more here and here for folks outta the loop d’loop.





interviewing a potential new housemate (PNH). After discussing how we are not down with jokes rooted in oppression (rape jokes, etc):

F: oh, and RD likes boner jokes. A LOT. like, sometimes I come home and the board is just covered in boner drawings.

PNH: cool, have you heard this one? what did the egg say to the pot of boiling water?

RD (with bated breath): I don’t know, what!

PNH: you’re gonna have to wait a little bit, it’s gonna take me a few minutes to get hard.

RD: <giggling and hand-flapping so much PNH raises their eyebrows>

Exhibit 910 billion, I am a dork.

trigger warning for police violence. take care of yourself! -RD

after the protest, for days i kept circling on them. the cops, the missteps i made. losing my shit. getting hurt (again). helping other people who were hurt. so much yelling. masks. the army of the rich. glossy BMWs. REI-clad yuppies telling me that cops are “a part of the 99%”. if cops are a part of us, then aren’t they the worst part? that darkest impulse of cruelty and fear, of selfishness. masked tools of capitalism, control freaks jeering from behind badges, batons, rubber bullets, pepper spray. i was tired, in pain, irritated to still be on high alert and a little dehydrated, adrenaline almost washed out. where were you when they were pepperspraying people in the face?! cops are not your friends, not part of the 99%, they are the enemy, tools of capitalism. i yelled, probably sounding foolish in my exhaustion, the kind of insurrectionary absolutism i usually find distasteful blooming bright from my mouth. and: fuck you, why don’t you go buy your way out of another problem! (fuck you for misgendering me so resolutely, for being so naive, for being so stout in your privileged blindness, standing on a street corner and trying to shout down my rage as somehow irrelevant to your ‘movement’.) have you noticed that ‘movement’ sounds like taking a shit? well, i have. stop expecting cohesion, this shit is gonna splatter.

i am angry. i could tell you a dozen ‘bad cop/bad cop’ stories and i don’t think you’d get it, still. the cops are not your friends. you can make nice-nice with them early on if you must (and can–tho i won’t, i will not/can not), but when it comes to it, they will take you out when the order comes to roll. bowl you over with a line of their amped up city bikes, pepperspray you in the face, baton you to the abdomen and all those precious organs. have no doubt: cops are like pitbulls, trained bears in kevlar suits, you may think you know them but you don’t. do not trust them, do not expect them tame for they are wild. do not make a fool of yourself, do not put yourself and everyone around you at risk by making such a fatal mistake. please please. please please. i would beg you if i thought it would make a difference, bring you somehow closer to understanding why i draw up this division.

when i started medicking, i had not been hit with the cluebat yet. i just thought “oh, i’d just like some more skills to help take care of my communities (places where i already provide care),” and took to it with little thought beyond honing existing skills, acquiring a few new ones, drawing new connections between people i liked and respected. it certainly never occurred to me that i would grow a new political analysis or be exposed to state-sanctioned violence (trauma both personal and secondary), anarchism coming into focus sharply and involuntarily as a horn growing out my forehead. my naivety could have scalded you with its white-hot ridiculousness. i laugh at it now shameless but shamed: i can only go the speed at which i travel, and it took all the places i’ve been to get me here, now.

but then: how could i not have known, after all i’d seen, even then? ACAB, all cops are bastards, the black bloc roars, whinnying on proud hind legs, masks up against identification because they know that the cops come after those who dare to criticize them openly, to call for abolition rather than political pandering, reform. will this keep us sane, these simple messages, these simple actions in the face of something so broken it can not be fixed? sometimes people tell me that it works for them, and i can not argue that. if you must, you must. hold the banner, march the streets, yell the simplest things, keep getting in the same arguments with liberals.

i’m not really the insurrectionary type, i tell __ over the last of our pitcher. i’m more about building bridges than smashing windows. but those moments where we break with the everyday still burn bright in me, the shattering of glass i built, i would never… but i have started asking the hard questions, starting thinking maybe, in a world without police, without landlords…


that’s all i got, the big-scary what-ifs and wonderings. so what’s up, insurrectionary anarchism, i been thinkin’ about yoooouuu. and i have come to no conclusions but questions.