<I> didn’t put that <word> <under erasure> because <i> <know> that’s how <i> <feel>. <i> have been <informed> that <i> can keep <working> until november, but there’s no <budget> for <my> role after that. <funny> (not haha) how even at a small <non-profit> the c-suites can travel to rome on the org’s <dime> for a <conference> and <earn> 100k more than their <employees>, but <we> have to be <cut>.
the capitalist structures <we> <live under> do not help the disposability <i> frequently <feel>. the <hopes> that when <i> <leave>, someone will stay <in touch> are <always> <killed off> by lack of texts back and <deferred> plans to meet up. <i> am somehow always <filling>; impossible to miss when <i> am there, but <my> <absence> doesn’t seem to <matter>.
<i> <wrote> a line in an almost <love> <poem> once. it goes: “i don’t want to be seen; / i need to be felt”. it <speaks> to <my> disposability, the way <i> get <told> <i> do <good work> and that <my> <contributions> are <greatly appreciated>; when <i> am <physically> <visible> and <helping> there is <appreciation>. But <i> don’t <think / believe> <i> am <felt> in most spaces. at least not in a manner that <creates> a <void> sensation when <i> am <gone / absent>.
is <this> a <failure> of <me> or <others>?
Do Androids Dream of Dick? Writings of a Queer Posthumanist 