“I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.”—John Green (via kittensatdaggersdrawn)
BIA Livestock Impoundment crews are confiscating sheep, goats, horses, cattle belonging to the Dine People of Big Mountain/Black Mesa, Arizona right now. Human rights violations against traditional Dine (Navajo) taking away one of their major food sources as well as wool…
“Awareness born of love is the only force that can bring healing and renewal. Out of our love for another person, we become more willing to let our old identities wither and fall away, and enter a dark night of the soul, so that we may stand naked once more in the presence of the great mystery that lies at the core of our being. This is how love ripens us -by warming us from within, inspiring us to break out of our shell, and lighting our way through the dark passage to new birth.”—John Welwood (via queerfatfemme)
“While deviation by anyone from gender binaries is never openly embraced, there’s typically much more leeway afforded to AFAB (assigned-female-at-birth) folks in that as long as masculinity is assumed as the superior quality, breaking gender expectations in order to pursue masculinity is subconsciously accepted as understandable, and “only natural”, given just how awesome masculinity is, and how stupid, weak, pathetic and frivolous femininity is (don’t worry, this is sarcasm, Reader. I use it a lot).”—http://freethoughtblogs.com/nataliereed/2012/01/27/talkin-bout-my-s-s-s-socialization/
“Growing up amidst male socialization when one’s gender identity is not consistent with it is a horrifying and traumatic experience. Nothing about it is in any way a privilege, and one does not internalize or adapt to it in a manner at all similar to how a cis man does. Rather than it being a means through which one develops confidence and a sense of power and entitlement, eventually taking one’s vantage point for granted, it is instead a painful, self-erasing performance one has been forced to adopt. One has a constant inner checklist of the behaviours and mannerisms you’re supposed to display in order to avoid being seen as girly and consequently ridiculed or beaten up. Instead of gaining the benefits of being the “superior” class within our cultural gender dynamics, you’re instead experiencing an extremely harsh, constraining prison of gender’s unspoken rules and regulations. Instead of internalizing a sense of being the default, favoured, normal gender, you internalize scripts, shame, self-hatred and the need to police your own gender- police your expression, your personality, your interests, the ways in which you interact with others, anything that could end up with you getting “caught” and revealing how you’re not normal, you’re inferior, broken and wrong.”—Natalie Reed, Talkin’ ‘Bout My S-S-S-Socialization (via transfeminism)
make me whole again
the shattered truths of me
spilling out like dragon’s teeth
through the hot lies
of those who say they love
when I am done
each shard will spring up
complete and armed
like a warrior woman…”—Audre Lorde (Chorus)
Forget the images you’ve learned to attach To words like cock and clit, Chest and breasts. Break those words open Like a paramedic cracking ribs To pump blood through a failing heart. Push your hands inside. Get them messy. Scratch new definitions on the bones.
"Sometimes I think the animal most closely related to the human being is a mollusk. We carry this calcified exterior, capable of warding off danger and protecting us from the elements. But turn us around, and there is the soft, vulnerable underbelly that we need to keep hidden: that we feel is our greatest weakness.
I think love is when you reveal your soft underbelly. And another reveals theirs. And like that cold Brooklyn night fifteen years ago, you bring the two of them together. To touch each other. To be open with each other, and to protect each other. And in this way, both are free. And both are safe. And in this moment, eternity isn’t such a long time at all.
Every day in our lives we are asked to commit acts of courage. We must face down the outside enemies of oppression, violence, sexism, racism, terrorism. We must face down the inside enemies of fear, lust for power, impatience, insecurity, hatred, and anger. To do this every day, when there is such compelling evidence to suggest that we are fucked, that everything is fucked, takes courage. I believe now, in my life, I have one source of courage, and one source only.
That source is love.
When I am guided by love, I have no choice but to harness the power of everything I am made of and use it to help contribute to a kinder, safer, stronger and more loving human experience for us all. When I am guided by love, it reduces fear and its cousin depression to mere ideas. Memories from a long ago dream. And when my soft, vulnerable, fearful, shameful underbelly is held free and close to yours, then I am guided by love.”
Minneapolis a glossy cherry in a spoon The city cycles endlessly Hip dump dives Mississippi through stone arch … Guitars plucked on porches Nordeast streaming taps Lesbain DJ’s pump the jams Tattoo and leather covered skin Pierced rough looking faces Crowded body to body places …
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own. If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when everyday is a struggle.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live, or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, and do what needs to be done…
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
“First, by asserting herself as a personality, and not as a sex commodity. Second, by refusing the right to anyone over her body; by refusing to bear children, unless she wants them; by refusing to be a servant to God, the State, society, the husband, the family, etc., by making her life simpler, but deeper and richer. That is, by trying to learn the meaning and substance of life in all its complexities, by freeing herself from the fear of public opinion and public condemnation. Only that, and not the ballot, will set woman free.”—Emma Goldman (via ladycaloon)
What we are wearing is political and has really high stakes! The conditions of production of the actual materials we wear are life and death, and the consequences we all face for how we use clothing, grooming and style to craft our appearances are life and death. I’m thinking about racist laws that have attempted to ban sagging pants in some jurisdictions or use certain colors of clothing as methods to identify and criminalize youth of color for purported gang membership. I’m also thinking of the long history of sumptuary laws, and the horrific regulation of gender-related clothing and grooming items that trans prisoners are constantly fighting. Fashion is definitely a political question.
It’s interesting because fashion and style is a site of liberatory feelings at times—moments of pleasure, mutual recognition, belonging, escape, and rebellion. But there is also the broader context of extreme violence and coercion in which we dress ourselves. There is the constant danger of feeling wrong, being punished, and being stared at. These two elements are often happening simultaneously. I think about this when I engage with people who I know are making choices about their appearances that are both highly endangering and also feel urgently important or wonderfully expressive. It is amazing how much so many people risk to wear their look. Certainly, many trans people exemplify this, risking extreme violence walking around offending gender norms and being beautiful.