Markus Bones

A huge part of homophobic manipulation against gay women, is to convince them that their love for women is lesser than their love for men (even when we don’t genuinely have it in the case of lesbians), it’s to find every possible way as to why this or that discounts what is obvious attraction to other women.

If you feel within yourself the words “I want to be bi” or “I want to be a lesbian”; I’m pretty sure you are.

How many straight women do you know that hold enough respect for gay women’s identities that they’re willing to suffer in confusion and loneliness for years?

Which straight woman would want to be bi/a lesbian THAT badly that it causes her genuine pain to think she’s not really one? It’s not like being gay grants us any benefits that straight women would DIE for. Literally the only thing in it for any woman is the opportunity to be with women, so if you’re in pain for thinking you’re straight, you’re in pain because you think you’ll never be able to love and be with other women.

Out bi and lesbian women who’re usually sure of their identities and who live their lives as gay women do also question whether they’re “faking” it or not, and it causes us tremendous distress to feel that maybe we’re fakes! Which is clearly something you share with us.

Those aren’t straight feelings. Stop picking yourself apart so much. The only requirement to be a gay woman is to want to be with women.

Anyway, REGARDLESS of your gender assignment at birth, this goes for you. If you’re a trans woman, or you’re thinking you may be a trans woman. Everything I said above applies to you too.

Some girls realize that they’re girls when they realize that the way they love girls is not how men do it, and that is a beautiful, amazing thing.

Some girls have already realized and accepted that they are girls, but comp het is 100% inflicted upon trans women too. Being bi or a lesbian already makes cis women feel like Not Real Women, so it can be so hard for trans women to realize that they may not be straight, when society teaches us that, in its terms, being a woman is intrinsically tied to being exclusively attracted to men and any deviation from that puts you in, at best, a gray area.

If you’re seeing yourself in lesbian/bi women’s literature much more than you ever would in straight or bi men’s, that means something. If you project yourself on gay women characters, it means something.

If you feel heartbroken thinking that you want to be with women in the way women are with other women, but that you can’t be, that’s a sign that you actually CAN be and ARE.

None of these feelings are the feelings of a straight woman OR of a man of any sexuality. Thing like these are women’s experiences; trans lesbian/bi women’s experiences.

Im.. Soft 🥺🥺🥺

Some troubling shit always occurs.

It works like this: I bring in my giant file of head shots, which include actors of all races, sizes, shapes, ages, and experience levels. Each student picks a head shot from the stack and gets a few minutes to sit with the person’s face and then make up a little story about them. 

Namely, for white men, they have no trouble coming up with an entire history, job, role, genre, time, place, and costume. They will often identify him without prompting as “the main character.” The only exception? “He would play the gay guy.” For white women, they mostly do not come up with a job (even though it was specifically asked for), and they will identify her by her relationships. “She would play the mom/wife/love interest/best friend.” I’ve heard “She would play the slut” or “She would play the hot girl.” A lot more than once.

For nonwhite men, it can be equally depressing. “He’s in a buddy cop movie, but he’s not the main guy, he’s the partner.” “He’d play a terrorist.” “He’d play a drug dealer.” “A thug.” “A hustler.” “Homeless guy.” One Asian actor was promoted to “villain.”

For nonwhite women (grab onto something sturdy, like a big glass of strong liquor), sometimes they are “lucky” enough to be classified as the girlfriend/love interest/mom, but I have also heard things like “Well, she’d be in a romantic comedy, but as the friend, you know?” “Maid.” “Prostitute.” “Drug addict.”

I should point out that the responses are similar whether the group is all or mostly-white or extremely racially mixed, and all the groups I’ve tried this with have been about equally balanced between men and women, though individual responses vary. Women do a little better with women, and people of color do a little better with people of color, but female students sometimes forget to come up with a job for female actors and black male students sometimes tell the class that their black male actor wouldn’t be the main guy.

Once the students have made their pitches, we interrogate their opinions. “You seem really sure that he’s not the main character – why? What made you automatically say that?” “You said she was a mom. Was she born a mom, or did she maybe do something else with her life before her magic womb opened up and gave her an identity? Who is she as a person?” In the case of the “thug“, it turns out that the student was just reading off his film resume. This brilliant African American actor who regularly brings houses down doing Shakespeare on the stage and more than once made me weep at the beauty and subtlety of his performances, had a list of film credits that just said “Thug #4.” “Gang member.” “Muscle.” Because that’s the film work he can get. Because it puts food on his table.

The hall of mirrors that is the interplay between fiction and real life becomes a negative feedback loop with real consequences, because we internalize things and then we act them out.

We said hello to each other as I scanned his items (diet coke and a nature valley granola bar- $2.69), me sounding more interested than usual just because he sounded so out-of breath and very engaged in his purchase. Also maybe because I could not see his shoes.

“How’s your life going?” He suddenly asked, swiping his card, not casually but almost pleadingly curious.

“Uhm, all right I s’pose” I said, too startled to think of a more cheery lie. 

He nodded somberly. “Me too… I guess.” He paused and looked at me for a minute and then just said “it’s a Monday, ya know.”

“Mondays are like this sometimes” I supplied, feeling like we were having a really weird conversation hidden under the one that was actually taking place.

Honestly I had no idea that I would ever have the privilege of writing a sequel to this post. I considered it an odd moment, an interaction that changed me in a way, but a fleeting one. I automatically assumed our paths would never cross again, there was such a finality to that window of time on Monday August 22nd of 2016. And yet.

He returned.

I didn’t truly notice him come in, glancing up from whatever menial and already forgotten task I was busy with, but not registering who it was or why he seemed to put out an aura of familiarity. It had been weeks and I haven’t even caught a glimpse of him; the memory of Monday August 22nd of 2016 had faded like a dream. But lo he appeared before me, dressed in exactly the same fashion that made him look like he had just crawled out of carwash (albeit with a pink shirt and purple tie this go-around.)

His face lit up when he saw me, again holding a diet coke and a nature valley granola bar. ‘How is your day going?’ He asked earnestly.

‘Pretty well.’ I said, professionally containing myself, “how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good” he said, sounding more cheerful than before but just as harried. When I handed him back his change and items and he looked like he was going to cry. 

“Thank you” he whispered with a look of reverence I have only seen on the faces of ancient church members receiving the eucharist.

“It’s no trouble,” I promised, trying not to look perplexed.

He bowed (LITERALLY BOWED) and then made a hurried exit stage left, reminiscent of Lear just before the second act, halfway into madness.

Okay I’m not even bothering with the pretentious Hemingway style for this one; I’m still reeling over the fact that he came back after four months AND on a Friday instead of a Monday no less.

Notes:

He was wearing literally the exact same shirt and tie he had on from part one, only with an orange sweater and fancy jacket over the ensemble to indicate that it was winter

He bought Lay’s sour cream and onion potato chips this time instead of his standard granola bar, but the diet coke was as usual

He told me that he always felt guilty for buying snack food but ‘you have to do what you have to do’

He then smiled sadly at me and said ‘enjoy your weekend… If you can.’

I sat in stunned, unblinking silence for about six minutes until a customer came up and looked me over worriedly

Who is this man

First thing’s first,

Probably about two years of wear on them but otherwise well cared for. Socks were white, which I was only able to notice because this human being has zero clothes that fit and his pant cuffs were hovering about 3 inches away from his shoes. I keep thinking his outfits can’t possibly get any better, but this one takes the cake:

Crumpled white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, gigantic scarf that looked as though it were made out of mouldy carpet, neon orange striped tie, and a matching neon orange plastic digital watch that probably came out of a box of honeycombs back in 1988.

He did not grace me with his odd conversational charm today, but I received something better. A clue. 

Today he was buying a red notebook and three ballpoint pens instead of snacks (which was questionable but this is a Thursday we’re talking about; the day that falls on the chaotic spectrum and which I am known for my overzealous distrust of), and when he pulled out his luxury black Mastercard to pay for his items he said eight words which shook me to my very core.

“I do get a staff discount on these.”

This has never come up before because discount plans don’t apply to food items. I have no need to ask the identity of a man buying a granola bar and a diet coke. But now.

I didn’t speak as I handed him his receipt, just nodded courteously. Only staff members know about the specific discount so I had no real need to ask for an ID for proof, and I was cursing my mistake in not asking for it anyway. 

Not an ending of any sort, but a very brief update from the field. My work schedule has changed since January and I was honestly beginning to wonder if I wouldn’t see the man again until the fall, as it’s been more than two months now. He startled me quite a bit when he literally blew in as if by a gust of wind right as my shift was ending. 

He was in quite a hurry and only bought a diet coke ($1.50) before blustering(?) off, giving me no chance to run an investigation or perception check, but if fashion checks were a thing…

Please imagine, if you will, a man wearing a yellow polka-dot tie that was not even tied, an orange scarf, the watch mentioned in my previous entry, khakis, a bright periwinkle shirt… and an impeccably matching woolen periwinkle cape. He was also carrying a very large black satchel with tartan lining, every single pocket of which was unzipped.

He looked like a hedge wizard.

I found him.

Masters in theology from Harvard 

Distinguished professor of philosophy

God-tier identification photo; I cannot believe that I have not been hallucinating this man for the past 12 months and 41 days.

Non-player characters could contract the disease but were asymptomatic to it and could spread it to others.[2] At least three of the game’s servers were affected. The difficulty in killing Hakkar may have limited the spread of the disease. Discussion forum posters described seeing hundreds of bodies lying in the streets of the towns and cities. Deaths in World of Warcraft are not permanent, as characters are resurrected shortly afterward.[3] However, dying in such a way is disadvantageous to the player’s character and incurs inconvenience.[4]

During the epidemic, normal gameplay was disrupted. Player responses varied but resembled real-world behaviors. Some characters with healing abilities volunteered their services, some lower-level characters who could not help would direct people away from infected areas, some characters would flee to uninfected areas, and some characters attempted to spread the disease to others.[2] Players in the game reacted to the disease as if there was real risk to their well-being.[5] Blizzard Entertainment attempted to institute a voluntary quarantine to stem the disease, but it failed, as some players didn’t take it seriously, while others took advantage of the pandemonium.[2] Despite certain security measures, players overcame them by giving the disease to summonable pets.[6] Blizzard was forced to fix the problem by instituting hard resets of the servers and applying quick fixes.[3]