Who keeps leaving their unflushed poop paper in the toilet? I keep hearing you ask this but what you don’t realize is it’s my temporary art installation. I leave my “imprints” for all to see in the AM to give my coworkers a glimpse into my mini side art project. It’s usually well crafted and meaningful. If you don’t like it you can flush it. Or you can pee on it and add some color or whatever but enjoy it while you can. because

I came into this hoping to do some real work for our queer community and hoping to support a queer advocacy org that is supposed to stand up for all of us. Instead I ran face first into the walls you built around your tiny provincial fiefdom because apparently my skillset and my experience are too threatening for you. You love to talk about your heteronormative credentials like they matter more than actual queer leadership and action. You brag about your doctorate like it proves something beyond your fealty to an authoritarian orthodoxy and you bring up your military service as if that somehow justifies you cowering away when this community needs you most. You seem more interested in protecting your seat at the table than holding politicians and organizations accountable for the way they treat us. And then to top it all off you had the nerve to tell me I am not queer during fucking Pride. Thank you for that. Thank you for putting it in writing and for making it crystal clear where you stand. I appreciate the documentation of your total disqualification for any kind of leadership in queer spaces. Our queer community deserves real leadership. Our queer community deserves people who do not sell us out and hide behind titles and empty resumes and cowardice. Once Pride is over we are going to have a very serious conversation as a community about your behavior and about the damage you have caused with your constant refusal to hold the people who harm us accountable. Thank you so much for all of your hard work bowing to those who want to erase us. Do not let the door hit you on the way out.

I see you walking down the sidewalk nonchalantly with your unleashed dog, not a care in the world. Of course your full-sized German Shepard is a GOOD DOG and the little sweetie couldn't possibly misbehave. As you swerve into the local bottle shop to pick up your beers for the day, everyone sees the problem but you, but they're not going to confront a guy with a pet of an ilk that has a history of biting people's arms off. You're far too full of yourself to think that other people might have been attacked by dogs in the past and are gripped with fear when you round the corner. You're far too caught up in your self-absorbed, conceited world to understand that all the dogs you pass that are lawfully on-leash might cower or freak out in terror at the prospect of not being able to defend themselves from yet another dog left off-leash by it's leash-law flouting, jackass owner. Nobody you walk by in the street, nobody in the shops you visit knows your dog is a good dog, or what it would take to make them not one. Leash your fucking dog.

As a pink person on this Juneteenth, I find a curiosity in understanding how it is that so much understanding was kept from so many people, from the original sin of slavery to the covering up the news, and then rationalizing these systems that were kept in place, despite the lies of equal rights. How does this shared history of oppressor/oppressed create the norms of today? How do we all break these chains that bind us in what it means to be “an American”? These separations that have kept many in check, to not speak out for others are beginning to crumble. Who knew that the original design of the statue of liberty had broken chains on the wrist and was a gift to commemorate the abolition of slavery? Not I, til today. Regardless of past crimes of many of our forefathers, such as my kkk grandfather in Coos Bay, Oregon, we are here now. We all create our culture and it is sure as hell not based on what our colonizing relatives consider to be normal. Yes dear Portlanders, nobody but ourselves can accept chains on our wrists from now on. We are free! Let’s not forget it!

Stop fuckin around with the cellophane and plastic snacks and just open the fucking thing! Rifling through a tiny hole making that goddamn crinkling sound is maddening. Make the hole bigger and pour the shit into your hand and spare us those sounds for chrissakes. It’s painful to watch you eat such garbage but to hear you struggle is worse. Stop it or I’m going to slap that shit out of you paws you asshole(s)!

To those saying "Enjoy the sun": To those whining about the rare sprinkles of rain or the few cloudy days: My learning curve isn't flat like yours is, so I wouldn't need my 12 years here to perceive the weather patterns. One is sufficient; sorry about the pimple at the top of your spinal cord. I've already predicted 90 percent chance of scattered whining. The fucking sun shines every fucking day in this fucking desert for seven goddamn months, and apparently you are psychotic enough to hallucinate that it is a rare thing. Get a bunch of you psychotics together in a shared hallucination, and you all reinforce your hallucinations in a big cluster-fuck. I'm pretty sure a psychologist specialist in hallucinations would tell me that even when I call you out, it won't snap you back into reality.

I'm not from California, but I moved there once for two years. And when I came back, I came back with a California license. The treatment I received from people when I presented it to them was horrid. This was before Covid, during the height of Portland's "go back to where you came from" attitude (sound familiar?). I thought things had changed after 2020, but I'm disappointed to learn that this still happening to people, although to a lesser extent. I'm not even talking about transplant tech bros, or the ultra rich. I'm talking about regular people from CA who struggle, love Portland, contribute to Portland, and don't even like California. If you hate these people simply because you don't like where they came from and have preconceived notions about them because of where they came from, then you're just like every other xenophobe out there, not the cool Portlander you think you are. And I will remember who you are.

I'm sorry that your life is so sad and empty that you got ~triggered~ by me leaving a small "free" box ~outside of my own home~, waited until it was empty, and then returned it to my gate with an angry anonymous note like a stalker. I totally get that the world is a scary place right now and that no one likes you. But watching me like a giant creep, spending your quickly vanishing time on earth writing a passive-aggro note, and then not even having the tiniest of balls to leave your actual name, dear "neighbor," is just so sad. I hope you find a hobby, a friend, or even a TV show to watch. Maybe try meditation or therapy? Maybe try channeling your anger into making your pitiful life better, or volunteering somewhere? I'm sure you can find something to add a tiny bit of joy to your pathetic life instead of harassing those around you. You might even go fuck yourself—masturbation is proven to improve the mood! P.S. Your note meant so much to me that I stuck it to one of the slices of bread someone else left outside on the ground, which strangely didn't enrage me enough to write the bread-leaver a passive-aggressive note of my own. I guess I'm a role model for you in that way. It's good you have someone to look up to. I'm happy to show you that life can actually be easy and good and fun when you don't needlessly get bent out of shape. xoxo

The opium trade was not trade. It was a weapon used to break the spirit of a nation. The British saw China standing strong, self-sufficient, culturally rich, and they knew they could not compete with strength alone. So they chose poison. They flooded China with opium, knowing full well what it would do. They watched as it ate away at families, communities, and governance. When the Chinese tried to resist, Britain responded with war to protect its right to profit off addiction. That was never commerce. It was conquest disguised as capitalism. And the same strategy continues today. Addiction is still used as a tool of control. Whether it is synthetic opioids, pharmaceuticals, or other substances marketed as relief or escape, it all serves one purpose. Keep people numb. Keep them quiet. Keep them manageable. The most vulnerable are always the targets. Entire communities are broken apart while corporations profit and governments look away. This is not an accident. It is the continuation of a pattern that began centuries ago. Recognize it for what it is. Call it out. Remind your friends and family. Refuse to be subdued. The first step is awareness. The next is resistance. Break the cycle. Reclaim your mind. Liberate yourself.

THE ICE SOLDIERS of Trump’s army are running around the country in dark vans with tinted glass, abducting people willy-nilly, like some bad script re-write of Costa-Gavras “Z” or “Salvador” (with Jim Belushi) …just more disappeared gone to places I can’t even spell without Google—e.g., Djibouti (OPB, 6/7/25) …AND then the “Orange Mastermind” ups the ante by reacting to LA’s anti-ICE protests by sending in the NATIONAL GUARD, with their heavy weapons (even though the LAPD were aggressive enough, with flash bangs & rubber bullets). Makes me recollect the Guard’s killing of protesters at Kent State (May ’70). And then OFFSHORE FROM GAZA, the climate activist heroine, Greta Thunberg, has been detained, along with the others with her, taken off their humanitarian aid flotilla heading for the Palestinian shore. But then Netanyahu and his unrepentant cabinet want the Gazans to starve faster. And it all seems part of an ugly authoritarianism. Coming up THIS SATURDAY, 6/14: “NO KINGS DAY”, brought to you by Oregon Indivisible and others. Bring your sign about issues here and abroad to Salmon St. Springs, 1000 SW Naito Pkwy, waterfront, 11:30am. To get more of the inside scoop, turn to national Indivisible leads Leah & Ezra, with their weekly “What’s the Plan?” webinars—these two are true, thoughtful heroes of the Save Democracy movement. What a time!

Identity has become increasingly fragmented, and I yearning for unity, for something real beneath the symbols, hashtags, and colors. Flags and identity symbols can serve as powerful tools for recognition and solidarity. For many, especially in marginalized groups, having a visible symbol is life-affirming. It says “I exist, and I belong.” But that same symbol can, paradoxically, become a wall. Over time, what started as a shield can turn into a boundary, one that says who’s in and who’s not. Our identities can become rigid molds instead of open journeys. That’s a hard truth, especially when those molds start to feel like obligations, when we stop asking who we are becoming and start performing who we think we’re supposed to be. It’s exhausting, and it's limiting. Recognize that beneath the truck decals, the flags, the pins, and the pronouns is something shared: a human spirit trying to be seen, loved, and free in a world rigged to divide us. Yes, we’re being pitted against one another by the media, by politicians, by elite interests who gain from our fighting. They feed off our tribalism while staying above it. Meanwhile, we’re online, at work, on the streets, fighting about who belongs under which acronym, which color stripe, which side of a line. So what’s the path forward? Maybe it’s not about rejecting identity entirely but about refusing to let it be our prison. About allowing complexity, contradiction, and change. About meeting each other not just as identities, but as whole people.

On Monday, you went to Col Summers park and shot around on the basketball court. It was hot outside, and eventually your shirt came off. You shared an extra basketball with me and *my friend’s kid* before you cooled off at the water fountain and sat down with a paperback book. Are you real? Asking for me.

Fine, I‘ll get us started with something simple. The reason some of us like smelly soap is because it helps us know when you washed your hands, and that’s important to know before we let you start touching our parts.

So I found this hilarious. Today I was messaged by someone with pretty obvious narcissistic tendencies for those who know the signs. “Hey, could you stop engaging me in conversation on [social media platform]?” Maybe during the Obama years, the conversation would’ve ended there. But in 2025, it’s important to ask follow-up questions. My response: “This is social media. We have a mutually agreed connection. Do you want to change that? We could always not be connected.” They replied with something like, “I just get too many emails. I’m super popular and important. I consider myself retired. I’m only here to talk to people I want to talk to.” So I asked again, “Do you want to disconnect?” But they don’t want to disconnect. They want to stay linked while pretending to be above it all. They want the symbolic value of connection without the inconvenience of actual interaction. It’s performative distance, and it’s honestly kind of sad. This isn’t someone setting a boundary. This is someone quietly begging to be messed with. So I’ve decided to keep engaging. One small message a day. A meme. A quote. A quick hello. Just enough to remind them that silence is a choice they haven’t made yet. If you want to leave the room, leave. But don’t sit in the corner loudly insisting you’re not part of the conversation. That’s not strength. That’s confusion disguised as control. They’re not too busy. They’re just uncomfortable with the idea that mutual connection requires mutual presence. I’m interpreting this as a cry for help. And I’m here to answer that cry, one notification at a time. Until the point that they disconnect/unfollow/unfriend me or block me, because if you want access to my network, we're going to have conversations