November 9th we will lie beached, exhausted, our civic ejaculate foam on the waves,

* make us famous

and turn our heads from what walks out of the water. Why do we give any shits? Why do we participate in this contentious sham? Your civil liberties are toast either way, and so probably is the environment and any hope of a sane foreign policy. But what’s that piping up, below my bleeding heart and my polluted lungs? It is a squalling, politically contested baby bag. I want to continue to be Not Pregnant, Not Mommy, despite the facts of sex and the perfidy of condoms. Republican appointed Supreme Court = no abortion, Democratic appointed Supreme Court = yes abortion. Does this mean I should vote Democrat? 

In theory this means I HAVE to vote Democrat, because It Matters! But, can we take the value voting issues out of the rhetoric? Yes. We. Can. 

You say, keep abortion legal. I say keep abortion whatever you want, but let me get it anyway, just like K and Molly and all the other biological funsies I do in the privacy of my own house or in an abandoned warehouse surrounded by dreadlocked white boys. My last abortion was $600! And still, I had to wait two weeks for an appointment, which mostly consisted of soft voiced women telling me to call 911 if I started to die and then handing me pills in a paper cup. You say underfunded private health care, I say built-in demand. With that kind of cash in play, why can’t I buy a baggie off a shifty college dropout and get on with it?

Think it over for a second. I’m no expert, but I’ve had three abortions. The good ones were in pill form, two pills to be precise, taken 24-48 hours apart. “Drink Me” kills the fetus and a day later “Eat Me” induces cervical dilation and cramping. There is pain, lots of it, so I’d get some vicodin off my friendly neighborhood drug dealer too. Blood and tissue, clotted and liquid, emerges in quantity. Like a few other female specific experiences, it feels uncivilized but not disordered. My body is a fantastic wet machine with protocols and workarounds. It can manage major change without medical supervision. You may measure this safety by the numbers of people who regularly do so.  

This is the exact same rationalization I use when deciding to ingest unlabeled pills sold to me by strangers without pupils. Why don’t I have black-market options when it comes to ending a pregnancy? Bicycle-delivered marijuana has become so prompt and ubiquitous that my friends discriminate based on the sex appeal of the delivery boy. Though I don’t do coke, I could find a gram in a matter of hours. If I wanted to communicate with the galaxy of mushroom spores that began the universe my options would be myriad. I can illegally move the fabric of my consciousness however I want, no matter the war on drugs - but I can’t get my hands on misoprostol?  
In this modern age we don’t have to wait for prohibition to build the bathtub. When I say get your laws off my body, I mean I don’t want the gaffes and weaknesses of any politician to have anything to do with it - I want illegal options.

Yes, people will get hurt. They will get die, they will become sterile, they will fuck it up. I will ferry people to the ER, just like I have done so with my junkie friends. But the risk is better than being pregnant, just like it was before Roe v. Wade. Justice Blackmun wrote that decision within a historical context of dead women, women bleeding out on linoleum, on the factory line, on the bus, with my wealthy aunt riding by on a train on her way to a clean unmarked office in Connecticut. Abortion is like weed: legal or illegal, get old people drunk enough and someone’s holding. Remember when marijuana got legal-ish and suddenly everyone had been smoking it all along?