theres nothing i hate more than supposedly intellectual people who suffered because of normative ideals and so on and still are totally blind about their own ways of excluding people or different ways to operate because they only see, acknowledge and approve of what they are familiar with and know.

i hate swedes, swedish people, white people, white queers, white feminists.

plz dont include me in your queerness, antiracism, anticapitalist, feminist-fight/struggle/party/”revolution”.

cry me a river fucktards

kräks på: att plocka svamp (gu va mysigt! smörstekta kantareller wihoo!), spela bingo.. need i say more?, musikaler-asså sen när blev de subversivt?, punken- okej exakt HUR kan man associera punk som motstånd? som kamp? speciellt IDAG?? för vem? NÄR? eller va de mest bortskämda vita storstadskidz som gillade känslan av affe och bröla lite i en mick? säger bha lol på den äckliga oifrågasatta uppvärderandet av denna stil och dess vithetsprivilegier som det osynliggör.


i immensed myself in sensory masturbation at night
the grudge was born again in the morning
so the cycle continued

ive tried to fix myself so many times ive lost touch with what im trying to fix

and when i think ive got it figured out i change the whole damn plan.

the smell of genitals is the only stable variable which connects my now with my past.
the scent, not as pugent.

i think the past sentence sums up what needs to be summed up about the last 4 months in my existence
as a moving breathing creature made of flesh born out of flesh
crawling my way through different incarnations

i like simplicity. i like the the sounds when im walking outside. they come from everywhere, every angle, in 3d. the wind feels friendly.

i like the feel of stubble on my cheeks. its a tiny teeny physical difference that means so much to my self. i like to think im smarter than that, more analytical, more brave, more queer, stronger, more proud to get so caught up in a desire to grow hair on new places.

im getting deep today. i blame it on working 6 days in a row. i blame it on the state of the world, capitalism, dying kittens, my parents.

im questioning my choice to transition. maybe its “healthy”. maybe if im unlucky  its another manic phase. and i will wake up a few weeks/months from now mentally sober and die from panic ridden anxiety over the testosterone induced changes. gawd help me.

i fight with my beliefs on identity

or my beliefs of the unfirm mass of debris floating around the empty self, we lump together all of the sensory/thought/emotional debris theoretically and put a name on it. We dont know ourselves so when we see something in the debris that speaks to us., When something feels strangely familiar, likeable, wantable, overhelming, or when we see the same debris over and over, we point our finger at it and say ”thats me”. The debris is fascinating, repulsing, depressing and confusing to our biological operating soup of input pathways, our senses..

Its a thick mass floating around us, covering the self, normally our senses cannot penetrate through the layers of debris. but a few times during our earthly experience we catch a glimpse, a brief moment when our observing-mechanisms catch something on the sensory radar. 9 times out 10 we intepret or reject it as meaningless noise. we think its a result of our intepreting mechanisms jamming, out of stress, depression, psychosis, euphoria, overwhelment, narcotics or some other “disturbance”.

 In sense we identify, project our singularity, on/as the debris but at the same time we’re able to observe it.