A Transfem Octopus

It went well! At least 100 people attended, families dogs a solid portion of Glasgow's trans community. There was a really lovely atmosphere, nice weather and a very cheerful celebratory vibe.

Arrived early to find the crowd already gathering, so the kick got off to a prompt start. Following some introductions from everybody and some cheery folk music from our flautist (my wife!) we got on with the kick.

I think we got good contact, the top of my boot making a good solid noise on impact. Very good atmosphere all round, people stayed to chat for a while. Were it not January it would have been an excellent opportunity for a picnic.

7am: the pressure is getting to me; I wake up and drink half a bottle of diet iron bru from my bedside table; roll out of bed, and psych myself up in the mirror - "you can do this my little pogchamp" I say to myself over and over until I decend into a stupor.

8am: I play an hour of Okami on steam to replenish my chi levels

9am: I look at my balls for a while

10am: I spend 20 or so minutes trying to decide what to wear before realising it's the subartic in midwinter and I'm going to have to dress for -2C° regardless of what I choose and opt of my trusty black Schott thermal padded winter flight jacket and a pair of loose, warm Uniqlo trousers to give my testicles room to breathe.

11am: crashing out, texting my friends to arange a substitute kickee, an understudy, anybody so I can just become one with the crowd and not go through with it

12am: the homies have arrived, I'm drinking redbush tea in a small cafe by the park; god is in his heaven and all is right with the world

12.15: "you must be here to watch me get kicked in the balls?"

12.40: a circle emerges, from within the circle a palpable energy focuses like a lens down unto me and I feel like I'm gonna pee my pants a little

12.50: cheers begin, several complete families with dogs arrive - more friends appear and assort themselves into a gathering of 'real heads' ready to watch my groin be dessicated by the firm lace of a women for woman woman with a foot loosed through the gates of war as Augustus saw fit the dispatch and return of his troops from far corners through the blessings of Janus.

12.55: I think I left the stove on

1pm: Short introductions are made, grace is shown, beautiful flute music accompanies the gathering

(How your character defends their soft core and what could shatter it) Because protection becomes prison real fast.

I cannot bear to lose her simply because treatment did not reach her in time.

Saving her is not a miracle. It is not impossible. Saving her is a choice , the choice not to let her die.

$10 from 50 people could be the line between life and death.

If you read this and choose silence, ask yourself... where is your humanity?

"This is the pic of Donald Trump on Epstein's plane with a child.

This is the pic the DOJ deleted yesterday. Now they want to scrub this from the Internet.

  A year has passed since that night, but nothing has really changed Our house is still rubble, our streets still carry the smell of smoke, and the sky still echoes with sounds that make Amira flinch in her sleep. She has just turned one. She’s learning to walk, holding my finger with her tiny hand, laughing at the smallest things — as if she doesn’t see the destruction around her. She doesn’t know the word “loss.” She never met her father, but when she smiles, I see him there. Sometimes I watch her sleeping, and I wonder what kind of world she will grow up in — whether she will ever know what peace feels like, what home smells like. And yet, when she opens her eyes in the morning and says “mama,” everything becomes bearable again. I want to rebuild our home. Not just for the walls — but for her future. For Amira to have a small room, a safe place to dream, a life that belongs to her, not to war. I’m not asking for much. Only for a chance to give her a beginning filled with warmth instead of fear

 A Mother’s Message

In 2026, Ilia Malinin made headlines for landing a backflip at the Winter Olympics after the move was officially re-approved under updated competition rules.

But this moment did not come out of nowhere.

In 1998, Black Olympic skater Surya Bonaly executed a one-foot backflip at the Nagano Winter Olympics, officials had deemed the move unacceptable at the time. She completed it, on one blade, in an iconic defiance of standards that repeatedly limited her innovation and expression.

What governing bodies labeled as “not allowed” in 1998 is now celebrated as history-making in 2026.

Bonaly’s backflip wasn’t a mistake or a gimmick. It was skill, athleticism, and vision, long before the sport was willing to reward it. And while rules may change, her contribution should not be erased or reframed as an afterthought.

This moment isn’t about taking anything away from today’s athletes.

While Ilia Malinin is being credited with making Olympic history in 2026, the truth is that Surya Bonaly made that history in 1998.

Every cry of pain from my injured little boy pierces my heart—not just because the agony is devouring him, but because I stand before him utterly powerless. How can I choose between the price of a bottle of medicine to soothe his pain, a mouthful of food to quiet his siblings' hunger, or a tent that won't collapse over our heads with every gust of wind?

We are not living in tents; we are living in graves made of cloth, waiting for the mercy of God, which is vaster than our dire straits. My son is withering away before my eyes, and debts are closing in on me. I appeal for your help; every single dollar can make a world of difference."