No, seriously. You are.

I’m not talking to my fellows at arms, the women and men who march in the feminist equality trenches and fight for the rights of all sorts of minorities from women to people of color to vegetarians to poly people to LGBTQI people to geeks to poor people to people who seriously enjoy being around ducks. You’re all great and I respect the kinds of activism you do.

Everyone else? You’re still activists. You’re just the wrong kind of activist.

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It is a privilege to be irrational. It is a privilege afforded by sex, by gender, by skin color, by economic status, by orientation, by geopolitical position. It is a privilege to be able to ignore data, to ignore systems, to ignore how the real world functions. It is a privilege to be able to look at data and proven systems and dismiss it with a single statement.

And every time this is done, the statement is the same. “I don’t believe in that.”

Let me explain to you both why this privilege is a dangerous one and commiserate with those who are burdened with rationality.

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I didn’t know him when I sat down, but by the time I got up I’m pretty sure I did.

I came in around midnight, I’d been driving all night with my boyfriend to get to Seattle in time for a convention we were working at. He was passed out in the passenger seat and I was starving, so when I saw the lit sign just off of the freeway, I pulled off to grab a burger.

At the bar, facing the cook and eating a single piece of pumpkin pie was a man. He was small, broad, and slumped over his plate. Dressed in a pair of slacks, running shoes, and a wool coat with long, knotted hair splayed down his back. I sat a few seats down from him and ordered by burger, than said hi.

He smiled, a weak and soft smile. A heavy smile. I asked him about why he was so sad.

“I’m not sad.” He said, slowly and carefully, as if each word were brand new and still had sharp edges on them. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long, hard road.”

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Ours will be an order of Academia, Philosophers, Scientists, and People of Learning. We shall be an Order of people who wish to see joy and wonder in the world while understanding the glory and awesomeness of the laws of Nature, those data that have lead us to understand Nature, and respect for the orders and laws of the Physical World. We shall live and thrive without those Laws and Rules and Societies that have limited those that have come before us.

We are an order rooted in Ethics.

We are an order rooted in Liberty.

We are an order rooted in Joy.

We are Ethical Hedonists.

And to find Joy where there is Pain, where there is Suffering, we maintain strength through comedy and awareness. We help those we can, we reach out to those that need us, and we support each other. We support ourselves.

We are The Order of Sarcastic Scribes.

So who wants to be a TOSSer?

So this is getting placed in the middle of NFTAP2 to establish a history for a few things I want to work with later. This isn’t the only large scale edit I’m going to be doing to NFTAP2.

So, here we go!

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Come Sit With Me

July 11, 2012

I want to tell you a story. I want to tell you my story. I want to tell you why I need your help, as my readers and followers and fellow writers, to piece my life together. I want to tell you the story of why I haven’t written in a while and why my writing is spotty (and why it seems like my capabilities as a writer seem to fluctuate rather wildly). I want to tell you a story about why almost none of the work here is edited and why I disappear every night until the following afternoon on the social networks many of you connect with me on. I want to tell you a story of suffering, of persistence, and of survival.

This is the story of my life, my disability, and my struggle. And this is the beginning of your story where you do something small to save someone and keep an artist in the world.

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#ToMyFutureChild

July 4, 2012

I may be kind of late on this meme, and I know there’s a lot going on at Twitter about the kinds of things people want to say to their children, things they won’t be proud of when they’re looking in the soft, bright eyes of their own progeny and wondering why they thought the things they thought.

I know this will still exist when you’re born and you’re grown. I don’t know when I’ll see you, or how much we’ll know of each other, or who your other parents will be. At least not yet. But I wanted to send you a letter through time with my love, devotion, and respect for you.

Most of all, I want to send you a promise. A promise that I’ll strive every single day to make my world, and your world, better in any way I can. That when you come into this world it’ll be ready for whatever and whoever you want to be. That it’ll be prepared for whatever seeds you want to sow and primed for whatever you want to grow from it. A promise that I will do all I can to make sure the world is beautiful, free, and ready for you. Make sure that there’s as little hatred, disrespect, and fear as possible. That it will be for you what it couldn’t be for me – safe.

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