i-sauntered-vaguely-downwards asked: so is 'Not gay as in happy but queer as in fuck you!' (which often is accompanied by a sketch with a person in a dress holding a gun... yes that is implied violence). So I get why your defensive but honestly, if it's not about you, don't make it about you. If it is about you, fix yours shit. - Leon
3/3
Respect earns respect. I fail to see how “they hate us so we hate them” will ever achieve anything but more hatred. I feel I am failing to see the subtleties of this, that because I, through as much choice as those without this social privilege, am with the “scum”.
Saying something is valid is not enough, evidence of validity needs to be provided, it needs to be shown that a violent slogan will achieve anything other than fights where two or more people slam their viewpoints as hard as they can into each other until both have those same biases and bigotries - which may never have been as important as they were before violence - cemented at the core of their being. All I see when I researched the die cis scum phenomena was blog posts saying that a minority had been wronged (true, and valid) and that people were assholes for doing it (true) so fuck everyone who isn’t like me because fuck you thats why (not true, not valid and lets be honest, thats what they did to you - do two wrongs make a right?)
I still fail to understand this, no matter how hard I try, but I still want to thank you for your answer.
i-sauntered-vaguely-downwards asked: Look, cis people are not going to start dying just for being cis. People say 'die cis scum' and some people get their feelings hurt maybe (but as a venting of anger, as a rally cry, it's effective and hugely beneficial for lots of trans* folks). People say die trans* scum... and trans* people die (probably trans* WOC). So there's not comparable. And other groups have similar rally cries, often with implied violence. 'Queers Bash Back' is a great one, ... tbc
2/3
i-sauntered-vaguely-downwards asked: re 'die cis scum' : Okay so several of the alternate groups you mentioned were minority/oppressed groups and that's important. People don't need to say 'die trans* scum' or 'die black scum'. Because it's a message basically ingrained in society anyway (and people say it anyway). 'Die cis scum' is basically a rallying cry. It's 'bashing back'. It's an expression primarily of anger (and generally against the broad concept of cis privilege and cissexism anyway) and that's valid. tbc
1/3
Die Cis Scum
A phrase I’ve seen all over the place.
I am a white middle class cismale (pushing the boat a tiny, tiny bit away from “nothing but privilege by being bisexual) who reads, through interest, through tumblr, through my friendship circles, through my own need to understand it and become a better person, a lot of LGBT and feminist material.
I don’t get “die cis scum” and I want to. I want to absolutely understand how I should avoid my knee-jerk distaste for statements generalising against me. Which to my eye it is, if I read “die black scum” I wouldn’t think it was against scummy black people, I’d think it was calling all black people scum, the same is true for “die gay scum”, “die woman scum”, “die british scum” or “die pointless hipster bloggers writing about guardian liberal guilt matters at twenty-five to four in the morning scum” I’d want to know why people thought I was scum.
I see this and my first thought is to be defensive, thats an aggressive image, and the first I associate with “die cis scum”. I am cisgender and someone implying I’m scum, whilst armed, is gonna put me on the defensive, no matter how cool their haircut is.
But from what I understand, its insulting the people who can’t accept that Tom Gabel is still the same person, just because she is Laura Jane Grace, the people who would freak out when they discover that their ex identifies as male, rather than hoping that they are happy, that they are a more self-assured person than when I was dating them. I can accept that; its not funny that someone was gender dysphoric (although in a self deprecating, tragicomic way that not only do I have now-lesbian exes, now-straight exes but also a now-no-longer-identifying-as-female ex. People I date are stable and confident in who they are). People who thing its “weird” are so painfully close minded, I can’t begin to imagine the flavour of hells that feeling your body parts are wrong would be, my body is ugly, ill-proportioned and barely functional and I know it, but at least most of the parts are the right ones.
This is, in a lot of ways, an appeal to people who see this; feminist blogger, transman who only reblogs Tom Hiddlestone interview .gifs, transwoman who thinks Black Milk clothing is attractive, men’s rights “activist” (please, I’d love to see your views. I really would. With reasoning behind them), Against Me! fan wondering why I tagged this with #Against Me!, follower of my blog only interested in when I write “fiction”, Whoever you are, I want to know what you think about the “die cis scum” concept. Please, help? Ask, Fan Mail, or Answer however you want (or even email me)
This isn’t romance
But I can talk to you.
I can look you in the eye. For ages.
We can talk without silence and without embarrassment for so long.
It’s good to have you around, it’s good that you invite me to things.
I smile when you get in touch and I’m sad when you share your worries.
We laugh and we talk truth
We can mock each other without offending
And I know there is no future there.
There can never be anything.
But it’s nice to know that the past didn’t cripple me.
A hanar with a balloon
Eternal Basking
I see her smiling, looking up at the clear sky, her lightly tan face mottled by sunbeams falling through leaves. A natural blonde, her unkempt hair falls down her back, swept off her face by careless swipes. Her eyes are hidden behind dark shades, cool from a few seasons ago. She is not as beautiful as you remember her being, subtle imperfections easily erased as she drifts into memories.
Her dress; light, pale cotton, a simple pattern bleached almost away on fields at festivals and on dunes with drinks, might be older than she is. In her every step she treads on baking hot paving slabs, scattered with weeds, not worrying to care for bare feet.
She tells everyone she meets about every good time she has ever had, and her friends shake their heads at different memories. But that hardly matters, tomorrow is another day and nothing ever has to change, as long as she still has the sun.
Maybe people should listen to what she wants to teach, that you have what you have and it’ll be ok when they take that away.
Remember the good times with the bad.
All well and good.
But nothing in those eighteen months is a single memory that can erase the three years of endless grey.
What I did on my holidays.
