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patsylooj PM
Joined Jan '07

I'm Holly and I might be in trapped inside of an old music box. Help!

Do not hesitate to contact me--I'm still kickin'.


For anyone who comes across Lips Burn Caustic, or has already read it and given me the massive, massive privilege of space, time, and attention,

it must be acknowledged that a deeply traumatized, deeply stupid teenager was writing that story. I say this as no excuse, no justification. I went unchecked, and I was harmful. I apologize, and will not delete what I know is there; I am not interested in covering my tracks, or proving that I am better enough now to decontaminate what exists.

I used the main character as an outlet for my raging hatred: racism, ableism, sexism, classism, fatphobia, homophobia, misogyny, and certainly more beyond that, including needless comparisons to fascist Germany, a heedless use of the r-word.

I hated myself, and the world I was in. I was and still am entirely privileged; I had to insist that I was "good". Rosco was my compartment for all that was clearly a violence against myself and others.

That harmful, hateful, unchecked, secretive teenager still lives in me, and I must tend to them. I forgive them, and no one else has to, or should.

Despite all this, I am grateful for this space that held such a cringe, a grimace, a scream and sob of an outlet.

I still tend to the characters of this story in my heart; turns out that they are a little bit terrible, like mid-aughts Floridian teenagers were, but they are far less terrible when they aren't little megaphones for my bullshit.

I came out as formally bisexual in 2020.

Nowadays I say I'm a dyke. I act on it without shame or compulsion to the heteropatriarchy.

In 2021 I started writing an experimental piece adapted from Lips Burn Caustic.

In 2023, I'm editing a version of the original to print, just for myself. Rereading it, especially those wicked rambling self-deprecating author's notes, compelled to leave this last trace.

I don't know why, after posting the last chapter, I said things were "up to interpretation".

Rosco and Vito are in love. Romantic, gay, gay, gay love.

I have a million different futures for them in my pocket, but there is one certainty: for a summer, at least, they have each other. It is not tragic, or toxic, or pornographic. They let it happen, in full, and nobody stops them.

I was a harmful, hateful teenager writing a massive, silly novel that I almost wish I could erase, but I don't know where'd I be without it, without this space. Thank you, Rosco, for helping me figure out how absolutely gay I am. Thank you for being a slop bucket for the real nightmare I was set up to become. Thank you, internet freaks who love queer-baiting, though I don't know if I really should thank you. But I hope that you are better now in this harrowing, insistently beautiful future. I hope you are absolutely who you intend to be, and that it is not at the needless expense of anyone else.

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