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Tag Archives: feminism

Well, shit.

Wait, let me try that again.

My first Readercon experience provided me with a wide berth of raw emotions, ranging from the elation that sprang from meeting and reconnecting with some of the most creative and progressive minds in the industry, to fiery rage at the bastion of New England Liberal Racism that still permeates the northeast, subsiding on the elitist fallacy that ‘smart people can’t be racist’.

How’s that? You want more, huh? I shouldn’t be surprised. I made a name for myself with my Twitter rants over that weekend on the much-needed progress needed at Readercon when my intention was to lay low and collect data all submarine-style and what not.

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[Content Note: Flashing Images]

And when I say that I don’t make great adult decisions, I mean that I don’t say no to enough things in order to protect myself from how exhausted I currently am. I started this blog entry at my writing group while I was also laughing at some serious schaudenflan when I was supposed to be presenting a positive, inclusive example for my writers. Talk about a failure to pack in my inner asshole. By the by, this is not something that you should say out loud when surrounded by Archer fans.

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[TW: Racism, Misogynoir, Mentions of Racialized Sexual Assault, Gender Slurs, Strong Coarse Language]

I did not come to play with you hos. I came here to slay, bitch. – Big Freedia

I’m probably about one of a million black girl bloggers who is posting her thoughts on Beyonce’s latest visual foray. Being on that weird cusp of Generation X/Y, aka hitting certain milestones on parallel with her Beyness, I never understood the commitment or zealotry of her fan base…until now when Beyonce had reassured us that black excellence was still alive and kicking. Or at least is trying to find a new face.

Because if Lemonade has done anything, and no doubt it’s done a lot, it’s reiterated with electric fury that the world only allows cishet white men with Fuck You money to use it to say Fuck You.

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Because this black woman is not a search engine.

Because this black woman is not a plot device or trope.

Because this black woman is not a puzzle to solve.

Because this black woman is not a project for you to implement.

Because this black woman is not a platform on which you can build your agenda.

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Yeah, I took a break from writing on this blog. A long ass break. It wasn’t intentional; it wasn’t on accident either. The fact is that my best blog entries come to me when I have focused my anger and passion like a surgeon focuses her scalpel. Over the past 11 months, I have been on a roller coaster of experiences, ranging from receiving one honor to becoming the target of three catastrophes — wash, rinse, repeat the cycle. Given the frequency of emotional whiplash, it seemed inevitable that I would grow…tired. A person only has so many spoons, and when you are in the midst of, among other things, fighting to keep your health and your house together [literally and metaphorically], prioritizing the war against the Kyriarchy first and foremost doesn’t seem like the best course of action.

Because let’s be real: we may be all about the Struggle, but the Struggle is not all about us.

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So you want to be an ally? That’s nice. More specifically, you want to be my ally? Well, that’s even better. Before I send you off to your designated live training seminars, please review the following Quick Reference Guide that I’ve created to assist you in times of social justice discussions, should you ever get confused or suffer the inevitable foot-in-mouth moment. This Quick Reference Guide has been formatted to fit nicely in your wallet or on your smart device for easy retrieval, so here are my 7 simple rules for being my* intersectional ally.

1.   SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN

I don’t know how else to expound on this rule. It seems pretty simple and straightforward, but you would be surprised at the number of people who have difficulty performing these two rather instinctive functions. If you find yourself opening your mouth before taking the time to let the other person’s words roll around in your frontal cortex, I would suggest repeating the following mantra:

“This is not about me. This is not about me. This is not about me.”

If this does not work, please extricate yourself from the conversation and proceed to smash cranial cavity against wall until concept has penetrated your psyche or consciousness is lost.** Read More »

Oh, I’m sorry. Am I being too harsh? Am I being too inconsiderate? I guess I am since you, the grand, glorious, mighty YOU said so and YOU have never been wrong about anything in your entire life.

Am I overreacting? Am I being irrational? Am I being just flat-out crazy? Well, I’m sorry. I guess that’s just what happens when my own thoughts, feelings, dreams or desires that do not fit YOUR plan are dismissed as mere inconvenience.

I hurt YOUR feelings, huh? I made YOU feel small, stupid, insignificant, unworthy, unwelcome? Welcome to the background radiation permeating my everyday existence.

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Eight years ago, I picked up this little gem from the Wheaton Public Library. I had been wallowing in the midst of a six-year hiatus from writing fiction due to school and self-degradation over my ability to craft sentences free of dry, academic rhetoric, and at some point between red cup parties in Allston and swag events in the Back Bay, it had been recommended that I read Virginia Woolf. Stemmed wholly in the ignorance of 20th century feminist struggles, I became and grew more aghast with each page as Ms. Woolf struggled to find a place where she could simply enjoy doing what she loved most. Determined to enjoy the freedom given to me by the 21st century, I picked up my pen once more and began to produce prose. What I did not produce until recently was a clear and concise understanding of how much my gender and my race would be so intrinsically linked with everything that I loved, specifically those things within the Land of Geekdom. Read More »

Usually when nature calls, I’ll answer it briefly, then switch over to civilization. This time, it’s different. I’ll be off the grid for roughly 4 days, no computer, no WiFi, no cell, no electricity. Let’s party like it’s 1799!

In all seriousness, the people with whom I will be camping are pretty awesome. While I’m at this event, I’m going to be participating in a roundtable discussion on the “Fake Geek Girl” phenomenon with two amazing women. I’ve just lost a debate with one of these lovely ladies on which is the campier movie, Conan The Barbarian or Beastmaster 2: Through The Portal Of Time. The debate began four years ago.

Yeeaaah, serves me right. Anywho, check out her blog. Loads of geekiness for all, it is!

Until next week, civilization!