I’ve been queering. I’ve been queering about the town and in my head. I’ve been queering for a long time.
Am I queer?
Do I want to fuck it up? And does that depend on what it is?
Am I a fuckerupper?
Is it doomed?
What is it?
I can smash the bottle for the moments of chaotic, crashing, sparkling, bliss and yet not actually want the bottle to be broken – the action of destruction but not to create the destroyed.
Can the destroyed only be the product of creation.
The urge to queer whatever notions and expectations of normal is strong but do I mean to chuck all of the babies out with their bathwater? And do I want to banish all comforts and lay naked on the cold, hard ground? I definitely want to know how it feels to lay naked on the cold, hard ground. But I do enjoy soft, freshly washed, cotton sheets. And what would we eat without all of that plump, squishy baby meat?



















