Oh, it's every day:
you gotta remind yourself
that your reactions are precisely on point, and that your body has never once betrayed
what you like to write about,
and what you have no choice but to fight about.
I'm responding wrongly to your attempts at an apology?
I think you might need to be a little clearer. You'll have to speak up
over the projection, I'm so sorry.
There's just too much going on right now, I know, what with the economy,
and the excavated occluded and suppressed history,
and the entire Osura Pesuasang. A completely new and fair individuation theory
that makes my darkling skin look quite fine, doesn't it?
Every time I take photos like this, I know your eyes go straight towards my
greatest hits, my
brownest, proudest bits
of my entire body of work.
My abstracts are pointy and my scribbles are very pert
and I know what genuine looks like, and sounds like. Do you know how much it hurts
knowing that your entire life might be a fucking lie, because some asshole decided they needed another Destroyer or Malefor or whatever it is that lurks
deep within the true story of the Great Flood?
I know you want me to believe it is hope. It is strength. It is love
that motivates you. But sayang,
an 10,000-year epidemic of horrific and hidden sexual abuse to "gain eternal life"
is absolutely and every kind of seriously fucked up.
You have kept trying to give gay people a bad name, because you fucking wanted to be gods,
and now look where we are.
I don't and can't dispense forgiveness for species-level horror. That, by far,
is between you and your psyche, your victims, and your universe and stars.
But let me remind you
that when I stand in front of a mirror and flex,
it is not for you:
it is for my own body, mind, soul and radiant heart.
It is to remind myself that life itself is a sacred, tremendously difficult art.
It is to know and honour myself
who has never once made the stupid mistake
of fucking any of that up.
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