I don't feel like writing much about this because I've made my political views well known and written about the experience of protest and futilely encouraged other people to protest several times. I just want to say that, again, but for real this time, my pictures don't do the scale justice. At least 10,000 people were there. Not bad for the same weekend as the Mormons' General Conference, which I'm pleased to say I heard and cared very little about. The next nationwide protests are April 19th. Join them, for Christ's sake.

​but she also pushed me out of Mormonism, gave me an existential crisis that catalyzed my spiritual growth, and taught me patience that's coming in very handy right now, so that's fine. Thank you, Calise.

I'm trying again for what had damn well better be the last time one way or another, and while it may be premature to report on that effort now, I'd much rather talk about Mary than the fascist twats who run my country. I'm pretty sure she won't see this, but I don't much care if she does. I'll act embarrassed and she'll find it amusing. ​If my life were a work of fiction (which, I now realize, I can't prove that it isn't), ending up with her after all this time would be an ironic and satisfying twist because she's one of the first people I met in Utah when I moved here almost 14 years ago. I was 18, and she was 22. She went to a church activity with some friends from a different congregation, then talked to me because she made it her mission in life to talk to people who sat alone. "You were a chicken shit," she told me this past week as we reminisced about it. She invited me to go shopping with her and her friends, and I, being a loser, later wrote on Facebook, "Does three girls and me count as a date?" but then it didn't happen. If I hadn't met her then, I probably never would have. We didn't cross paths again until five months later, at which time she greeted me with enthusiasm, and I didn't recognize her.

Because Mary was older than me, seemed to have her shit together, and looked like a goddess, I never imagined being with her. That's not to say, of course, that I never imagined her. I remembered her and reached out occasionally after I stopped seeing her in person, partly because she was a good friend and partly because she was a 12 out of 10. With permission, I named a character after her in my comic strip that never came to fruition. Long story short, last year I decided for no particular reason to make an intentional effort to get closer to her, and as I learned that she isn't perfect or invincible after all, I accidentally fell in love. I should have seen that coming, but I wasn't thinking past the little dopamine rushes from her texting me back - which, for reasons she's repeatedly assured me have nothing to do with me, she was really bad at doing, hence the need for patience. I almost gave up over the perception that she didn't care. Over time she became more responsive, then texted me first once or twice, then called me when she had a bad day. The impetus for this post began when I texted her six times over nine days with no response. Then she apologized for her unresponsiveness and said she'd worked 70 hours last week. Then I asked about a situation at work she'd told me about a month prior, and she didn't know what I was talking about, so instead of texting me back, she called me and talked for nearly four hours.

At the start of our conversation, she got a text from another guy friend who said he would bring over some salmon. She said that was because he'd figured out that food was the way to her heart, and she said she would be too tired when he got off work at 10:30, so she said she told him that she had food and not to bother. Then she stayed on the phone with me until she fell asleep around 12:20 (local time) and I hung up. With condolences to the other guy, I was thrilled and honored that she chose me over him. How much to read into that, I don't know. She's well aware that I'm thoroughly smitten with her too. For one thing, I told her in February that I'm thoroughly smitten with her. For a couple of other things, I sent her a long heartfelt text while twice as high as usual and a poem about how I see her as a star shining through the darkness of the world. She has neither reciprocated nor rebuffed my affections. When I warned her that a love poem might be in the works, she said, "Haha nothing kind you say would ever scare me away. I’m not worried about it." This poem metaphorically expressed that she's one of the things - not the only thing, which would be unhealthy, but absolutely one of the things that makes my life worthwhile despite having to spend it in a country run by fascist twats. She liked it.

During this conversation, she alluded to some of the reasons she's a childless cat lady despite being so beautiful that strangers compliment her every day, which supported my hypothesis that she acts romantically neutral toward me because men suck. Of course that made me want to virtue signal all over the dang place. "I'm not like them, Mary. I respect women so much. Misogyny is easily in the top three reasons I left Mormonism. I push back against misogyny when I see it on social media, and women thank me while men accuse me of trying to get laid. They're all like, 'Hope she sees this bro,' but I know you won't because you don't use social media. I admire how strong and independent and outspoken you are. After you told me that you told your mom that you hated how the church had taught you to be submissive and she said, 'But Mary, you've never been submissive,' I got high and reflected on that and thought, I love that." But I don't think that would be as effective as taking the time to prove myself with my actions. Again, patience. She already trusts me a lot. She's told me things that I'm pretty sure she doesn't tell just anybody, and I'm not going to tell you what they are because I'm trustworthy.

​​Mary left Mormonism long before I did. Not coincidentally, she had a more negative experience in it than I did and has more negative feelings toward it than I do. Being taught as a teenager that she was responsible for what men would do to her if she showed too much skin had a lasting impact. (Any Mormon who says their church never taught that is either lying or too young to remember.) Years ago, I invited her to tell me why she'd left, which she did, at great length, while I responded without judgment or pushback. I did genuinely care about her, but I also thought I was planting a seed to help her return someday. I'd been plagued by my own doubts, but I couldn't relate to her mindset at all when she said, "I never had as much faith that the church was true as I have had that the church is not true." Surprise!

So during this more recent conversation, she told me she had a friend who recently wanted to convert. The friend felt really good from taking the sacrament and really loved by the congregation. Mary told her that's how cults get you. They had an argument. Mary told the friend to ask the missionaries how many wives Joseph Smith had and how old the youngest was, and apparently she did, and apparently she became enraged and that was the end of that. Mary lives in the same state as my parents, so I hope they read this and know that their church isn't growing in the developed world anymore because people can see that it was founded by a sexual predator. Anyway, she asked for my thoughts, and I tried to be nuanced and stuff. Anyone who considers converting to Mormonism deserves informed consent, and you'll never get that from the missionaries (who almost certainly don't have it themselves). But I'd try to not be argumentative about it or overtly tell them they shouldn't convert. That's a personal decision. I'm not sure I would have handled the situation exactly like she did, but it seems to have worked out fine.

Marvellous multitalented Mary sent me two of her artworks and a poem she wrote. Then she played guitar and piano and sang for me. Her voice was so beautiful that it should have been on the radio 10+ years ago before every mainstream female singer sounded the same. Granted, love is deaf. Years ago my roommate's wife sang to wake him up, and it sounded awful, but I realized that it probably sounded beautiful to him because he loved her, and I incorporated that idea into my novel Crusaders of the Chrono-Crystal. She convinced me to sing "Blackbird" along with her. I didn't sing very loud because I was embarrassed of my voice and wanted to hear hers. I thought there was nowhere in the world I'd rather be, but I realized I'd rather be in her apartment than mine. I thought that would be the highlight of the night. I was wrong.

When Mary calls me, she talks a lot. That's mostly fine. I don't talk a lot, and I love to hear anything she has to say. Sometimes I do want to say something and have a hard time getting it in, though. She seemed aware of that and occasionally remembered to pause and solicit my opinions. After at least three and a half hours, she asked me to tell her about what I'm doing with my life. I mentioned that I taught freshman English during graduate school and planned to continue on that career path, but it hasn't worked out since then, and I'm glad about that now because I don't have to deal with essays written by ChatGPT or all the bullshit from the fascist twats at both the state and federal levels who are gutting humanities programs, killing diversity initiatives, erasing queer people from public life, and forbidding universities from teaching accurate history or critical thinking. Mary interrupted to say that I must have seen some really good essays, and she reflected on a freshman English teacher who had a long-lasting influence on her, and she went on a rant about native English speakers who use poor grammar. Maybe I shouldn't have found that hot, but I did. I sent her "Word Crimes" by "Weird Al" Yankovic. She watched it, and I heard her laugh every few seconds, a sound every bit as lovely as her singing. I often make her laugh. She thinks I'm witty. She said so.

She asked if I could guess the one Weird Al song she had memorized. I half-jokingly guessed "Yoda." Close. It was "The Saga Begins." She sang half of it, then asked me to help her with the words, then asked me to just sing it with her. Of all the experiences I might have imagined sharing with her, this was not one. This was the highlight of the night. Dear God, I can still hardly believe it. I didn't know she knew anything about Weird Al or Star Wars. She said her brother used to play that CD on repeat. She asked me about my siblings, but while I described them, she fell asleep. I listened to her breathing for a minute to make sure she was okay because she may or may not have been drunk and high this whole time, and then I worked up the courage to say "I love you" before I hung up. So yeah, I hope this goes somewhere, specifically where I want it to go. Despite the agonizing wait, I feel that my patience is amply rewarded at times, and never more so than by this experience. I never would have had it if I'd given up. She's worth suffering for - but I hope she won't make me do that too much.

This was written by ChatGPT, a fact about which I was fully transparent. She asked if it expressed what I wanted to say, and when I said kind of and reiterated how I felt about her, she responded with the smile-with-hearts-swirling-around-it emoji. It's so good that it almost discouraged me from writing her one myself, which I eventually did, but I gave it to her yesterday, after the conversation I describe in this post took place.

​A Star in My Darkness
​
In a world weighed down by shadowed skies,
Where sorrow lingers, where silence cries,
You rise—a star, unwavering, bright,
A beacon of warmth in the coldest night.

Your kindness, a whisper soft and deep,
Turns restless storms into peaceful sleep.
Your thoughts, like rivers, steady and true,
Carve paths of light where none once grew.

No sculptor’s hand, no artist’s dream,
Could craft the beauty in you I’ve seen--
Your eyes, twin sparks that set me free,
Your lips, a song sung just for me.

Your hair, a cascade, golden or dark,
Glows like fire or midnight’s spark.
And oh, your legs—graceful, strong--
Each step you take feels like a song.

When the world feels heavy, cruel, and bare,
I find my refuge in your care.
You are the light that makes me see,
The love that breathes new life in me.

This is the one I wrote myself, with ChatGPT serving only an advisory role, which I didn't mention in the post for the reason that I just explained (see Appendix B). It's okay, I guess. She wrote back, "Holy shot that was so sweet and so well written" and followed up with, "Shit lol" 

Starstruck

My world is a pale blue dot within a pale blue dot
In an outer spiral arm of an outer spiral arm,
Swallowed by darkness that presses in as a tangible thing, a living thing, a thing more real than the mere absence of light,
Clawing,
Grasping,
Striving to eat me alive, om nom nom –
But it won’t
As long as I seek out the pinpricks of light, the celestial bodies that guide me to hope and the goodness that remains even here, even now.
I have a few, but my favorite is you.
The prettiest, brightest, and warmest is you.
I want to fall into your orbit and stay there for as long as the universe remains –
Complete surrender;
Always falling, never crashing (I hope).
I’m compelled to worship, like the ancient peoples who sacrificed to the sun because she gave them warm feelings, made their day, and lit up their world like nobody else.
That’s what you do to me, Mary –
Not because I think you’re perfect, according to the ideas of perfection that we impose on nature as if it ever asked for our opinions –
Or because I’m foolish enough to credit you with actual supernatural powers –
(After all, I haven’t stared long enough to go blind) –
But because you shine so brightly, daily and nightly,
Even when you can’t see it because no satellite is close enough to reflect you,
And even when you vanish behind the clouds for agonizing lengths of time,
My faith in your light remains.
 
(Interpolation: I don’t want to torture this metaphor past its breaking point, so let me take a break at this point to just say that I like your smile, your eyes, your hair, your facial structure, and the rest of you.)
 
Yes, even a star is “imperfect”
With her dark spots,
Her flares,
Her storms,
And her tendency to burn spacers who drift too close.
But maybe this controlled chaos is exactly what the universe needs her to be so she can shine,
So she can twinkle from a distance and only inspire more awe as one draws nearer to her power.
To see a star more closely is only to respect,
To admire,
And to love her even more –
And I would rather be burned by your touch than eaten by the darkness.
 
What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary. (That’s a cultural reference, not plagiarism.)

Every week under this administration feels like a month. Was the orange taint's speech really just this week? I didn't watch it, but I was very disappointed to hear that his insane blathering about transgender mice wasn't interrupted by a military coup, or more accurately, a military counter-coup. I do think that's where this is going to end after he refuses to follow the court orders against him and orders the military to attack our allies. I really hope the bulk of the military is more loyal to the constitution than to this self-proclaimed king. I bet it helps that he's shitting on veterans every chance he gets.

I also predict that we'll see proof that Musk rigged the election, and that's why the elected president, despite being an unparalleled narcissist, lets him act as the real president. An organization called Election Truth Alliance has identified anomalies in the vote tabulations and is raising money to sue for audits. I believe it's onto something because of what I just said and also because every Republicunt accusation is a confession and also because the orange taint, Musk, and Musk's little human shield have all made multiple very sketchy statements pointing in that direction and also because, as I said right after the election, it made no goddamn sense for the orange taint to win the popular vote and every swing state for the first time after his brain turned into cottage cheese and he couldn't keep people at his rallies. If the election was stolen, that's actually great news because it means he has less support than I thought and this country is less rotten to the core than I thought. And most of us actual people didn't deserve it, but on a macro level, the country sure did. It's 100% karma for decades of installing and propping up right-wing dictatorships in other countries. The US deserves to lose a lot of its global power and influence. It's just unfortunate that China will swoop in to fill the gap.

I've been in three protests since the protest I wrote about a week ago - one for democracy, one for science, one for women's rights. I've become a satirical film character. Right-wing YouTuber Nick Shirley showed up again to the former, this time with four or five of his little douchebro friends in tow. The cops escorted them out after one of them disrupted the proceedings with a sign that said "Save Our Big Booty Latinas." (I had to quote the sign directly in case you're still under the delusion that these are decent people with a valid alternative point of view.) I'm grateful that when Salt Lake cops aren't shooting autistic teenagers for running away, ordering their dogs to attack compliant and motionless suspects, or hazing rookies by mutilating deceased homeless people, they sometimes do their job. In addition to protecting our constitutional rights because they're supposed to, some of them may actually be on our side because the orange taint pardoned a bunch of people who assaulted cops and Utah's Republicunt legislature just made it illegal for cops (and firefighters and teachers) to collectively bargain. Nick Shirley wasn't at the next two protests. Maybe the cops scared him, or maybe he has enough awareness in his tiny mind to realize that mocking science and women's rights is a bad look. I'm guessing the cops scared him.

My landlord has been banging and drilling and stuff next to my bedroom all week without warning me he was going to do that. Yesterday morning he had a plumber over and shut off the water without warning me he was going to do that. I just wanted to get that off my chest. I went to a hip-hop show with my little nieces before the protest, though, so that was fun. Oh yeah, and daylight savings time started today, so I anticipate that the next week will suck. Daylight savings time should be shot, run over with a truck, and shot a few more times. I got in trouble for writing that on Facebook once because Facebook is stupid.

​The other day I saw my brother-in-law on Instagram gloating about the richest man in the world illegally cutting off funds for millions of people in poverty. That was the moment I realized I officially hate most of my family. The cherry on top, of course, is that today he went to church and pretended to worship Jesus. I'm glad my church doesn't make sociopaths feel comfortable. This realization hurt like hell, but I got high and got over it by the next day. It's not like I had real relationships with most of my family in the first place. I currently feel closer to the great-grandmother I saw for a couple of hours every other year before she died in 2010 than I ever have to my parents. And it's not like I'm the first person who's experienced this. The civil war tore lots of families apart. I know my dad would have supported the confederacy because he's obsessed with states' rights and doesn't let marginalized people's suffering bother him.

On a more positive note, this past week I got to participate in two protests against everything most of my family stands for. Thanks to my self-determined work schedule and proximity to the Capitol, I can go to protests whenever I want. Here I am on Wednesday with my "White Dudes for Harris" cap. I had to get more use out of it somehow.

There was some unfortunate division after the protest had officially ended and most people had left. A transgender person got up and complained about all the American flags they'd seen, and they said they thought the only reason to bring American flags to a protest was to burn them, and they said we shouldn't be proud to be Americans, and they said the US has committed genocide against transgender people, and they chanted "FUCK AMERICA!" Two girls with American flags were still there, standing in the back, and they looked at each other awkwardly and soon left. I regret not talking to them to assuage any embarrassment they may have felt, and I hope they haven't been alienated from activism for good. I won't say the speaker was wrong to feel the way they did about the US. I understand. My faith in its fundamental goodness died on November 5. But my feeling is that this country exists, it will probably continue to exist for the foreseeable future in one form or another, and it will either get better or worse. Chanting "FUCK AMERICA!" won't make it better but will alienate people who would otherwise love to help make it better. Countries suck, all right? That's just how they are.

Oh yeah, and this picture went kind of viral. In case anyone is wondering, it's chalk, and it got washed off. As soon as it was discovered, the event organizer chewed us all out and said that vandalism is unacceptable and makes us look bad. It made for a badass picture, though. And the Venn diagram of people who will be outraged by this and people who think the January 6 rioters did nothing wrong is almost a perfect circle.

As I left the Capitol, I passed by like five counterprotestors, two of whom were filming us. I'm sure the footage of me and others flipping them off is now on Twitter with the caption "sO mUcH fOr ThE tOlErAnT lEfT." I don't care. They're owning themselves by showing the size of the anti-Trump movement in one of the reddest states in the US. I also knew as I marched that there was a non-zero chance of a MAGAt plowing his truck into us. That didn't happen, but at one point I saw someone drive really close and heard a thunk and a "That's what you get." I thought the driver had run over someone's foot, but apparently what actually happened is that someone punched his mirror off.

My old college friend Cece was there too. I hadn't seen her in... ten years? I don't remember.

Many of us returned to the Capitol afterward. I got a picture of my second-favorite sign. My first, which I regrettably didn't get, was "Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist Nazi POTUS."

So yeah, that was pretty great. Solidarity is how we'll survive the foreseeable future. (I want to say "the next four years," but that may be too optimistic.) We won't obey in advance. We won't be silenced. Nothing short of death will stop me from proesting again on March 1. Also, to get there and back, I rode the city train for the first time, and that was fun. I feel blessed to be able to ride a train.

On an unrelated note, this piece of shit came at me on Facebook the other day with "Democrats don't even know what a woman is" etc. etc. I contacted his fianceé and his employer. This is North Carolina, so probably neither of them care, but fingers crossed.

This exchange took place on a Salt Lake Tribune op-ed by a woman describing the intense misogyny she experiences in Utah.

There were a few reasons for me to virtue signal like this - to validate the author, to call out the jackass men in the comments who were already claiming she made it up, and to let women know that they have an ally. I know it's very psychologically draining for them to not see any men coming to their aid. People talk about virtue signaling like it's worse than actually being a bigot, but up to a point, I like it when people signal their virtues so I know whether or not I want to associate with them at all. Obviously people can lie, but in my experience, shitty people on the internet don't try very hard to hide their true colors, especially since the election. What a coincidence.

It's beyond pathetic that he took the time to write all that and pretended like he was speaking for a broad coalition of people. I was planning to present this comment here, without censoring his name, as objective proof that not every human life has value. But then: plot twist.

Now I have to give him the benefit of the doubt because I don't know much about fentanyl. I've only had enough experience to be confident that the safer and more legal drugs I use can't make me do, say, or even think anything that's against my values. I don't think they actually control me at all. They alter my consciousness and make my agency feel weird in a way I can't put into words, but I still do and say what I want to do. See, for example, the text messages I wrote to a friend the third time I got high. I let myself say weird things because I knew she'd find them hilarious, but I didn't say anything inappropriate or evil. Last time I followed a prompting to message an acquaintance from high school whose partner killed himself, and I didn't say anything weird. I didn't tell her I was high. I didn't tell her that while I was looking at Messenger, contemplating what to say, tears came to my eyes as I thought, He loved you so much. He never wanted to hurt you. He never would have done it if he'd known how much it would hurt you. Please don't be mad at him.

When I'm high, I feel more loving and more empathetic. For example, a while ago I had been arguing on Instagram with a Mormon teenager about the racism in the Book of Mormon. He had started it by making a snarky comment on an ex-Mormon page, and I wasn't actually rude to him at all. I stuck with dispassionate facts and logic. He stopped responding, which I took to mean that I'd won. But when I got high later, I felt so empathetic toward him. He was just a kid trying to defend his beliefs, and I'd probably caused him unpleasant cognitive dissonance that could potentially spiral into a full-blown existential crisis. So I said something conciliatory. Then he, for some reason, looked at my profile and asked why I supported Kamala, and I ignored him instead of telling that was a stupid thing for someone who supported a rapist and felon to ask.

I know alcohol lowers people's inhibitions and brings out more of their true selves. Good people don't become abusive when they get drunk. I had a friend who asked me to hug his fiancée while he was drunk. If Kush Kubes are the same, then my true self is love. I'd like to think so. I know that might sound far-fetched based on some of my blog posts. But look, I love people without regard to race, nationality, gender, gender identity, sexual orientation, religion, or taste in music. I don't love people who hurt me or other people. I don't love Trump supporters because their idiotic choices are going to make my life and, frankly, most Americans' lives much worse. I don't love Trump supporters because they're either bigots and fascists or willing allies of bigots and fascists. That's a shortcoming on my part, but it's not hypocrisy. I hope to get over it someday. I know most people think they're doing the right thing. I know there are all kinds of psychological reasons why humans think rationally. I just don't understand why grown adults with unrestricted internet access are easier to brainwash than first graders, and I haven't yet found a compelling reason to not be pissed off by it.

After spending Thanksgiving alone - which was fine, really; I'm not asking for sympathy - I went to the mall on Black Friday to feed off human energy. Lo and behold, I noticed a kiosk that sells Kush Kubes, and they were $25, which is $10 cheaper than at the smoke shop where I got mine, and the lady said that was the regular price and not a Black Friday sale. I got two bags. I should have gotten fifty bags in case Trump's tariffs drive the prices up next month. She was going to let me have them without showing my ID, but I showed it to her anyway. I hope she remembers that in the future and doesn't get busted by an undercover cop. She had an accent, so she was probably from a European country where children are allowed to have Delta-9.

I talked to a Mormon friend while she was traveling, and like every time I talk to her, she asked with some amusement if I'd been on a trip lately. On the one hand, she's an orthodox Mormon with a literal belief in prophets and the Book of Mormon, but on the other hand, she's politically progressive, she doesn't always wear her garments (which I noticed by accident, I swear), she tolerates me sending her rants about the church, and she tacitly encourages my drug use. She was traveling to meet her sister's girlfriend's family for the first time. She said that in Utah she felt awkward about mentioning that her sister had a girlfriend, but she'd gotten over it and found people more accepting than she expected. We agree that same-sex relationships aren't a big deal. I mentioned the cognitive dissonance I'd felt as a Mormon being told that they were sinful even though they didn't seem sinful. She admitted that she's currently having that same cognitive dissonance. She used the term "nuanced" to describe herself for the first time I can remember.

I just thought that was cool. I'm happy for her. And I don't want her to have to leave the church if she doesn't want to, but this anecdote just convinces me even more that it will have to change to keep that from happening. She's not some uber-feminist who wants the priesthood or some cultural member who takes the Book of Mormon as inspired ficion. She's just a normal person who, even if she hasn't said these words out loud yet, knows that the church's positions on LGBTQ+ people are wrong because she's actually met LGBTQ+ people. The church will either become more or less hostile to people like her over time. Right now it seems determined to only cater to its most bigoted and closed-minded membersm. It seems determined to make its tent as small as possible. That might be a side effect of most of its top leaders being white men older than my grandparents.

In summary, I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving. Next year will be rough. Enjoy the holidays while you can.