If I and other people with certain disabilities are going to survive, we need care — and not from ourselves. Because when it gets really bad for me, self-care is literally impossible. In those moments, I need community care.
“They were a union organizer and liked to throw themed parties (for example: Naked Brunch). One time I bought Gap jeans and they called me a capitalist pig dog. They were not wrong.”
Do you ever wish you could travel back in time and scream at your younger self to open their eyes?
“The conference serves as a portal to collective dreaming and scheming where barriers become bridges to a more just future.”
“I loved the Church, and I loved the gospel. I was the kind of Mormon who politely dismissed myself from classrooms when teachers showed R-rated movies. At my first and only high school rager, I texted my mother to pick me up because I felt out of place amidst the drinking and smoking. That was me, Straight-Edge Dera, except apparently I wasn’t so straight.”
“I thought changing something on the outside would change the wrecked ruin of me on the inside. I thought somehow the inside would get a memo from my outside and get into shape. It didn’t, but my hair is the first way I was able to gain autonomy over my body.”
On Easter Sunday, I didn’t go to a church, but I quietly praised God at brunch in community with friends and strangers and so many carbs and those tiny Cadbury chocolate eggs.
Straight fanfiction? I don’t know her.
Relax, it’s Friday. Enjoy some dog content.
I am not white, and I don’t particularly want white kids. I definitely do not want to pay for white sperm.
Vanessa is thru-hiking the Pacific Crest Trail this summer and she’s taking us with her! Follow along as she walks 2,650 miles from Mexico to Canada.
Fitting into Los Angeles wasn’t going to happen for me. Or so I thought, until I stopped trying.
“What I’m saying is not that art solved my problems, but instead that the strength I found through creating and through fighting back, still pushes me forward.”
The joke was that we had to have sex before the election, because if Donald Trump won, I never wanted to be touched again. It was a joke. A joke.
If Alice Walker once said “hard times require furious dancing,” then hard times call for reading poetry, particularly black poets. Follow zaynab’s journey in reconnecting with black poetry as a means of daily survival and understand why reading the work of black poets can enhance our collective understandings of what it means to cultivate and sustain resistance.
“I pushed and shoved and laughed and danced in big black shoes that would later bruise my feet, next to a girl who would later love me back.”
When I read poetry, including the Psalms, it messes with my alignment. It forces me to sit up straighter and recognize words and ideas that pluck at the sinewy parts of myself I ignore. I hope in these few weeks we can all try to read some things that scare us.
A cautionary tale.
“It is a matter of national survival that we never get used to the president’s hair.”