This Is Not The Route:

No more people will survive
When you take the guns
As the citizens will face the hive
The boys in blue making gun runs
And shooting down your black neighbour
Your sister with a protective handgun
Will have the government shoot her
And she can argue none

The guns will still exist
The culture won’t go away
The men in charge will still be sexist
You’ll still work to near death everyday
Workers will still feel frustration
And you’ll feel the wrath of a capitalist nation

If you want to take the guns
Take them from everyone
From your neighbour in Iraq
To the cop who’ll shoot you just because you’re Black
Nobody deserves these firearms
But right now, for the oppressed of society, they do more good than harm


Virtue and Truth:

Black nail polish on ripped fingers
Still your boy
The one you grow with
Warhol on his mind, Marx in his heart
Somewhat James
Very much Jamie

Repulsion is more than Roman
Is what drives your boy to the stalls
The one where he can scream up towards them
Where bread knives in the shin offer more than mortal pleasure

True colours shrouded in mystery
Hands on the stage
But if it was to rip me
As it might
Best that it would happen next to you

As they might
Will stare unwittingly into the face of pure dexterity
For fear if they look away they may perish

Still your boy
As he stands ahead
Or lays behind
But never let’s go

There Are No Individuals Within Your System

I hate soldiers and I hate police officers. They are not our comrades, nor our protectors, they represent a system that is racist, cruel and established to protect global imperialist interests. This is not only the statement I am most vehemently vilified for, particularly come Poppy November when the questioning increases, and yet of course when I retort that to support these professions you must support the most heinous and cruel of wars along with the atrocities committed by officers of the law daily I am met with a common, and inherently flawed, argument: They’re just the people, blame the government for their mistakes. This isn’t entirely illogical, we have developed a perception of these people as automated machines wired to follow their superiors, and whilst this may hold weight with psychological evaluation, to reach any level of industrial instinct, every soldier, officer and serviceman must make a singular, vital error which is joining these institutions.

By now, it is somewhat known and very nearly accepted by many, particularly on the centre to left, that the Middle-Eastern intervention carried out by Blair, the drone strikes by May and many other forms of military action are, in fact, mass-scale atrocities and in no way signs of a just military, something which makes pro-forces rhetoric from both sides all the more confusing. We agree that the military act without reason and with ulterior motives often and that this intervention is violent and unforgivable and we, rightfully, blame the ministers who ordered attacks and why then is it so difficult for western countries, specifically the U.K in focus here, to blame individual perpetrators? It’s because we know these quasi-obedient fascists, they’re our parents friends, they’re the neighbours, they’re family members and they suffer, and on an inter-personal level we don’t like to see these people suffer and yet their suffering is nothing compared to the almighty cruelty they inflict upon people of colour under a propaganda campaign that paints ‘foreigners’ as the enemy. We feel a disconnect here. It’s easier to blame those who we don’t interact with, it’s harder to look those we know in the eye, those we may have previously chose to associate ourselves with and declare that they’re terrorists. They are. Not all terrorists are extremist religious zealots, no the most common terrorist is the one we befriend. The same rule applies to officers of the law, we claim to abhor police brutality and unjust laws that criminalise the act of being black, we hate the way they treat the poor and despise methods such as stop and search, why then, can the people of England disavow every uniformed menace who chooses to work for an organisation that serves enemies of the people? We kid ourselves, everyone joins these forces to help people but they don’t. They wear a uniform with pride, a uniform that celebrates legalised violence of the state. If you wear this in this society you are well aware of what you’re doing. You follow orders and you may disagree with policy but the information surrounds us. We all know what the government does, we know the police are vile and so how can we expect to believe that people don these badges blissfully unaware of the criticisms of the state? We can’t. Our government values the protection of bourgeoise interests much more than they value the quality of life or indeed lives of the vulnerable of society. This dictates that if you join state sanctioned terrorist organisations you are well aware that you may, will, be asked to act on orders that you disagree with but that, more importantly, endanger the lives of innocent people and so ignorance is no longer a plea. If you are not prepared to follow any order given by the State regardless of consequence then you shouldn’t join these organisations – that’s obvious. You may say you were following orders but so did nazis, being an obedient bootlicker is not reason enough for execution.

Here comes the second form in which this argument manifests itself with the discussion of how easy it is to be lead into the industrial complex with the promises of being a promising protector of freedom. I briefly touched on this point above when I spoke about the education available to us now and that is true however I can extend some sympathy to young people (particularly boys for reasons explained below) who join the military not because of a want but because of their own anxieties. Advertisements for the military (gross already I know) in the U.K are truly sickening, they use language akin to helplines or maybe a summer camp promising that the army offers a place to “belong” and that you’ll always have employment and that you’ll make friends and you’ll find your place in this world. This tactic is deliberate, planned and manipulative, the government prey upon the fears of teenage boys who can’t express themselves, feel alienated and face the possibility of a life on the dole, the army offers a masculine alternative to the doldrum existence you face and it’s truly tragic that people believe this when in fact military service sends you home with guilt, trauma and no real promise of support. These people are brainwashed by the state and I wish to offer them, emotional support and education however repentant officers are hard to come by and often too much of a war criminal to earn my empathy. A similar thing happens with the police force who push campaigns of multiculturalism and acceptance as a means of luring liberals into believing they have chance to protect people something which just isn’t true. The police are a force of evil in this country and for proof one needs only turn to stop and search rates based on race, levels of police brutality and the laws themselves that these officers are brought in to protect. It paints a justifiably bleak picture of a force who can no longer hide their capitalistic agenda that demonises the poor and ignores societal issues, instead intent on hiding EDL nazis on marches. The working class debate is also nonsense, the education is available and this is an argument that bases its assumption off the idea that the working class is a group of homogenous fools who will walk themselves into enforcing oppression if lead by the hope of social mobility.

In conclusion, there are no individuals within oppressive state systems. If you follow or make the decisions of an imperialist government then you are a fascist. If you wear the uniform of genocide and oppression then you are a fascist. You are not working class, you are the enemy of us. That’s why all cops are bastards, and all soldiers too, all Tories also and weapon manufacturers too – because they support, uphold and act for a system that is a threat to people across the globe. I won’t wear a Poppy. I won’t thank the police. I won’t be friends with a soldier. I have more respect for myself and others than that.

Why I must disown my one true idol – a statement on Morrissey’s racism

Today, whilst performing at Maida Vale for 6 Music Live, Morrissey stated that he supported Anne Marie Waters, an Anti-Islam racist in her UKIP leadership campaign and that the only reason she didn’t win in the campaign was because the voting was rigged. Whilst the rest of the world rolled their eyes and said “well, duh”, I wept. 

Today is my breaking point. The point where my limit has been reached and I must disown, entirely, my only idol. I know, I know that this is far from the most questionable thing Morrissey has said and yet it is the comment that has slashed my unwavering connection to him. Of course, we’ve never interacted, he does not know, and wouldn’t want to know, that I exist and yet together we share a suffering, we share passions and he has saved my life. So many times. His prose is of the utmost importance to me, it has defined how I manipulate and deal with my emotions and has only increased my confidence and ability to confront my anxieties, he is not, as many say, depressing merely a voice and friend for the depressed. This, along with my white privilege, has allowed me to dismiss so many of his comments for so long and I have, in fact, been a Morrissey apologist, but that was wrong of me. And now this seems blindingly obvious. Morrissey is, in fact, a racist. Not a cartoonish controversial celebrity but an unabashed racist and I can no longer show him my support. I will still buy all of his records, I will see him at his next tour and will probably dive to shake his hand but regardless, the point remains: Morrissey is not a good person. I will cut his section from my autobiography, no longer defend him and, of course, join in any conversation about his hideous racism. The reason I will continue to participate in these certain events is because I love Morrissey, I can not help it. He has saved my life and his music will continue to soothe me and, as such, save my life also. I, in my twisted mind, owe him something deep and profound, I have a tie to Morrissey that I can not tether no matter how hard I try. Thank you Morrissey, but fuck you also. 

Theresa May Day 

Smash capitalism, the teens scream out in pain

Slash your fat wrists cries an inner monologue

Another child sits alone and loves in vain

Ready to ride tomorrow and face the smog

An unfriendly, unknown name wracked my guilty little brain

The only help you get is a recommended jog

It’s not a numbing pain, it’s got serious clout

You may shriek but there is no way out

Mad Fer It: The genius of MADE OF STONE:

Made Of Stone came out over three years ago now and I have probably seen it thirty times, I also love The Stone Roses passionately, a fact that I will try my best to put aside when writing this, however it is only now that I have the confidence to discuss this film despite the fact I know that anything written about this film will come up short in comparison to Damon Wise’s singular phrases when he describes seeing “the faces and moments in the crowd”.
As has been mentioned in nearly every review of this film, Meadows, the film’s director, is a huge fan of The Stone Roses and yet the film doesn’t feel like fan footage, the film feels like the perfect document of any rock concert, Stone Roses or otherwise. However, Meadows being a fan is hugely important and allows him to capture the “unseen member” so often referenced in writings on the band, arising from a quote from bassist Mani. The unseen member describes the musical harmony the quartet create becoming a member of it’s own, in a purely metaphorical manner: to see this idea in effect one need only watch the magical “Waterfall” or “Where Angels Play” rehearsals. Meadows captures this through the intimate camerawork he employs, capturing the joyous rupture of the band playing together once again, the band are as excited as the fans and it shows.

This film captures what music, particularly The Roses Debut, means to people and does so in the most beautifully human of ways: talking to the fans across generations, the ones offering their car for a ticket to their gig and the grown men who never grew out of the Madchester scene. Over the film fans compile a considerable amount of screentime and contribute greatly to the film’s feeling of ecstasy, pun intended, and jubilation highlighting what the Madchester scene meant to so many, it’s something you can’t put into words and the film understands this so is purely visceral. Meadows stages the final musical moment over a quote discussing the unbiased nature of camera and how it picks up images as fact, something Meadows illustrates with his zero interference way of shooting the fans in the crowd. Like Quadrophenia and Trainspotting this is a piece of art that captures a moment in British culture, perfectly, a slice of atmospheric purity preserved forever
This film is an experience in the purest sense, an utter masterpiece impossible to describe in words. A quiet mediation on the ageing of a band and their immortal appeal. Meadows is lucky enough to be backed up by the perfect music for this film, urgent, optimistic and rising. This film can be summed up in it’s conclusion of The Roses playing Fools Gold to thousands upon thousands of fans: a funky, breathless camera flies through the adoring crowd and sometimes looking back at the technical talent of the greatest band of all time on stage.

Kes – Bird of Prey

It goes without saying that Kes is a seminal work in British cinema, a generation crossing story of adversity, hardship and strife set against the backdrop of a Northern countryside town becoming slowly industrialised. The story itself, based on a novel by Barry Hines, has become something of British legend, passed from generation to generation and becoming a staple of cinematic influence for directors like Shane Meadows, actors like Nick Frost and musicians like Jarvis Cocker. However, the enduring quality of a story like this comes from it’s relatability, the sense of connection each individual person feels to the tale of working class escapism, particularly those in the North and so I hope to present to you the reason Ken Loach’s Earth-shattering masterwork still speaks to and affects me, almost 48 years after it’s initial release. 

Central to the proceedings of Kes is the story of Billy Caspar played in a career-defining role by David Bradley whose performance reeks of empathy, kindness but most of all humanity. Billy is a working-class boy with a paper round, a broken home and a lack of interest in formal education, to a degree he is the image of working-class apathy in all it’s pain and struggling and so those features are where much of the audience connection arises. For me though, the most sincere aspects of Billy’s character are in the way he subverts working-class masculinity in all of it’s toxicity. For a British boy, the single image of true masculinity and ‘blokeness’ is a keen interest in football, your levels of interest, teams you support and level of skill define the friendships you make, the way you’re judged and your general place in society. It feels strange and personal then that Billy Caspar as an image of working-class masculinity seems actively unengaged with football and sport altogether. This idea and character facet so wonderfully executed in the P.E scene of the film in which we are introduced to the culmination of competitive petulance with the teacher whose bullying and corporal punishment creates a facade of strength broken down by his insistence of beating schoolboys, even by cheating. Billy further subverts these masculine tropes with his care for Kes, an animal he forms a relationship with and truly loves. This compassionate connection is only mocked by boys at school, who reject the notion of caring for a sentient being for “chasing girls” and shame Billy for not partaking in these activities also. The P.E teacher is only one of many negative male figures in Billy’s life and the next obviously toxic figure in Billy’s life is his misogynistic and cruel brother, Jud, whose insistence on hurting Billy comes directly from his own frustration at having lost the alpha male status he had held while in state education. With no father at home, the only positive role models in Billy’s life are his sympathetic mother and human English teacher, both of whom are two adults with full time jobs of their own and so when Billy’s mother does leave him a “couple of bob for pop and crisps” or when his English teacher comes around to visit Billy and Kes, the warmth is only multiplied. It’s a common moment of Loach wizardry inherent in many of his films in which the humanity within these landscapes is truly beautiful and yet still, what dull landscapes these are.

The aspect of Loach’s direction that most stood out to me this time around was the sound mixing here. Serving as a window to a dole drum existence, much of the film is spent in relative silence interrupted by chattering crowds, bored footsteps and the general noise that arises from quiet towns and an existence within them. In the moments where silence is abandoned, Cameron’s folk-based, almost mythical score seems to chase and accompany Billy providing the portent backdrop to his relationship with Kes, a monumental event in his life so far, a true piece of responsibility and connection. The sound mixing here is a mixture of industrial noise and rural score, a perfect metaphor for the way industry creeps into the Northern town and slowly swallows the wide open fields Billy spends most of his time relaxing in. These fields that allow Billy the space to fly Kes, to call the bird towards him and yet ultimately long to fly away himself. These fields are also one of the major signals of society at the time of this story as despite it’s endurability, ‘Kes’ is far from timeless, instead this is an analysis of British society and it’s shortcomings in 1969. Indeed, the closing of mines and industrial capitalism has lead to this film existing as a snapshot of British proletariat life before household technology and yet at the peak of industrial paranoia. 

It may be the obvious choice and yet ‘Kes’ is Ken Loach’s masterwork. A perfection of his rage and fury swallowed by sadness and desperation existing in a place of open fields that scream of eeriness, existences without purpose and yet also of youth, connection and support at a tumultuous moment in British history. Unrecognisable to me as a sixteen year old, yet equally comforting as a working-class boy in the rural countryside who finds himself frustrated and longing for tenderness and warmth. A new-wave peak, both stylistic due to the fast paced cross-cutting between facets of this lifestyle and a quiet piece of social realism, ‘Kes’ is a cinematic and politician revelation. Long may Loach live. 

Boyhood and me: 

TW: Mental health issues, 
Now, if earlier this year you had asked me if I was excited for the coming of the new year I probably would have said no and given you some pretntious, philosophical comment about how the ending of the year is an arbitrary marker and that nothing changes with the simple adjustment of the calendar and, I would have been right. However, having suffered through 2016 I now firmly believe that a chance for myself, and much of the western world to celebrate a hopeful change of pace and mood is exactly what is needed. On an international level this was a year of celebrity deaths, the institutional murder of black people and Native Americans and the year where, prompted by Trump and Brexit, white liberals finally realised that racism is alive and well, something people of colour have been saying for years. On an entirely personal level, a level on which much of this piece will be written, this year has also been a particularly hard one. My mental health issues truly settled in and are refusing to leave, the stress of taking my GCSE’s is getting to me and I have developed an unfortunate sense of cruel cynicism in which social justice seems unachievable. This, then, is the reason for me ushering in the new year with the calming and deeply personal film that is Boyhood. 
Speaking of documented time as a manmade and somewhat nonsensical idea, I happen to believe that the great existentialist Richard Linklater shares a similar philosophy and yet he has a much more comforting way of looking at time’s unflinching nature than I do. Through the prism of Boyhood Linklater manages to show that time keeps moving no matter how overwhelming life is and no matter how much you may want the world to stop spinning and allow you to collect your thoughts. However, in this film, problems exit Mason’s life as quickly as they enter and before he knows it Mason is already enraptured with another moment in the saga of his childhood. It’s somewhat of a comforting thought that no matter how bad a mistake we make or how hard things seem, life is constant and before long this period of our existence will be over in much the same way it began, without adieu or attention. As someone who often feels trapped in the moment of life, I find a great deal of solace in the way that this film reminds me that it is impossible for things to stay the same forever and that life only follows one simple rule: everything is constant, nothing ever stops. 
In cinema it is important to remember that portrayal does not mean endorsement and yet in Boyhood I feel that Linklater shapes characters and philosophies by simply allowing characters to voice opinions and musings and leaving the audience to take away from this what they please. Many of these quotes feel packaged and unnatural and yet that is what makes them quite so realistic, we are all just repeating world views shaped by what we’ve heard and what we’ve felt and so, of course, these quotes will feel out of place in any free flowing conversation. One such quote comes from towards the end of the film when Mason has developed into a type of overly pretentious lecturer and nearly everything he says seems overblown and deliberately cynical. It is when he is discussing these ideas with Nicole that the real wisdom arises when Nicole quips that maybe the “moment seizes us.” It is a view expressed without any negativity or real thought, merely shared in a moment of pleasant deliberation. This line throws Mason a little and he doesn’t know how to react, similar to the way I felt when I first heard the quote. At first it seems like this line is simply the droolings of a questioning mind and yet when I began to think about this line, it incorporates everything we’ve just witnessed into a single, easy to comprehend soundbite. Above, I mentioned that I struggle to live outside the moment and how that scares me and yet I feel I may be irrational for feeling trapped in the moment, after all life is but a series of moments. What Nicole says makes perfect sense, we can only react to the moment we are currently in. As someone who finds himself caught up in the minutia of plans and arrangements I felt soothed by the way that this quote seems to suggest that we have no control over what happens, the only thing we can truly control is our reaction. This profound idea is something that helps me when I feel myself overwhelmed with fears of the future. 
Another quote I find myself head over heels with comes from Mason. Sr, played by the always magnetic Ethan Hawke. Whilst comforting his son, Mason. Sr is asked what the point of life is and rather than responding with an abstract concept, Mason. Sr simply reveals that “we’re all just winging it.” That’s right, even Linklater doesn’t know what he’s doing. We spend our life watching others and hoping to one day reach the same level of inner peace and comfort as them and so when we hear those same people telling us they don’t have a clue, the illusion of grandeur is shattered and in it’s place is an ideological hug, telling us we’re just like everyone else. In relation to the film itself nothing and nobody in this film seems to be prepared for anything. Mason. Jr’s parents were never ready for children, Mason. Jr wasn’t prepared to move across the country and Olivia, played by the genius Patricia Arquette, certainly wasn’t ready to lose her children. Life just keeps moving and we can only cope, we can’t prepare for the surprises of life. 
Another reason that Boyhood speaks to me in such a direct and personal manner is the fact that it is a cinematic experiment. It sounds basic but the form of Boyhood is one of the reasons I was first drawn to see it. I’ve been enamored by films, as a whole, for nearly my whole life and I know that escapism is to blame. The idea of being drawn away from my own life, which I’ve never really been satisfied with, and placed into an entirely different universe for one, long sitting is an idea I have been fascinated with for well over a decade now. Cinema allows me to be pulled into someone else’s story and view a life or an image from a perspective that isn’t necessarily my own and to pick out the similarities between the story onscreen and my life which unfolds around me. For this reason Boyhood is an important movie to me, I saw this before I turned fourteen and having had my sixteenth birthday just over a month ago I still love this story all the same and while two years ago I may not have been able to describe why this film worked for me in such a visceral way, I feel like maybe I can now. I feel that much of my motivating adoration for this film comes from the simplicity of watching the case study of one family, in particular one boy, unfold. Linklater takes this abstract and difficult concept and tackles what to say it about it by saying nothing and many things all at once. In this film we watch Mason and his family struggle and grow and change and watch differing ideologies wind in and out of life and yet Linklater never favours a character or a particular set of ideals and instead allows us to pick out our own meanings from this film much as the characters in this film must do. Linklater holds up an image and allows us to study and analyse it and what we say about said image reveals more about ourselves than the image. I notice that through every viewing of Boyhood I manage to find hope in this cinematic projection of life whilst I struggle to find hope in my own life and yet after returning to my life after viewing Boyhood I seem to do so with a more optimistic spirit. 
Overall there is nothing that will see me through to the new year in as positive a way as Boyhood. Following a year of depression and many existential meltdowns I must admit beginning the new year with a discussion of life and particularly childhood does sound tough and yet I know that seeing a multitude of different lives play out and affect each other through generations in a positive and upbeat way is going to do wonders for my attitude for the next couple of days. In fact the film’s final shot is a longing look at Mason and Nicole sitting on a rock formation and as the film fades out Arcade Fire’s Deep Blue begins, leaving that final shot played over by a declaration that that now is our place and time, maybe this message will push me to grasp life and all of it’s moments, I don’t know for sure. All I know is I will sleep better having watched Boyhood than I would have done if I was joining in with any number of different celebrations. 

It’s A Wonderful Life no matter how bad it seems. 

It’s A Wonderful Life, Frank Capra’s now renowned masterpiece, has been spoken about to an extent that another piece on this festive tradition seems as if it may have nothing new to add to the seemingly endless discussion, and this may be true. In fact this piece may feel redundant to many and yet to someone who has just seen this film for the first time in a cinema it feels nearly impossible to write about. Going in I, of course, was aware of the uplifting tone and important messages and yet I had heard little to nothing about the actual filmmaking in here and so I’m going to start this piece by discussing what I think is some truly engrossing, charming and wondrous filmmaking. The colours of this film, although only varying shades of black and white are truly tremendous, using shadows and illumination to create images which have gone down in cinematic history, such as the opening shot of the Church Bell. Throughout the whole film somewhat of a visual motif is developed, anytime their is utter darkness light drives out this inky blackness and thus seems to, in a purely metaphorical way providing brightness to the small town of Bedford Falls. Bedford Falls as a small and never-changing town is the perfect place to set this story of community and empathy with Capra using the close-knit relationships between the residents to fully illustrate the idea of the working class pushing themselves to the best they can be. Within this assortment of characters is George Bailey, a banker who was almost forced into this occupation. George Bailey is played by James Stewart, one of the greatest actors of all time or at least one of the very best of Hollywood’s golden age, a period this film firmly exists in. The score, opening credits and almost pantomime emotion. The score in all it’s classical beauty swells and falls in synchronisation with the hyperbolic feelings and moods throughout the film reaching a blistering yet melancholic crescendo as George Bailey contemplates whether to continue with his life. Despite the incredible formalism and classical style of this film and yet there is never a moment that doesn’t feel personal, honest and exciting. 
On a basic level It’s A Wonderful Life could be described as a portrait of George Bailey but as this film so wonderfully illustrates, no man is an island and so the film becomes a portrait of a community. The community in this case being the working class residents of Bedford Falls who must work together to rise against the capitalistic monopoly holder that is Henry F. Potter. Despite the fact that this film starts by focusing in George Bailey as the hero of this film by the time the conclusion of the film arrives it seems that Capra truly, and rightly, believes that every human being who shows compassion and warmth in the face of adversity is a hero. Of course, it is obvious that those who most face the difficulties of a working class life in America is people of colour and while this is never directly adressed, every black character in this film is working as a maid or a performer and yet the film is the opposite of dismissive of these characters and instead shows these workers as vital, important characters amidst these residents. As well as this wonderful social and political message is a more personal idea: the idea that wealth and success doesn’t come from completing one’s goals or collecting a small fortune but from affecting other’s lives in a positive way. The film sums it up beautifully when Angel Clarence writes that “No man is a failure who has friends”. I saw this film for the first time on Christmas Eve 2016 as the end of the year that Kylie Jenner said was about “realising things”. And she wasn’t wrong. With Trump’s election, much of the American left finally began to realise that America is built upon racism and so this racism of course still exists and the British left realised that the U.K is still hugely racist and rooted in post Thatcher capitalism thanks to Brexit, both of these are overtly obvious however apparently not to the left who continued to act as if these events are simgular moments of prejudice. It is this negative atmosphere of political fear and hatred that made my christmas viewing of this film quite so pleasant, it allowed me to escape away from this soul crushing atmosphere into a movie which celebrates working class community and emotional empathy. 
P.S George Bailey is the ultimate communist. 
Merry Christmas to everyone whether you celebrate christmas or not I really hope you all have an amazing time and enjoy yourself! 

Boys are beautiful, too

Man has started many a war
Many men have died at the hands of other men
The hands of men are a fisted and furious red
As one, man stands corrupted, as many, men stand corrupting
Corruption can not be undone, no, but the future belongs to those who can avoid the terrors of forced masculinity

Those hands that are instructed to inflict pain are ideal, instead for stroking a jawline of a beautiful creature such as yourself
Those lips told to wolf whistle could pronounce and reveal your undying love and the quivering heart it causes
Those muscles predicted to uproot tress might sculpt, with great detail, the curves and crevasses of your love’s face
Those feet forced to thump can carry you across the Dancefloor with elegance and expression

Trump tells you to grab em by the pussy. Please don’t.
Stroke a pussy cat, frolic in flowers. Fight. Brawl. Cuddle. Love. Fear. Be yourself. Be careful, you’re beautiful and I care.

Your tubby little tummy considered a source of shame? It’s beautiful.
Your skinny little stomach that is the opposite of manly? It’s beautiful.
Your rack of intimidating and frightening abs? They’re beautiful.
Your long effeminate hair? It’s beautiful.
Your itchy, dirty stubble? It’s beautiful.
Your smooth face? It’s beautiful.
Those scars along your harm? They’re beautiful.
It’s all beautiful. Like you.

You’re as beautiful as your flaws, as beautiful as your eyes, as beautiful as your penis, as beautiful as your vagina. You are as beautiful as yourself and all the wondrous things you have done, can do and will do.

You are not cruel or vicious or a thug. You are all beautiful men and you are valid. I love you all.