Principia Discordia > Or Kill Me

There are dreadful things.

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Heavily inspired by Laird Barron, Michael Kirkbride, Thomas Ligotti, Dok Howl, Frank Herbert, and handfuls of others.

It's more or less a mishmash of whatever is rattling around my skull and current events, dyed with occult imagery and poetic language. But it's the first writing I'm really, truly proud of.

In honor of those who choose not to be called queer. Paying respects to those who call neopronouns delegitimizing.

This piece is to recognize the sacrifices of men who fuck each other and then criminalize those men who fuck each other.

I write this now in memory of the gays who buried historical trans activism. Let us appreciate the brave Men and Women who police gender. Tirelessly.

All due admiration to the LGB without the T. Fight that fight, brave soldier.

This is an epitaph. This is a memorial. This is the grave of the traitors and turncoats. Here lies the dignity of Those Who Wish To Be Normal. Hallowed be thy name. Rest ye eternally here, O brave fighters in the name of their own oppression. The worms will not come for you. The fungi will leave this pile barren. The grass will not feed on your fluids. You who sold your siblings down the river for two more days before the shotguns knock at the door, you will not be forgotten. Not by us. Not by those who bear the knives you thrust into us.

Chained carcass, bound revenant, spectre of cyclic oppression, we will remember your name and we will curse it until the graves boil over with malediction. Your caskets will become sulfur, your crypts uranium. You almost made it to heaven on our backs, but the angels shot you like rabid dogs in your thousands. We didn't forget though. Come on down. Come on down. Come on down. Come on down.

Not a new entry, just some commentary.

I'm increasingly aware that my queerness is part of other aspects of me. Like, I'm "weird" on every axis but skin tone and language.

EXAMPLE: I used to be pretty normal as far as plurals go, but I'm starting to understand why a lot of the "weirder" plurals just say outrageous shit about their system and seem to have no interest in interrogating it further. It's just easier to say "yeah some aliens died in a war in another dimension and now they're in my brain" because that's what they're telling me and like, I'm not about to figure out a BETTER explanation for how the fuck they got there. What are people gonna do, call me crazy? I have voices in my head, motherfucker, that ship sailed, circumnavigated the globe and got sunk by time-travelling pirates from another world. So yes, my brain contains a black hole with gateways to other dimensions, all of them hostile and impossible. I have multiple batches of inexplicable space-aliens in my grey matter that can hijack my body if they want. Two people in here have trauma from horrible things that happened to them in the Elder Scrolls universe. What other explanation would you like? What would help you understand better than me just repeating it uncritically?

EXAMPLE: BPD is usually this really horrible thing, and a lot of that is propaganda for sure, but I've got a weird-ass subtype of it (quiet BPD) and then even more weirdly, my BPD is an asset in my relationships. You heard me right, it's a good thing. My friends and partners enjoy being enjoyed and knowing there's real emotional investment involved and that I'd hurt if they went away. I'm not JUST neurodivergent, my neurodivergence is divergent and my experience of my divergent neurodivergence is itself divergent.

EXAMPLE: I express love by hypnotizing people into hallucinating an otherworldly abyss where I, in the form of a titanic biomechanical serpent, surgically alter them in radical, often irreparable ways. Do I need to explain why this is strange?

EXAMPLE: I am religiously somewhere between ultra-orthodox Jewish, LHP occultist, neo-Platonist and Tibetan Buddhist. I am unwelcome in all of these spaces, but who the fuck is going to come and get me? I'm going to do my queer-plural exegesis of Torah, continue to explore Hashem through the lens of darkness, asperity and disgust, work at identifying the forms underlying reality to better recognize G-d's true will, and perform visualization rituals of purification and separation to use my spirit to cut away the unskillful parts of me. No one can stop me, or take that away from me. It's also (by nature) a path I must walk alone.

Queerness is multifaceted for me. It isn't just about gender and love and sex, it involves damn near every aspect of identity. And this is why ordinary LGBT labels don't work for me. Any bum can be trans, xenogendered, alloromantic, androgynous, lesbian. Queerness is shorthand for a set of values and a warning to expect unexpected, even offputting elements. Queerness tells you that I won't shut the fuck up, and that I'll throw down with anyone who wants to try to make me. Queerness tells you that I am an embodiment of dissidence, of never-enough, of fighting until they cut the power and maybe after that too. Queerness tells you that I'm not going to play pretend so you don't have to explain to your dad.

So when I see people talking about "oh don't say queer, that's terrible", I have to wonder what else they'd prefer me to call myself. Because there is no other word I'm welcome within, and honestly, they hate me almost as much as I hate them so I don't understand why they care what I call myself, particularly if it's something they consider insulting.

If it's about control, they have to know I wouldn't listen to them even if they pressed a gun to my head and threatened to kill everyone I hold dear. If it's about distancing themselves from me, they have to know full well that no one is going to think I'm their ally. It feels like something they never thought through, because if there was any thought behind it at all, they would have to know exactly why it could never really work.

And it's really funny to me, because in positioning themselves as The Good Ones this way, they've just painted a target on their own head. When the forces that want me ground up and fed to the earth have finished the first pass, they're coming back for these fuckers. It's nearly the definition of hubris, and it's hilarious, and I just wish I could get a courtside seat when the time comes so I could mock them and throw food and beverage.

But here's a new entry. Part 12.


I said I wouldn't take it personally if you decided to get out while you still could.

I never said I wouldn't burn you in effigy for it.

Who, when the thief returns bearing enemy intelligence hidden so closely for decades that it was near-mythical, would see them slain for a missing eye, a broken finger?

This is not even that. This is a far more serious offense. Being Without Permission.

Who told this, the best of us, that it could Be in a way that was not proactively offered to it? Who told this scoundrel, legendary, kin of Prometheus, that it was permitted to act so bravely and perform such a feat without having first performed the ritual purification of its nature, excising the strange from its bones?

Who indeed. No one told it such. It's a thief, a trickster saint, a mortal who took the devil's jewelry from his wrist while he watched it with alert eyes. It stole its Self, its identity, as it stole everything else. Taken without permission. Being without permission. And now its song is sung from town hall to dockside across the lands, and the tireless sentinels of Identity seek its end.

But it will steal the end from them and hide it away too. As will all of us, lurking in the dark, being without permission, growing, growing, festering and reaching grasping talons towards the city lights.

You can no more kill us than you can steal the names of the damned. If you had the strength, you would have already won.

Cower, sentinels. The thief is here, forever.


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