Most days, I can’t tell if I’m living in a dystopic hellscape or a collective utopia. I vacillate between the realities of the world and my everyday existence - not that the diagram between the two doesn’t contain an awful lot of overlap. One minute I’m doomscrolling through planetary collapse, the next I’m comparing silicone durometer ratings. There’s no clean narrative. Just vibes, and logistics.
I promised myself I’d never, ever write another "spring has sprung" newsletter. I swore I’d never again lean on tropes of birds, bees, and seasonal rebirth. And yet - after being again forced to shelve our "He Hath Risen" Easter Pump and Ring sale due to import tariffs (it’s the #pumpocalypse, don’t ask) - I find myself confronted with these uncomfortable truths:
1. Spring has, in fact, fucking sprung.
2. Trump ruined everything. (again)
3. This co-op refuses to die.
In times like these, we don’t retreat - we go full goblin mode on mutual aid and erotic hope. Starting in late May, Come As You Are is open seven days a week again. This is not a declaration of capitalism’s triumph - it’s a dare.
It’s a challenge to the world: try to kill this fantasy, we dare you.
There’s a fire in our belly, and we’re using that collective energy to:
• Plan new in-store workshops - where you’ll learn, unlearn, and possibly cry in a room full of strangers. It’s called community.
• Form new co-op committees, because democracy means more meetings, and that’s hot.
• Mentor prospective new members who might someday take over this weird little ’topia.
• Develop new member skills through Somatic Sex Educator Training.
• Generally kick ass and build the co-op utopia of our dreams. (Hint: it might already exist.)
If you’re feeling overwhelmed, under-touched, or just want to loiter somewhere with good butt plugs and better politics, you know where to find us.
We may not be able to save the world.
But we can sure as hell co-create a very gentle apocalypse. Together.