So here we are on middle-of-the-week Wednesday, and this has thus far not been a good week, for those who are keeping score. This entire year has already been pretty fucking bad, and we are still not even halfway through it yet.
Yesterday I got banned again on Facebook; this time because I mentioned “Larry Kramer’s Faggots“–exactly like that–in a post sharing a blog entry in which I talked about Larry’s death and wanting to reread the book; I, an actual gay man, was BANNED for using “hate speech” by quoting the title of a book, all the while indicating that it WAS a book in the post. And yes, while I applaud whatever algorithm they have now that locates certain words as ‘hate speech’; I have reported any number of people for using that word as a slur, among others, including racial slurs…only to be told those posts “didn’t violate Facebook’s community standards.”
So, hey Zuckerberg? Go fuck yourself. And enjoy hell when you get there.
It’s a gloomy morning in New Orleans; there’s a thunderstorm rolling in and we are also now–all of south Louisiana–in a flash flood watch. Tropical Storm Cristobal is somewhere out there in the Bay of Compeche, will probably hit landfall in Mexico before heading north. The cone of uncertainty runs from Houston to Pensacola, approximately, with the dead center showing a run for south-central Louisiana and up through Lafayette. If this track holds true, New Orleans will be on the east, and wet, side of the storm, and it will get here in late night Sunday/early Monday morning; the landfall projected currently is 1 a.m. Monday morning. It looks like it’s going to be a busy season–we’re already up to the C named storm and it’s only June 3rd.
I’ve really been tired all week; exhausted, emotionally, mentally and physically. I haven’t written a word since the weekend–I started writing a new story called “Waking the Saints”, mainly because I saw the opening scene so vividly I had to write it down: a dealer at Harrah’s, walking home from work at one in the morning, and makes a habit of walking home along the river on top of the levee. I don’t know what the rest of the story is; but I really enjoyed writing about walking along the top of the levee beside the river late at night. I wish I lived close enough to do it more often.
And on that note, tis back to the spice mines with me. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader.
Queer and Loathing in America 