Pride Post – Sexual Compatibility

By Joshie Jaxon

Greetings, geek fans! It’s been forever and a day since I’ve posted anything new. Part of that is my FB page is being stupid with letting me post, but that’s it’s own issue. Anyhow, like most people, I’ve been in survival mode during the pandemic, and nearly all of my creative energy has been used to keep my depression at bay. That hasn’t exactly been a success, but I’m still here, which is what counts. I’ve wanted to get some new content out there, but as an essential work who hasn’t missed a beat, even with the labor shortage, there’s been no time or energy to do so. That being said, gonna try and make some time to reclaim the pieces of me that I’m not giving up on. Let the geeks begin. Side note, I may retire that phrase, or at least not use it on personal entries. We’ll see.

As you can tell from the title, I’ve had sexual compatibility on my mind lately, and since I’m still a believer that representation and visibility matters, I’m going to share personal details from my life, in the hopes that it may help you with your own. Or at least provide the feeling that you aren’t alone, if you’re going through something similar.

Like most gay men, I am a fairly sexual person. I say most, not all, as there are some who have no desire or real sex drive at all, besides masturbating. There are those of us who spent our early out years racking up as many conquests as possible, either for the thrill, or the low self esteem that made us whores, or we just enjoy sexual activity and want all that we can get. Others, aren’t driven or motivated by sex at all. That’s not something that I personally understand, but that doesn’t make it any less valid. So, what happens when those two types of people get together? I’ll give you a real world example.

I met my husband online, through mutual friends on FB. Once we started chatting, it was the deep, personal, conversations that kept us talking until dawn; everything from him being pan, to me being poly, movies, fandoms, etc. It didn’t even take a sexual tone for a full week, that’s how into getting to know each other we were. I was living in Utah, and he in Washington, so there was no way for us to have a physical release together, aside from sexting and pics, which we did. Within six weeks, I’d decided that I had to visit and meet the person who I’d decided was the one. I flew to Seattle, and we spent a weekend together. We made love several times, cuddled, and it was agony to have to go back home. Less than two months after that visit, I’d moved to Washington so that we could be together. There was the initial sexual catch up, before getting into the routine of our lives, and it was bliss.

As time went on, I noticed that my then-Bf was rarely initiating sexual activity, to the point I stopped initiating it myself, to see how long it would take him to notice. He didn’t seem to. I stopped jerking off, to build some tension. I’d spoon my boner into his back at night. Still nothing. Rather than saying anything, I let that go on for six months. For half a year, the only person touching my penis was me. I’d even tried to blow him one morning, and though he was hard, he had me stop as he needed to get breakfast. To say it was upsetting was an understatement. I was a person who had thirty encounters one year, and now I couldn’t even get my own Bf to touch me. The real blow was that he claimed ownership of my penis as his, but wasn’t doing anything with it. With my self esteem dropping lower and lower, something had to be done.

I finally set aside some time for us to talk, knowing that it wasn’t a subject he was going to like, but I had to communicate my feelings before I did something stupid. Yes, I was worried that he’d deny me, but I wasn’t getting laid as it was, it wasn’t as though he could take more sex away from me. I explained that sexy time was something I needed, and that jerking off alone wasn’t enough. It released the tension, but wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the interaction and connection with him, even if it was just handies. He was sorry that I’d felt that way, and made effort to do more, encouraging me to speak up if I needed that kind of attention. It felt odd having to ask for something I felt was a given part of a relationship, let alone being a guy, but things improved, for a time.

Sexual release wasn’t a weekly, or even a bi-weekly occurrence, but it wasn’t taking six months to get there either. I had another conversation, asking if he was taking care of himself. He told me that he was, and that it was mostly when bored cause I wasn’t home. For him, sex had always been something to make you feel good when you were sad, and with me he wasn’t ever sad or upset, so it never came up. The words made sense, but I still didn’t get not wanting someone else to share an orgasm with.

We finally got married, three and a half years into the relationship. It took nearly a year for actual penetrative consummation of the marriage, but there had still been grinding, frot, and handies, I wasn’t being denied release. I finally mustered the courage to bring up the possibility of a sexual surrogate, or a third, for us. Being a poly individual, I saw no issue with such a request. The husband was upset, as he had a very mono mindset, and the idea of me wanting to sleep with someone else translated to I didn’t care about him. But wanting me to be happy, he was open to the idea, in theory. The practice was another issue. He didn’t want me finding someone else for sex, but didn’t want me that way himself. I was sinking back into depression, and researched online to find answers.

After looking into things, reading pages, and watching videos, it was becoming clear to me that my husband was asexual. In a non-accusatory fashion, I brought up my research, and asked what he thought. He looked into it himself, and agreed that he hit a lot of the boxes, but seeing the spectrum of Ace out there, he saw himself as more of an Aegosexual (I’ll include some of the details below). After looking at that specifically, it all started to click. It wasn’t that he didn’t find me desirable, it just wasn’t something he really thought about at all. I asked what that meant for us going forward. He wasn’t sure.

It’s been a work in progress, but we’re figuring it out. Trying to just initiate morning activity wasn’t the best. We did discover that if I was in the mood, and starting taking care of myself, that was a turn on for him, and he’d get involved. It seemed as long as there wasn’t pressure on him to perform or engage, he could if he was interested. I still feel a little guilt at him doing things to make me happy, even though he’s not super into it, but that’s my own issue to work on. The point is that we’re coming up on five years together, and we’re able to have these conversations without it damaging the relationship. It’s only been making us stronger. If I want to cuddle, and have hands running over him, and want his on me, I specify that I’m not looking to get off, and to ignore the ensuing erection unless he’d like to do something with it. There is still talk about us finding a third, and he’d like it to be someone we’d both get along with. We don’t know how he’d react to another person actually getting physical with me, but I’ve promised we’ll keep the lines of communication open. Neither of us needs fo apologize for feeling what we feel. All we can do is try to make sure the other is happy, and our needs are met. Love can do many things, as long as you’re open to it.

Pride Post – Why Pride Matters

By Joshie Jaxon

I have a question. At what age did you learn that you could be victimized just for being who you are?

The ladies in the house will probably tell you they learned at a young age that they could be molested, kidnapped, raped, drugged, beaten, sold into slavery or sex traffic, simply because they were girls. Because they were smeller, weaker, or more delicate than men, they always had to be on guard. Keep your keys out. Park under lights at night. Don’t go out alone. Watch what you wear. Watch what you drink. What you say. Who you say it to. Do everything you can not to make yourself a victim. Such bullshit. We strip our daughters of their innocence and their authentic selves, all because someone else doesn’t recognize their rights and autonomy as equal.

A second question. This one for the homos, specifically. When did you learn that you had to hide who you were in order to fit in? I was never sat down and told not to cry, or show my feelings in order to be a man. My mom never said not to look too long in a locker room or I could be called a fag. However, I still learned to repress who I was, cause who I was was bad. Men don’t cry, and if they do, they get made fun of. You don’t discuss feelings, that makes you soft. Stare where you shouldn’t, and people will treat you differently. I didn’t get to live as my authentic self. I wasn’t raised with my dad. I know him now, and he’s wonderful( but I wonder how my personality and view of the world, and masculinity, would be different if I’d had him in my life sooner. Would I have learned that it was alright to cry when I was sad, or happy? Would I have felt comfortable discussing my attraction to the boys my age rather than girls? I’ll never know for sure. My adolescence was one of repression and fear. Hearing Barry Manilow referred to as “barely man enough”, coupled with not seeing any strong gay representation in the media at the time, I was alone and cutoff from finding myself and my tribe.

I’ve since found where I belong, and try to live my life as I am. I don’t retreat to the closet, at work or in public. However, I’m still very much aware that as an out gay man that I could be assaulted one day, for no good reason other than who I love. I’m one who parks near lights at night, and keeps my keys out, because even though I’m a fully grown man, that fear has very deep roots. I’m always aware of my surroundings, as well as exits when I go somewhere new. I don’t want to be a victim, but I’m the back of my mind I’m always aware that I could be. Is it fair to me? To my sister? Hell, to anyone? No, it isn’t, but it’s the reality we live in.

My final question is to the straight men. When were you taught that you were better than the rest of us? Short answer, you weren’t. Until or unless you’ve lived with the decades of persecution and fear, simply for being a straight man, the worry that you’ll wind up in the hospital, that your family will disown you, that you could lose your job, that you could be beaten and left for dead, you don’t need or deserve a straight pride anything. Sit your ass down and let us have our once a year event where we can feel 100% accepted. The thing you take for granted, Every. Single. Day.

Pride Post – No Fatties

By Joshie Jaxon 

Happy pride month, geeks fans! We just had our festival here in Salt Lake City, and I wanted to share my experience. Don’t worry, I’ll be brief. Especially as it’s nearly 2am as I start this piece. Though it’s been on my mind for a few days now. As you can tell from the title, body issues are gonna be brought up. I know I’ve talked on them before, in my far less successful blog, but they came up again, so here we are. Besides, it’s something many of us struggle with, and for some, it’s always on our minds, even if it’s just silently running in the background. 

I’ve attend the pride festival every year since 2001. I even had a booth for my book series a few years ago. Pride for me was always a chance to get out and be among my community, without the safety of a screen to hide behind. It’s a great opportunity to see the various walks of life that make up our LGBT communityas a whole. There’s also plenty of eye candy, as long as the weather is nice; which thanks to fake news, er, climate change, it usually is. The temperature rises, and the amount of clothes people wear lowers. It’s a feast for the eyes, and a personal highlight of the festivities. The main reason for that being the majority of people going around practically naked are the ones you’d associate with the gay community. It’s mostly twinks and the jock/gym gays. The “good-looking” among us that we all secretly aspire to be. Though not bold enough to parade half naked in public, the closest I chose to get was my Joshie Quinn look, sans makeup. I’m confident in my legs. I’m a centaur, we’re good kickers.

Being a bear, those are the people I feel the most comfortable around. I have a different piece planned for da bears, but I’ll touch on them. Giggity. They’re the once facet of the community, aside from the lesbians, that don’t give a damn about size and shape, and celebrate everyone as they are, which is a beautiful thing. I found the local bear booth, and wanted to get a shirt to show my support. Not knowing how it would fit, I asked one of our Chair Bears for a shirt, and without thinking, slipped mine off to try it on. They told me it looked good, and I swapped my original back on. Hugs all around, and I continued with the rest of my day. I got hungry, and found myself in the pizza line with a very muscled bodybuilder. I know this, because during our wait, he mentioned how he was at 12% body fat, and needed to get to four for competition at the end of July. When it was time to order, he said I’d been nice, and bought my slice. Super nice guy. Even though it was odd he wasn’t getting any pizza for himself.

On my way back to Bri, who was waiting in the shade of trees with drinks, I got bumped, and the tip of my pizza slice hit the center of my white shirt. The horror! No tide pen. Not home to pre-treat. I need this shirt to not stain. It’s classic Joshie. I had no choice. I handed Bri my food, and pulled my shirt off. Splashed my water on it, and rubbed so the stain wouldn’t set. It then dawned on me that I was shirtless in public. Fans of the Gab will know that I embraced my body, and generally don’t care about nudity. I am who I am, like it or don’t. However, standing topless in the middle of an event designed to primarily celebrate the gorgeous among us, I felt uncomfortable. Bri asked if I was gonna put my shirt back on, and I decided not to. My logic being, the shirt was still wet, but more importantly, I had to do this for myself. The fact that I thought I had no right to be shirtless among my community made me realize I had to do it, no matter the cost. I had to be able to look at myself in the mirror. 

I kept my shirt off, got some sunscreen, cause I’m a pale, Irish-rooted, vampire, and went back to walking the festival. I was very aware that my shirt was missing. It wasn’t the comfortable feeling I have being nude at home, or even in nature. There was the definite feeling that my community would judge me, and tell me to get dressed. Now, maybe I was merely projecting, but when you see “no fats, no fems, no Asians” on enough profiles, you realize how little the community as a whole wants anyone that isn’t chiseled and perfect. In that regard, I’ve never cared. If you want abs, move on, I’m never gonna have them. I ran into an ex of mine, who pretty much greeted me with the words that this was not a good look for me. I don’t know if it was me without my shirt, or the sparkly shoes and shorts. I didn’t ask. It’s better I don’t know. I did at least one lap of the festival grounds topless. Even got cat-called by my lady boss, which still felt nice to be celebrated for my bravery, as it was. As I wandered, there were others my size that were stripped a bit too, but with rainbow body paint, or #pride on them. I applaud them for being deliberate in their choice. 

I’d like to say that I remained shirtless until I left, but I can’t. I put my shirt back on, and finished out my time. Though I didn’t get any mean comments, or looks that I was aware of, I was still uncomfortable. Even looking back on it, I feel a little anxiety. The real question it left me with, was am I as comfortable with myself as I think I am? I believe so. Hell, I’m naked on the internet in a non “come fuck me” kinda way. Clearly I don’t care who sees me. Then again, it’s the safety of the screen that may shield me from the anxiety. It’s the disconnect that we all have when we get online. It’s what allows us to say and do more than we might in person. I’m glad I had the experience that I did. Overall, I know that I’ll grow as a person because of it. I encourage any of my fellow “fatties” to not be discouraged by the chiseled. Do not let them damage the beautiful people that you are. You’re worth loving exactly as you are, and who you choose to be. Don’t allow their poison to change how you see yourself. If you’re a good person, who doesn’t harm others, you keep doing you. The right people will enter your life, and see you for the hottie that you are, no matter how much padding you may have. 

Until next time, stay geeky, and keep gabbing! 

Pride Post – End of an Era, Trumpocalypse Now


By Joshie Jaxon 

Greetings, geeks fans. I come to you today with a heavy heart, and unless you’ve been living under a rock, I’m sure you can guess why. I’m not a political person. I detest politics, campaigning, and the never-ending commercials. I haven’t seen kitty pics or food porn as a regular feature on my timeline in months. It’s been nothing but post after post, and meme after meme about how one candidate was worse than the other. At nearly 35, I’ve lived though several elections, but this one was brutal. I did my best to tune it out, and try to maintain some sense of normalcy in my life. After all, my primary philosophy has always been to not have an opinion what people do with their lives, until or unless it affects mine. Now, while that can hold true most of the time, it was the wrong mentality to have about this election season. Had I seen it coming as a real possibility, I’d have been extremely worried. 

Rightfully so. After all, I’m sure there were many of us that saw him as a joke. There were even some that assumed all of his behavior was taking to the extreme in order to sway things towards Hilary. Whatever the case, we were all wrong, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it. Like many of you, I was glued to the Internet on Election Day, especially as polls started closing. Any information that would give me a feel for how it was going to turn out. I managed to get through the work day, but I still wanted to check results. It was both good and bad, that is, until the first update I saw had red all over it. I shook my head and dismissed it. It was far too early to be worried. I got home, had some dinner, and attempted to watch tv. I kelp being drawn to CNN, and knowing what the tally was up to. I grew disheartened as I saw more and more red showing up on the electoral map. I attempted to return to what I usually watch, but I couldn’t. It was though part of me knew that the results of this election were too important to ignore. 

I kept texting with Bri Bones, and as things grew tighter and tighter, we both knew what the outcome was going to be. Each of us were positively gobsmacked. There was no way that this man had made it this far, let alone was winning, but there it was on my screen. Even with my limited political knowledge, I knew we’d lost. A pain that cut even deeper as we lost the House and Senate as well. Anderson Cooper, and others echoed my thoughts, “what happened?”. I still don’t have an answer for that. By my logic, you pick the person best qualified for the job, even if you don’t like them. Not everyone likes their boss, but someone has to make the hard calls, and it needs to be someone who can handle it. I’ll never know what made as many people vote for Trump as they did, and that’s probably for the best. I don’t want to know what’s in their minds. What I do know is that we missed out on someone who has been in the political machine for decades, and would’ve continued the progress we’ve enjoyed these last eight years under the Obama administration. She had the popular vote, despite the electoral results. 

The immigration to Canada site crashed as so many people were trying to figure a way out of what was coming. I don’t blame them for wanting to escape. Fighting for your life is exhausting under normal circumstances, now pile on an administration that doesn’t care about you or your peers. I have friends of all colors, sexes, and sexualities. Every single one of them is worried, as am I. The stories I saw being posted on the first day after the unthinkable happened have been upsetting to say the least. From people threatening to grab women by the pussy, cause our soon to be commander in chief did, and if he can they can, to elementary children telling their classmates of color to get ready to be deported. People harassing innocent black people. My trans friends are worried for their very lives. You thought bathroom controversy was bad, I can only imagine what the future will hold. Muslim-Americans question if they should leave the country, or not wearing the scarves of their religion for fear of being assaulted, or worse. It hasn’t even been 24 hours yet, and it’s breaking my heart. If all of that is just a sample, I don’t want to see what happens when he’s sworn in. 

I love my country, and have no desire to leave, but as I stated, fighting is exhausting. I haven’t experienced this level of dread since before, and immediately after, I came out. Despite being in Utah, for the most part, I’ve been lucky enough to be left alone. Most people don’t peg me as gay until I open my mouth and speak. Many of my friends, who I consider family, aren’t as lucky. I don’t know what the future holds, but one thing is clear, we have four years of whatever it is until we get another qualified person in the White House to clean up the mess left by the republicans before them. We’ve survived Stonewall, Prop 8, Pulse, and more, but we’re still here. It is important now more than ever that we unite in our similarities and not be driven apart but the differences. Stay strong, my friends, our fight isn’t in vain. 

Pride Post – To Cut Or Not To Cut. It’s Not Even a Question

By Joshie Jaxon 

This isn’t a normal Pride Post. It’s not a piece on gay culture. It’s more like my Balls to Cancer post, in that it’s more about overall male health. I’m not a shy person. I’ve stripped myself bare before the world, both literally and figuratively. I’ve spoken about my coming out, my cancer scare, my struggles with depression and suicidal thoughts, but this one seems almost more personal than those. Today I’ll be touching on a subject that sparks controversy, discussions, and uncomfortable feelings. I’m going to talk about the impacts of circumcision. If such subject matter offends you, I don’t particularly care. If the worst thing that’s happened to you is you got offended by something on the Internet, consider yourself lucky. I know my mom hates when I cover subjects like this. If you’re reading this, you may just want to stop here. 

I’ll preface my story by stated that I don’t fault my parents for what they did. They were young, and it was the early 80’s. Like many American males, I was circumcised as an infant. It wasn’t for religious reasons. My family has never been big on religion in general. It was an aesthetic choice, made by my parents at the time. They wanted me to be “normal”, and to look like everyone else so I wouldn’t get picked on for being different and standing out. If only they’d known the person I’d grow up to be. I pride myself on being different from everyone else. I see things they don’t. I prefer it that way, and wouldn’t change it for the world. My circumcision on the other hand, is another story. This was something permanent that was done to my body, and I wasn’t consulted or given any kind of say in the matter. How could I? I was a newborn. A doctor took a scalpel, removed a piece of my penis, and I can never get it back. One of the first messages I was given in life was that I was unacceptable the way I was born, and I needed to be altered so that I could better fit in to the world in which I lived. Fuck that. 

Now, I know what most people say about this topic. They’re babies. They don’t/won’t remember it. That’s great and all, but it doesn’t change the fact that my body was mutilated for some Americanized standard of beauty/normalcy. Allow me to counter that particular argument. Say that anything that happened to you today, anything at all, was completely forgotten by morning. Now, say you were raped. Say you were stabbed. Robbed. Mugged. Got knocked up. Whatever. Morning comes. You don’t have any memory of that happening to you. Does it erase the fact that it did? No. You now have to live the rest of your life dealing with repercussions of actions you may have had no part in, let alone memory of. Bottom line, I don’t remember being cut, but I live with it every day. 

Most of us don’t think much of our genitals, except when we need to pee, they’re in need of medical attention, or they’re giving us pleasure. Growing up, I certainly didn’t comprehend the extent of what had been done to me. I knew how I looked. I knew how my peers in the locker room looked. There was nothing that screamed I was physically “abnormal” in my life. Flash forward to the Internet age. Aside from having access to a literal world of information, at an intellectual and educational level, we also have access to people and pornography from all over the globe. With so much exposed flesh, it isn’t hard to notice that not everyone has the same “style” genitalia that you do. You begin to question why. At least I did. 

I know for some, circumcision is a religious thing. I’m not here to bash religion. Whatever you do to yourself or your children is between you and your god. That being said, most religions I’m familiar with state that we’re made in god’s image. That means god, assumed as a male, would have a foreskin. It’s a safe assumption that he was never circumcised. One, who would have done it? Two, who would he have had it done for? Three, he’s freaking god. No one is gonna go up to the almighty and say, I’d hit that, but your penis doesn’t look good. Bitch, he will smite you. Boom! 

I’m not straight, or a parent. I’m not trying to start a fight here, but I don’t think that women should have a say in what happens to their son’s genitals. Yes, that includes single/adoptive mothers. It isn’t yours to decide how it should look/function. At the very least, let him decide when he is old enough to understand the consequences of that action. Think of it this way, ladies. Would you want your husband/fathers deciding to have you or your daughter’s clitoris/labia/etc removed, strictly because he said so, cause you’d be “normal”, and you just had to live with it? Spoiler alert, the answer is hell no. You already don’t want men affecting your right to choose. Your body, your choice, am I right? Of course I am. Why aren’t your sons give that same respect? It’s their body, and should be their choice. Short of medical need/emergency, there is no earthly reason to destroy a piece of your child, simply because they won’t have memory of it, so who did it really hurt? 

I can tell you exactly who it hurts. Each and every one of us. Some men are cut so tightly, that when they hit puberty their erections are painful because there isn’t enough skin there to accommodate the expanded form. Others have sections still connected, while others have so much of their frenulum removed that they experience very little pleasure from penile stimulation. All of this senseless loss, for nothing. The only reason that Americans decided that uncut/intact men were bad, is that societal pressure warped the way we view the male form and what is considered normal. Many go through life feeling cheated, mutilated, betrayed, and incomplete. As I stated, most of us don’t think about it, and are able to function, but there are others, like myself, that are aware of exactly what happened to us, and there’s no way to go back. We’re out of the Matrix, and see the world for what it is. 

There’s a growing section of the male population that is working to restore that which was taken. There are products like the Sen Slip and ManHood, that are designed to help restore sensitivity to the head of the penis, since it has been worn down from years, even decades of exposure to clothing rubbing on it. Think of it like your feet. If you go barefoot everywhere, your skin gets rough to accommodate, whereas if you’re always in slippers/socks/shoes, your feet may be super sensitive. Other guys take matters into their own hands, and spend years trying to regrow and restore their foreskin, some going as far as to have surgery. We’re so desperate to feel whole, to feel complete, to feel like the men we were intended to be. Please, I implore you, before you have your son’s penis permanently altered, do your research. Don’t do it simply so they can “look their dad” or “fit in better”, or because “that’s what’s expected”. At least be honest and say that you don’t want to deal with the maintenance until they’re old enough to do it themselves. None of those are reasons to destroy a child that had just entered the world. Ask yourself, if they were cutting you, wouldn’t you want a say in it? 

Pride Post – Life Support

Pulse Wave Background

Pulse Wave Background Original Vector Illustration

By Joshie Jaxon


There’s no Pulse! Rally the community! Clear!

Still no Pulse! Try again! Don’t you dare quit on me! Clear!

Call it. Time of death, 2am.

Wait! We lost the pulse, but the body is still alive.

That’s not possible.

It is. The community is recovering, and getting stronger. We’ll get the Pulse back.


Greetings, geek fans. As you know, I’m not much for politics, and find them to be a bothersome, if not counterproductive, aspect of our world. I try to avoid them as much as possible, but given the recent tragedy that hit close to our community, I don’t think I can keep myself out of this one. A gunman took out fifty lives, and people are losing their minds over it. I don’t blame them. If that happened here, I’m sure I’d feel more for the situation than I already do, and I’m not a very emotional person as it is.

However, I’ve noticed that rather than focusing on those lives, people are instead focusing on the one who took them, and using this incident to push their own agenda about it. I told Bri Bones just the other day that this is going to become a measuring stick that people will bring out when they want to make a point; “It’s the worst shooting since…” All that will adhere to time is the event itself, much like September 11th, Sandy Hook, Columbine, etc. People know what happened and where, but not how many lives, or even the name of a single victim. That’s the reality we live in.

Back to agendas, I saw a post this morning that was titled “What if someone had shared Jesus with the Orlando killer?”, and that’s what got me thinking about the selfishness of people as a whole. All these people want is to have a headline that will create controversy, and get people spouting their opinions, without actually having read the content.

What religion a person does or doesn’t have is irrelevant. This person took the lives of fifty people. Those people will never get to have their dreams realized. They’ll never be the author/baker/dancer they wanted. They won’t get to have children. They won’t get to find the love of their life. They won’t get to see their nieces or nephews grow up. Everything they had been building their lives towards was taken in an instant, and can never be returned. It sickens me that someone could hate a group so much that they would snuff out the lives of its members.

People are calling for more gun control, and stopping things like this from happening, but it doesn’t solve the problem at its source. Why can’t we all just accept people as they are, and as long as they aren’t doing anything that harms our lives, let them be? Oh, right, because that doesn’t generate revenue or ratings. People being kind to one another can’t be sensationalized by the media. Controlling the weapons doesn’t stop the people that want to use them, it just forces them to find a different method to attack us.

I’m part of a community that can be gunned down simply for existing. How is that right? I know that I try to keep my head down, and not make a target of myself, but the reality that I could get shot for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, frightens me. Not so much that I’m not going to continue to live my life, but that’s something that has been added to my mind as something to be aware of. I don’t like that this is the world I live in. Though perhaps I always have, and I’m just more aware of it now.

At any rate, people only care about things that they can relate to. The only way to get the conservatives/Republicans to care about gun violence is if a Klan meeting were shot up by a group of extremist homosexuals or transgender individuals. You can bet money that they would care about restricting access to such weapons if they were the ones on the receiving end of the violence.

Whatever the case may be, this isn’t problem that’s going to go away anytime soon. People need to be taught to respect others, even if they don’t agree with them. Do what you want, but harm none isn’t a bad way to live. It’s the way I live my life, and it has worked well for me so far. I’ll continue to try and bring a little joy to the world, and hope that you continue to enjoy every moment of your life, before someone else decides that it’s no longer worth living.