4/30/15

Skit: the struggle between being a separatist and a hometown activist

I have friends that listen to hip hop and rap, the mainstream kind, in their Prius and feel "gangsta" or "hood". These are my friends that are hardcore on the Hillary band wagon.  They are going to vote for her with out any analyzing how she is promoting the white capitalist system. She is all about LGBT politics as long as those queer people are white and at least working class. My friends don't care, but I do. On the one hand, I don't want to vote for her because she is going to perpetuate and strengthen the system that endangers Qpoc lives by passing and promoting laws that make it easier for cops and other system enforcers to commit acts of violence against Qpocs. However, she will benefit some queers. She will make it so that privileged queers, like my aforementioned friends, will be able to go to the bathroom and not be discriminated against in the work place. Which is good. But I hate looking at my gender non conforming, poor, or people of color queer family and telling them "not today", "not yet", "this is not for you", or "we'll come back for you" because we never come back for them. We leave them behind to fight their own separate battle after they helped with ours believing it was an inclusive movement. This is what makes me a separatist, because I should have a movement that actually benefits me and my people. But I am a privileged Qpoc 60%  of the time and this movement does benefit me sometimes. And I am able to use some of the resources to help a few fellow Qpocs. I would rather reach some people than not be able to help anybody at all but it is attitudes like that that keep the separatist movement from succeeding. It needs to be all or nothing.  But I am going to vote for Hillary even though I am very conflicted about it. I will offer analyst of what she is really saying when she days that gay marriage is an important issue.

Stay fierce yo

4/29/15

Skitt: ode to April

So along with turning 21 this April I have learned a few things. Age does not equal action, experience does. 30 days is not enough time to write a poem about the complex nurture of my relationship with depression. Surviving means different things to different people. "The one" is a social construct. I don't need to date/ can't date because I have no need for "romantic love". There is no difference in how I love a romantic partner and how I love my close friends. The media plays a huge part in the prison pipe line system. I still like Amoriartii more than they deserve. I love Godric. My little brother isn't gay and I am way happier about that than I should be. Why is gay marriage getting more press than the murder of trans people of color? (Hint its because they're second class citizen) Bruce Jener is taking up way too much space in the trans community and I don't have any empathy to waste on her. Being a bad ass has a lot more down time than you think. The simple things in life will always bring me the most joy. I want to sip weak tea and watch the world end.

4/28/15

Skit: My Mother Cries No Tears for Baltimore

My Mother cries no tears for Baltimore:
A work in progress.

My Mother cries no tears for Baltimore
She got no sympathy left
My Mother's mean eye's rest behind big thick rims
Her eyes made mean by years of violence
My Mother is nearsighted
She got no vision for the future and would rather forget the past
My Mother's words are metered
Carefully chosen to paint a particular picture like media does
My Mother has a black son and black brothers
but knows not of the struggle of brothers and sons
My Mother has lots of expensive ivy league degrees Phd'ed
She's well learned and heavily indoctrinated in the system of oppression
My Mother does not smile
Her scoul full of malice and self loathing
My mother cries not for Baltimore
She got not tears nor words left to impart on the Black community


This peom is obviously about how my mother feels about baltimore. 



I wanted to write something about what is going on in Baltimore right now. I wanted to talk about the conversations Black Americans have been having since they were actually freed and considered Americans ( meaning not when Lincoln "freed the slaves" because that tis all Bs but another matter entirely) I want to let you in on my dinner conversations with my parents. I want to let you know what my extended family talks about over the grill with beer in hand during thanksgiving. I am going to tell you what all the noise in the barbershop is about. Come on to my stoop and we can shoot the breeze. The title is My Mother Cries no Tears for Baltimore more as a statement of fact then as something that I hope will fit the poem. But I decided to call it that because the majority of people want to focus on the violence as a negative more than a unavoidable endpoint. Its a tool. All our lives we are told violence isn't the answer, don't steal, treat other how you want to be treated. However, we know from history nothing comes to those who take this path. So we must be strategically violent, taking what we want, and using others to advance our own means. So we riot, so we steal, so we abuse the power given to us by the government to advance our own agendas. I call this a work in progress because I am going to add to it as I learn. I will edit it and reword it as I find better ways to express and help you understand the situation facing my community. And I will leave this note down here.

4/26/15

Daily struggles

I get called smart and intelligent all the time and I graciously accept the compliment. But most of the time when that happens I think what do they see in me that I don't and are you sure you meant me? 90% of my academic life feels like a joke that everybody gets but me, I just don't understand.

4/24/15

Skitt: writing

I started writing for theater. I was in About Face Youth Theater, AFYT, which is a queer political activist group that speaks, educates, and explores issues through performance art. Mostly plays and shorts skits. I never acted or preformed. I was lighting, set, sound costumes, stage manager, ect. Anything that didn't require me to actually be on stage. I have a terrible case of stage fright. I was also assistant play write. Our director also wrote the plays. We would brainstorm topics for our next play during the spring. We would go to workshop every Saturday for 5 hours and talk about issues we saw effecting us. We would work on acting techniques, dance, and writing too. One spring our director asked us to keep a journal. That's how I started writing. She said write about everything because as much as our work is about making changes in our queer community it is also therapy to help us work through all the damage injustice has wrought upon us. We would read our journals if we wanted to aloud in workshop and that's where we got the idea to write What's the T. As spring went on she asked us to make videos about what the T means to us. She took everything we said everything we did and put it in to a play. On Sunday's or Friday's after school, if I didn't have sports practice, I would meet with her one on one and read what she had wrote and help edit and write. During the summer we would study our lines and work on scenes, set, costumes, the entire production. I remember because a lot of the time we didn't have air conditioning and it would get so hot we would all walk around topless. During the summer we would meet 4 days a week for 8 hours at a time. We spent a lot of time together and we all were very close. During the fall we would preform our play all across the country at different venues. The first couple off weeks we would stay in the city and do our play all over, even in schools. The rest of fall we would preform on Saturdays only. Each Saturday was a different place. We could only preform on Saturdays when we were on the road because we were all in school, different schools, but we had to be in school Monday through Friday. We were all between the ages of 12 and 18 so you know our parents wouldn't take kindly to us missing school for a play. A lot of our parents didn't know we were in a theater troop that wasn't part of our school. They defiantly didn't know it was an all gay group. We kept writing in our journals all through out what's the T, from beginning to end. At the end we took some of the money we made from the play and made a book, What's the T: The Real T. It was for us and our finical supporters. I think we only made like 50 copies. Any way we auctioned off one copy that was signed by all of us at About Face's annual Gala, Wonka Ball! The person who got it was the chief editor for a queer news paper here in the city. She loved the book so much she came to one of our workshops and offered us jobs as writers for the newspaper. Everyone else was an actor and declined but my director being the person that she is spoke up and said that I helped actually write the play and should write for her. I said I would if she would let me pick four other people. She asked me why four. I said the reason why the play was amazing and why you love the book is because its all these different points of view. It is a well rounded read about people who manage to find common ground despite our differences. I am only one perspective, you need a gay, lesbian, a trans* person, a queer, a white person, a lanti@, a Asian, and different classes. I know four people who can give you these different perspectives.  So me and my 4 friends kept writing for this newspaper. When I went to college I kept writing for the newspaper but not as often. I found that I would write what I saw and what it was like to be at a school that talks about diversity but really doesn't understand what it means. I wrote for my community there to the adminstration to give us a voice. Now that I am back in the city working with the same organization I use to when I was in highschool, and  running 3 of my own organizations I still write. I still write for the newspaper, me and the 4 others still do. I am still involved with About Face Theater, though no longer part of the youth program.  I wonder why I still write because I never did it for the money I get from the Newspaper. I write for you guys. I write so that you guys know there is someone out there who has gone through the same thing you are going through, or something kinda similar. That there is community out there you just have to find it, or create it. And I write for myself, because I started writing for art therapy and never really stopped.

4/23/15

Daily struggles

Switching between 6 households and 3 different economic classes is hard. Different houses mean different things. On some days I worry if there will be food for dinner, on others I worry if I will get home in time to catch up with the maid before she makes dinner. Makes actvism and privilege very complex topics.

4/21/15

Skit: Day of silence

Friday was Day of silence and I completely forgot. I talked all day. Not even sorry. My feelings on day of silence has changed over the years. Before I was all for it, be silent, protest, yea! Now its more before you silences yourself analyze your privilege as it relates to the space your in. On Friday I was in Lakeview/Boys town which is a upper middle class white neighborhood. It was not the place to be quite. I as a person who is normally gendered female, I am queer and poor it is my duty to speak up and talk about the diaspora happening in my community. I want to talk about the police brutality and the misappropriation of resource. On Friday I used my voice to tell my coworkers about the fact that they are building a walk in free clinic in this upper middle class neighborhood where 90% of the people have insurance. Who is using this clinic? Who is this benefitting? But in my neighborhood where only 25% of people have some kind of health insurance we don't even have a hospital. We could use a clinic in my neighborhood to help everyone, not just queers, get better access to health care. I also didn't get to go to Night of Noise because I am lucky enough to have a job, and I need to work for a living. So when thinking about Day of silence think about your privilege and privilege around you. So if you are taking up space and your voice/opinion doesn't really matter, Shut the Fuck Up! So that the people who are at a disadvantage can speak for themselves. They know what they need more than we do. So how do you know if you need to STFU! Are you upper class in a lower class space? Look at your class and how it relates to those around you and the space your in. If you're at an advantage Shut Up. If you're at the disadvantage speak up your important. If you're cis ( identify as the gender your assigned) in a space full of gender non conforming people Shut the Fuck Up! If you're under the gender queer umbrella speak up your story is important. If you're hetero Silence!!!  Queer people speak up and let people know when they do something that hurts you. Day of silence is about is being quite if you're privileged to not only make those around cognisant of those who are being silenced and can't speak but, it allows those who are normally drowned out by privileged a chance to speak, be herd, and talk for themselves about issues that effect them. The big take away Shut the Fuck Up! Haha :)

4/18/15

skittles: Dear readers

I realized I haven't written directly to you all in a while. I have been writing conversations with myself. Things I wish I could say but can't tell anyone else or something I fell like nobody else would get. Then I remembered people do read this. You read this. I wanted to take a second to appreciate you. Thank you for putting up with my crap, rants, and activist angst. I have been writing for three years now and my spelling and grammar have not gotten any better. I got my behind handed to me in 2013 with college and depression, but I came back. Thank you for standing by me. Thank you for allowing me to share my everyday day life/ melodramatic problems with you in my daily struggles. I love writing daily struggles because it can be anything its not limited like Skit, Skitt, or Skittles are. **side note: daily struggles are problems I encounter in my every day life not problems I have every day. Skits are usually informative meant to coney a point of view. Skitts are emotional or personal. Skittles are meant to be rants, word vomit, stream of  consciousness, or of the cuff type stuff. ** For the the new comers, welcome to the teen age dribble that is my love life and the crazy political rantings of a QPOC (queer person of color) separatist. 98% of my life queer. Look at me improving, from 99% queer, I'm diversifying woo hoo. So most things I write about will be about that but I am trying to write about my race and gender more. So thanks for being awesome. As always you guys can leave me comment about anything I always respond.

Stay fierce yo,

Dailly struggles

I recently permed my hair. I keep getting compliments and everyone telling my how beautiful I look. How nice my hair looks. How I look so much better this way. Nobody ask me how it feels to be "pretty" how it feels to look this way. I feel like I willingly stood aside and watched my hair get raped, then appropriated and white washed. Anything that was left was erased. I am too much of an activist to be okay with how my hair is now. But I am too indoctrinated to love my hair the way it is naturally.  

4/15/15

Daily struggles

I fall in love with smart people. The kind that change the world and win awards. Next to them I feel like my roommates very stupid dog that spent 3 months unable to figure out how our spiral stair case worked (she kept falling off). But alone, when no one is there to witness it, my mind does amazing things. If left alone on an island with unlimited resources I might accidentally cure cancer, or get gorgeously tan (I am very lazy).

4/14/15

Skit: Back in your childhood room

I went back to UIUC this weekend to watch the Game of Thrones with Fo' Grad student and A fox named Owl. I always watch GOT with them on Sunday and we eat pizza. I showed out and was a bit of a bitch, not the good kind that you own. But my friends love me and tolerate me being an ass hole. I have finally been able to reconnect with what it mans to be Qpoc out side of the academic since of the word sense I've been living in the city. I went to UIUC and I learned a lot about the white queer movement and I got a lot of words and definitions. But unlike my QUIUC, people I actually get to go home and live what they have created words for. I live what they have defined and, more often than not, their definitions are less than perfect or fall short. But I now haves words for things. Side note the only reason I think people who live it don't come up with the words for thing is because we don't have the academic language, or the time. When your busy self caring and fighting the operative systems you don't have the luxury of an external analyst.  But while I was back I felt like I was living in my childhood bed room again. Trying to wear a space that just didn't fit any more. Everything is too small.  There were white people jamming out to "their" culturally appropriated capitalistic white filtered hip hop.  It felt like oppression.  I began to wonder was I really depressed or do psychiatric journals not understand what oppression feels like. It is strange to me that pain and emotional discomfort are not everyone's normal. That it means something is wrong. That they can point to a spot and say it hurts but all I have is abstract language. I can unpack and analyze our way off life and say this is what's hurting me, buy that's it. Being back, being a bitch, I can do it. But little Qpoc me is alive in my head and won't shut up. Qpoc me feels choked, feels used. They hate everything that UIUC represents, for it is a place other cultures come to die, be culturally appropriated, told they are backwards and erased. Privilege runs rampant all through out the campus with people making decisions with out fully understanding the ramifications. But it was nice to see my friends to be able to talk about slut shaming and owning words and the cultural significance. Also check in on them. I miss them and worry about their well being.  Also watching Game of Thrones. Was I the only one really confused 85% of the time?  Like what was going on??????

4/8/15

Skit: my favorites

Here are some of my favorite poems by Janani Balasubramanian 

You can read more of their work on this website: Queer Dark Energy
You can listen/watch some of their performances within their artist dou, Dark Matter, here: Dark Matter YouTube channel 
I encourage all of the "stalking" of their work.

gravity, the haiku

the atoms
in the universe
get lonely

rumpelstilskin

certain lies keep the world oiled
handfuls at a time:
babies come from the sky.
abraham lincoln abolished slavery.
nuclear disarmament.
cage-free eggs.
i will certainly give you my first-born child.

at the end of the world we’ll all sip weak tea
and play truth or truth
and laugh to stitches about the time
you ripped yourself in half
and we called it a day
and a happy ending.

Mary had a little lamb

Mary had a neoliberal lamb
whose fleece was white as Edward Snowden
and everywhere that Mary went
the lamb was sure to institute NSA surveillance.

He followed her to school one day.
That was against the rule.
They charged Mary with treason.

jack and jill

jack and jill went up the hill
to fetch a pail of water
jack fell down and broke his crown
and jill said fuck this
and became a lesbian separatist

i come with all of that

i come like this
wounded tired wound tight
i’ve been a tired woman
and a tired boy
i’ve eaten myself alive
i come with my own blood
other people’s salt
and two old and mean eyes
fuck me like
i come with all of that

4/5/15

my problem with the grilled cheese sandwich

This post is going to be very politically incorrect, triggering and offensive. but this post isn't about the systems of oppression this is just word vomit we can analyze it later.

On days that food is like sex the idea of eating sounds good, but is difficult to put into practice. I'm just not hungry, or nothing sounds appetizing. But unlike sex, food is necessary. This is how to eating disorders start. But at least I'll be skinny enough to fit the Western standards of beauty right? I'm in one of my moods where have a lot of thoughts and ideas I can't put into words. It's cloudy and fuzzy, all I get are shapes and sounds but not articulate thought out complete sentences. My ADHD brain sends a thousand synapses a minute and electrons flint in and out of time but can't seem to find the word for oppression/privilege/ violence/eraser/ whiteness/blackness other than my name. My stomach warbles but it seems unimportant right now. My friend threatens me that if I become an anorexic he'll kill me. I think it would be more satisfying for him to watch me die slowly from not eating, not even chocolate. I love chocolate and grilled chesse. I'm in one of my moods where I don't even want chocolate. My stomach want something very specific, but my mind can't find words for whatever it is thinking about, so my stomach seems unimportant. My mind has feelings about things like race, class, and economic disparities. It wants this post to be about the systems of oppression. But it's really about why I don't want a grilled chesse. GrubHub and Seamless can't help me and during this anti-capitalist phase I am going through I don't think I would want them to.  My brain wants to call this an anti opression hunger strike, but my stomach knows that I'm depressed and really just want a grilled cheese sandwich. Blankets and covers engulfe and lull me into a comfort. I don't want grilled cheese and I don't want to move. It's a power struggle between a 5 year old throwing a temper tantrum and a responsible adult.  I'm sorry? to say it responsible adult is losing. But I just really don't wanna. Inconsolably my stomach just wines the food my mouth is too lazy to chew, that my taste buds don't want to taste. I've been like this for a few days now. Don't tell my friend he actually might kill me. Tomorrow I'm going out drinking so I'm going to force myself to eat something to keep myself from puking. I have to keep the alcohol down so I'll get drunk enough to stop feeling, to stop thinking, to be able to live in the ignorance that everything isn't affected by the systems of oppression, to escape the depression it's caused me.  Today I begin to think that I can't even have an interracial relationship anymore, at least not with a white person, because I know too much and I have too many thoughts and opinions about things. Which is keeping me from deciding if I want shrimp, fish, or chicken. I should eat something. But the word consume triggers so many things in me, that my brain can't quite find the words to describe.  I have never been one to think I'm ugly. And on most days I love my body but my feelings are choking me. My thoughts take up so much space there's no room for food. Eating disorders are not only for white girls with body image issues. They are for QPOC  with ADHD whose brain goes too fast and fixates on one thing. Fixated on that one thing they forget to eat, are too busy to eat, not in the mood for eating. But because I'm black I don't have an eating disorder I have a stressed based diet that comes with it a workout plan based on unhealthy coping methods.