Open letter to a thief

While camping out for Queeriot last weekend with some folks from out of town, I decided to leave my tent up during the days as I was running around organizing everything at once. Other campers were smarter, collapsing their tents and hiding them under brush.

Despite our efforts at hiding, an asshole, or a group of assholes, came into the campsite and stole and slashed our belongings beyond use. The fucker(s) dismantled and splayed my stuff everywhere, stealing a tent and my favourite strap-on. On top of the pile of debris they left me a tear-out from some porno mag just to remind me what kind of dick I should be sucking.

This hurt more than an act of random aggression. Someone took the trouble to search all through a giant greenspace to find and destroy the intimate belongings of a few poor queers. It sent me the message that I have to spend months organizing to create one weekend of safe space, and that my only options are to stay in that safe space or be targeted and queerbashed outside. Though my thief/thieves will never read this blog, I feel compelled to leave them a message in response to their visit. Because I am not supposed to respond. Because I am supposed to be angry or afraid or sad or something and just keep it to myself. If I ever meet them you can be sure I will not keep anything to myself. And if I cannot meet them, I can speak my mind loudly enough that they will feel my wrath whether they read it or not.

To the thief/thieves: Enjoy the strap-ons you stole. Enjoy the false sense of security you get when you fuck other people up. But know that your enjoyment will be fleeting. Know that your hatred only aggravates us. Know that you can't scare us out of camping and fucking and living how we please. The queers are building an unfuckwithable social force. We know your tantrums are just an attempt to hold on to your fucking heteropatriarchal power even as it is wrenched from your grasp. And we know you will let go.

Seriously. Enjoy those strap-ons. Embrace them. Deep-throat them. Take them in and get turned on by forgetting everything you ever learned about fleshcocks as God and misogyny as Heaven. Get lost in that feeling of fear and lust and danger and subversion and vulnerability and friction. Fuck and fuck like you were never taught to, like you've never seen in the movies and like you would never tell your friends. And as you lie there shuddering and panting and scared shitless, worry that you're one of us. And carry that with you in front of your homophobic friends. And be scared. As scared as you try to make us.

Where you go from there is up to you. Just know that every bigoted, fucked-up thing you do digs your own sexual liberation a little deeper underground and dooms you to a little more boredom and restlessness and gangrenous silence. And know that it will devour you whole.

Fuckers.