“The depressed person is a radical, sullen atheist.” COURTNEY
"I like to behave in an extremely normal, wholesome manner for the most part in my daily life. Even if mentally I’m consumed with sick visions of violence, terror, sex and death." COURTNEY
“Naming suffering, exalting it, dissecting it into its smallest components – that is doubtless a way to curb mourning.” COURTNEY
"It’s a lot of God and a lot of sex. Some rebirth, stagnation and death and some hope." COURTNEY
“When the starry sky, a vista of open seas, or a stained-glass window shedding purple beams fascinate me, there is a cluster of meaning, of colors, of words, of caresses, there are light touches, scents, sighs, cadences that arise, shroud me, carry me away, and sweep me beyond the things I see, hear, or think, The ‘sublime’ object dissolves in the raptures of a bottomless memory. It is such a memory, which, from stopping point to stopping point, remembrance to remembrance, love to love, transfers that object to the refulgent point of the dazzlement in which I stray in order to be.” COURTNEY
"And the sky was made of amethyst." COURTNEY
“I stressed the love situation and I still think I was right. Because its very disturbing to speak about love. People think that either you are a little bit ethereal or that you are not aware that there are struggles and hate and violence in the world and so on. Or that you are a little bit religious or something like that. Love has become the modern obscenity, it’s more obscene than sex, you can talk about sex and violence and that’s OK; everybody knows that exists, but love is too strange.” COURTNEY
"Don’t call your band Nine Inch Nails, when you have a three inch one." CIXOUS
“Revolt, she said.” COURTNEY
"I’m not a woman, I’m a force of nature." COURTNEY
“I live a living death, my flesh is wounded, bleeding, cadaverized, my rhythm slowed down or interrupted, time has been erased of bloated, absorbed into sorrow.” COURTNEY
"These questions are boring. I’m far too intelligent for this. Ask me about Freud, ask me about Marx." COURTNEY
"I would hang myself from Yggdrasil." COURTNEY
“To worry or to smile, such is the choice when we are assailed by the strange; our decision depends on how familiar we are with our ghosts.” COURTNEY
"I cannot exist as a solo artist." COURTNEY
"You’ve got to be prepared for the names they are going to call you compared to your male peers… You will be a floozy and a slattern. He will be virile and a ladies’ man. You will be a freakshow, a retching wretch, a sloppy drunk. He will be charismatic, vainglorious, a ferocious drunk and Dionysian. You will be indiscriminate and desperate. He will be generous, tortured and driven." COURTNEY
it’s fucked up and hard to be a caretaker at my core sometimes. it may be a quality that makes me lovable, empathic and useful but it also makes me vulnerable, under appreciated and consistently not held by those i hold. remember that many caretakers are born out of necessity and abuse, think about how you move in your relationships with them. i’m lucky for those who see me
“One of his stories was about a woman with impossible red, gold, and pink hair who controlled people with her venomous mind, living her life forever alone because her power was so hateful. Bitterblue knew this could only be the woman in the hanging in the library, the woman in white. But that woman had no venom in her eyes; that woman wasn’t hateful. It calmed Bitterblue to stand before the hanging and gaze at her. Either Leck had described her wrong to the artist or the artist had changed her on purpose.”—
Bitterblue, Kristin Cashore, screw kindle and its no page numbers
I think I might not have been paying very close attention last time I read Bitterblue. I mean, clearly not, ‘cause I forgot I’d even read it, but it’s all familiar. Mannn, this book and its crazy and its sexism and its misogyny and its growing up and its abuse and just whoa.
i was riding the train back to beacon hill today and was sitting in the row reserved for the elderly and disabled folks and a few minutes later a man of color (who told me specifically he is mixed black, mexican and white) asked if it was cool for him to join me. i say no prob because it’s not a crowded train and whatevs, like it’s nice he asked.
so he sits down then he starts making conversation with a white woman sitting across from him whose on her way to airport and has this really big pink suitcase. he compliments her on her suitcase and she becomes really blatantly annoyed with him and ignores him completely. it’s understandable; women don’t catch a break from men on the transit, on the streets, in public, ever. it’s understandable but it’s also a case of men of color being profiled by white women as predators and violent, etc.
so a few minutes later he turns to me and compliments me on my glasses. we talk and he’s telling me about the headache he is getting when he puts on his glasses now so he switched to contact lenses. then i tell him about where i got my glasses and he should check it out so he doesn’t pay $300 for some glasses again. then he talks to me about going to seattle university and this tattoo of a rosary he got.
it’s my stop coming up and he says to me “stay sharp! god bless you! have a good day” and i return that warmth to him.
like sometimes people on public transit just need someone to talk to. and if it’s not hurting me to have a conversation with someone i’ll do it. i’m annoyed with men on public transit pretty often, for how much space they take up and how much of other people’s time they feel entitled to but in between a lot of that shit is just people who need someone to talk to.
i’m saying this as a masculine presenting light skinned person of color. and i’m saying this is someone who is often read as lesbian and non-threatening because of a visible disability. public spaces are difficult and i am definitely forever suspicious of white women who contribute to the stigmatization and assumed violence of men of color.
Rise Africa: It’s taken some time for a lot of white critics to understand black writing. A lot of poets like Maya Angelou, Nikki Giovanni and even Sonia Sanchez were often critiqued negatively because their work was nothing like Shakespeare or Robert Frost. What do you think of this?
Nayyirah Waheed: Their opinion means nothing to me. Who are they to me? What is their sound… their mouths to our words, our emotions, expressions, or experiences? We don’t need validation. I actually want their hands off our work. Our work is a different universe, a requiring of a different set of senses. That which they do not fully understand, is meant for them not to understand, as it is not theirs.
Rise Africa: What do you think of writers like Maya Angelou who constantly have “black” attached to them. Instead of just referring to them as a poet or writer, they’re called “black writer” or “black poet”
Nayyirah Waheed: For me, I think that’s a beautiful thing. It may not be why people say it, but it’s beautiful to me. I want black to be attached to me in everything I do. It may be being used as a weapon, an insult, a stabbing divisive instrument, but I receive it in a way that strengthens, affirms, and nurtures me… that feeds me.
Rise Africa: What do you want people to get out of your work?
Nayyirah Waheed: Whatever they need. It is their relationship with the poem, with the work, that is most important.
This campaign is to raise funds for necessary materials for a Cree language classroom in Montreal such as an interactive whiteboard, a printer and tables.
Wow! Not even a full two days into the #CreeClassroom campaign and we’ve almost got $2000! We’re trying to get some decent quality resources for our classroom, and it looks like it might actually happen. It’s a sad truth that you can learn almost any language in the world but an Indigenous one, and no one is making space for language learning but us. So forget waiting for the Canadian government to value our languages, we need to get together and make it work! With a little generosity we’ll have a classroom that will allow us to access, create AND share Cree language learning resources. The tech is not all we need… above all we need dedication, and we need to prioritise language learning, the rest is details. Useful details though!
If you don’t know yet, a contribution of just $5 enters you into a draw to win some beautiful rabbit-fur mukluks, or a pair of rabbit-fur trimmed moccasins from Manitobah Mukluks. Their vibram sole is durable and good in even cold Prairie winters! So please spread the word, for the price of a double double and a doughnut you could win a big hug for your feet!
Full disclosure, I’m gonna be taking this class, and for real every little bit is gonna help a ton and this is a really amazing opportunity and great project and also those mocs & mukluks are awwwesome you know you want them.
Amazing. I hope this happens. I’ve found some ok online tools for learning indigenous languages, but nothing beats a classroom.
“Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela was not your human rights professor. he was not your mentor. what does it say about you that you feel you need to be taught how to honor and respect another human being BECAUSE of the color of their skin. what does it say that you feel you ‘need’ a mentor to show you how to be an actual human being. you are so busy trying to beat us to the finish to lionize him as your champion, claim/take/steal him as yours, that you do not see, in this you reveal your true starvation, your extreme difficulty in comprehending how to be compassionate to poc. who needs to be taught that it is wrong to be brutal and sadistic to another human being, BECAUSE of the color of their skin. apparently, by your own admission, you do. we see you. clearly.”—to every single white person on this earth seeking to claim our elder as theirs, nayyirah waheed (via nayyirahwaheed)
My little girl is 2 months today & her name is Nyawira (hard/ love working). Since the day I realized she could hear, I decided to read poems when she cries. She responds very well to Marcus Garvey, Maya Angelou, Nikki Giovanni, Aime Cesaire (in French) & Nayyira Waheed, when I read she stops crying & just stare at me. I tried Victor Hugo but she cried, I have witness. All that to say my daughter & I appreciate your work. May the ancestors bless you.
ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, tears are coming to my eyes, love :))) you can not know how much of a blessing to my life it is that you share this with me, that you hold me in the space of these beings and sacred enough to share with your precious baby girl. i am beyond honored, truly, beyond, beyond. i am sending you and nyawira oceans of love and honey :))) oh, she knows us, how incredibly beautiful that she knows our voices at two months, and you are committed to making sure she does not forget, you are wonderful !!!
jeez i would love to order that thing online, but i don’t know what size to order it in because women’s clothing sizes are determined by the alignments of the planets in relation to the fuck you galaxy
im just gonna keep reblogging this because EVERYONE NEEDS TO READ AND REBLOG (NOT JUST LIKE) THIS RITE NOW. i havent read a post on tumblr that covered so many important points on transmisogyny in queer spaces so well in a long time. and seeing as how no one ever seems to really have these conversations, it makes it all the more important. SO READ AND REBLOG IT DAMMIT.
My doctor, who is a trans woman, and I had a conversation today about the guy who raped me earlier this year. At first she was like “did you charge him?” When I explained that he’s a trans man of colour, she immediately got why I hadn’t. Not because I couldn’t bare to put a trans person, especially a trans person of colour, in jail (which I can’t), but also because it would cause me to be completely ostracized by the queer/trans community in Toronto. I’d be “just another crazy trans woman.” It was an uncomfortable realization for both of us to sit there, as trans women, knowing that we have literally no recourse when violence is enacted on us within the community (though if the same violence conveniently came from a white cis straight man, we would be celebrated as heroes for standing up to such an easy target, at least within the queer/trans community).
She and I both, as professionals in the community, are well aware of the fine line we have to walk in order to be taken seriously in the queer/trans community. We not only have to look a certain way (both in terms of passing and in terms of conforming to queer normative acceptable standards of appearance), we also have to make sure not to rock the boat too much. We have to appear as sane and calm as possible, no matter the circumstances. If we show too much emotion at any time (read: any inconvenient emotion), we get hit with a double-whammy of misogyny and transphobia, quickly written off as hysterical “crazy trans women.” Accuse the wrong person of something, anyone too close to queer-home, and that’s the end of our credibility and the revoking of our entrance passes to Queerlandia.
It’s exhausting having to walk such a fine line. I’ve found that there are so many “danger zones” to watch out for. Trans women have to not only be queer-literate (knowing queer social justice language), we have to be exceptionally good at using it. Any minor slip of language or politics and we’re labeled “crazy trans women” by cis people while trans men nod knowingly in agreement — rarely standing up for us, and just as often perpetuating the ‘crazy trans woman’ stereotype themselves.
I became aware of this initially through cryptic warnings from an older queer trans woman friend of mine, years before I became involved in the queer community, but I didn’t realize the extent of it at first. That is, until I was invited to participate in it. When I first became involved heavily, I befriended two trans men whom I looked up to a great deal, and one of the first conversations we had in private was a gossip session in which they “warned” me about various trans women and got me to agree that they were “crazy.” I’ve found similar conversations throughout the community, often used in a way that it makes me wonder if what’s really happening is that they’re subconsciously testing my loyalty to the queer zeitgeist. Am I good tranny or a bad tranny? Am I willing to be part of their clique, giving them the ability to deflect any and all criticism of transmisogyny, or am I a “problem?”
Before I realized that this was a system, that trans women were being systematically tested and written off, I engaged in it myself. You get a self-esteem boost, knowing that the cool kids don’t count you among those trans women. Those trans women who stepped on the wrong toes, who take up “too much space,” who don’t have the right guilt-producing identity complex to be worthy of space (disabled young trans sex workers of colour who vogue are considered highly prized friend-accessories, to be seen but not really heard beyond the occasional “gurl” for comedic effect, but only if they have the right haircut and the right clothes and are working towards a bachelors of gender studies or similarly useless degree).
Who are these “crazy trans women?” Often they are incredibly sincere activists who haven’t had the privilege of being taught all of the ins and outs of anti-oppression social justice practice that is a prerequisite to membership in this queer community. Often they are labeled “too emotional” and “too angry,” “loose cannons” who are out of control when speaking about our experiences of sex work that don’t fit into the easily digestible “I do queer feminist porn on weekends to pay for my fluevogs while I’m in grad school” vision of sex work that the queer community has deemed acceptable. Often they are trans women who are said to take up “too much space,” while everyone whispers about how “you know, I know it’s wrong to say, but she just seems like she has male privilege, you know? Like you can just feel it. Not that I’m saying she’s a man, but, you know, you never know.”
At the end of the day, this whole complex of issues is simply misogyny, ableism, and transphobia dressed up as “community accountability.” It holds trans women to impossible standards, opening us up to vulnerability to all forms of in-community violence (physical, sexual, social), and creating a fear within the minds of so many queer trans women that our second-class position within the queer community could be ripped from our hands at any time for any minor infraction.
I’m tired of trying not to be a crazy trans woman in the voyeuristic eyes of queer community.
this has been a perfect weekend. boy has been such a good boy and we had some ridic hot sex thanks to karl’s contribution of their bed and now karl and i are watching robin hood. i had such a huge crush on fox robin hood as a child.
"cactus tree" by joni mitchell, founding song of my "songs that made me poly" playlist
There’s a man who’s been out sailing In a decade full of dreams And he takes her to a schooner And he treats her like a queen Bearing beads from California With their amber stones and green He has called her from the harbor He has kissed her with his freedom He has heard her off to starboard In the breaking and the breathing Of the water weeds While she was busy being free
There’s a man who’s climbed a mountain And he’s calling out her name And he hopes her heart can hear Three thousand miles he calls again He can think her there beside him He can miss her just the same He has missed her in the forest While he showed her all the flowers And the branches sang the chorus As he climbed the scaley towers Of a forest tree While she was somewhere being free
There’s a man who’s sent a letter And he’s waiting for reply He has asked her of her travels Since the day they said goodbye He writes “Wish you were beside me We can make it if we try” He has seen her at the office With her name on all his papers Thru the sharing of the profits He will find it hard to shake her From his memory And she’s so busy being free
There’s a lady in the city And she thinks she loves them all There’s the one who’s thinking of her There’s the one who sometimes calls There’s the one who writes her letters With his facts and figures scrawl She has brought them to her senses They have laughed inside her laughter Now she rallies her defenses For she fears that one will ask her For eternity And she’s so busy being free
There’s a man who sends her medals He is bleeding from the war There’s a jouster and a jester And a man who owns a store There’s a drummer and a dreamer And you know there may be more She will love them when she sees them They will lose her if they follow And she only means to please them And her heart is full and hollow Like a cactus tree While she’s so busy being free
“My mistrust [of men] is not, as one might expect, primarily a result of the violent acts done on my body, nor the vicious humiliations done to my dignity. It is, instead, born of the multitude of mundane betrayals that mark my every relationship with a man—the casual rape joke, the use of a female slur, the careless demonization of the feminine in everyday conversation, the accusations of overreaction, the eye rolling and exasperated sighs in response to polite requests to please not use misogynist epithets in my presence.”—(via cunicular)
i know i’m a late bloomer on this realization, but man, fucking someone who doesn’t appreciate or respect you really does a number on your ability to let go and fuck like a champion the next time a new person rolls around. this weekend’s date was like the hardest time i’ve ever had hooking up with someone i thought was super hot.
“ovoid is the chicest and best! that model is wearing it exactly how i would wear it also - updo (is that a sock bun) to show off collar and black leather (pants? boots?)
sage green is the second-best, the collar shape and button placement and length are all well-proportioned and it will go with all of your fucking weird-shaped white lady shoes”—coat advice from sub-rosa / ladybrodown fashion advice
Houston Police have refused to explain why they took a 13-year-old white girl from her two black guardians over the weekend and placed her in the custody of Child Protective Services.
Landry Thompson’s mother had signed notarized papers giving dance instructor Emmanuel Hurd full guardianship over her during a trip from Oklahoma to Houston for training,according to KHOU.
Thompson, Hurd and another dance instructor had stopped at a gas station in Houston on Saturday night when they were surrounded by police cars.
Thompson is a 13-year-old blonde white girl and both dance instructors are young African-American men.
“We were on the GPS trying to figure out where the hotel was,” Hurd recalled. “They just pulled us out of the car and put our hands behind our backs like we were criminals.”
“The officer asked me ‘who’s the girl?’ and I said ‘she’s my student,’” Hurd continued. “I told him I had a notarized letter from her parents stating that we have full guardianship over her while we’re here.”
All three told the police the same story, but the officers apparently weren’t buying it.
“They still put handcuffs on me and it really scared me,” the 13-year-old said. “And they put me in the back of a cop car and I was terrified.”
Thompson’s mother, Destiny, was shocked when she found out that her daughter had been placed in the care of Child Protective Services.
“She was with the people I wanted her to be with,” the mother remarked. “She was with people I trusted. And now she was taken away from those people and in a shelter with people I didn’t know.”
At first officials reportedly demanded that the mother fly to Houston to get her daughter, but 11 hours later, the girl was released back into the custody of Hurd.
Destiny Thompson insisted that the police owed her and her daughter an apology. However, the department refused to comment for KHOU’s report.
Someone should probably tell them Rosa Parks ended racism.
I was planning on rebloggng this anyway but then I got to the end and
Someone should probably tell them Rosa Parks ended racism.