True.

Me Neither

If you look closely, you can see the Obama sticker in the right corner. Oh, it feels good to be alive.

There are many reasons

why I love New York City and this is one of them:

Life gets in the way

Marisha, Staten Island Ferry July 2008

I have been behind on blogging for a veritable laundry list of reasons, none of which I feel like listing now. Mostly all I can think about is how my partner was assaulted and mugged one block away from our house this morning. I haven't slept and I'm pissed off and inarticulate. We should be going to the self-defense class for women and transfolks which is being held within walking distance from our home today (the irony is not lost on us), but I am stuck at work and Mik, understandably so, doesn't feel like leaving the house today. Anyhow, if your female or trans and in Brooklyn you should check out The Center for Anti-Violence Education. They even offer free classes for survivors of violence. I've been meaning to sign-up for classes and I will definitely be doing so when the next cycle begins.

vapid nauseating white girl shit

Much has been written about a recent unfortunate New York Times Magazine cover story. My favorite is an article on Salon.com by Rebecca Traister. After forcing myself to read the aforementioned NYT article that shall go unnamed, I just feel incredibly queasy. In all fairness, I thought I should read it before criticizing it, but I don't want to waste any more time even thinking about it when my copy of the new revised and expanded edition of That's Revolting! Queer Strategies for Resisting Assimilation is sitting right here in front of me begging to be read.

I just can't believe how bad that article was and I am mortally offended that the NYT saw fit to grant her ten full pages to spew that nonsense. Oh, and to make matters queasier, she actually studied at Eugene Lang College, an institution that I am proud to have recently graduated from with a concentration in Creative Nonfiction and a minor in Poetry. I don't know who she studied with, but I assure you that none of that would have flown with my senior work advisor, Pulitzer prize-winning critic, journalist, author and personal hero of mine, Margo Jefferson.

I will say this though, before I return to cleansing myself with radical queerness: When I took these pictures of myself, I meant them as an illustration of my greatest fears and a critique of the options/representations of women in media and the arts. Looking pretty and destroyed passed out on rumpled sheets, an unused camera lifeless around my neck, I called them my "photowhore" pictures. I don't think anyone got it.

With young women posing for pictures like this, is it any wonder that my critique didn't register?

photo of Emily Gould by Elinor Carucci

E.T.A: I would like to start a conversation that situates such self-involved tripe as Gould's within the sphere of normative whiteness. While critiques have been multiple and various, I have yet to see one that explores this. It is a definitive aspect of white privilege to be able to make work that is essentially about nothing other than the small petty exploits of one person.

Very Cool

Recordings of selected presentations from:

are available online here at WBEZ Chicago Public Radio's Chicago Amplified, a web-based audio archive of diverse educational events recorded throughout the Chicago region.

Enjoy.

Yes, yes, I know

I have been all about the lateness in terms of this blog. Between hanging my senior show, writing my thesis (89 pages, bitches.), graduating, trying to find a job, continuing to write and work on my show, compiling and co-editing a Lyrics on Lockdown workbook, obsessing over how to make the last few workshops at Rikers really count whilst also trying to figure out a way to keep going to Island Academy over the summer, I have allowed this blog to languish and neglected to give updates where updates are due.

Thus I take a break from writing searching obsessing to give you a little something.

First of all, the Race Sex Power conference was amazing and I met spoke with so many brilliant folks (and one fucker - but what's life without at least one, right?) Even though I did not get to see Renee Cox's presentation thanks to the folks at American Airlines (you cancel how many flights and now you wanna charge people to check bags? What?) I did get to indulge in my kind of celeb spotting.

This pic made the papers, digitally speaking at least. I also have this conference to thank for my new favorite author, Achy Obejas. She read this story that gave me tingles like no author has in a minute. Right now I am loving We came all the way from Cuba so you could dress like this? I really want to start gushing about how fabulous everyone was but I have only nine minutes left of my allotted blogging timeslot before I go back to writing searching obsessing and I still haven't gushed about how amazing Zami like me was. 

Sooooo.. Zami like me was fabulous and inspiring and it was like taking a cool drink and suddenly realizing how you were dying of thirst. So many wonderful queer women of color and allies in a room supporting one another and sharing art and cultural critique and discussion -it was like heaven. Mad mad props to Cleo N. LaMothe for conceiving the CipHer and making sure it came to fruition. 

The first day we saw a screening of Black. Womyn. Conversations..  a documentary by film by tiona m. and then had a talk back lead by professor Kaila Story where I also got to meet the badass ladies from Queer Black Cinema.

The second day I got to share the stage with spoken word poet Charan P., 3X. A. LADY CREW, singer/songwriter/poet Amelia and my friend Jade Foster who writes terrific poetry.

I am two minutes late so I leave you with this: