Where’s the option for “I’m from Maryland and we don’t ask this question in public because that’s how you start fights.”
Reblogging this with some further points:
Was Maryland a slave-owning state during the Civil War? Yes.
Was Maryland a Union state during the Civil War? Complicated! It would have seceded if it were left to its own devices, but the majority of the population was for the Union. Confederate sympathies were primarily correlated with wealth; the rich wanted to secede, the poor didn’t.
Does Maryland share a culture with Southern states? Not really. There’s a small part of Virginia that’s pretty similar, but once you get past the Chesapeake it’s a different culture.
Does Maryland share a culture with Northern states? Not really. West Virginia, yes. Parts of Delaware and Pennsylvania, yes.
Does anybody in Maryland agree on whether or not it was Northern or Southern? Again- you don’t ask this question in Maryland, unless you want to get stabbed in a bar in St. Mary’s on a Tuesday evening.
it’s a mound of flesh, right? and it keeps forming eyes capable of looking at you. and the longer you look at it, the more openings appear. and at first the openings are full of what looks like legs, which move aside to reveal a flower, which unfurls to reveal a fleshy orifice studded with teeth moving towards you with great power and longing.
and it’s like, the central tragedy is that none of these men know each other on a level intimate enough to see through the imitation. when keith david turns and asks them how they’re supposed to tell if he’s an imitation or not, none of them can honestly say that they know him well enough to test how deeply it runs; he may as well be a stranger to him. when baby slut kurt russell mentions that the long johns could be anybody’s, it means that he isn’t able to tell whose they are by taking a good long whiff of the crotch and armpits. the secret weapon that could have successfully circumvented the thing was the time these men should have spent intimately exploring each other’s bodies. I have a job interview tomorrow. I need to get this out of my system now.
having by now gotten the job for which I was interviewing, I think where I was going with this was that, the constantly moving shifting expanding de-categorizing of the Thing is its own horror vehicle by virtue of the fact that every other body in that film very much wants to be its own discrete category, unknowable and untouchable to the other bodies around it. and the more you look at the Thing, the more there is of it; the more openings it has, the more eyes it will form for which to see you, the more limbs it will form for which to touch and know you. and these men do not want to touch and see and know each other. they do not want the joyous erotic sound of each other’s stevie wonder albums to enter their ears. they do not want the joint that touches their lips to touch the lips of another man. the first and only horror of the Thing is its drive to touch and know and queer the coherent category that is the human body. I will be washing dishes in the back of a bakery while blasting mongolian throat singing if anyone has any further questions.
But more than anything else i am a lying down type of person sorry for existing just know that if you see me standing (not walking i love to walk) you are seeing me suffering
I love to squat i am a direct descendent of duchess von squattington if the ground is too dirty to sit on i am not standing i Am squatting if i want to sit but might have to move quickly i Will squat dance teachers have marveled at my remarkably long achilles tendon they can tell i come from a long line of squatters.
I’m not sure why it’s always the cooking pebbles that get to me… maybe its bc they’re so smooth and pleasant to hold, in a way even the nicest microblades and shell beads aren’t. But I always wonder if this was someone’s favorite cooking pebble, the same way i have favorite spoons and pots when I cook. It’s so intimate and idiosyncratic and human
Gang, I am looking for a photograph I know exists, but I can not find. It is a historic black and white photo of a group of butches/transmen with a sign that say’s “Who says there are no boys in Chaigao” (I believe, in reference to the draft)
I found it!
“Male impersonators” in Chicago, 1920s after the draft
