys of you in uniform, all I have left is the memories of your drunk?-driving (drunk? stoned? We were one or the other) and you disappointed me greatly. I’ve been at speeds in cars with an out of control driver which had me questioning every second

-will it be this one? This one? The next?

Nah mate, you just swerved a bit.
Where did we go? This derailed, I’m just laying there in the bath, in my past, in the dark, in my boxers, chillin’ My right hand isn’t joining us yet, it’s busy holding my hairdryer above us. The toaster wouldn’t carry the same faggoty irony after the buzz. So What is this all about? Why am I lying in a bath, with my boxers on, holding a hairdyer over the water like a baby about to be baptized this is insane why am I here what the fuck this is going to end badly what the

Except it’s alright, I remind myself, we’re talking about my past self here and my typing this indicates a lack of hairdryer-meeting-water, so fend off those buzzards from the past.

But in the past, the sirens are coming. Coming loud.


Both that story and that point will reach a natural conclusion, in time.


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.