Some of the past presidential candidates I’ve voted for, like Lenora Fulani, Ross Perot, and others, have been outsiders, longshots, and often considered “wasted votes.” The music I’ve listened to and played throughout my life has been largely underground, unpopular, rebellious, questioning, crying (or screaming) for freedom.

I’ve been raging against the machine for most of my life—not only as a political, social, or artistic outsider but also as an outsider in my own body. I should have started a band called Rage Against My Body. If only I’d had the courage to do that.

But yesterday’s election showed me once again that there is no machine to rage against; America is the machine.

The 250-year-old concept of America was a money-making machine from the beginning. All men are created equal, was literal. They meant men—hetero white men—and everyone else was lesser than, with no god (or man) given rights. Equality? Not here, not then, not now.

The president taking over in January is a natural progression or extension of the machine. He doesn’t have any beliefs other than himself, but the vicious pack of weasels surrounding him has an unapologetic Christian Nationalist agenda, and he’ll sign anything they put down on a desk in front of him.

California has a lot of queer protection laws in place, but what about my sisters, brothers, and others who have to live in states that hate LGBTQ+ people (too many to list here)? What do the Christian Nationalists have in store for them? For us, I should say, since it’s not guaranteed that California can protect me from unknown future federal laws (or round-ups).

Their goal is to make it even more difficult for us to survive, forget about thriving. Their real goal is to eliminate us. They can’t march us into camps or MADE IN THE U.S.A. ovens (yet), but they can try to legislate us out of existence. And they will try.

If you think I’m being dramatic, remember that right now, today, there’s a Texas city that pays a $10,000 reward for reporting a trans person in the “wrong” bathroom. I don’t even know what happens after the report, but in Florida I could be arrested and fined for the same crime against humanity.

Today I have to keep reminding myself that I’ve lived through this before. Remember Reagan? Bush? I mean, I survived Richard Nixon, bitch! Donut Frump couldn’t carry his water (though, based on what he did to that microphone stand, he could give him a good blowjob).

I have to keep reminding myself that my queer ancestors in this country had it much worse than we do today, and they survived—most of them. I stand on their unimaginably brave shoulders and reap the benefits of their sacrifice, suffering, and struggles for freedom and equality. Their successes and accomplishments that have come at an often terrible personal price.

I have to keep reminding myself that the machine has been determined to crush us forever, those of us who don’t fit the mold, and it hasn’t yet succeeded. It fails to crush us because we have a strength they can never understand. We shouldn’t have to be strong; we should be able to relax and have a cup of tea without looking over our shoulders. But here we are.

I have to keep reminding myself that love is the binding force of our universe, a universe made up of nothing more than particles and waves. But look how those particles and waves have come together to make us! You’re pretty fucking amazing. You’re real and raw and beautiful, and you will survive.

WRITTEN BY A HUMAN