If we correctly acknowledge recent and ongoing anti-trans, and particularly anti-trans youth, legislation, as well as longstanding c/overt efforts to genetically detect, isolate, and destroy this nebulous monster called “autism” in ever-younger children as well as fetuses in utero, as eugenics, we see that efforts at “curing” autism and denials of trans childrens’ bodily autonomy are not merely efforts to stymy individual behavior, but efforts to shape a future in which we never existed in the first place.
Tag Archives: memories
correspondence nostalgia (part 1: dear diary)
Blog readers are to Blog as the front row is to performance. Yet Blog is also personal. Blog is (or, given the form’s steep decline in popularity over the last decade, was) curated and semipersonalized intimacy, the process of CC’ing personal reflections to a hundred or a thousand of your closest friends.
when good things happen to bad years
If pressed, I’d call 2020 the best awful year I’ve ever had.
3 weeks in
I don’t think I fully believed I would be Living in California until I got here, and even then, it was iffy.
things I hope to remember
I don’t know how to say goodbye to this house, not only because my memory keeps it close, but also because it hasn’t quite sunk in yet that I am Moving Out.
A hearty hand-flap for Mel Baggs
Mel lived every day in direct defiance of death. As in, laughing heartily and heavily in the face of death, all between poems and blog posts and crochet patterns.
New Year, New Me(ans of resisting linear time and essentialism)
We are so desperate not only for a story about growing up but growing into ourselves.
returning & releasing
“[T]hat’s what family is, at least to me. Being what we need to for each other, with each other, even if elements of it hurt.”
a convergence of passed/past lives
Mutually following some friends from high school leaves open the possibility for anyone to find me, forcing me to contend with the reality of my life’s non-segmentation. It forces me to contend with the fact that the segmentation is purely in my own mind, that it’s only in my own mind that my life comes in “eras,” and that I’m an extra in everyone else’s story with a long and continuous plot-line, not one that comes in parts or chapters.
In transit
As I write this, I sit in the Philadelphia airport, one that’s become very familiar to me over the last couple years –– I fly through here almost every time I go to Virginia to visit my partner, Ell. Despite initially having –– –– I just saw a guy drop his whole container of noodlesContinue reading “In transit”
