I have lived as a trans woman, as of the first of this month, for a full year. And I have been exhausted ever since then. I’ve been exhausted because I’ve been deadnamed, I’ve been misgendered, I’ve been stereotyped, I’ve been judged, I’ve been insulted. I’ve been the subject of aggression, micro and macro. But I’ve been exhausted because additionally, I know it’s not just me. Everyone like me, man and woman, between and nothing, and non-conforming, has been dissected.…

This is the last time I write these kinds of words. This is the last time I give you all the yada yada about questioning my gender identity, and the whole spiel about how I envy women and think I want to be one, and the entire gist about how I don’t and haven’t felt right in this body for a long time. This is the last time I put you through any of that. I ask nothing more of…

Three facts about love:

1. The parameters of love are limitless, almost like their own galaxy, and a paradox to the massiveness of the world and the insignificance of our bodies. Love makes our small energies feel large, the tip of a skyscraper that’s slightly an iceberg.

2. The conditions of love are, in the best term, non-existent. Nothing strips it off reality’s fabric or cuts it out because every act and attitude feels like its own love-language.

3. The…

Romero’s Conscience Rubik is a long-prevalent idea for the world-weariness and contextualized panic disorder in his brand of macabre. For once, in a jar full of newscasts, humans in horror were bystanders with no weight of the status or that of nature, light gaited victims that may have a fight but will never have the power. This overarching fragility of people was put in variations of formalist and DIY boxes, but this is the thinnest-pieced, most foundationally terrified version of…