“Are you going to the (queer mixer, queer dance party, queer pajama swap, etc.)?” I ask. “I’m not sure,” my friend says. “I’m not sure I’m queer enough to go.” I’ve had this conversation a lot lately, particularly with people who are cis-women. In response, I usually ask what “queer enough” means, and these are… Continue reading Are you queer enough?
Category: Blog
Springtime itch
I feel the rumbling itch to erupt growling underneath my skin. Spring brings this out in me. It starts slow: a warmth, a steady rush that permeates my skin on that first warm day, and I feel like I am in deep thaw, waking from a hibernation of which I was oblivious until it was… Continue reading Springtime itch
From “Partitions”
This is from a much longer piece that I was working on (and never finished), but the introduction holds a certain stylistic grace that I am proud of, so I thought I would put it up- and perhaps, inspire myself to finally finish the longer piece, perhaps. Partitions of Self Introduction In the beginning, it… Continue reading From “Partitions”
Thunder and Yearning: Thoughts on the passing of Leslie Feinberg
I remember the first time I ever read Stone Butch Blues. I was nine years old, full of awkward self-consciousness, and preferred the company of books to the company of other children. I was reading far beyond my reading level and liked to swipe my parents’ books from the bookshelf because the books aimed at… Continue reading Thunder and Yearning: Thoughts on the passing of Leslie Feinberg
Singularities of Self
Opening my eyes to New Orleans, I gorge my senses on the grit of this pulsing, unapologetic city, immersed in an explosion of oft-neglected colors. Fuchsia, cerulean, crimson, plum, and jacinthe coat the crumbling buildings lining the sidewalks of the French Quarter. Amaranthine banana blooms hang suspended from branches, furled like massive cocoons just beyond… Continue reading Singularities of Self
Yearn
We have passed down the bloody inheritance of a nation buried stifled gagging on hope without action, watching with apathy for the apotheosis of man, drawing nonexistent lines between darkness and light for the ones who conquer to create the world in their image and live, domesticated, docile for children defiant ignorant soporific, protesters who… Continue reading Yearn
Veritas
Our entire lives are built on the muddy quicksand of illustrious assumptions that bind us together in this invisible asylum. Veritas, we have written in the wrought-iron gates of our fantasy illusions, christening our lies as the absolute truth that fits like a ball gag, pressing back against our clenched teeth and muffling our unwitting… Continue reading Veritas
When We Were Stardust
We decided it had been a month of physical time spent together over the course of eleven years. I don’t know when we learned to reach into the guts of one another, forge our way through slimy intestines and caustic stomachs trying to deconstruct the nature of ourselves, leaving tendrils of skin cells like breadcrumbs… Continue reading When We Were Stardust
Mirrors
The wind blows differently in autumn. It carries a sense of anticipation as the world changes, infuses the air with palpable desire as the leaves dance mischievously from the branches. There is a tension inherent in the changing of seasons, but fall is the final burst of glory before the winter chill takes hold, the… Continue reading Mirrors
Letters to the Dead
“If you ask a dead man what he’s learned from dying, he’d say give and give and give---that’s how to live.” -Lovers, “Cedar Falls” His name was Neal. In the photographs, his hair tumbles to his shoulders, a flowing mane of midnight silk framing a weathered, beautiful face: guarded eyes, nearly black, and a… Continue reading Letters to the Dead
Monomaniacism 