No More Harry P Shit

I’ve mentioned it before, but it bears repeating:  If you represent Harry P fandom by so little an act as having your “house” in your bio, you’re giving money to transphobia and fascism by advertising the works of an author who puts her royalties to those exact ends.  Don’t take my word for it.  Here are some people who actually liked Harry P at one point in time – indeed, may hold some fondness for that community and those experiences even now:

I was cutting people with Hogwad houses in their bios some slack, but that’s over now.  It has indeed become a new criteria for me in blocking and blacklisting – any mention of Harry P shit that isn’t cancellation or ripping on it.  If you’re promoting her IP, you’re giving her money, whether you pay her directly or not.  No more quarter.  Even if I wasn’t a flavor of trans, even if I didn’t personally know trans people, transphobia is the current wedge issue / hobbyhorse of every nazi piece of shit from Zimbabwe to Kazakhstan, from DC to the Kremlin.

Trans rights have become the line we all need to defend, for the sake of trans people yes, but now for the sake of every decent person in the world – very much like gay rights in 2004.  Let this cancellation be complete.  Let any enjoyment you have of those stories remain private.  Don’t let the Queen Terf claim you as one of her own.  Say no to Harry P shit.

Great Idea re: Muskworld Twitter

When tumblr was bought by one ridiculous corporation for a huge sum of money and immediately resold for peanuts, the remaining users there cheered in amusement.  Look how much money we cost these corporations by just being useless freaks!  That contributed in part, I think, to this idea: Everybody delete their twitter on the same day and tank the stock.

There are reasonable reasons for people to not participate, but for a lot of you I know twitter is nothing but an unhealthy tax on your minds and you could use an excuse or motive to excise it from your life.  Why not make it a form of direct action and kick Apartheid Jr right in his spaceballs?  Delete your Twitter at the appointed hour.  Huzzah!

Some Lies Should Be Jailing Offenses

The laws of the USA are profoundly generous to liars and con artists.  I don’t know from legal history, but some court said there could be “common sense” limitations on freedom of speech, like “no shouting fire in a crowded theater.”  I could google that easily enough but whatever.  I bring this up because the problem is not alerting people to fire, it’s unnecessarily causing a stampede when there is no fire.  The problem is the lie.

What do you charge that liar with?  Reckless endangerment?  Malicious mischief?  Anyone who has ever lied about covid for political or financial gain should have spent time in handcuffs.  Of course, a creepy enough liar can believe almost any lie they tell, at which point, is it a lie?  That would be a common defense if we ever arrested people for that shit.  “What?  I really believe the vaccine helps them control you with the 5g.  Prove I don’t believe it.”  I don’t know how to deal with the actual prosecution of such cases.

But there are no such cases in the first place, no consequences for telling world-ruining lies, literally strangling a million people to painful miserable death with your flaming bullshit.  Those lies lead to lies lead to lies, a circular firing squad of fascist dreamers creating a world of illusion.  And now we have honest, earnest true believers in these lies.  People who believe in antivaxxing like they believe in jeezis.

In my day job I hear their stories.  One woman had a health problem blood clottish and blamed the vaccine.  One man’s wife took the shot and died from a stroke, perfect health before that he says.  She took the shot and he didn’t.  His faith affirmed, he will one day have a chance to lay in a hospital for a month with his body ravaged in unimaginable ways, his lung’s function replaced with machinery while they run out the clock, if that hospital doesn’t have to triage his ass straight to hell.

Because this lie was sold with conservative cultural identity, most of the victims are fascists, and I can’t feel too bad for them.  Lest we forget,

But it isn’t only fascists that buy these lies.  Mainstream anybodies can be swept up in memes and swindles, and they are – great swathes of them.  I don’t know the numbers but I do know a lot of people in this fairly urban part of a blue state are complete rubes about this shit.  People I know, people I’ve known.  They’re at a risk of death and at a risk of killing people they care about, not to mention all the people they don’t know or care about.

This could have been stopped by aggressive laws against demonstrably dangerous lies.  But politicians on both sides of the aisle, plus the corporate world (and all the incestuous crossover between the two) benefit from dangerous lies just often enough that they don’t want to take that tool off the table.  Freedom of speech is freedom to lie.  Any policies we currently have against that are defanged or shot full of loopholes that are barreled through by fuckers in monster truck convoys from sea to shining sea.

I’d just love to see people like the pink-faced sack of shit in that picture purse their lips and wonder – will this be the one that sends me to the penitentiary?  Please.

Inspired Notions vs. Pathological Thoughts

Lately I’ve been on a kick.  People get on kicks.  Shallow thinkers like myself, haha.  We start to view everything through a certain lens and over-apply the notion.  I’ve seen pundits do this, back when I read news.  Anyway, my kick is “alive people energy.”  I’ve been thinking all creative endeavors are improved by investing them with the sense of an active continuous idea within.  Like a given scene, a given chapter, a given illustration or piece of music, at different steps within your process it’s good to step back and hold the whole idea in your head at once, run through it, ask yourself if it feels alive.  Like you conceived the whole idea like a deep breath and let it out in a harmonious flow as a single exhalation.  If that makes sense.  You could do this on your first draft, but editing can break that energy, make stuff feel choppy and lethargic, so during editing you want to stop from time to time and make sure your art is still alive.  Bring the alive people energy.

On the other hand, I have been considering recently if I might be mildly bipolar, and this feels like the kind of bullshit an art teacher would say to a class while standing on his desk, before going home and contemplating suicide, string music filling his studio apartment, his cats unfed and too weary to complain.  But worry not, my Hecubus will be fed and I don’t know from classical music.  Also didn’t some tech billionaire creep make an erotic message to a mistress calling her “alive girl”?  This feels like a related disease.

The most important thing to come of this post, I think, will be that it takes the Thursday meme post off the top of my feed before it becomes Friday.  Think on that.


Haven’t been very active lately on here.  Or have I?  Maybe the fact I’m not reading other blogs, not up on what my FThBlggies are up to, that makes it feel like I’m out of touch.  &/or out of time.  But I’m out of my head when you’re not around, oh oh oh, oh oh OH.  By the way, that Hall & Oates track is part of an anime-inspired Thursday meme.  There is another Thursday meme inspired by another anime, with Asuka Evangelion wishing you a Feliz Jueves.  It’s only Tuesday though, no time for that.  I’m OUT of TIME.

There’s a song by the Dead Milkmen called Dean’s Dream, from their album Big Lizard in My Backyard.  I think it’s about the way a dream feels significant and you want to tell somebody about it, but that sense of importance cannot be communicated, and ultimately dreams are silly garbage.  The climax of the dream in that song is, “We argue and fight and one pulls a knife;  He hits me in the back but I’m alright.”  I had a dream my boyfriend was in one of the crushed floors of a partially collapsed building and I ignored the warnings to go in and save him.  He was just standing there, alright, in his purple flannel shirt.  He’s alright.

On an unrelated thing, I think it’s very possible my dying words will be, “I don’t feel so good Mistew Stawk.”  After that moment in Marvel’s TV’s Revengers: The Semi-Finals, I quickly came to feel profoundly amused by that supposedly serious moment in the movie.  Even the idea that for some other people the drama landed, genuinely choked them up for a moment, felt real … it just adds to the hilarity somehow.

Now, however many years later, whenever I have low blood sugar or am otherwise wobblin’ or wimpy, that’s the first thing that springs to my lips.  Ergo, if I’m having a heart attack and it’s one of those stealthy boys where you just feel out of sorts until it’s Die Time, I’ll probably say the line right before my entire life is rendered a joke.  Correct and appropriate, I suppose.

I’m starting to think I’m mildly bipolar, which is funny I never realized that before, given my brother is medicated for that and our father is a straight cartoon character off that diagnosis.  But it’s OK.  I just get delusions of grandeur sometimes.  They’re probably a good thing, when they don’t keep me up nights.

This is pretty much the epitome of Random Thoughts from Satan posts.  I hope it wasn’t a waste of your time.  Have a sweet day.

Beaten but Possibly Not Unbowed

Somebody beat me to the publication of a translation of the demonology in the Fasciculus rerum Geomanticarum, which readers may recall I was playing at in 2020.  That does take some of the already pathetic wind out of my sails on that backburnered project, but I don’t think my work will be without merit as an alternative look at the same material.  There are judgement calls to be made in translation, you see, and I don’t agree with all of this translator’s choices.  Plus I intend to illustrate my book.

I don’t know.  Maybe I do it, maybe I don’t.  I’m not saying I’m giving up just yet.  We’ll see.

A highlight of that translator’s introductory section, for me, was the suggestion differences in the descriptions of the same demons from various grimoires could be the result of actual experience of communion with those creatures.  I thought that was charming.  My take on the same issues cannot help but be less generous to the possibility supernatural phenomena.  Philosophical materialism is in my bones.

Dreamposting – Learning to Fly

Had a dream lately where I, once again, remembered I can fly.  Some people asked me how and I showed them.  We flew around grubby slightly apocalyptic version of downtown Seattle a while.  In my flight dreams, I basically jump hard and follow it up by pushing my center of gravity in my preferred direction.  It has stops and starts like the swimming of jellyfish.  When you can fly, what’s it like?

Dreamposting – Institutional Violence

Content Warnings:  Unreality, Starvation, Violence, Torture, Animal Suffering, Animal Death.

I have access to sensitive information at work and Saturday morning I had a dream that I went to prison for accidentally disclosing some of that information improperly.  This prison wasn’t a very secure structure but it was a given that if we tried to escape we’d die, so we didn’t.  I didn’t know anybody and everything felt very dangerous.

They gave us food that was amazingly vile.  There were hard boiled eggs made from some kind of reconstituted matter, the whites breaking up into irregular chunks, the yolks green and slimy – possibly rotten.  The bread was basically cardboard with some tiny amount of food like substance in the press to make it easier to swallow.

I couldn’t eat the food for two days and began starving to death, which is silly because how does two days pass in a dream and also that’s not long enough to starve to death.  I expressed my suffering and a prison guard attended to me.

She led me outside.  For some reason she forgot that my problem was hunger and led me to a highway underpass where feral cats lived.  She wanted to give me a cat for companionship and dug out a large but bony cat, long-haired grey tabby and dirty.  The cat was amenable but I thought it would for sure be hurt or killed in the prison, or even by the guard that was with me.  She was brutish and seemed to bristle with barely restrained violence, even with words of kindness in her mouth.

I declined the cat and she started picking up others from the same stretch of dirty highway grass.  I knew she was going to hurt them and discouraged her with each in turn.  I knew she wasn’t going to leave until she had killed one of the kittens.  At last she came to a kitten that had been born conjoined at the head to a dead twin.  I nodded consent and she used some kind of implement to split the heads apart.  I woke shortly after.


Sunday (today) I had a much better dream.  I was working in a generic open office space, no cubes.  Funny it’s never my actual office but then, I’ve been telecommuting half the years I’ve worked there.

I overheard somebody dealing with a supervisor, where they needed to get something signed off by a specific person.  That person was unconscious or incapacitated, but still sitting at a desk there.  The supervisor cheesed the letter of the policy by holding a pen in the unconscious guy’s hand and writing his signature with it.

I grew suspicious.  Somehow I figured out that sus sup was actually a Russian spy, along with one accomplice.  They had a small external hard drive they could use to defraud millions of americans and we had to get it back.  I yelled for help and everyone in the office scrambled to catch the spies or at least get the hard drive back.  Or so I thought.  They were acting like dream people, where you ask them to do one thing and they can’t comprehend it or manifest the agency to do it.

Frustrated, I took off in pursuit.  The supervisor spy’s accomplice got away, but I ended up in a tense upstairs downstairs elevators and parking garages pursuit with her.  By that point in the dream I was a woman, I think, so it’s not too weird I got into a big fist fight with her.  She was a skinny little blonde lady over thirty, TV actor energy, but she could rumble in tha jungle.

The whole time we were having some kind of philosophical debate about how it’s wrong to do crimes, with moments of “if only you knew the power of the dark side.”  It was perversely romantic.  By the time the alarm woke me up, I was feeling some affection for my foe.  Enemies to lovers trope, haha.  I like action dreams.

Got No Memes

I want to do something for International Down With Cis Day, but ideas fail me.  Every year since I started at FtB has gotten materially worse for trans rights and the well-being and safety of trans lives.  I hold the shitbird governor of Texas as especially emblematic of the whole situation – blatantly using open bigotry to score political points, bible bashing while using rhetoric generously provided by terfs, pushing for the worst anti-LGBT policies this side of China or Iran.

So I think, meme his ass.  Political cartoon like this was 1922.  But nothing comes to mind except depictions of him on the receiving end of terrible violence – you know, madame guillotine putting in an appearance, somebody setting him on fire and kicking him off a cliff, etc.  Not funny, not a good look.


Not bad, but still feels wildly inadequate to the struggle right now.  We’ll see what we’ll see.