Poetry Collection

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 I wear diapers. I fucking hate diapers.
 
 I go in cycles with it. Waves, if you will. Sometimes I'll say "screw this I'm
 sick of them for one of many reasons I'm going to put in the effort and do all
 the kegels and just fucking handle it" and like, that sorta works. At least,
 most of the time.
 
 The thing about diapers is that while yes, you only need to think about your
 bodily functions like, twice a day, when you do it's more acute. It takes like
 10 minutes to change, it generates trash that you have to throw away, it's
 literally pissing on cash made out of plastic fossil fuels, it smells, it's
 loud (fuck the noise) and its a pain in the ass when you get diaper rash. Ugh I
 hate it.
 
 So, sometimes I say "fuck it" and I go without. And it works most of the time.
 But eventually after getting piss on the carpet one too many times, after
 throwing away your favorite underwear AGAIN, after trying your best to face
 away from people so they don't see the wet spot on your butt... Eventually you
 think "hey maybe diapers aren't that bad" and the cycle repeats.
 
 And look, I know I'm traumatized. I've been dealing with my own shit since I
 was a kid. But, like, therapy won't help me get to the toilet. A doctor's not
 going to be able to fix my brain deciding "hey I want to piss myself right now
 for no fucking reason at all", and yeah my muscles aren't great so sure I can
 exercise them or whatever.
 
 But there have been times in my life when I've had a pelvic floor as strong as
 steel, and it didn't fucking help. Because my brain is stupid.
 
 I can feel it happening (most of the time, sometimes it surprises me like "oh
 weird I can't remember peeing my pants") and I usually have at least enough
 notice to clamp down (if I'm quick) but, like, I am constantly stressed out
 about it. I'm constantly on guard, waiting for it to happen. It's fucking
 exhausting.
 
 God forbid I have a public accident. Those are the fucking worst. And though I
 try my hardest, a year doesn't go by when I don't have at least one. If I'm
 diapered (as I fucking should be, tbh) then I can handle it. If not, then I'm
 fucked and I'm mentally a wreck for the rest of the day. Sorry @ everyone who's
 smelled me throughout my whole life.
 
 I don't think it's a physical issue, I was (briefly) checked out as a kid and
 they didn't find anything wrong. I think they thought I was faking because I
 couldn't manage to pee in a cup. Whatever.
 
 And I've read basically everything on the Internet about this. Apparently 40%
 of cases (across all age groups) are idiopathic, meaning there's no known
 cause. I wonder what percentage is because people are like, into it sexually?
 
 I admit I look at that kind of porn. It makes me feel corroded inside. I think
 I do it to relive my trauma in some fucked up way, like "oh wouldn't it be nice
 if a witch cursed me and now I pee my pants" instead of the harsher reality
 where its like "no you're just like this" which, sucks, not gonna lie.
 
 It's kinda made me asexual, I think, because I don't want anyone to be around
 it. I don't want anyone to think about it, I don't want it to be real, it's
 just. Fucked. I guess. Whatever.
 
 Did I mention how much I hate how loud it is to change? It fills me with dread
 whenever that time comes around. I often put it off as long as I can because I
 just... Don't want to think about it. And then it overflows and leaks and its
 even worse because now I have to wash my pants. Or, like, not, and just let
 them dry, because I'm a disgusting human being who has no right to a clean and
 decent life. Fuck me I should live in a bog, with all the bugs and the toads
 and other various gross things.
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 If you burden others with proving your truth, then you could be right a
 thousand times in a row, but make two mistakes and they'll never trust you
 again.
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 When they invade America, it won't be with planes and tanks and battle lines
 stocked with artillery
 
 It'll be with speed boats, and semi trucks, and rifles glimmering in the dark.
 It'll be with consumer drones, with power stations brought low, it'll be with
 bridges blown and safe houses on the roads not oft taken.
 
 Immigrants are our friends when the world is in peril, and America is a safe
 haven from the woes of far off shores. But when America is the peril, those who
 immigrate do so with intention.
 
 99/100 people are innocent, and I would rather a million guilty murderers go
 free than an innocent perish. Which is why we need rifles.
 
 When the time comes, it won't be brother against brother. They want you to
 think that because they want your eyes on the wrong target. They want you to
 think that because it doesn't tip the hand of those far off shores, and once
 the cards are revealed, suddenly everyone knows when to go.
 
 They tie up our officers at the border, but the border's not what's at stake.
 No body lives at the border, and no nation state would send it's trained
 warriors in such a way that they'd get caught. At least, not more than once.
 
 Should we build a wall, should we patrol each and every state, we'll find
 ourselves in peril of collapsing under our own weight.
 
 But should we relinquish our duty, our sworn and sacred responsibility, then
 together we share the same fate.
 
 Brothers in fate are kin until death.
 
 Immigrants aren't bad. They're good people. They benefit our society and bring
 us wealth and prosperity. Which is why they hide wolves in the sheep, armed
 like a man.
 
 It's a mistake to point at your neighbor and say "you're on your own". It's a
 mistake to say that home is all that you own. We are united in our state of
 solidarity, in our collective purpose as a nation in our hearts. There's no
 dividing line between this land and mine, save for a line we draw in the sand
 that determines the range of our just demands.
 
 I wish I was a man. It's what I was born as. It surely would be easier to not
 contravene nature's ordained gender scheme. But I'm not, and I'll trust that
 you'll trust me when I say that. I hope you would hear where I stand before my
 body goes cold.
 
 The media is meant to enlighten us, but in this enlightened era it serves only
 to blind us. Do you know your neighbors, oh unfriendly city folk? If not, how
 do you know they're alright?
 
 The world won't change overnight. It's always calm before the storm, but every
 state of calm does not call forth a storm. I believe we can fashion a peace out
 of our mutual sincerity that leaves room for the hopes of all posterity, and to
 that end I say what we have isn't working. It's too rigid in its definitions,
 too heartless in its cruel machinations, and yet the wolves do also hide
 amongst our homeless.
 
 I don't want to alarm you. Things are being handled as they should. I guess I
 just want to offer a hand of friendship, a hand that your companions would stab
 me for. At least, that's what the media tells me.
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 Some human cultures learned competition through hunting, and some through
 agriculture, and it really shows
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 The difference between front-end and back-end programming is whether or not you
 want to design abstractions or use them. Backend is all about creating abstract
 things that are networked together, while front end is about putting them
 together in a way that suits the user. Front end is collage, back end is pencil
 drawing.
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A screenshot of a series of Fediverse posts explaining why I'm dead.  There was a fun little game that a bunch of people played called the "fedi games" which was a play on words relating to "The Hunger Games", a book series in which a group of people compete to the death.  In the Fedi Games, I'm assuming there was some kind of techno-witchery at play which analyzed all the contestants and the nature of their comments and posts and such. It then generated "events" which occurred each day as the contestants slowly fought one another leaving a single victor.  There were 16 players I think, and I got 5th place (meaning I was the fifth-to-last person to die)  Anyway, day 1 I was forced to kill someone else and it was super sad.  Day 2 I created a communal nation state  Day 3 I tried again with different people  Night 3 I tripped into a hole and died. Ah, oh well, that's just what happens to your spiritual leaders. You need to learn to be able to survive without them, to take their works and crystallize it into something that can be utilized for revolutionary potential, instead of the sharp bits of insight that are hidden within the morass of nebulous abstractions meant to distract and avoid the attention of those who would do harm.  ... uh, anyway, back to being dead. I'm not sulking I'm still working, I'll be back someday. Probably. Maybe. Unless I don't, so don't wait up.

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 Conservatives don't have to be pro communism to be good people. They just have
 to be anti fascist.
 
 And unfortunately, capitalism has produced fascism. It will continue to do so
 if left unabated.
 
 Capitalism is not the middle ground between administrative authority and
 anarchic despotism as they claim to see it, but rather a whirlpool that drains
 through our adversity. A sinking tide strands all ships, as it were, and
 together we will begin to falter.
 
 Fascists are quite good at bending the will of whatever system they inhabit to
 suit their needs. In fact it is almost a certainty that any sufficiently
 organized institution shall fall prey to it, as if it were part of our nature.
 
 Hence, my desire to abstract it out of our hands, and into the care of the
 future. We can build a better world for you and for me and all of our
 posterity, it's just a matter of interdependent communication protocols.
 
 Nobody has to do what I say, nobody should be forced to be a certain way, and
 just as your rights end where another's begin so too is our world in danger.
 
 For you see, we have a right to litter. To despoil. To leave the earth in
 turmoil. And though I am a bit bitter, it's slowly getting better, so through
 our efforts we are investitured.
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