The Hotness of Your Mouthguard, or, The Foreplay of ASMR

It is the final pile of hours for 2018.

I don't have much to say in the form of a closing or a beginning- only that I raise my glass to my efficient hoes tonight and to anyone, ever, who knows how to take the most plunging of risks.

May you all find your exact and pleasurable descent.

be well; be loved,

k.
(image: shoe & bikini  photographed by David Bailey c. 1973 via sendommager tumblr)

Shipyards and the Beat of the Rain

I.

Sitting here, at 12:22am waiting for the ferry back home makes me think of you.  I don't use the ferries as much as you do, so being here at night makes me think of sitting and waiting for a ferry with you in your car almost a year ago exactly- my legs stretched out across your lap.

The wind is making my car rock. It's so dark out here, and I am the only car waiting. The drive to the terminal made my eyes grow wide wondering how people see the roads out here at night. Maybe their eyes adjust like some weird animal.  It was incredible, though. Seeing the top of the road so high above me, flanked with the dark silhouettes of majestic pines and being able to see the headlights of a car on the other side of the hill slowly illuminate the peak of the road.

It's magic out here.  You were right about that.


II.

Today was spent in the company of a person I admire that I've known for over a decade. We hung out and talked and ate and walked for eleven hours straight. He showed me his world; his town.  We talked racial justice, gender, family, white supremacy, tactics, disability justice, community, kink, desire, experience and femme.

In the past week, people have been commenting on how I am glowing.  Not just people I know, but strangers. It feels good to be feeding myself such good, good things. People, minds, ideas, art. It radiates, evidently, in literal ways.

I've been reading a lot about neuroscience and meditation and brain states and all the quantum physics/unified field shit that the true science ballers all believed in (what up Tesla; Edison)  and that I've believed in for a long ass time. It's day 215 of meditation. It's all connected and it's some truly sci-fi shit at root. Our minds - unhigh and undrunk while simultaneously tapped into- are f-ing amazing in the level of bad ass and witchy shit that they can do.

It feels good to feel my life shifting in ways that I value and aspire to. 2018, strictly on an individual level, was a really good year. It taught me a lot about the value and experience of love that lifts you up, teaches you, encourages you and holds you with trust.

To come full circle and quote A (the person I was hanging out with today) from something he wrote in a card he sent to me much earlier this year:

 It's next level toughness to not always go it alone.



Here's to the loves and the light that shine brighter than our fears and solo-rolls.  There are plenty of people who feel like monsters. There are plenty of people who march around with armored hearts. Shed the weight of this shame and of this self-reliance.

Collectivism, friendship, trust and struggle is where it's at.


be well; be loved,

k.

P.S.  If you get the chance, pick up a copy of Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarainha's book Care Work: Dreaming Disability Justice.  There is a piece in it entitled Two or Three Things I Know for Sure about Femmes and Suicide: A Love Letter that has both gutted me and set me free. Sometimes there are weights upon your body you don't even recognize are there until someone traces them with their words. Holy fuck, Leah.  Reason #56239 that I feel grateful to even indirectly be in community with you.

 (image: Thomas Albdorf)

Technology in Boating

It may be silly, but it is absolutely incredible to be on a ferry typing this as I watch the water and land go by. It fills my stomach with excitement- not just of destination, but of the journey.

Here is to enjoying and learning from the loves in your life, and the gorgeousness of the mist surrounding me this still-feeling-early morning.

be well; be loved

sailor style,

k.

The Beauty of Being Welcome: Ode to the Riff Raff

Tonight I feel humbled and appreciative.

I want to walk outside and just scream I'M SO FUCKING GRATEFUL out into the night sky.

It is incredible what can happen when you love the shit out of yourself and the people in (and out) of your life.

First, a nerdy aside:  I got 100% on my second final. I'm pretty proud of the fact that, in both classes, I got a 99.5% out of 100. (Oh, don't front. You know how these profs are. Giving out 100s as final grades for the class makes them look bad hahaha - I am currently showing all of my teeth in the widest smile I have. Which, admittedly, is pretty damn wide).

The holiday went beautifully. Leave it to loved ones who have either gotten kicked out of their families, are immigrants whose families are in other parts of the world, or who are both to be who I celebrate love with most years. I wouldn't have it any other way. I love the way the people in my life love me and love each other. I particularly love it when friends of mine who haven't met before, meet. It is simply the best. New and old, familiar and just wonderfully getting-closer-to.

It's been pretty magical to have family of origin sprinkled into the mix this year- somehow, they fit in the above categories as well. Healing can come in the most unfathomable forms, folks.  And one of them is me and my brother laughing and encouraging the fuck out of my nephew's beautiful antics and hilarity in exploring the world of his relatively new life.

Of a particular shout out is hanging out with Xavi one on one for a million hours. The amount of love I have for him is pretty ridiculous. We have had so many chapters and so many different kinds of adventures within them. On the top of my mind in this moment is his testimony that I'll never forget: Him sitting on the stand in his navy uniform and telling the truth about what happened that night. But, specifically, I will never forget his total badass-ness in taking down the lawyer that tried to fuck with him around his English while he was on the stand. The second that pants-suited dick said something and I saw Xavi lean forward on the stand, I knew it was over. FUCK YESSSSS.  I am still cheering that shit on.

In any case.

Really good things are culminating. I'm grateful for every single person in the mix that chooses to connect to something larger than fear. On all fronts and with hearts fully open and ready. What comes out of it is worth every single moment of courage-mixed-with-fear in order to create something different. In order to create something that matters.

I love you.

Let's do this.

This song, always and over and over again. 


K.

(image: Apollo 8 Coming Home, 1969, Robert McCall)

The Glow of Tree Lights and the Prick of the Needles

"If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash"

Earlier tonight, we went last minute holiday shopping. It's such a weird feeling. Families and couples are out and about getting wrapping paper and stocking stuffers. We were running around getting Legos for a 3 year old and some house warming stuff for the 3 year old's adults.

But, deliciously, now:

It's late, but not too late.
I'm excited.
My home is warm, my guests are gone, the living room smells like fir and eucalyptus and there is a fire going next to me.
The presents are wrapped.
The house is silent.
I'm content and cozy and grateful.

The blend of holiday and bliss, reading and warmth, the annual meet ups of the family-less faggots in the gay bars and actually-open donut shops is what I look forward to most. Family, family, family jewels. There is a warmth in the connection of what we have seen growing up and in what we have seen in the world as it has changed back and forth. Every year on these nights the taunt and playful chant is the same for a thousand different reasons of both dark and light:

Boot the grime of this world in the crotch, dear
And don't go home tonight
Come out and find the one that you love and who loves you
The one that you love and who loves you


See you over the next two days and nights and we will show the world why Christmas is always better with warmth of heart and a Santa in assless chaps,

be well; be loved

k.
(bolded words: Lyrics from Shelia Take a Bow by The Smiths)
(image: Leonard Cohen quote)

Dawn of a New Day After the Full Moon, or, From the Desk of the Nerd

There's this final paper I turned in that was one of two. I worked so hard on it, and truly did the best job I could. It was about things in this world that matter to me so fucking much.

I received word today from the professor on my grade. I got a fucking perfect score. The highest grade one could get, and a personal note from the professor saying that it was excellent, and why.

I don't think I've ever gotten a perfect score on a paper in years. (Okay, sure, because the essays I wrote for the last five years have been in Spanish and #grammarandspelling, but STILL.)

I'm proud not for the score (although that is a really nice feeling), but for the work, the research and the words from the prof. I truly enjoyed writing it, and became one obsessed motherfucker for about three weeks.


Love and learning,

k.

(image:  The man who will always win best hair of a philosopher from me. YOU may not be talking about making a porn about those two, Derrida, but *I* am.  From pleto tumblr.)

On Love

I'm really grateful for tonight. We had really good conversations about love. What it means and what it feels like when someone loves you as an entire person - with hopes, dreams, goals, needs, wants, intelligence(s), hilarity, habits, feelings, joys, pains, great dance moves and everything in between.

It's been good to be around Scoob again.

When I think of how we came to be in each other's lives all those years ago, and how fucking random and happenstance it all was, it blows my mind.  When I juxtapose that beginning with how much we have come to impact each other's lives between then and now, it feels so profoundly janky-angel sublimely celestial: A crass and divine intervention for us both when we arguably needed it most.

It reaffirms for me that love in friendships and in dating cares so much about each other's feelings. No shame, no shade; just total Tenderoni shit. No apologies for any feeling that may come up because we are here for it.  Always, always, always.

I'm proud of us all. There is something to be said about surrounding oneself with bad ass bitches who will stand up to a bullying bitch as easily as they will have the widest patience and love with a person who is really struggling.


It goes to show me, yet again, that

the best love is transformative

and will shift things in and about you in ways
you could have never
possibly

imagined.



"Motherfuckers quick to kiss:  Talk your shit but don't fuck with this."

Have a great and slow night/day out there:

Detroit Girl




be well; be loved,

k.


(quoted words:  Minor Threat)

The Movement of Motion; The Perpetuation of Joy

So close to reach but so hard to hold
the only chance you get is past your control

                                      --Rites of Spring (Drink Deep)

I.

What I love about T is that, no matter why or what art performance she contacts me about last minute having snagged two free tickets for us, I always know it's going to be good. She's just that good when it comes to art and theater. I'm endlessly glad that she approached me slightly tipsy at H's bar years ago to ask me what I was reading and then ended up running home to get me a copy of the play she had just finished reading. Kindred spirits like a motherfucker as it relates to art and the necessity for grime, limit-pushing and crass realism within performance. Tonight was no exception. I absolutely loved slipping out of City Hall to go see this thing with her. I felt like some kind of art fag batman of sorts. (Although, what else is new?)

There is nothing more beautiful than seeing a person tell their story in the pure love and light of who they are. The artist, tonight, radiated this. I learned a lot from it. There has been such a strong theme of people, unashamed, telling the truth and complexity of their lives. It palpably changes things.

The past two weeks has brought reminders of the impact a single person's actions and/or art can have in such beautiful and profound ways. It actually changes people's lives.

II.

Back at the very end of May I started meditating everyday. It's 206 days later. I know I've said this a thousand times over, but, it really does change you.

III.

I had a dream about you last night. It was only about a minute long, but it was so vivid.

It was nighttime.  I was closing the passenger side door of a black car for someone, the way a gentleman does. As the door shut, an orange-brown leaf circled in the wind and tried to slip into the car. The door shut on it, and half the leaf was sticking out of the bottom of the car door.

Somehow, I knew that the leaf was you.

I knelt down and said warmly to you, "Don't hurt yourself. I wish we would have had more time."



be well; be loved,

k.
(image: Wind Sculpture by Daniel Graffin)

Respect Ya Hustle...Baby, Win With Us

I. Reflection


As of 3 minutes ago I have, officially, finished this semester of grad school.


(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)



I am glowing. I am proud. I am grateful. I am grateful for having what I've needed in order to be able to do it. For the support that I have received. For every part, person and privilege that has gotten me here.  I don't take it lightly that I am here.

I don't fuck around.

This has been fifteen weeks of discipline and stretching; of learning and collaboration (in school and, in many ways more importantly, outside of it).

You have been a part of this.

Thank you for that.

From the very bottom of my heart and from my spine now crooked from giving up on positions to lay in while reading.

I love you.



k.


P.S ! !  I look forward to seeing all of you this Friday night to celebrate, and to celebrate the beautiful and tattooed hands of my queer fam's wins.


(Title: Yo Gotti lyric from Rake It Up. Full lyric = "Respect ya hustle, get ya money, baby win with us")
(Image: You know who it is. The one and only. It is also a perfect depiction of my mood right now.)

One Hand

With one hand you calm me, she said.

It has been too long for you to remember, I replied.

But I knew.
**
Currently reading about how subjective states are signified by the soundtrack of dream sequences in narrative fiction cinema.

That theremin. I'm telling you.
Not only is its sound other-worldly, so many of the people who are drawn to it are as well.


Perpetual Mood


be loved; be well,

k.

(image: Astronomia, 1478, Christianus Prolianus. A solar system with Earth at the center.)

I Guess I Can't Hit it Now, Huh?, or, Love Like a Blood Pact

Dressed in business attire, yet wrapped in a blanket in a warm and windowless room. I am being fed miniature mint chocolate chip ice cream sandwiches, and handed cold brew with a splash of soy creamer to wash them down. I feel very supported in my endeavor which, today, is diving into this final final paper.

I am absolutely thrilled to be Christmas shopping for my little nephew this year. It is such a different feeling when we all live in the same town. It feels so good, and warm and growing. I love the little art projects that he makes me, and I am so happy that he loves the stuffed little hot dog dog that I had gotten him as an arrival present. I know everyone says that their family members are the most adorable, but come on guys.  He really is.

In other news, last Thursday - as if to validate again my decision to not interact with anything important that day - the building I am usually in received multiple emailed bomb threats and the entire building was evacuated. It was the same day that fist fights broke out.

But it was also the same day that followed me having done something brave in relation to the sexual assault I experienced eight years ago. It was also the day that a person who matters to me that I've known for years but haven't been in touch with reached out to me and said some things that were so exact and needed related to the assault. (She knew the person. They are not friends anymore.)

It's incredible what can happen when you choose to go deep.

(pause)

That's what I've got for today.

I'm super excited about this book that just arrived through interlibrary loan called Adventures in Shondaland: Identity Politics and the Power of Representation. It's a bunch of essays on various themes of all of Shonda Rhimes' shows and I am like a pig in mud. Especially because there is one essay on live tweeting and How to Get Away With Murder. I swear to God I would fucking die laughing with the commentary that would go on - especially from Feminista Jones and other people who are a part of Black Twitter - in particular when Nate-as-side-piece would be discussed lol. It would fucking kill me. It's so cool to see the hilarity of it in such a specific and academic book.

Okay, now I'm just stalling.  Back to work.  I'll leave you with this quote I saw recently that Niecy Nash had shared (although I'm not sure where it is originally from):

Accountability feels like an attack when you're not ready to acknowledge how your behavior harms others.


Fuck yes.

Come on in.

Let's do this.


be well, be loved,

k.

(title: first part is a line from PettyWap by Young M.A., second part by me)
(image: From season 2; episode 4 of Twin Peaks. Portrayal of the forced blood pact.)

On Doing What is Right and Not What is Easy

I.

On Wednesday, now that one class is officially over, the professor emailed me and told me that he appreciated and learned a lot from my work this semester that had a social justice focus, and asked if I had recommendations for his future classes as it relates to the intersection of race and disability.  To say that I was humbled and honored is a profound understatement. In high school I was told I wouldn't be able to get into college (#feralkids). Receiving an email from a professor of a grad level program asking for my text recommendations for his future classes filled me with a deep honor. It was a very humbling moment. I'll be asking people who know more than me on this one. Let's be real, here: It was a true compliment, but I know enough to know that there are people in my life who know a lot more about this that I can glean from.

II.

I've been thinking a lot about doing what is right as opposed to easy or fast. It's a topic that applies to a lot of this week.

Here is what is true:

Be compassionate with yourself; be compassionate with other people.  Be very tender with yourself; be very tender with other people.  It is not always the fastest or easiest thing. But it will always be what fills your life with the love and light and comfort and care that you deserve. Have difficult conversations with the people you love in the time they need to take. Take the pressure off of yourself to be in a space that you aren't so that you can show up being your best self. People who care about you will want that for you. They'll know it's what is best for you both.


III.

I'm looking forward to my trip later this month with A. I set it up to talk with him about organizing matters. He's someone I respect a lot personally, politically, and heart-wise and I don't know why it's never occurred to me to just interview him about the blind spots I have in certain aspects of organizing.  I know he will have things to say I can learn from.  He is like a Panopticon as it relates to views of current organizing, a reference he would hate for the prison implication, but love for the kink factor.

IV.

There continues to be deep shifts happening around the bully/liar duo I dealt with almost two years ago now. The fact that people are addressing them on individual and community levels leaves me completely without words. One of the more important pieces that happened today was a person I like and admire who was in community with me eight years ago when things happened contact me and tell me things that it was so goddamn healing to hear.

I feel endlessly grateful for the relationships I have and what we who have them have done to tend to and maintain them. It's not just that you end up having good people in your life.  You also end up having people in your life who hold your history. People who knew you when this or that impactful life event happened. People who serve as witness to your growth and your change. But more than that, and here is where I get emotional, I can say without hyperbole that some of these relationships have literally and singularly altered my experience of the unspeakable happening. I will never forget the feeling that washed over me when one of my best friends in the whole world walked into the courtroom that day having just driven through stupid traffic from her town to mine. It was an instant, entire, and visceral wave that washed over me of knowing that everything was going to be okay. Now that she was there, everything was going to be okay. I think of A showing up to basically every one of the court cases and even intervening with the opposing counsel's asshole tactics. L and X and J and J and everyone else.  And now, in this fucked up 4th 5th 6th round of bullshit, its people from long ago and it's people from 4 years ago and it's even people from just the beginning of Fall.

(pause)

I think the misconception is that you get this level of love with nothing. That you can simply coexist with someone and, magically, it is built. Co-existing or existing in proximity. Yes, people will know your history. Yes, they will witness your joys and your indescribable griefs.  That is of immeasurable value.  But love like this, love that goes deep and does courageous shit- love that never shames or belittles- love that always gives a shit about how each other are feeling - this love is worked for. This love is grown. And, in turn, it becomes one of the most glorious gifts your heart and mind and even your little toes could ever possibly imagine.

To all of the enjoyably incredibly complex people that I know and love:

I will never cut corners with you, nor wish you simple. It is by virtue of your grand complexity that a thousand angles of light are reflected within my life.

V.

Lastly:

I broke up two fistfights this week. One was infinitely scarier than the other. I know that there's that whole "don't get involved you could end up hurt" thing.

I don't have much to say about that.

There's no big moral or statement I have about why I did it and tend to do it.

I think it's just a reflex from home.




be well; be loved,

k.


P.S. The tarot card I drew earlier this week for this week was Strength. Because of course it was. The lion's ability to hold a rose between its teeth. It could rip it to shreds but, instead, chooses to hold it gently in place. Strength is the decision to deal with things gently- to have strength and power under control- because you know, in the end, love wins out. 

(image: Study of Hands c1485 Leonardo da Vinci via secretcinema 1 tumblr)

Shame Shedding and the Beauty of Strangers

A few weeks back, in October, I had written a line with two people in mind.  It read :

"With bullies and liars it's only a matter of time."

You have no idea.

Let me back up.

About two months ago, I did some really brave things having to do with a person who sexually assaulted me. I can't go into it here, but, suffice it to say that I named him as an assaulter in contexts I had to. The contexts and manner were balls out and completely unapologetic. It is his shame, not mine.  (I know I should not be ashamed. It is a struggle. It's the nature of sexual assault and living in a society that rarely believes people. Anyone who has been sexually assaulted will tell you this.  Shout out to all of my sexual partners literally any year after this assault happened. I can't tell you how much trust this strips. Every consensual touch, kiss, fuck, fist, and snuggle serves to build that trust back again.)

Thank you to all of the friends, friends of friends, and strangers that completely support people in dealing with bullies/harassers and assaulters.

What, strangely, has made it easier is that I have an email written by him that he wrote to all of his friends and some of mine stating what he had done. The email was not consensual. He did it hoping I would forgive him and we would continue to date. Because of course that's what he thought. It is the mind of a fucking rapist. The email was just another way assaulters take and push and decide and do whatever the fuck they want.

One of the contexts I addressed this shit was related to an event which, each year for many years, I would work for this one entity in the community.  Last year, he was hired there. When the entity contacted me to work the event I said thank you but no, a person you hired assaulted me. I kept it short, warm, and professional. Below my signature, I included a forwarded copy of the email he had written.

Not my shame.

Let these motherfuckers burn in their own stealing of sex.

It felt good to let his typed violation serve as testimony of his actions.

There's nothing to argue with when it is coming straight from his disgusting mouth.


[Fast forward roughly two months]

Today I found out that he has been fired from his job for a number of reasons.

A coworker of his told a good friend of a good friend of mine, K "in case they were friends". K was like "Fuck no we aren't friends. Do you want to know why?" K told her all of the reasons. My name came up at some point and the coworker said that he was fired for reasons beyond that and K was like "cool he should be fired because he sucks". The coworker at first was like "I don't know, my partner has known him for 10 years" to which K said "I've known a lot of shitty people for 10 years. I'm glad for whatever the combo of reasons you fired him and hell no we're not friends."

Fuck YES.

The most bad ass part of this story is that I've never even met K.  Not yet, anyway. What a motherfucking bad ass. THAT is the kind of support that sheds mountains of shame in one instant. I literally felt it fall. I am so grateful. For all of it.


***

Here is to supporting each other and supporting ourselves.

"With bullies and liars, it's only a matter of time."

That shit will catch up to you

and there are plenty of people who will make sure that it does.




be well; be loved,

k.

(image: Yet another of Milla)

Easy Smile: Those Diamonds That Just Are

I would like to start by thanking Gorilla Biscuits for the song Good Intentions.  (Ok, also thank you to the punk that was older than me that said, "You should listen to this.)

I'm 99% sure that song is responsible for why I don't tend to hang out with negative people.

"I'll just try my best.  You?  Nothing!"

Best lyric; best approach to life.


***

I just uploaded my fifteen page research paper I nerd-ed the fuck out on. It's a content and satisfied feeling. It was fun to do a deep dive into shit that I really care about. I have one more major thing to turn in, but that's on the 21st.  I'm  aiming to have it done on the 20th so that when T and I get together in our fabulous and weird outfits for a night on the town at last, I can be fully present:

Right on down to the chipped nail polish and leg wear I intend to be donning.

My head is in the game until then. Slow and steady may not win the race because it's an unfitting saying for academia, but it will definitely have me cross the finish line.

[Thank you, again, to the professor I want to befriend for being the kind of kind human I love.]


***

There was this tidbit of information I heard today that is both painfully and satisfyingly true:  That research shows over and over again that no type of "easy" learning sticks.

The comparison that was made had to do with sports. One person was talking about all of the tedious drills she would have to do in soccer, one had to do with playing pool, one had to do with tennis. But the end result was the forming of a synthesis between body and mind. Something between muscle memory and unconscious result/response.

I relate this, primarily, with language (both language learning and the practice of writing)- but also with thoughts and states of being. I'll write more on this at some point, but, for now, suffice it to say that there is such a profound feeling when one is propelled by the pull of openness and curiosity and is able to sustain it through practice.

It really does make everything in life so enjoyable.

***

Lastly, and somehow related to all of this, here is to that punk patch from back when that read:



SMASH FASCISM:  IN YOUR HEAD FIRST.





be well; be loved; be fucking good to yourself because it actually assists you in being better to the people around you,

k.

(image: Slick Woods)

Your Fingers Taste Like Peaches

I don't know if you watch Atlanta or not, but you should. It's pretty brilliant- especially the second season. It makes me a tiny bit irrationally "home"sick for when I used to live there. References to Little Five Points, Decatur, DeKalb County, all of it.

It reminds me of my mentor CJ (I'll never forget the rides in her red Nissan truck) and all of the things I learned from her that stick with me to this day.  It reminds me of the Freaknik pirate radio station that introduced me to a song that is burned into my brain to this day.  It reminds me of babies doing the Bankhead Bounce and it reminds me of how fucking contagious that dance was. It reminds me of the woman that used to run the domestic violence support group who had done five years for killing her husband and how much I admired how she forked out the truth. It reminds me of Rhonda and how I wonder how she's doing now after cracking me up for so long while we dated. It reminds me of the earring of two intersecting women's symbols that I found of hers in my bed. (That lesbian symbol used to haunt the fuck out of me. Tattoos, earrings...you  name it. Like some Indigo Girls Poltergeist or some shit.) It reminds me of hot boiled peanuts and the afternoons Diane and I would be out in the shed sorting clothes and laughing until we couldn't breathe.  It reminds me that, no matter what it's like now, I always thought that MARTA was a pretty solid transportation system. But that, my friends, was coming from the Detroit metro area.

Here's a simple interaction between two characters from the show that touched me:


person one (sarcastically):  I love how you send all of your important mail to my house.

person two: Yeah. That's love. I trust you.

person one: (smiles and laughs)



be well; be loved,

k.

(image: Txema Yeste via hotparade tumblr)

Bring Me My Love, But Mx. Schadenfreude I am Not.

Astrology wise: Today, for everyone/all signs, was supposed to be a day of annoyances.

The goal was to keep yourself in check enough to not go off on people or to let your mind get away from you with stories of cruel intentions.

Tell me: How did you fare today?

(pause)


My day was just as it was called for my particular sign: That I would be annoyed by quite a bit but direct all of it into getting things done.

One paper down. Just like that.

Then I came home to flowers and chocolate on my doorstep, which sounds more scandalous than it is.  It was a sweet gesture of thoughtfulness, and I physically felt my heart get warm.
 
In other news:

1) I am reading an extracurricular book at present that I am learning a lot from.  I will post about it once I'm done, although it may be a while. I'm currently using it as a reward for getting my school readings done.

2) For class I'm currently reading essays on depression in the context of disability and the "right to die".  The information is both necessary and complex. I'm thinking about the professor's choice to keep it until the last days of class.

and

3) (on a vastly different note): Three glorious and extra days for an assignment have appeared out of thin air.

Thank you, thank you and thank you to whatever weird aspect of the universe slid that one into my lip gloss tube. It is appreciated and will be enjoyed.



Be well; be loved,

k.

In the meantime:  Hot Fuck No Love (featuring Cakes da Killa)
(image: PJ Harvy Man-Size)

The Reason You Ask Me To Get a Tall Glass of Water For You in the Middle of the Night

Here's what is true:

Reading while moving helps you retain the information better. So I read while exercising.

Also true:

When I work out a lot, my sex drive goes through the fucking roof.

True as well:

I spent so many hours dancing to Young M.A's song that came out this past Friday. It is SO FUCKING GOOD.  Yeah, yeah, I know that there are some parts to it that are that whole masc presenting person potentially being ugh to femmes, but here's the deal:

I will always want to hear a song where someone that goes by 'she' is talking about pussy than anything fucking ever.   Also, the line about Plan B is fucking hilarious and amazing and true and why I am so fucking glad I am queer AF.

The video was just released today.  Watch it. Listen to it. Dance to it. It is so, so good to dance to. 



This week is going to try and drown me with everything I have to do.

But I feel like I'm winning.



Let's go.



k.
(image: Milla Jovovich via androappreciation tumblr)

Conjuring Gentlemen

Tonight was a needed night out with four gay boys and five gay bars.

I love being able to be every gritty, grimy, beautiful part of myself all at once. It is the difference between faggotry and lesbianism. There is a reason there is no Grindr for lesbians, folks. And, while you may argue essentialism and say "nuh-uh!", I will firmly continue telling you that there is a reason I hang out with gay men: Their ability to talk about attraction and fucking and function in a matter of fact (and at times hilarious) way, without someone flipping out.  It is the reason you never have, and will never, find me in a group of lesbians.

(pause)

I will admit that I loved my outfit and I will admit that I felt quite flattered when the gay boy at bar number one who I found to be the most stylish asked me where I got two different pieces of my outfit. Okay, and I will admit that it felt hilarious to be talking fetish gear from Latvia but I was also totally into it.

(pause)

Tonight, of course, was World AIDS Day. The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence were out with white prayer shawls around their shoulders and markers in their purses to give to people so that they could write the names of people they had lost to AIDS on their shawls. When the sisters approached us, D (the 55 year old daddy of our group) wrote three names and collapsed crying. The sister hugged him so tightly. Then, we all did- one by one and tightly.

I can't imagine what it would have been like growing up as a gay man in the height of AIDS.

I can't imagine what it would have been like to lose so many friends that way.

Would it be strange to say that I felt the dead among us?

I did.

They, too, were adorned in jewels and accepting the fact they are different.

(pause)

The night ended with veggie hot dogs from a stand; grilled onions and steam, and my friend and I getting caught in a sudden downpour at 1am. We ran smiling, jumping, splashing in puddles- eating our hotdogs while their buns were spattered with fat raindrops.

(pause)

It feels good to be alive.

It feels good to feel the strength of the arms of the dead.

It is the mixture of the two these days.

Holding and clasping

these hands of flesh and bone. 




be well; be loved,

k.

(Image: Daphne Guinness - L’Uomo Vogue by Francesco Carrozzini, February 2010 via gdfalksen tumblr)

The Peace We Build and the Hands it Touches

There's a person I supervise who is around eighteen or so. When she first started working under me, there were some boundary issues: I'm an obvious queer; so is she. She would wait until people weren't around and ask me questions that were in kind of a gray area of things related to queerness. One day she asked me if I thought it was wrong that she was thinking of asking a woman out who was significantly older than her.  I decided to use it as an opportunity to tighten up some boundaries.  I told her, "Well, I can't have this conversation with you because I am your supervisor and that gets into boundary stuff that I'm not comfortable with. But what I can say is that you should talk with folks you trust about it, and that you should always feel respected and safe in any relationship that you are in."

Over the next almost year, everything goes fabulously.  We are able to talk about life (including queer related things -events on campus, film, etc. etc.) and are just generally able to have a good work related relationship to each other that is hilarious and productive.

So two nights ago I go into work and we are chatting and she tells me about a youth drag show that happened in the city.  She said that each youth drag king and queen was paired with a drag mentor. "Anyway", she said, "they asked everyone in the crowd to think about a person who is a queer role model for them. Someone who is a role model in just being out and simply living their lives unapologetically. You being super out here made me feel like I could be out here, too. So I just want you to know that you are that person for me."

Of course I stifled bursting into tears and, instead, simply started to glow. I told her I appreciated that very much and that I felt like I was winning the most valuable kind of award.

I was.

I'm pretty sure I'm still glowing from that.

(pause)

The universe, through situations like this and the one with Scoob and a few others has really been letting me know that what I believe in my heart of hearts really is true: That setting boundaries with people is not pushing them away, it is what allows you to become closer.  That boundaries are one of the most necessary components to love.  I'm being reminded that it is within boundaries that we are able to be who we are, get what we need, and become close in ways that are as deeply impactful as they are lasting.


be well; be loved,


k.

(image: A young Catholic wears a gasmask during clashes with British troops after a night of teargas and street fighting, Derry, 1969, Hans-Jörg Anders via secretcinema1 tumblr)

Pussy Control, or, Things I Have Learned Twofold Since the Fall Started and Winter Approaches

Do not sneak crush me. Meaning: Do not put a little "platonic friend" costume on and then try and come up with reasons that you need to stay the night at my house and send me poetry. Be up front with what you are after. And when I say no thank you, don't start some prolonged death scene. I don't respect it and will more than likely remove you from my life as one would remove a drunk from a bar.

Meditation fucking rules. Meaning: Today is day 181 of meditation. The shit changes you. Period. I see things more clearly and do not fuck around.

Art influences art. Meaning: If you are stuck in one realm of life (writing, painting, fucking, doing homework, etc) then just switch to one of the other realms for a few enjoyable hours. It will cause the stuck piece to become unstuck.

Keep it classy. Meaning: Even if you could "win" (an argument, a moment, a competition, a court case), do not  step outside of your integrity. If you stay within it, you will end up winning in more ways than you can count and in all of the ways that matter.


That's all for now. I'm back to cuddling with my ever-sexy primary partner of grad school.



be well; be loved,

k.


(image is from Hood By Air's Spring 2015 show/ by Lea Colombo)

How Many Times Do I Have To Tell You: Even When When You're Crying You're Beautiful Too.

Today has been thick socks and leftovers.

I feel very happy and am looking forward to next week.

But, for now, I am completely content in the time capsule that is the in between.

In all realms.

Be well; be loved,

k.


(title: Lyrics to the ever emotional song by John Legend)

The Beauty of Transfusions, or, An Angel Among Us

One of my favorite things in the world is to wake up with people I love in cities other than the one I live in. Then, to drink coffee with them while still in my pajamas.  Today I have succeeded in both of these things but, in addition, there is an adorable dog sniffing at the toes of my socks and the smell of spices in the air.

I am into life as of late.

Two nights ago I went to the Dark Arts Castle. It was so great to be in A's space with her and to see that nothing has changed: We both still have the same obsessive aesthetic of filth and style and darkness. She gave me a miniature book of Beardsley's art. Between my love of his art, his nose, and of tiny things: She knows me.

In other news: I'm trying to get my 60 some year old professor to be friends with me.  I can tell he has so many viewpoints I need to learn from, and so much experiential knowledge in what has ignited me.  I don't think I'll ever be able to express how grateful I am for randomly ending up in his, exact class. It has, without question, changed my life by giving me tools and information on a topic that has been vital, vulnerable and important to me my whole life.

Glory be, as they say.

May healing and time open you to a love that is beyond anything you could have ever possibly imagined. 

A love in which your belief

undoes your disbelief.


Be well; be loved,

k.



P.S. Shout out to Zebbie who knows just when to descend upon my life with his hilarity and philosophies. I love you, weirdo.


(Image: EXSANGUE/Yannis Angel via appendixes tumblr)
(Last sentence: your belief undoes your disbelief is a line from a favorite Anne Sexton poem about love that always sticks with me.)

Domestic Partnering, or, Before Your Eyes Change Their Color for the Last and Final Time

My pants are spattered with slate grey paint.  There is some on my rings and fingernails, as well.  Tonight was apartment painting with a friend of mine. It's one of those weird things I enjoy immensely. I find it meditative, somehow. It makes my body ache in a way I love. You can also learn a lot about a person from how they paint a room with you. Tonight was no exception.

The mattress upgrade I have been experiencing as of late is basically changing my life. Who knew that such things could impact you so much? I swear to God I am sleeping so soundly. (A sweet thank you to A. who pointed me in the right direction years ago with that weird egg carton foam thing that was on my bed for years until I finally got rid of it last week.)

I feel really thankful as of late.  It has nothing to do with the season. It has to do with the people I've loved, the relationships that we have built, and what they have carried and continue to carry (each of us at different times). There are times that I feel overwhelmed at how much love there is in my life. It can be so incredible to feel the weight and expanse of it at times. It can feel completely sublime.

It's always beautiful to see the people who have been in my life for many seasons greet the people who are just being welcomed into the fold. Somehow, we/I always know who it is important to hold onto for good, no matter how far away they might be.


be well; be loved,

k.

(title: includes needed redundancy)
(image: YSL at Dior's funeral via yvonneconstance tumblr)

Love, or, Your Cat Says Stop Torturing Yourself

Tonight was such a ridiculously perfect evening. I had my favorite new sweater on and found myself high up in the balcony with my back against the wall (safety and a little box: what is not to love?!) with such a good heart sitting next to me as we watched one of my favorite authors read.  It's odd because it's not so much that I think he is an amazing writer as I think he is an amazing storyteller.  I could listen to the cadence of his voice for hours, and I have.

More importantly, he read a piece having to do with an author who made me weep with his description on numerous, numerous occasions.  "Words so beautiful that they wound", indeed.  

So, there I was, sitting up there in the dark in my favorite soft sweater tearing up listening to what was more or less a love poem that one of my favorite authors had written to one of my all time favorite writers. I was in total literary heaven. The tears that balanced on my lashes were fat and real. The words that have saved my life have saved my life on more than one occasion.

*

I have taken to pinning the tiny, aged Saint Sebastian medal to the inside of my jacket facing my chest.  A hidden story and homosexual icon that only I can see.  It conjures the smells of the church I grew up in with all of its dark wood and stained glass the color of jewels.

I talk to you even though you aren't around anymore.

Surely no one can fault me for the smile it brings to my face.


k.

(image: Salvador Dalí — The Eye of Time, 1949, platinum, rubies, and diamonds)

Con mis manos mortales

These days and nights have been strong, directed and tender all at once. Earlier this evening I was reminded of one of the more ridiculous truths of me in that, when I put on my favorite cologne, I end up turning myself on from its scent. It is an unexpected and distracting element of tonight, and one that gets odd when interacting with strangers, but it is pleasurable. It makes me think of some of the colognes you used to wear.  Something between black pepper and white linen.

I've been thinking about your hands as of late. I seem to have a thing for people with small hands and fat-stub fingers. That probably isn't surprising. It's been quite a long time since I've been with someone who has fingers and hands that match mine.

I think of you masturbating, sometimes. I'm not sure if that is weird to say, but, it's the truth.  I think of how fucking sexy you are when you do it and I start to laugh when I wonder if your cat, sometimes, gets in the way. (Not a euphemism).

In any case. I have work to do if I am going to meet up with these people, tonight. I am in an odd combination of business mode (clean lines, black and charcoal and a deep grey because, as you know, they are different) and the mode of what would make you nervous sometimes. The mode that has no shame and only wants to see you do all that you've never done. There is no blushing. Only eye contact and those thick-ass thighs of yours that I love. Thighs that quench my thirst and demand it again in one, weighted, motion.

This painting, by Ángel Zarraga, reads, very small in the bottom right hand corner:

Señor,
No sé  celebrarte
como el poeta
en versos complicados
pero acepta
Señor
esta obra áspera
y humilde
que he hecho
con mis manos mortales.


And at times, to you, I say the same.



be well; be loved,

k.

The Lamp That Your Cat Knocked Over and Other Truths That Set Us Free

I.

I am still stunned that I am now living in the same state as members of my family of origin, and it is amazing.

II.

It is the last few weeks of this semester. I am excited and have exactly zero extra time. But that is okay. I have found my new favorite place in which to stash myself so that I am never found.

III.

I've been imagining how Sarge would get involved in some of what is going on as of late. How he would use his ethical and ruled compass to shine a floodlight on some bullshit. I keep imagining how he and Scoob would interact. They are like adorable inverses but reflections of each other, somehow. Scoob preceded him by many years. They never had the chance to meet. Maybe one day.

IV.

Holy fuck and healing. I know it's completely cliche to talk about things like the 'power of love' and all of that kind of thing, but it is no joke. Things that feel like horrible mountains can disintegrate and fall with a puff into the ocean in a matter of moments, actions, words.

Family- every construction and/or birth of it- can, very literally, change your life. (Here, the words "change your life", again, falls flat. But, if you will, think about the actual words. Try and forget that it is an overly used string of words and truly try and feel the weight of the phrase).

V.

Show the world who you are.  That beautifully wired heart and mind of yours. All of the pain that may be laced within it. All of the tastes and flavors that you prefer.

If I've ever told you that I love you, you can know that I have meant it and forever will.  It's not something I say often. It's something, only, that I mean and, somehow, I've always known who to say it to.



be well; be loved,

k.

(image: Alberto Burri - Cretto, 1976. acrovinilico su polistirolo. via giampixxx tumblr)

In(n) Keeping

Returning from a weekend out of state. There's a new moon in Scorpio, and I have been easing into and taking advantage of every opportunity of healing that has offered itself. What has happened in these last few weeks has been incredible, earned, and so incredibly impactful.

I'm grateful for every person who has been a part of this.

I am grateful for the people who have not, as well.

be well; be loved,

k.

*****

I am a possessive boy/friend
I know that this is one of the things
you had secretly hoped
was true

You've never been kept before.

I can feel that in your wild responses
They are a mixture
of family and bones
grief and uncertainty
singularity and determination.

You have a familiar vernacular.
The kind of the kids I grew up with
who are quick to insult you
at any
silent pause
because
deep down
they are terrified
that you will leave.

Someone once told me
that the way you know you love someone
is if, when you see a photo of them as a child,
you want nothing other than to scoop them up
protect them
pinch them
celebrate every specific fleck of color in their eyes
every curve of their face
every angle of their toothless smile
that you know will eventually grow into

the person you know today.

I am a possessive boy/friend

and proximity and promise
have little to do with
this stillness
this calm
this keeping.

Falling Backwards into a Pool Full of Feathers

Roughly 10am. My fingers are cold. I'm sitting alone at the end of one of those long, wood, communal tables that some of the hipper cafes, bars and restaurants tend to have.

I had a dream about you two nights ago.

You were on a date in a restaurant and you looked beautiful. I walked up to the table and greeted your date, placed my hand at the top of your sternum and started to rub and pat your chest.  I looked at your date and said, "This one has one of the most beautiful and genuine hearts in the world." There was a pause. I smiled warmly at her and said "congratulations", and meant it. I took my hand off of your chest, and left without looking at you: What I wanted to remember was the feeling of your chest underneath my hand.


be well; be loved,

k.

One taught me love; One taught me patience: This song instantly stuck to my brain.

(Image: Steven F. Arnold, Sea of Transition)

Under the Christmas Tree This Year

I'm about to go to bed.

Tomorrow begins a new chapter of my life.

Sometimes the dreams that I aim for have a way of manifesting in such literal and unexpected ways.

I'll take it.

Joyously.

It serves to reinforce the the most important guideline that has proved itself every single day every single year:

Never make excuses or blame people.



Let's do this.

k.

The Art of Testing for Danger, or, Soft Paw Pressing Upon Uncertain Ice

Coffee steaming softly in a mug to my right, a nine volt battery and foil color silken tie adorned with gray roses to my left. My aim, today, is to get everything done in exactly enough time to keep my commitments to show a newer gay around town. He is the boyfriend of a dear friend, and he has a Boston accent so thick that it will be a misread Chicago and Boston duo sauntering about town, tonight.

If I really gun it, I can go to the graphic novel/comic/zine convention with a few of my friends.  I'm all about getting fed/inspired/ignited by art.

(pause)


There is a context that I have been working in as of late that involves easily 30 children.  There is one little girl who does not speak at all unless asked to.  People label her as shy. Quiet. Her ways are familiar to me.

In the past month, each time I am there, she will come at sit at my ankles. When everyone is too busy in their bustle, she will poke my ankle with the eraser end of a yellow pencil. She turns her back to the crowd, as if she doesn't want them to see her speaking, and asks me a hundred questions.

This happens often with me: Quiet kids and feral animals always know that I'm safe.  I don't ask them to do things they aren't comfortable with. I don't ask them to speak. I don't ask them to accept unwanted or unearned affection. But if they have something to say I will listen, and I will ask.  And if they force their little harried and fur-covered head under my hand, I will pat them gently.


Trust is a slow burn process.


I have all the patience in the world.




be well; be loved,
k.

(image: Tokyo, 2013, Tatsuo Suzuki, via secretcinema1 tumblr)

To Stare With Strong Eyes and No Weapon Around But One's Own Raison D'être

It is cold outside.

But inside it is warm with blankets and a heartbeat that is skipping, in time and in happiness.

I've been learning a lot about people who write. People who are different. People who are less likely to be in crowds of people and loud sounds. People who appreciate the tightness of a shirt collar or the pinch of slender, tall heel. People who can focus, very clearly, when the rest of the world is drown away.

I've been feeling very in my skin as of late.

With a solitary bank lamp and the perfect amount of chapstick on my smile. Dots of light on the end of every eyelash as I look down to read or to write or to imagine. There is a delicate feeling upon the corners of my mouth. My lips have been curved into a smile these days. The kind that feels electric and supple and makes me want to place my fingers on the parenthetical lines around my mouth to enjoy them. To study them.

So many things have built this tenderness and this truth. It feels good, tonight, that they are being silently celebrated, here, and in a more just manner on the other side of the city.

It feels good to be worthy of protection.

In the last three years I've learned that the only strength worth any weight will always involve a showing of our most soft and precious targets, hidden by nothing. Only the light hitting their nude and honest selves, a posture of dignity laced within them, will set us free.



be well; be loved,

k.

(image: bart dosa via inneroptics tumblr)

Ghost Breakfast, or, You Aren't Going to Eat That Anyway So Let Me Help You

Quite a beautiful night, tonight. The air, indeed, smells like candy and fire.

Most of the day today was spent recovering a bit. I've had a cold. It was nice to just be in pajamas and get a ton of reading done while drinking various hot beverages.  Thank you to all of those who were sweet enough to offer lemon and honey and fake ice cream deliveries.

I've been trying this theory of painting in order to write.  It's been working. There is something about productivity of one form that can influence the productivity of another.  It feels good. It gets my homework done but, perhaps more importantly (?), I am feeling pleased and happy with how the paintings are turning out.  I haven't felt this satisfied since the facial expression of a cockatiel I nailed earlier this year.

It came as no surprise that Little Zebbie and I had a psychic reunion today. It's not just because people visiting my house have been asking about his painting. It's that it was Halloween and that we are forever tied in one way or another. For better or for worse, as they say, that little fucker will always be linked to something important in my heart, mind, and dreams.

Tomorrow's early morning date with myself and a favorite food is anticipated.  This week has been one of new (and reemerging) connections that I am both excited about and that feel important.  Equally important, however, is my strange self being able to lure myself out of bed on such a day for my favorite waffles. After all, Nov. 1st is the Dia de los muertos that is specifically for remembering children who have passed, so you had better bet that me and BGS have a breakfast date. Reemerging connections, indeed. It will be the first time I don't have to trick someone into letting me eat the waffle off of their plate.


be well; be loved,

k.

(image: By Eric Rose)

That U Shaped Toy We Never Bought, or, Taking Fashion Notes From New Zealand Psych Reels (That Jacket Tho)

Tonight was spent watching a film for class that was almost three hours long. The main character of the first third of it was a red headed elementary school age girl who somehow managed to have the demeanor and face of a 52 year old alcoholic. I don't know if I would go as far as to say that it was creepy, but it was definitely distracting. 

I've been learning a lot. What is exciting to me is that I am getting into the layers of what I have been craving to know more about both historically but, more so, factually and research-wise around how much stigma of mental health diagnosis and misinformation can really fuck shit (and people) up in profound and horrific ways.  One class I am in goes very deep into Mad Pride, psychiatric survivor movements, pushes towards getting rid of diagnostic manuals, and the lack of reliability and validity in tests related to said diagnosis. I enjoy the class a lot. I always knew that there were rooted and deep reasons that all of the radical disability advocates I know include mental health in their analysis - I have as well but have felt very shallow in my understanding of the histories of why.  It's very satisfying to be remedying that in a "deep dive" way.

(pause)


and of all the meanings of the word, the one I choose is this:

a part of a deceased holy person's body or belongings kept as an object of reverence.
synonyms: remains, corpse, bonds; cadaver

May Sebastian forever look over me 
erase your thighs from my mind
with his
angled arrows
and heaven-bound gaze.

***



You, my love, still asleep in August,
my queen, my woman, my vastness, my geography
kiss of mud, the carbon-coated zither,
you, vestment of my persistent song,
today you are reborn again and with the sky's
black water confuse me and compel me:
I must renew my bones in your kingdom,
I must still uncloud my earthly duties.

    

         -- from Still Another Day; Pablo Neruda




be well; be loved,

k.
(image: Tine Bek via untrustyou tumblr)

(The Breaking of) Time Capsules

Tonight we sat at a local, filthy queer bar that I've been reclaiming piece by piece.  We sat next to each other and for the first time caught up past our needed conversations. We filled each other in on the people who have mattered in our lives over the last three years.  I got to tell you about one of my favorites and you said, "Wait. Isn't that your brother's name?" and I laughed and said "Yes, and that's the reason she wouldn't let me introduce her with that name when she met him." It felt good to tell you about her. It felt as if she hadn't fully existed until I was able to tell you about her. That's how it is with family. That strange inclination to hold our most dear and important loves/pains until we can lay it in front of the people who matter most.  A cat bringing in some kind of mangled bird in desperation- a term of endearment and trust.

There's so much love and so much emotion, still, just under the surface after these three years. It will take time for us to feel and figure out next steps. That is just part of repair. It feels good. New. Old. Unfamiliar. Familial. It's strange to think that almost every night for three years we slept under the same roof and, a few times, in the same bed.

It feels good to have people in my life who believe, love, and look out for me. Sometimes it can be hard to accept. It brings up sadness. I am glad that some of these people are completely balls out with how unflinchingly they will confront what is wrong, and how steadily they will stand in what is right.

I have to remind myself that deserve that.

So do you.

Oppressive crap isn't going to stop in the face of politeness.  I am okay with being hated.  I have been for a long time. I am both proud and relieved that I surround myself with people who are equally unmoved by coolness or by peer pressure. This interweaving of our love and protection and integrity and justified anger.

Such a beautiful and strong enmeshing we have created.

Such a beautiful and strong wicker we have become.


be well; be loved,

k.

(image: Florian Pessenteiner via nervedamage tumblr)

Constriction, Restriction and the Joyful Abandon of Being Oneself

Tonight has been one of copious amounts of reading and baths drawn with oregano essential oil and scentless bubbles: A Monday well considered and earned in equal parts.

This past weekend was one of magic, connection and learning. Louisville, Kentucky for the win, yet again. Leave it to me to sense the one person out of 150 who is queer, autistic, from the South, a grown up punk, who does political comics, knows two of the people from Louisville closest to my heart, loves Lynda Barry, also has a tent on their bed, and owns a weighted blanket. New connections, indeed.

One highlight of the weekend was the words of Lydia x. z. Brown, an autistic Asian American queer with solid suit choices that really helped clarify something I have been thinking about a lot over the past few months.  Lydia's speech covered this one particular part of the ADA that I've never known how I felt about.  And it took someone giving a talk about trans autistic experience who has brain for law to clarify it in a way that has shifted my view into clarity.  Thank you for that, Lydia.  [Lydia can be found at @autistichoya and autistichoya.net ]

Some things that I took away from the whole thing- some on a deeper level than before, and some completely new: 

Things like having the lights dimmed, earplugs, communication preference badges ("Needs space", "Hi! Let's talk" and "Come say hi if you know me") at social gatherings, and setting up chunks of time for parallel play (aka this would be like a workshop or party or classroom that does not centralize verbal and direct communication/interaction. Parallel play is when people are in the same space together but aren't expected to interact with each other in the way they would at say, some kind of party or typical social gathering) are all modes of access. Making it a point to tell people that they should use the space how they need (lay on the floor, stand up, rock back and forth or whatever the fuck, come/go as needed, etc) are also modes of access: People pay attention in different ways. As per usual: Just because someone is laying on the floor drawing a picture doesn't mean they aren't listening- it could be exactly what they need to do in order to pay attention. And to folks who get snarky about people using self check out at the grocery store: Sometimes this is an access thing, too. If you want to be a dick to someone, be a dick to the CEOs/bosses that make the decisions to cut costs and employees- not the person using the self check out machine. 

Also: It's nice to know that I'm not alone in some of my preferences and modes of communication and happiness.

If you need me, I'll be in the makeshift cave atop my bed.

Be well; be loved,

k.

(image: Les Films Mysterieux, original poster for Les Vampires (1915) via secretcinema1 tumblr)

Clip, or, Bathroom Disappearances

Tonight I went out and gay'ed it up at the bar with a friend. There was a person I kept referring to as "Budget Sarge" in the corner. A far cry from the original, but fascinating to see and study their similarities in mannerisms from afar.

My friend and I had great conversations by the fire and then were temporarily interrupted by an admittedly talented butch.

But let's get real, here: Anyone talking to me at a bar about a loved one's ashes in a recipe box is a no go.

be loved, be well,

k.

(image: via darker angels tumblr)

Watching the Water: An Exercise in Self Discipline

I've been reading a lot for school but keeping it balanced with reading things not for school because, well, school.   It's strange sometimes how a book I pick up or an article I read (in either context) can - by chance- salve exactly something that I need.  It's more often than not that I find the salve that I need through ideas and words of other people.

I'm in the midst of designing a project I am both excited and intimidated by.  This is usually the best combination.

Something I have noticed lately is that people are incredibly supportive of me getting this degree in a way I wasn't expecting. They are people I barely know, but who I have wanted to know because I admire them as community leaders.  What I am learning is that with this topic and with this level of study, there is a reason for others in the community to be invested in me (and others) getting a degree of this sort that I was not aware of.  It is surprising, welcome, and a total humbling honor.  I am earnest to see how it unfolds.

More soon,

k.

(image: via xpn tumblr)

Tonight I'm going to leave you with these concise and on point guidelines for white people getting feedback on racism that I read, recently: 

1. How, where and when you give me feedback is irrelevant-- it is the feedback I want and need. Understanding that it is hard to give, I will take it any way I can get it. From my position of social, cultural, and institutional white power and privilege, I am perfectly sae and I can handle it. If I cannot handle it, it's on me to build my racial stamina.

2. Thank you. 

The above guidelines rest on the understanding that there is no face to save and the game is up; I know that I have blind spots and unconscious investments in racism.  My investments are reinforced everyday in mainstream society. I did not set this system up, but it does unfairly benefit me, I do use it to my advantage, and I am responsible for interrupting it. I need to work hard to change my role in this system, but I can't do it alone. This understanding leads me to gratitude when others help me.
   
                                    ---Robin DiAngelo, from, White Fragility (2018)

I Know You'll Be Wearing Your Young Aching Smile

This last week was rough, but it involved naming violence in a way that was so balls-out bold and unapologetic that there's nothing to feel but solid and proud.

With bullies and liars it's only a matter of time.

My friends are fucking golden.

(pause)

I have been interpreting a lot of the introductions to the non-English queer films happening in town. Can someone please tell me why 90% of all lesbian films are terrible? They are. By the end of this one tonight Lani and I were cracking up seeing that even the lesbians were sneaking out of it- their guilty silhouettes quietly reaching for jackets and ducking out.
Every year I learn the same lesson:

Stick with the fag films and the tomboy stories.

This weekend was three days and two nights of an out of town guest. Sage and Ouija and tarot and films and cooking and 5 miniature mason jars lined up and left for me with the thoughtful mixtures of herbs and magic that she mixed for me and brought down from the Northern boarder.

(pause)

In general, things move on.

The activities and evenings are beautiful and thoughtful and smell like fall.

But I keep going on dates with a missing person.

And when I'm walking up to my door at night, I keep hearing that recording that you'd hear if you left the phone off the hook for too long. The one that always scared the shit out of me. That abrupt and serious woman's voice speaking out into the night from the kitchen floor:

If you would like to make a call, please hang up and try again.



be well; be loved,

k.
(title: part of a lyric from that one Red House Painters song, Katy)
(image: Third Ave. El Window of 18th Station, 1936, Arnold Eagle)