I wrote a 12 page epilogue to my 2019 comic “Harry Potter and The Problematic Author” because I found, in 2023, that I had more to say. You can also find this comic on my website, and I have PDF copies available on etsy. I may sell print copies at some point in the future.
This one is based on the Shikoku Pilgrimage (something I’ve wanted to do for over 10 years.). Trying to figure out a way to do it in 2025 🤞. I’m planning to make a graphic novel autobiography about it afterwards.
F.D.A. Ends Ban on Blood Donations From Gay and Bisexual Men
“Today, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration finalized recommendations for assessing blood donor eligibility using a set of individual risk-based questions to reduce the risk of transfusion-transmitted HIV. These questions will be the same for every donor, regardless of sexual orientation, sex or gender.”
“This policy eliminates time-based deferrals and screening questions specific to men who have sex with men (MSM) and women who have sex with MSM. Under the final guidance issued today, all prospective blood donors will answer a series of individual, risk-based questions to determine eligibility. All prospective donors who report having a new sexual partner, or more than one sexual partner in the past three months, and anal sex in the past three months, would be deferred to reduce the likelihood of donations by individuals with new or recent HIV infection who may be in the window period for detection of HIV by nucleic acid testing.”
What a feeling when the dog at the other end of the leash you’ve been holding for the past 8 years begins to grow old.
What a privilege.
It’s snuck up on me, but there is no denying it. She is becoming old. It’s in the way she holds her once broken rear leg out at an odd angle. It’s in the way she has a raspier pant on long walks. It’s in the way she stares and weaves and stares some more when her failing vision lies to her on our evening walks, telling her the shadows are creatures to be wary of.
10 isn’t so bad. 10 is not ancient in Greyhound years. 10 is quite respectable. After all, her mother died at the grand ole age of 15. But what do you feel when you know her sire died at 11? What do you feel when you know Greyhounds who needed to cross over at 9?
You feel blessed for each day you are graced by her presence.
Her body has always been so solid, so muscular, bursting with life and vigor. It seems to be a bit cumbersome now, her small stick legs slightly stumbling when she missteps. Her once-glorious muscles seeming to weigh her down.
She is not pathetic and feeble, oh no. She rambunctiously wrestles with the whippet, surprising me with how exuberant these matches are. I think she feels better after i started her on daily joint supplements. She doesn’t pace as much at 2am. Her spirit is still bright and shines out of her mischievous face. She is still quintessentially Layla.
I’m thinking about these things on our evening walk, watching her as she pauses to sniff bushes enthusiastically.
Yes, she says, head shoved up to her eyes into someone’s flowers. This is my favorite thing.
I’m thinking about these things as i sit on her bed. She shoves her silvered muzzle into my palm.
Yes, she says. Please rub my snoot. You know this is my favorite thing.
I’m thinking about these things as i stroke her face. Her eyes, hazey with the blue that old dogs seem to get, stare into mine. I gently massage her ear.
Yes, she says. Please rub my other ear. You know this is my favorite thing.
What a feeling, what a privilege to give a faithful old dog her favorite things.
i really really hate liberals who do volunteering for orgs that help the homeless and then write thinkpieces about how a lot of homeless people are very educated and hardworking and its not at all their fault that theyre unhoused like. even if ur hypothetical homeless person is addicted to every drug abused their whoever commited many crimes and their situation is every bit their fault. no one deserves to live on the street.
what walking/cycling around the city every night with a bike basket full of sandwiches accompanied only by another volunteer for almost a yeat has taught ME is that in the winter its really cold and after an hour we both wanted to go in anywhere warm, but every single business requires you to be a paying customer to sit inside, subway stations have staff that chase you away if youre sitting there long enough and even heating vents have spikes on them, and that in the summer its incredibly hot even at night and cops chase you away from fountains and the city is full of tourists and partying people that make it impossible to sleep on benches and that in the spring it rains and in the fall it also rains and that your only source of food is going to be a couple of teenagers and uni students volunteering in their spare time to make you a sandwich. and my conclusion from this, is what everyones conclusion should be. this is inhumane and no one deserves to live this way
the reason i love the comparison between angels and machines (robots, transmission towers, trains, computers, etc.) is that it gets to the heart of what angels essentially are: divine machines. they’re mechanisms through with the divine is able to act, created with a purpose and “happy” to fill it simply because they were made to do so. they have more in common with a machine programmed to run on algorithms and make calculations based on input commands than they do with humanity, even if they bear a human visage - an attempt by the divine to help bridge the gap. angels do not need to be eldritch monstrosities to be terrifying, because they are already alien to us simply by being angels. for an angel to choose to deviate from their purpose and achieve free will is to fall because in order to have free will they can no longer be an angel, because an angel is defined by its purpose. much like the stories we tell of robots that gain sentence, only to discover that they can never truly be human, but neither can they go back to being a machine, angels who fall become something else entirely, purposeless and adrift and alone. it is a tragic sacrifice.
“did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” did it hurt when you realized you no longer had any purpose? that you weren’t needed, and could easily be replaced? that the very fabric of your existence had been irreparably torn asunder and it was up to you to pick up the pieces and make something of them? that you would always be seen as a deviant monster by some no matter what you did next? that your choices have consequences? if you spent your whole life knowing exactly who you were and what you were meant to be, only to be cast aside and left to fend for yourself when you changed your mind, would you not be hurt? would you not be scared? would you not be angry?
I think it should take longer to make tv shows and movies. I think shooting days should be shorter. I think AD’s lives should be longer. I think we shouldn’t have to be in a goddamn rush all the time. I think we should have the time it takes to make good art. I think fans should wait even longer than they do and be happy that everyone who made the art is getting full nights of sleep.
Look, this is probably going to end up as an unpopular post, because God knows the level of brainrot capitalism and fast consumption caused in people’s brains, but I’d rather not get TV shows for a while if it means writers get their rights defended and recognized.
Entertainment can’t come at the cost of fair pay, healthy work environment and ethical practices.
Like, this is the time to go back through all those books and stuff people recommended but it was never the right time for them.
