Out of Babylon, into the great laugh of humynkind, and I shake the dirt from my sandals as I run

I see myself with my unshaved face and my imperfectly womanly skirtwear, and I see myself becoming more “queer-looking,” and I see myself drawn to dressing like something that I have to this point so often seen as muddy, as too-many-paints-so-anti-paint. Oh god, do I feel the liberty in it, oh god do I understand somewhat better. Oh god the majesty in it the size of The Motherland Calls. Oh god and truly, queer proletarian feminism is the ethics of communism. I thank god as so many straight white men before me have been unable to because they didn’t have any of it; but the struggles of so many women and queer people and people of color (and those who fit multiple or all of those descriptions) before me have laid the way for me to follow, have given me the bellows to push some real air into my lungs. They said,

“Run, comrade! The old world is behind you!”

but I have for these few minutes at least the breath of a new world in my lungs, and it feels real, feels like something not made of poison, feels whole, and I am so grateful.

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