Here's the serious bit for anyone who'd rather skip the 4000 words of jokes
Just had a realisation: Andrew Tate is a drag king. He doesn't know it, but he is.
I am the kind of lonely
That loops back into itself,
And makes me withdraw.
I pass by the cute boys
Speaking their language
That trills like a mandolin
And wonder whether,
If I spoke and understood,
Things would be different.
Just been looking at the stats for cis-on-cis violence. Extremely troubling stuff.
I think I've said it before but as another domino (Kickstarter) falls to the prurient whims of Visa and MasterCard, it really feels like we need a new and uncensorable payment network, and it feels like this is what crypto was made for.
People keep trying to label me as 'nomadic' rather than homeless and it's getting on my wick. I have no income. I have no place to go back to. I have no realistic employment prospects. This isn't a lifestyle choice I can drop whenever I want.
It's lucky for ABBA that they weren't called Carlos, Ulrike, Niccolo and Timotea.
What am I bringing to the table, you might ask. And to that I can only say: fantasism.
All I really want is a husband who's financially comfortable and has lots of free time but is still radical anti-capitalist, will accept me and my many quirks/foibles and let me work on my weird shit instead of getting a real job, and is also hot, charming, funny, kinky etc. Is that so much to ask?