My father, scuttering across qwerty pad to and forth an unnamed coworker for fifteen minutes, sipping beer and slowly slipping to ranted wisdoms and advice. There's nothing there, he tells me, Nothing there, Don't go back, There's nothing there, I left it for a reason. His response to: I should go visit grandma. Suddenly imposing standards of ( Read more... )

Thoughts on Gloria Anzaldúa's La Frontera/Borderlands:

I am not a product of my ancestor's cultures, retaining our language, traditions, religion, celebrations and beliefs, but a confused inhabitant of a destroyed and reformed culture built on the stilts of financial privilege, borrowed knickknacks and faint shadows in the form of red envelopes and ( Read more... )

Let me begin by apologizing for what will certainly be a very scattered post from this unholy time of this Christmas' 2nd hour and 9th minute. I'll first rid the occurrence of some sad thoughts. It has been a christmas ritual for my gung gung to hide my paw paw's (grandma) gift in the christmas tree. Which, it should be noted, was always an ( Read more... )

revised performance ( Read more... )

In the Sex Positive workshop the URA hosted today, one of the anonymous cards said:

Why do I still daydream about white picket fences, even knowing I do not fit, and feel bad about it. As with most of our cultural identities, the hyphen seems to define us in queerness as well. I still long for that image of a home and family. A kid. Marriage, even ( Read more... )

I want to move out.

( Read more... )

They put the nice mahogany one in a concrete box so it doesn't rot so the body inside doesn't rot so this whole ritual can be all the more bizarre and we stack the concrete boxes like storage containers in ports and harbors and on carrier boats and spray paint them gold and carve patterns and crucifixes and sell the nicer ones at discount retailers ( Read more... )

We found a letter in my grandpa's chicken-scratch cursive, left to his friends and those whom he loved. Any reaction was prevented by the senseless babble of the cooking shows blasting my great aunt into sleep. He left were words of gratitude and a broad, general apology to no one specific. I resented it. And yet I felt like crying. I hated him for ( Read more... )

What happened to my thoughts. This is not me, I thought. But the entire world points at this and says, That is you and by it we will define you ( Read more... )