Monday, November 17, 2014

Duck Grid.

Hi reader. I've been doing a lot of reflecting recently. There are several reasons for this.

1. It's senior year, and I feel inclined to take a magnifying glass to my last four years of college, to carefully examine my lessons and my flaws so I can carry forth applicable wisdom into REAL LIFE ADULT WORLD. There's a lot of material there. I've really fucked a lot of things up.

2. I wait, WITH BAITED BREATH (what a weird phrase, I had to use it), to begin my honors project in WQ. Next quarter is when my year really kicks off, and I'm finally engaged in stuff that I care about! Two badass philosophy classes + English honors!-- but right now I'm stuck finishing up General Ed requirements. Save for one magical English class, my analytical skills are hardly engaged this quarter, and so I'm turning the knife inward and carving up my own character development rather than some fictional asshole's, as I should be.

3. When something is wrong, the wheels start turning, right? And the way this often works for me is, there's something "small," something concrete and specific, that is wrong. This small wrong thing speaks to a higher idea, something "big," that relates to my understanding of past events as well as informing what I want in my future. Of course, there are always small parts of your life that aren't fulfilling-- "life has a gap in it... you don't go crazy trying to fill it." But I'm coming to the understanding that when enough small things start to go wrong, eventually your brain is gonna take notice. It's time to attribute all those small things to bigger issue in your life, maybe. Or at least, it's important to look for a pattern-- not FORCE a pattern to be there, but look for one. Patterns in your small issues will communicate the big issue, the little voice in my head believes.

I've had a sense, for the last few months, that some of the small issues are piling up. Something is blocking their resolve-- something is blocking their resolution on a bigger level. The IDEA level. Little issues are like, when some dumb toddler ties your shoes together under the table. You just take a second to untie them, and then you get up from the table and you keep walking forward. Big issues are like, some FULL GROWN ADULT (how did you not see him, under there? Stuff must be so fucked up) has found a way to create a cement block AROUND BOTH YOUR SHOES, and now the cement has dried, and you are really fucking stuck. You consider amputating your feet, or just sort of leaving the cement where it is, and using the rest of your life savings to hire a servant to bring you food and your laptop eternally. After about an hour of entertaining this no-hassle, sedentary life, you decide there's only one thing to do. You have to get the cement off your feet.

I can't be sure, reader, but I'm beginning to get the sense there's cement on my feet. Someone's starting to get cement in there. It's not final, and it's not as bad as it could be, but it might be starting, so I have to keep my eye on my shoes. I need to clean up the mess that's already there and then get up from the table. But what, oh what, is the mess?

This is the first step. Locating the mess. And the mess is hidden deep in this other mess. And that mess, is called, Society.

If the human self is just a compilation of outside influences (nothing and everything is real! we're all connected! Those flowers, also me!), it can be a uniquely difficult experience, figuring out what resonates with us, which values we care about upholding. I used to think everyone had basically the same values, but I'm not sure that's true anymore-- if we all have the same values, ultimately, the way we express those values sure does come out in weirdo ways. Some people say I love you with a kiss, some people say I love you with a prayer in Church, some people say I love you by leaving a bag of flaming shit on your front porch. In any instance, this may be somebody's ultimate expression of love, but an outside party probably couldn't gauge the sincerity, because they too have a bunch of other crazy shit racing around their head, because they too are trying to figure out what they think would be their individual, ultimate expression of love.

The thing I'm trying to get at is, I know my core values: honesty, liberation, and kindness. But the way these values manifest for me has always been tricky, because I've had so many different influences since the moment I was born telling me how kindness should be expressed, what honesty is, how to ultimately free yourself, or even, if you should be free. It took me a long time to realize I was worthy of self-expression, because there are so many forces in the world telling me that if you like girls, if your gender identity is fluid, if you can experience attraction for multiple people at once, if you're just generally kind of unsettling to the Wonderbread of this world, you should suppress it. Because Wonderbread is right, and you're wrong.

Man, a lot of people think that non-bread stuff is wrong. But I know my stuff isn't wrong. And it's horrifying, to realize how many people are cruel and judgmental about natural human instinct. It's horrifying to see the countless, massive institutions that enforce these rules of social conduct. The hardest part of my life is attempting to follow my inner voice and feel good about it, because it seems like the farther I go in the direction of myself, whatever that is, the more people I lose-- and not just any people. The people who I loved and trusted from such an early age, the people I discovered my beliefs with, are not always coming along for the self-discovery ride the same way I am. I feel like my ideas are getting more radical with time and the public acceptance of those ideas is decreasing.

It morphs into a yelling match in my head. "Are you crazy? Are you just being a selfish fucking lunatic? Are you what happens when evil gets a soul and a body? Or are you a pioneer of free-thinking, at the forefront of a movement towards maturity and individual freedom, of superior appreciation and trust in human nature?" And I don't know. I don't think I'm all evil, but maybe I'm a little bit evil? I can't figure it out. So I sit, and wait, and think, and hope something useful is revealed to me.

In the meantime? All this waiting and thinking is making me a crazy banana king. The only thing that alleviates the tension even slighlty is to write about it (badly, incompletely) because at least then I'm doing SOMETHING with all this nervous energy. And I know all the thinking is happening because of a refusal to act-- the thing is, part of this refusal to act feels necessary to where I'm at right now in my life, aka, COLLEGIATE WORLD OF COLLEGE MAN, COLLEGENESS AND ALL HIS COLLEGE FRIENDS.

So, I'm in my senior year of college. I have a city I know and love, a bunch of friends, a steady relationship, determined values, a campus job, classes to get through, and a place to live. College has served as a foundation for all of these things to happen. As I graduate, I realize I can only carry all that I've found here for so long-- some of this stuff will stay and develop along with me, other stuff will naturally fade, remaining solely a part of the "college experience" forever, or maybe mutate into something else entirely. I guess the fear is no longer that I won't know what to do after I graduate-- it's that the picture is finally forming, and changes have to be made, but those changes aren't clear yet, but whatever those changes end up being I am SCARED AS FUCK IN ANTICIPATION OF MAKING THOSE CHANGES. I AM SCARED AS FUCK IN ANTICIPATION OF BECOMING WAY MORE BADASS AND CONFIDENT IN MYSELF AND HONEST AND FUCKING FEARLESS. BECAUSE CHANGE.

And because right now, in a lot of ways, I don't feel badass. I feel stuck in skool, I feel quiet and contemplative. I feel genuinely afraid. But it's just cause I'm getting my ducks in rows and columns, I try to remind myslef. This is how I operate-- I need lots of planning time to figure out what the next move is, to nail down just what it is I am about. Reader, I am building a duck grid. And soon, this duck grid will come crashing down, onto the head of the patriarchy.

Thursday, November 6, 2014


HELLO READER. Hello. I don't know if you know this about me, but, frequently, I get ideas.

Q: You get id--


As I was saying, I get ideas. One of my ideas is for a revolutionary new dance club. This dance club is the dance club I am always looking to go to. It is the dance club that will meet all my clubbing needs. This dance club will be appropriately, titled, HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE.


With that being said, welcome. To HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE.

The entrance to HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE will play on Lisa Frank, probably, or maybe some cutesy 80s font with a bunch of bulging cartoon hearts, broken like those shitty friendship necklaces you get from Claire's. The entrance will also include an onslaught of bubbles. This is a high-end club and we can afford bubbles and also a carpet covered in little broken hearts. This is a high-end club.

Because HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE is a high-end club, there is always a cover (to be determined when I consult my financial advisor (CURRENTLY HIRING, INQUIRE INSIDE FOR FINANCIAL ADVISING OPPORTUNITIES)). And I agree, covers are a fucking drag, but only when the club is not worth it. This club will be worth it.

The first bar of the club appears immediately as you enter, and enforces the HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE policy that all alcohol is available and priced as one might typically expect, save for one exception. This exception is always true at HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE. The exception is that our house margarita, a great $7 deal, is made with Patron.

Naturally, everybody gets fucked up on Patron margaritas at HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE, because we're going for a SPECIFIC VIBE HERE, PEOPLE. Here at HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE, we encourage people to access their innermost emotions. We want you to cry and scream, because the music coming from the speakers is always loud enough to drown you out anyway. Your cries and screams mingle and combine with all the other cries and screams, and the expertly executed house remix of the best popular music of the ages, and you are no longer alone. No one is ever truly alone, emotionally ruined though they may be, when they step inside HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE.

However, at the first sign of violent expression of these emotions (injuring other patrons verbally or physically, not finishing your Patron margarita and leaving it in the bathroom), you will be thrown out of HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE and kept on a list. You get two strikes, then you're out eternally. We encourage good natured emotional release. We don't want anyone to get hurt. We just want to cry about all the people who hurt us.

The dance floor is the main event at HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE. The floor itself is pink and black checkerboard (think early Avril Lavigne, before the Nickelback thing). Music genres of all kinds are welcome, as long as the music plays on your basest emotions. Bonus points if you can sing along. Generally you will find house music of superior quality, as well as the most innovative pop music, ACCESSIBLE dubstep, anthemic indie stuff-- our DJs know what's up. We pride ourselves on having the best DJs in the biz. All DJs are subjected to several interviews before being hired officially, as well as an audition. DJs must exhibit expert empathy, kindness, basic intelligence, a broad understanding of musical trends (classical to contemporary), and actively create their own music in their spare time. In short, when you come to HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE, your DJ is smart and beautiful and loves you. You're in good hands. THESE ARE THE HANDS YOU ALWAYS DESERVED. THESE ARE THE HANDS THAT NIGHTMARE OF A PERSON REFUSED TO BE FOR YOU.

In closing, HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE is your home when the person you've depended on the most for any number of months and years has decided to abandon you. Are you a tortured soul? Come to HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE. We have wet t-shit contests, in which the person with the most tear stains on their shirt gets a free Patron margarita.

Here at HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE, we treasure feeling. Our job is to help you feel. Some people need house music and margaritas to do that. When R Place inevitably disappoints you for the last time, come on down to HEARTBREAK UNIVERSE.


Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Why It Sucks to Be a Gryffindor in your 20s.

Today a young man on the street told me I had a leaf in my hair directly over my right shoulder. I asked him to help me get it and he said, "Walk under trees a lot?" and I said "Yeah? This happens to me often. (?)" And then I said thanks and we were walking in the same direction for a long time mostly keep pace with each other on accident. And then I thought about how I was 21 years old and still hadn't picked a favorite season or a career path.

Anyway, that isn't what I wanted to write about. What I wanted to write about is how it sucks to be a Gryffindor when you're in your 20s.

Folks are always telling me that because I'm in my 20s it is time for me to be selfish and TRUE TO UR HEART, which is a saying that doesn't actually mean anything and seems deliberately confusing. Sometimes your heart and your head aren't friends. Sometimes your head has your heart tied up in the back room, arms behind its back and mouth all gagged, so when you try to listen your heart for the typical sage, coherent advice-heart-poem all you hear is MMM! MMMMFFFGHHH! which in human roughly translates to JUST DO IT! DO! IT! WHATEVER IT IS! DO IT! EVER! ACTIONNNN!

But I digress. Anyway, I'm supposed to be primarily achievement oriented because I'm in my 20s, doing everything to service the great adolescent deity, the Me. But Gryffindors subscribe to something much larger than the expectations of any era of youth-- the eternal ideals of bravery, truth, and chivalry.

What does this mean for a 2014 muggle lesbian? It means I talk too often about how gay I am, in hopes of helping some other burgeoning lesbian feel less lonely, it means I over share and panic if I sense ANY PART OF MY LIFE IS A LIE, and I love the ladies, in that real affectionate, committed sense.

I feel like an old Gryffindor dad. I just want to sit at home with a Butterbeer and a pug romping to and fro and have a wife and kids to sit down with at the kitchen table where we talk about our weekends and our values. I don't want to have a foursome or dance naked on a rooftop on 3 tabs of LSD or "develop professionally." I want to fast-forward to the part where I've already accomplished a bunch of stuff because I'm so brave and true. Where is the part where I'm fat and boring and have endearing wrinkles on my face? WHERE IS THE PART WHERE I GET TO SACRIFICE FOR THE SAKE OF MY FAMILY?

Gryffindors are all about ideals. Only a Gryffindor would idealize age.

I talked to my grandma on the phone today because it's her 90th birthday (a Gryffindor, for sure). She was really excited that she received two different birthday cakes as presents. I sense that my grandma and I closer now.

Where I'm trying to go with this is, everybody thinks sacrifice and chivalry is irrelevant to being 21, and they're probably right.

Sunday, November 2, 2014

A Privilege Problem.

Hello reader. I decided I wanted to take a break from being frivolous and self-obsessed so I'm writing about something I've been thinking about a lot recently. I hope it's something you've been thinking a lot about, too. The something is privilege.

To start talking about how privilege manifests and is harmful, we have to pick an access point. We'll go with the recent Lena Dunham controversy.

Q: Lena Dunham? Controversy? Who's the whatsit?

A: In Lena Dunham's new book Not That Kind Of Girl, Dunham describes a scene from her childhood when she was trying to figure out what a vagina was. After a conversation with her mom, a 7 year old Lena Dunham decided to look insider her 1 year old sister Grace's vagina to see what was up. The excerpt in question is as follows:

"One day, as I sat in our driveway in Long Island playing with blocks and buckets, my curiosity got the best of me. Grace was sitting up, babbling and smiling, and I leaned down between her legs and carefully spread open her vagina. She didn't resist and when I saw what was inside I shrieked."

The media got wind of this, and the outrage of various people on the Internet, who are claiming that Lena Dunham molested her younger sister and should not be glorified or revered because of this. Dunham took to Twitter, angry about the "twisting of her words" and the "demeaning of sufferers" caused by the resulting media coverage.

Yet again we have an example of one of my favorite comedians in a gross controversy. The feelings I have right now are reminiscent of the ones I had when Woody Allen was accused of sexually abusing his daughter, and when Sarah Silverman made that video for the National Women's Law Center that completely disregarded the plight of trans people everywhere. It's disheartening to see people I've looked up to and tried to emulate in my work for so long grow so completely blind to their own privilege.

Here's what I mean: Lena Dunham's aesthetic is the quirky upper middle class white girl-- when she talks about her childhood experiences, including the scene in question, she maintains that glib tone that's worked so well for her in Girls. Dunham didn't think about how she presented the story about her sister's vagina because it never occurred to her she needed to.

Now let's examine if Dunham had written the same story, but identified as a lesbian. Wouldn't there be a slew of implications that aren't currently present? Surely there would be more questioning on the media's side, a flurry of conservative Catholics yelling "pervert," and another punch to the teeth of the fight for LGTBQ respect and equality.

Many people have come to Dunham's aid over the Internet, trying to defend her interaction with her sister as harmless. It's hard to say whether the act was harmless or not. The real concern I have is, if Dunham were a lesbian, or black, or transgendered, or had risen to fame from a lower class, would so many people be coming to her aid? Would she have so easily written about this part of her life, trying to pass it off as quirky and charming?

If I had had the same experience Lena Dunham had with her sister, and wanted to write about it in my memoir, I would be forced to carefully construct the story, and consider every minute detail of its potential impact, because I'm a lesbian. My tone would not be light-- I would have to consider the weight of this moment, and I would ESPECIALLY have to consider the way my readers would respond. When you're discussing something as controversial as sexuality manifesting during childhood, it is your responsibility to consider how your expression of the event may be received. In this case, Dunham did not consider the diversity of her audience-- she didn't think about how such a casual treatment of her story could be triggering for many people, and how it only further emphasizes her privilege as a white upper middle class cisgendered straight woman.

Anyway. Woosh. All right. De-serious-ify. I hope that made sense and people got something out of it. Maggie says blogs are for ranting so writing this post was okay. It just sucks when someone you've practically worshipped does something that screams IM STRAIGHT WHITE AND LOUD I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT STRAIGHT WORLD FOREVER. If I offended anyone at any point or sounded dumb or missed something, please feel free to talk with me about it (as respectfully as possible, I like constructive criticism not Internet fighting). I never really write anything political but. Yeah.

On the plus side, though, Maggie came over and she's wearing a cute sweater.



Since Halloween is over, I thought it would be good to talk about how horrifying being alive is. I thought it would be a fresh topic that would be invigorating like my orange exfoliating face scrub that isn't helping anybody.

If you think about it, for all the people who are alive for a full lifetime, those people have to be really okay with being horrified. Like, how much of life is just acknowledging something is horrifying, and either making it your big cause, or deciding you already have enough big causes and just sort of forgetting about it/ignoring it for the most part?

I'm a lesbian and it's important to me that my life contributes to making the lives of other LGBTQ people better. But I don't care enough to like, become a full-time activist and sacrifice my alone time binge sessions so I can get good with a megaphone. And there are so many other kinds of people who are oppressed in awful ways and I can do little things to try to help their cause but the fact of the matter is I can't do anything substantial to help their causes because I already got causes. I got mad causes to promote and protect and I will not be spoken to that way sir this is a library.

So, for 21 years I've grown accustomed to being horrified by stuff. I feel horrified by me, a lot, first. I'm super lazy! Think about people who have to actually perform manual labor in order to secure themselves food and water and shelter for their families. Right now my job is to write essays on Charles Dickens. I'm horrified by how far removed I am from survival and how impossible it is to anticipate all the potential side effects of its absence.

And then I'm horrified by some other stuff, like overpopulation and cancer and the government lying and war and racism and people who only watch Family Guy, but it always comes back to my own horrific nature, founded mainly in self-absorption. Marginally less important, the me being naturally horrific and self-absorbed part, but when you're me-- is it really?

I'm also horrified by: people dying, drool, spiders, the Bubonic plague, violence of any kind, misogyny, iPhones, small talk, being assertive, becoming consumed with regret in my old age, losing my memories, anyone I know dying, chronic drug use, my contribution to the common good of the world at this point, and that they cancelled The United States of Tara after season three.

If I were to get cancer or join the war effort, I would probably think about cancer and war a lot more often. But right now all I've got is I'm a self-absorbed lesbian and everyone is horrifying and is being horrified every day.


So everyone is just walking around fully aware of how fucked up a lot of things are, except not really because I believe in people who don't actually have brains. When they were born it looked like they had a brain in the X-ray but this was really just a trick of the fluorescent light, and somehow their head inflated to look like it had a brain inside. These are the people who insist they think with their HEART but everybody knows metaphors aren't real and the heart only has two thoughts probably, STOP and GO, and it only ever talks to one thing and that is circulating blood, unless you're unlucky and it talks to a wooden stake or a knife.

Do you ever see these people? They have two main living commands for themselves, STOP and GO, that seem as arbitrary as a pattern back and forth. WALK, then DON'T WALK. DATE, then DON'T DATE DUE TO THE EMOTIONAL UNAVAILABILITY YOU JUST MADE UP IN YOUR HEAD. INTERRUPT, then STOP PAYING ATTENTION MID-SENTENCE. EAT A BROWNIE, then GO ON A HIP DIET. And the horrific part about these people is that with every STOP and GO, they are hugely passionate about this very well-thought out choice of theirs. YES!!! I LOVE STOPPING! STOPPING IS SO IMPORTANT!! AND BY THAT I MEANT GOING!! YES GOING IS MY THING!!

These human traffic jams I guess are not horrified on the daily, and that is why I don't trust them with my secrets or my eye contact. I only want to talk to people who also think everything is mostly horrible and when beauty occurs it is a miracle of science and people who think about science when they're alone on a Saturday night.

Basically, if you are horrified, and plan on keep being horrified for the foreseeable future, would you like to hang out sometime and get an ice cream? Ice cream is not horrifying. The health effects of binge eating ice cream are horrifying, and kidnapping cows for milk from their bodies is horrifying, but ice cream itself is not a horrifying thing. It's just everything that comes before and after ice cream, that is horrifying. So let's just be happy for one second and eat ice cream and then we can get back to being miserable and horrified about everything once we run out of ice cream and have to go capture more cows.

Friday, October 31, 2014

Facebook On First? (In Tribute)

A/N: I read Megan Amram stuff all day and then I wrote this (In Tribute). One day I'll be a real individual with my own thoughts and feelings maybe but probably not.

So in the banner year of 2014, we have about 170000 fairly specialized methods of communicating with each other over the Internet (as long as you are a yuppy iPhone owner who doesn't care about children). To keep it simple with words and tiny pictures that sometimes have vaguely Asian themes, try iMessage. SnapChat is great for exchanging information you don't want to exist in a permanent form from a distance: your secret boyfriend, your other secret boyfriend, the noise and face you make when you step into a bathtub full of LUSH products. You can send all these important messages to people you don't want to be around physically without fear of them keeping it forever and adding it to a new or pre-existing bathroom shrine in your honor.

Twitter is good place for those thoughts to go that for a moment simultaneously connects you with and isolate you from the rest of the world, usually because you're being dumb, because everybody is dumb, but your brand of dumb has NEVER BEEN DONE BEFORE. Twitter is a great place to show off how particular your short dumbness is. Twitter is also non-confrontational and confrontational. You can YELL SOMETHING TO EVERYBODY AT ONCE, JUST FOR A SECOND! But it isn't a real conversation and nobody is listening anyway since nobody specific is being addressed. Right?

Instagram is for photos, JUST PHOTOS. Photos have thousands of words. I like to take photos where my mouth appears to have thousands of teeth. There's also email which is like texting but more boring and slow because you know you aren't necessarily disrupting the flow of someone's day so the excitement and urgency is gone. The drama of the AN IMMEDIATE RESPONSE or the drama of an ignored text is not present in email because everybody knows emails are supposed to be answered sitting down and texts are supposed to be sent WHILE HANG-GLIDING WITH YOUR CAT OR UNDERNEATH THE SEA!

Tumblr is where all the minorities can talk to each other about how dumb upper middle class cis white males generally are and this is why I spend all of my time on Tumblr and I consider Tumblr to be one of my friends. I don't have any friends on Tumblr but I know that Tumblr is my friend. Also everyone reads web-comics and watches anime and it's nice to know other people have been binge-watching episodes of Pokemon since age 8 too.

This lack of a segue leads me to my next analysis: FACEBOOK. When Facebook first came out, it was a huge deal. Everyone was on Facebook and posting pictures and statuses and publicly acknowledging their romantic relationships and sending messages which seemed cooler than email but were still basically emails. Everyone thought it was so progressive because you could no longer broadcast who your 8 best friends were to everyone you knew (but don't worry I still have a top 8 in my head that I update every few hours). Facebook was the way of the future and you HAD TO HAVE ONE if you wanted to be socially relevant and get a Facebook Event Invite to That Party That One Girl Said She Was Going To and People Only Accept Facebook Invitations When They Are For Sure Going To The Party For Sure I Know This.

But then everyone just kept being on the computer all the time, and all the people on the computer all the time made these specialized social media platforms where your specific brand of communication was the big show. Twitter beat the shit out of the Facebook status, and Instagram beat the shit out of the Profile Picture, and email was like HEY WE STILL EXIST and kept on existing, and Tumblr sunk their teeth deep, deep into the News Feed and the News Feed pooped out a BuzzFeed article.

So now, Facebook has become this mished moshed mish of an Internet wasteland that everyone still checks sometimes and even posts to but is pretty Cafeteria Catholic about the whole thing. A lot of people use it to connect with friends overseas or lurk people you don't know's significant others, but when it comes to looking at the News Feed, it's a lot of BuzzFeed poops and Epic Facebook Status Haxx and people who want to try to have a Tumblr and become Tumblr famous but are afraid. Also sometimes people post blogs they want other people to read but also don't because they are afraid of people and everything they stand for and being alone.

All in all, Facebook was the guy who thought to bring Budweiser to the high school party, but then at the next high school party a bunch of other guys brought Odin's Gift and drank it sadly in the corner and talked about their bikes and some girls wearing a lot of pastels brought Malibu and that one crazy chick who had just gotten her headgear off chugged Fireball as soon as she walked through the front door of the house building. And sometimes people still talk to the guy with the Budweiser, hell they may even drink a Budweiser when it's late in the game and Fireball has thrown up all over the coffee table but it's not the same as it was, the Budweiser guy doesn't feel like anything is the same and nobody loves him for who he really is.

What's the moral of this story? Always take pictures of yourself drunk at high school parties once you become an adult because this means you are Socially Relevant. Post them on Facebook and Instagram. Also follow me on Twitter.

Monday, October 27, 2014


Oh hey reader what's up. It's a Monday and I'm on my period, so naturally I started off my day listening to Drake in the shower, and now I have what probably everyone/ most people would refer to as SUPER FEELINGS. I categorize SUPER FEELINGS as feelings that have managed to transcend the binary of positive and negative feelings. They exist nowhere on any spectrum. They create and destroy at random. They are their own masters. They possess whoever they want to at will, for they are infinite, for they are, SUPER FEELINGS.

As far as concrete activity goes, SUPER FEELINGS can involve, but are not limited to~*~

~*~fist-pumping to slow pop music in the early hours of the morning~*~
~*~eating an apple and trying to ENJOY, EVERY,  BITE~*~
~*~noticing your daily existential crisis rising from the depths of your womb and SINGING IT BACK INTO SUBMISSION~*~
~*~brushing your hair with unprecedented fervor as you bare your teeth at yourself in the mirror~*~
~*~it's so cold in here, does it feel cold to anybody else? You put on another jacket!!!!!!~*~
~*~asking your girlfriend 7 times if she's okay, simultaneously believing her and not believing her every time~*~
~*~getting fully dressed then curling into a ball under your blankets to fully embrace the blast from your SUPER FEELINGS~*~
~*~walking around the city whisper-singing along to the My Chemical Romance song that just came on shuffle, then feeling silly and changing it to Purity Ring, then changing it back to My Chemical Romance because NO!! FUCK IT!! SUPER FEELINGS!! YOUTH!! ~*~
~*~excitedly ripping open a bag of kale (you've never bought kale before, until yesterday! SUPER FEELINGS!!), eating a bunch of it raw, getting some of it in your hair, THEN THE SOUNDTRACK TO THE MUSICAL HAIR COMES ON SHUFFLE SO YOU SHAKE THE KALE OUT OF YOUR HAIR IN A HIGHLY RHYTHMIC FASHION~*~
~*~hyper-analyzing your need to broadcast when you're on your period, is it promoting my visibility as a woman? Do I stand with my fellow females? AM I NOW PART OF THE COMMUNITY??~*~
~*~suddenly realizing you need to listen to Drake and My Chemical Romance a lot more, all the time, because you have so many, so uncontrollable, so fashionable, you're practically pregnant with


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~SUPER. FEELINGS. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

WARNING: SUPER FEELINGS are not a toy. Rather they are a divine energy to be respected and utilized responsibly. Those under the influence of active SUPER FEELINGS should spend as much time alone as possible, refrain from making any major life decisions, as well as refraining from posting any observations of the aforementioned SUPER FEELINGS on the Internet aka one SUPER public sphere. We warn this for your social life's sake, reader, because SUPER FEELINGS are known to be chaotic and unpredic--

Oh hello. 




*Credit for the art to the sadistic Andrew Hussie*