1. Words of Wisdom from Zsa Zsa Gabor

    “There is nothing wrong with a woman welcoming all men’s advances as long as they are in cash.”

    “I’m an excellent housekeeper. Every time I get a divorce, I keep the house.”

    “How many husbands have I had? You mean apart from my own?”

    “I never hated a man enough to give him his diamonds back.”

    “The women’s movement hasn’t changed my sex life. It wouldn’t dare.”

    “Getting divorced just because you don’t love a man is almost as silly as getting married just because you do.”

    “You never really know a man until you have divorced him.”


  2. Can I get a little more *you* in my monitor?


  3. The art of Millan G. Figueroa: Whitney & Sade

    A double-feature: Whitney & Sade

    Paint on found windows. 

    Visit his website, Corazon de Condor, for more. 

    For prices or to inquire about custom work, email millangabrielcreations@gmail.com. Millan lives in Oakland, CA. 


  4. Prednisone: The Good Shit

    I failed to properly taper from my ‘roids. Something isn’t right.

    My skull contains a combustible engine that is sending sparks through every nerve in my body. That is where I am right now. That is where these words come form.

    I am learning to distinguish the flares from the dark periods, learning how to accept these challenges as new cycles to track and learn from.

    And breathing, it is an act. Breathing is something I must rehearse, so that i may perform without the interference of tears and snot.That’s how I was before I was put on Prednisone the Wonderdrug for lung inflammation as a result of my disease. And that’s how I am now that corticosteroids are shooting away from my system, rocketspeed.

    When you toss Prednisone into an overactive immune system, that system slows down. It’s a beautiful thing.This week, I enjoyed five days of fever-free, no-rash, mildly-energetic livin’ with pain so low that it didn’t matter that the Ibuprofen’s always hiding.

    It was so beautiful that I thanked my doctor for Fixing me. She was wearing yoga pants because it was a Saturday and she practices integrated medicine. “So can I just take this forever?” I asked.

    I learned that Prednisone has its share of side-effects. What I read most often is of a phenomenon called “Moon Face,” which appears to be a reference to weight gain (or redistribution?) that is especially prominent in the face. Leave it to the medical industry to use a historically feminine symbol (the moon) as a metaphor for fatness-as-ugliness. Especially in reference to a drug often used to treat autoimmune diseases — 75% of people with autoimmune diseases are women.

    Coincidentally, autoimmune diseases are constantly “up for debate” and considered “laziness” by people who know nothing about them, despite western medicine’s confirmation that they are not only real, but lethal. Most people who try to debate the science of systemic autoimmune diseases like lupus are men without any medical knowledge, or people who learned about lupus from men without medical knowledge.

    But I don’t want to think about that right now. I just want to think about those magical five days before it was time to stop this flare-suppresion. I stepped through a portal, spent five days inside a Lisa Frank folder, riding dolphins with glittering flowers in my hair. I want to remember these Prednisone days for being the first five days in a row that I’ve spent feeling comfortable in my body in over a year. In fact, I hardly thought about my body at all. 

    I have Systemic Lupus Erythematosus, or “Lupus.” I am learning how to talk about it. My grandmother also had it, but she didn’t really talk about it. My grandmother, she fucking loved the sun. One day the doctor said “No More.” I, too, love the sun. I, too, must hide from its power more often than soak in its glow. I wonder if Grandma took Prednisone. I wonder if it made her feel like a showgirl.

    When I think about how Prednisone seemed to sweep away the worst aspects of this disease, I cry for missed time. For all of the canceled plans, the loss of friends who thought I didn’t care. For when I was to exhausted to use my voice or form cohesive thoughts, I was hurting those I care about most. I lost them, they are gone. I was only half-honest, and that’s because I have PTSD that affects my ability to “perform” in the world quite a bit. When I feel physical pain or symptoms I don’t understand, they become lost in emotion. I often (mistakenly) feel that my emotions are the world’s biggest everything. The crippling fatigue, the psoriatic flares, the periodic bouts of pain… sometimes I am able to just hide it all behind a fog of insanity and neurological whateverthefuck. I haven’t shown up, I haven’t understood why. And now I do, and I curse the times I cried in bed instead of showing up for those who needed me. 

    I could abuse that pill, that Prednisone, the way I have abused others. Like any other drug I’ve used, Prednisone made me forget all that ailed me. It doesn’t make me high, it doesn’t feel “abuse-able.” But if it makes me feel so good, it feels fair that I should be allowed to have it. 

    Entitlement issues.

    I feel afraid, and I feel like I shouldn’t talk about this as much as I think about it. My feet are up against the wall, they are filled with oceans. My face is the core of the earth. I buckle, I am sorry for myself. For trauma, and now for illness. This drug, this drug that doesn’t even get me high,  gave me a glimpse of glitter in the dark. This is hard (and clearly bringing up a ton of internalized ableism) but I need all the glitter in the world to get through this.


  5. You take my self

    you take my self control 

    You take my self

    you take my self control 

    You take my self

    you take my self control 


  6. Can you squeeze me
    into an empty page of your diary
    and psychologically save me?
    I’ve got faith in you

    I sense the power
    in the fingers
    Within an hour the power
    could totally destroy me
    or it could save my life

  7. I’m so excited about the Grimoire Tarot Journals, which you can buy here for $7!

    I got my first tarot deck from a little store called New Age Alternative in New Jersey. I was 14. The deck came with a little booklet that meant nothing to me, so I threw it away and made up my own meanings for the cards based on their images. The meanings were not “correct,” but they made sense in my teenage brain. I tried using making up ways to use the tarot but gave up at a young age.

    I didn’t use or care for the tarot for many years. Friends would offer me readings when I’d find myself in difficult spots, but the readings were sort of scary. I’d look at the cards and think, “Those colors remind me of my first bicycle!” or “She looks like my mother!” and learn that the actual meanings of the cards had nothing to do with my associations. Though my friends were skilled at giving readings, I grew afraid of what the cards truly meant and subsequently shunned the entire idea of the tarot.

    But like many other queers in my age group, I became re-inspired by The Collective Tarot. The first card I saw from that deck was The Star, which was created by Adee Roberson (follow that link and check out her brilliant art). The Star is a consistently positive card across decks, but there was something particularly magnetic in that card that urged me to dive into its waters.

    I decided to explore that deck fully after receiving it as a special gift. Along with my gently-used Rider-Waite deck, I detailed my journey inside a hard-cover journal. I dedicated a page or two to each card. I wrote about the colors, the symbols, personal associations, and feelings/messages that came to me while mediating on the images. Before I knew it, I had essentially written my own book about the tarot—a highly personal reference book that is unique to my own experience. That book is for my eyes only.

    The journal I used was beautiful but difficult to write in due to its solid spine. Rather than continue to use that journal to write down my personal interpretations of my tarot readings, I opted for a plain spiral-bound notebook. While it was easy to write in, it didn’t look nice or feel special.

    I wanted to create a portable, notebook-style journal that comes “pre-installed” with magical intention. I ran the idea by Annie Murphy, proprietress of Grimoire Comics & Curiosities, and she loved the idea. I asked if we could use some of her tarot art (originally drawn for The Collective Tarot) for the covers and.. well, now there are special & affordable little tarot journals that you can pop in your bag and take anywhere. 

    I wrote a 6 page informational guide to journaling with the tarot that appears as the beginning of each book. I wrote up info on a few spreads I love, as well as ideas for documenting your days and nights. And because the paper feels so nice, it feels nice to write on—I can’t wait to start actually drawing my spreads with my favorite pen, the Micron 05! 

    I encourage you to use any deck that resonates with you, and also to keep an eye out for future journals with tarot art created by art wizards Millán Gabriel Figueroa and Yvette Tyler. 

    The journals are available from Grimoire Comics and Curiosities for just $7. They may seem simple, but they can be useful tools and would likely make lovely gifts. Spread the word, if you will! This round was made exclusively by broke disabled queers who want nothing more than to share our gifts with the world.

    A note about paying for art:

    I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason why so many artists are not paid for their work is because of the “queer/punk 99% myth,” which I see as middle class queer/punk artists falsely assuming that because they don’t need to be paid for their work in order to survive, neither do artists living in poverty. There is a huge problem with middle class queers and punks neglecting to factor their access into their class status. This isn’t only about trust funds, it’s about safety nets, able-bodies, Macs, white privilege, passing privilege, secret stashes, savings accounts & property ownership. I don’t believe in “equal pay”—I believe in paying to promote class equity, which means providing more money to those who need it. That is the stance I take when it comes to collaborating on these journals, and I bring this up because I want to encourage transparency in art-peddling! I’m a broke person and I’d love it if broke people weren’t the only ones who encouraged class transparency in queer/punk projects. Your $7 goes to reimbursing our up-front printing costs that were not covered by pre-orders, packing materials for shipping, transportation to the post-office, Etsy fees, and the small remaining amount goes to artists and writers for their time, work and magical energy. 

    Love you all. xoxoxo


  8. alexwrekk:

    Do a search for the Portland Zine Symposium on tumblr.

    Go ahead.

    I’ll wait.

    Now, read the awesome review that Pork did about how the Portland Zine Symposium is the Alex Wrekk Symposium.

    Am I supposed to be offended?

    I mean, it’s  just seems weird and perplexing.

    Wow, I just read all of those posts. I am still glowing from how wonderful of a weekend I had at this year’s symposium, and everyone did an amazing job. This was the best experience I’ve had at the symposium in the 5 or 6 years I’ve attended. I would take his post as a compliment for being involved with anything that makes a misogynist bag of dicks so angry that he has to write a “poor men” diatribe about feeling silenced as an aggro white man. “Poor men indeed!” 

    Also, his use of the word “nazi” in reference to facilitating safer spaces is a so misguided for someone who dresses and acts so much like an actual nazi that he makes my overtly homosexual mizrahi/ashkenazi Jewish skin crawl.

  9. So I’ve been working on a project! Grimoire Comics & Curiosities is putting out tarot journals, and I wrote them! They are blank journals but have a 6-page tarot-journaling guide/spreads section. If you pre-order you’ll help them make their way into the world in time for the zine symposium, which helps me a lot-lot-LOT.

    They are just $7, super pretty and have Collective Tarot cards (!!!) as covers (10 and Ace of Bones). 5x7”, black covers with beautiful gold ink. About 128 pages.

    It’s a limited edition run so if you want one, pre-order it to be sure you’ll get one! 

    Support queer women doing cool shit! 


  10. Unwanted sexual comments from women who are awesome

    Lately when ladyfriends compliment me, it’s comments about my legs or the way my tits look in my clothes. Most of the ladies who talk to me like this are other queers. I do like compliments, and I do dress like “a slut” a lot, and I’m a very sexual person. I have friends that I’d fuck in a heartbeat. I surround myself with others who are also sexual people because that’s just how I roll. Yet I feel put off by how ladies and queers feel entitled to say the things about my body that men do. I feel like people forget about the importance of consent because so many of us feel like we’ve “already figured it out.”

    I catch myself doing this as well. It feels like internalized misogyny.

    Sometimes my skirt is short because it’s too small on me, and that’s why you can see my thighs so well. It’s not because I want to “sit on your face.” If what I’m wearing or the way my body looks turns you on, which is awesome, please consider that the way that you present these feelings can put me in an uncomfortable position or frame of mind.

    Instead of saying, “Ohh girl I want to motorboat those titties!” when I’m wearing a tits-to-chin dress, think about what it is that you actually want to say. I doubt it’s that.

    "You look really hot!" does the same thing without forcing me into an uncomfortable power dynamic. There are so many reasons why someone may not want to be spoken to in that way at any moment. I don’t talk about the sort of sex work I’ve done or that I do on this blog so much, but I think it’s important to mention that many of us have certain outfits for certain things, and if you see us in it, it might be part of our personae. Maybe other people don’t have weird dissociation with their "other me" but a lot of us do.

    I think sexual objectification is extremely hot as prenegotiated play, but as with all sexual situations, consent needs to be established. 


  11. areyoutheregawd:

    when i hear the words “contemporary groove” i just think of sad white men with guitars. and my uncle vest shopping at marshall’s.


  12. Interview with Ring of Fire artist and author ET Russian



    Annie Murphy did an awesome interview with ET Russian (a.k.a Hellery Homosex)—artist, writer, performance artist & gay genius. ET’s influential zine Ring of Fire will soon be available as an anthology, published by Left Bank Books.

    From Left Bank’s description: 

    Through black and white ink drawings, comics, linoleum block print portraits, essays, interviews and erotica, this collection explores the intersections of art, bodies, healthcare, ability, gender, race, community, class, healing and the politics of work.

    Pre-order here.

    This interview is awesome. I’m excited for the anthology.

    (Source: grimoirecomics)

  13. My best friend died 8 years and a few days ago. I’ve officially been sober for just a few days less than that.

    At some point, it became hard to talk about. He was a bully to a lot of people I care about and I don’t condone that, but to me, his friendship was the most loyal I’ve ever known. He had this crazy love thing reserved for certain people. It was selfless and unconditional, and to this day I’ve never met a single person who goes out of their way to help people like Andrew did. The things he did for me.. whatever, it’ll all sound shady but it wasn’t at all. I knew him on a different level, such a different level that I don’t even think anyone would believe me. I knew the driving factors behind every shitty thing he did and while it’s not my stuff to talk about, sometimes I just wanna lay it all out. For now, know that this was a guy who tried so hard to hate people, too hard.

    It’s hard to talk about his death because I was the last person he spoke to that night. I know things that nobody else knows. I sat in my car in front of a Rite Aid in the frat district of New Orleans talking with him while he was on a Greyhound to Reno. Andrew had a plan: his check was in the mail, literally in transit from Baltimore, and he was going to save me from my DV situation. In just a few days I would have boarded a lane, paid for by him, back to the SF. Our plan was to happen the following week, after his kidney surgery. Nobody knew, because our plan violated laws AND could have gotten either of us in huge trouble with my (now rehabilitated) abuser. Andrew had just been accepted to a nursing program in Sonoma county. He was getting a large sum of money from the government for something I can’t discuss, and a ton of it was being used to get me back home to San Francisco, out of sex work (which was not good for me at the time, AT ALL), and back eating normal food again.

    Andrew would have been careless on shit no matter what, because that’s what people do when they are terrified, abused, homeless, have a serious chronic illness and renal failure. I didn’t want him to drink, I hate drinking. There’s another piece of this and that’s the part that stays quiet. I will probably take it to the grave.

    His family and close friends think he killed himself on purpose. I never could figure out how to explain just how untrue that was.

    Some people who’ve met me over the past 5 years know nothing about him, and it’s usually because I don’t know what to say. Our stories were kind of scandalous, we were party-ers. We did shady shit to pay our bills. We even paid each others’ bills. At some point I was wiring him money and we both got the cops called on us at our respective Western Union locations in California and Louisiana at the same time. Long story (I wound up sending a money order).

    Maybe he died before he could help me to physical safety but he still saved my life. I didn’t off myself because of Andrew. At one point, after I’d been completely isolated by every friend I ever had, Andrew kept me alive. He did it several times a day for months. We talked on the phone all day, every day. I called him before incalls, before outcalls, while being pushed down a flight of stairs. And all he did was tell me I right, he validated me, he heard it all happen. He talked on the phone to my ex and diffused situations. And he did this even though I left him in SF. I want to tell people, “You think my PTSD makes me crazy now? If there was no Andrew I’d be catatonic.” And it’s true.

    A big gay beautiful Leo whose loyalty to those he cared about did him in every time.

    And I miss my mom, I miss my grandparents, I miss Mary, I miss James, Cara, and goddess knows who else. But missing Andrew is like being locked outside my house in the rain without a key, for the rest of my life. I live in constant fear of abuse without having someone to be my ear through it all. I live in constant fear that I’ll never know another friendship like that (and that’s not to say I don’t have close, comforting friendships.. but this one was so… I don’t know.) 

    I have the world’s most embarrassing tattoo in his honor because I knew he’d think it was funny.

    But he’s taking good care of me, because after that situation, no other partner has ever tried that kind of shit on me.


  14. Google Voice’s text translation of my sweetheart butt-dialing me while we were hanging out

    "Hello, it’s like hello, hey dad it’s after that this is it Please. Honey, hey hey. Hey, We’re actually for fast hey yeah things like taking please forward to. So, Hello yeah. Yeah it was like have a lead to a okay. Yeah locate okay bye hey, home for a while. Hello Hello. Hello. Hey what’s up. Hello. I don’t feel like. Hello. Hey they do, yeah hello hello hello over at least I, Yeah want your phone number is Eileen file. I love you babe. Bye. Yeah, hello here in late in the bus, hey. He will. I will need. Yeah, yo. V design. Yeah call. I don’t know everything mall. Yeah. Yeah I hey good so long way since you’re in the Hey Hey. Yes, you’re going to you later bye bye bye. Yeah, so we’ll see you. But, hey. Hello. You know, your previous going from me, hey yeah Yes, you now You know he Yeah, I think this is. Yeah. Yeah, hey wrong bye right now. Yeah Yeah, that your lower your list."

    Tagged #google voice

  15. Bernadette Mayer’s writing experiments.