Modern Revelation

To Whom It May Concern (namely, pre-, post-, current, and/or recovering Mormons): [if you have no interest in my theological rabble-rousing, scroll to the bottom to find out what you can do]

Please stop your church. Now. Change your policy on marriage equality. Accept what many of your family, friends, and neighbors are telling you. Namely, that consenting adults are entitled to equal rights. Period. Or, at the very least, please back off. Keep your money and your personal views out of the government.



Thanks to y’all and your 20 million dollars, it looks like the state of California will now write discrimination into its constitution.



Here's my proposition. One of the central ideas of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is, precisely, those Latter Day Saints. It's one of the many beliefs that distinguishes the Mormon flavor of Christianity—it holds that there are prophets of the faith. Living apostles. Folks that are on this earth at this moment who God speaks to/through. Folks that keep the religion relevant to its current context. And whose constant recontextualization and reinterpretation allows for significant changes in the church dogma. You call it revelation:

We believe all that God has revealed, all that He does now reveal, and we believe that He will yet reveal many great and important things pertaining to the Kingdom of God.

Say for example, when the Church changed its position on polygamy, which it officially abandoned in 1890. Then president Wilford Woodruff stated:

There is nothing in my teachings to the Church or in those of my associates, during the time specified, which can be reasonably construed to inculcate or encourage polygamy; and when any Elder of the Church has used language which appeared to convey such teaching, he has been promptly reproved. And I now publicly declare that my advice to the Latter-day Saints is to refrain from contracting any marriage forbidden by the law of the land.

Or, say, when it modified its position on the role black folks in the Church. For lots of interesting history about this point, along with black Boy Scouts, the sports boycotts of Brigham Young University, and the answer to the question, “Why are so many of the inhabitants of the earth cursed with a skin of blackness?” see here. (And before you even think about challenging my references to Wikipedia, why don’t you first check those 174 citations?)

Apostle Spencer W. Kimball acknowledged that this policy against blacks in the priesthood and participation in temple ordinances could be a result of human error:

The doctrine or policy has not varied in my memory. I know it could. I know the Lord could change his policy and release the ban and forgive the possible error which brought about the deprivation.

A 1969 letter from the First Presidency read, "we believe the Negro, as well as those of other races, should have his full Constitutional privileges as a member of society."

And finally, in 1972, Spencer W. Kimball, LDS apostle and future president of the church said:

Intolerance by Church members is despicable. A special problem exists with respect to blacks because they may not now receive the priesthood. Some members of the Church would justify their own un-Christian discrimination against blacks because of that rule with respect to the priesthood, but while this restriction has been imposed by the Lord, it is not for us to add burdens upon the shoulders of our black brethren. They who have received Christ in faith through authoritative baptism are heirs to the celestial kingdom along with men of all other races. And those who remain faithful to the end may expect that God may finally grant them all blessings they have merited through their righteousness. Such matters are in the Lord's hands. It is for us to extend our love to all.

This is not love-the-sinner-hate-the-sin (and yes, to Mormons blackness was a sin, or at least a physical indicator of sin) Mormonism. This is love your neighbor and take a stand against discrimination.

These changes clearly indicate that—rather than the church inhabiting a hierarchical bubble, where God speaks to the prophet, who speaks to the elders, who speak to the congregation, and interpretation is always literal and direct—the LDS church is in dynamic relationship with the rest of culture/society. Did God change His mind about polygamy? Black folks? Or did the church adapt to what was becoming commonly accepted value in broader society? It recognized its error and/or the error of its forebears, and righted the situation.

So, there's your foundation. You and your Church not only have a responsibility to change your official viewpoint and consequent political efforts, you also have a pretty unique opportunity. Many evangelical Christianities have a very narrow, literalist interpretation of the Bible and the clear intent of God's Word (except for that whole Leviticus/Paul thing). Y'all, on the other hand, are part of a living religion. One that, in recent history, has gone through many transitions, geographically, culturally, and doctrinally. You can change. And many of you have. Either you have left the church because you found a better, happier life. Or you have found a balance, or perhaps synthesis, of the Church you were raised in and the Church you wish to be a part of.

Here’s the next level. You also have mastered the power of community and grassroots action. Capitalize on that and reclaim it. Your reach extends to the furthest corners of this world and your strong community structures—in Mormon strongholds, there are wards in every neighborhood, seminaries for every student to attend every day, mission trips for the freshly graduated, a Mormon university for the freshly returned—in short, you know how to organize.

So have a personal revelation already:

Each Latter-day Saint is expected to use personal revelation to determine how best to apply gospel principles and the commandments in his or her life in a path toward perfection. It is accepted that not all members will agree on how to interpret the same scripture; rather, each person is responsible to determine how it should be interpreted for himself or herself.

Some of you, like Brigham Young’s great-great-great grandson already have.

Get together with other pre-, post-, current, and/or recovering Mormons, and change your Church. Support these folks. Or, like I said, at least get your Church to stop meddling in—and sometimes destroying—the lives of people in my community.

If you’re still skeptical or nervously clinging to your long-held beliefs, try this little exercise: Take a stack of paper, a notepad, or a blank Word document. On the top of every page write one of your arguments against homosexuality/gay marriage. Now write the letters W-H-Y. Now answer the question. Now do it again. And again. And again. Until you agree with me. Or are so confused that you realize that your beliefs should not regulate the lives of others. And the lives of others do not influence the way that you choose to live your life. (And feel free to share your pages in the comments.)



Or, of course, if you think it’s a lost cause or you don’t give a shit ’cause you’re not Mormon, then do this.

my hate-filter is broken.

my world is so full of people who love the gays (or, at the very least, like us), that i sometimes forget that people also use the term as an insult. when i cyberstalk old high school friends and attempt to learn about them via their publicly posted communication, and i read something that refers to gayness—i get all excited and think that i've found a fellow queer. then i realize that they hate us. that they hate me. (even when—actually, especially when—it's veiled in "loving the sinner" or apathetic disregard).

in my more compassionate moments, i sardonically lament their conscripted lives.

Some Writing Madman Fall Death Eternal

I picked up the books lying around my room today–some were buried beneath clothes or between the bed and the wall, taking a breather from the endless bed-nightstand-bag-floor cycle that designates the paths of my fresher books (as opposed to the stale ones, collecting dust on the shelf). These haven't yet been relegated back to the bookshelf because I am either in the middle of reading them or want to read them soon, but haven't gotten around to it:

Some of the Parts by T Cooper, which I read years ago and pulled out to read again after I realized that he was the guest editor for the trans issue of Out Magazine (would have linked to it, but it looks like they don't archive their issues–too bad, ’twas chock full of hot transfags)

Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, which RayVan placed in my hands, exhorting me to read it immediately. I've had inspiration, ideas, and encouragement flying at me from all directions to start/keep/never stop writing, but it's still pretty rough. Workin' on it.

The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester, which Mr. B gave me for the birthday. It's "a tale of murder, insanity, and the making of the Oxford English Dictionary"—some crazy scandal that shatters the ostensible purity of the English language, written by a globe-trotting geologist. Looks great and apropos of my new gig.

When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chödrön, another placed in my hands by a beloved housemate. I know that when I open this book, I will read exactly what I need to hear at that very moment. Buddhism's kinda magical that way. Today's gem: "It's a lifetime journey to relate honestly to the immediacy of our experience and to respect ourselves enough not to judge it."

My Death by Lisa Tuttle, the limited Brit edition on loan from Timmi at Aqueduct. We'll be publishing a North American edition soon! Haven't read it yet but it promises to be "creepy but feministically delicious."

Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid by Douglas R Hofstadter ("a metaphorical fuge on minds and machines in the spirit of Lewis Carroll"), yet another treasure from the (former but lifelong) bookseller I live with. Looks to be a crazy melding of disciplines: philosophy, art history/criticism, math, physics, music. Can't wait to sink my teeth in… but it may have to wait until fall.

What am I currently, as in consistently, reading? Why, Salinger's Franny and Zooey, of course. I mean, how could I resist a small, plainly wrapped package (aside from the bright purple ribbon) dropped on my lap my a mysterious shadow blocking my sun as I napped at Cal Anderson?

To close, I shall leave you with this:




Aside: There is a high pitched tone that keeps pulsating outside of my house and all of the dogs are barking and it's driving me loony.

gay jesus

Following, you'll find a protracted comment that I posted on an old friend's blog.

First, some background. We went to high school together in Idaho, which is currently 23% Mormon (second only to Utah, at 58%).* Our high school was dominated by the Mormons: they were the majority of the student body leadership, the jocks, the cheerleaders, the AP students; even the stoners were Mormons, albeit "bad" ones. There was a seminary across the street from the school (off school property) where the LDS kids got to go for one of their free periods (yet they got credit for it like study hall — this explains it a bit). One of my closest friends was not only not allowed to do homework on the Sabbath, she wasn't even allowed to patronize any stores/restaurants because that would be complicit with someone else working on the Sabbath. The friend with whom I'm in dialogue in the following conversation was, is, and (lamentably) probably always will be a devout follower of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. And when I say devout, I mean he wouldn't drink Coke (they can't consume high amounts of caffeine, but chocolate's okay) and wouldn't write on his body (ya know how you doodle on yourself when you're bored in class?) and he would get furious if anyone even joked about writing on him — his body was a temple, literally. He went on a mission for 2 years to Samoa, got married in the temple, and is probably currently working on creating physical bodies for spirit children so that he can become a god. Really. I could go on about the Mormons in my life but that's for another post.

So my old friend, Nate, now maintains a blog here where he posts about his mission trip to Samoa, his studies in physical education, and his theological and philosophical thoughts on the world. I occasionally skim his posts to find out what he's up to, mostly ignoring the religious, self-referential dogma. Until it hit too close to home.

This is his post about gay marriage. You may read it if you like. Even if you don't, I think you'll enjoy my response:

oh, nate.

i don't know where to start or even if i should. i did so enjoy our theological debates back in high school. but the terms of the debate have shifted, namely my foundation, and i'm not sure if they can be reignited. but we'll see.

see, something i learned long ago about engaging someone in a disagreement is the concept of a criterion. as you probably know, a criterion is a principle or standard by which something may be judged or decided. it is pretty important for folks to agree upon a criterion, or criteria, before they continue with a discussion...to find a common ground from which they can make claims and warrants, a value system to appeal to in order to persuade the other person of their ideas.

i've been reading your blog for a while and considered engaging you on some of your more opinionated posts. but i've refrained because it's felt hopeless. it seems like we would both be speaking such different languages (i think we have less in common now than we did in high school since i now happily identify as an unbeliever). i've worried that since we don't seem to share many, if any, criteria for judgement, it would be futile to disagree with you.

but for a few reasons i feel compelled to reply to this post. one is that as a fellow philosopher i have to take issue with your logic. i guess i did find a common criterion - logic. two is that though our friendship currently only exists in our memories, i still have a strong memory of you as a kind-hearted and caring person. and, three is that, although it's easy for me to find the same arguments you are making all over the place, it hurts more to hear them from you. and simultaneously i have a glimmer of hope that you will hear me with open ears. plus, this post hits closer to home than some of the others, since i'm a big ol' queer myself (if you didn't already know, surprise!)

since i don't take your scriptures as anything other than interesting theological texts, i will address the other claim you make: the slippery slope argument, that the legitimation of gay marriage will lead to wholehearted acceptance of child molestation/abuse, etc. but your logic falls through the cracks with this statement: "insert-anything-worse-here-as-long-as-it's-consensual" correct me if i'm wrong, but i take this to imply that you believe that the aforementioned atrocities are consensual (you referenced the guy who locked his daughter in a basement and raped and abused her and child pornography). it seems obvious to me, so perhaps i'm misreading your meaning, but child pornography is not consensual (hence, the age of consent). rape is not consensual. locking someone in a basement for 24 years? not consensual.

analogizing gay marriage to these horrific crimes is not only just bad logic, it's hurtful and destructive. comparing me and my friends to people who abuse others nonconsensually would be like me comparing you and your family and friends to the FLDS folks in Texas (guys old enough to be the fathers of their underage wives). but growing up in idaho, and being friends with you, i know the difference between LDS and folks that have branched off from y'all. well, actually i think your comparison is worse because we don't even have a nominal similarity to rapists, pedophiles, etc.

what's particularly dangerous about persuasive and illogical rhetoric like this is that most folks who agree with you and read this won't catch that slip(ery slope). you speak to their shared disgust and revulsion of consensual relationships between folks of the same gender and incite even more hatred by comparing them to horrific non-consensual acts.

as for your paragraph of rhetorical questions, i'd love to hear your answers to them. so much depends, again, on your criteria for judgment - should the state have standards of equality separate from the church? whose right and wrong? what exactly is a "moral fabric"? is it important to you that there are (moral) absolutes in this world? why?

you quote the scriptures: "We warn that individuals who violate covenants of chastity, who abuse spouse or offspring, or who fail to fulfill family responsibilities will one day stand accountable before God." i would love to hear a polemic from you against spousal or child abuse, or how it turns your stomach to imagine a husband cheating on his wife, how you don't hate philanderers but if they repent they will become pure. but i rarely, if ever, hear religious folks spending as much time and energy expounding upon the horrors of these other, very rampant, sins. (as a side note, i don't believe in compulsory monogamy either, but that's another conversation)

which is why i call into question your claim that you don't hate "homosexuals." i'm not saying that you do hate the gays because the verifiability of emotions is an oxymoron. you are the expert on your own feelings. but what i want to question is the role that that statement plays in your (and many others') argument against homo love. why do y'all feel so compelled to say it? why did i feel so compelled to say "love the sinner, hate the sin" back-in-the-day when i felt similarly? i'm not really sure, but it feels like an intense contradiction which attempts to cover over all of the hatred incited by your preceding words which construct a world where gay folks are disgusting, comparable to rapists and pedophiles, and secretly planning to take over the world in the name of all that is holy.

i've done my best to keep the terms of this response civil and respectful. though this can prove trying at times when it feels like my very existence is nauseating to you and yours. but even when it's trying and perhaps a bit too personal, i do love a good debate, and you, my dear, are a worthy opponent.

hope you are well,
jesse vernon

p.s. thought you'd find these interesting:
http://www.kcpw.org/article/5722
http://www.glaad.org/publications/archive_detail.php?id=4324

He responded in this post, to which i may respond at some point. Right now it feels futile because, as my pal josh says, it's very convenient to make religious arguments when you appeal to an omnipotent power: I'm right because god says so. (which is pretty much the gist of his response)

I'd love honest feedback — was I too harsh? was it too ad-hominem (can that be used as an adjective?)? are you baffled that I'm even engaging in this? Whaddya think?

*U.S. Religious Landscape Survey 2008, the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life, pp 99-100.

how many licks does it take?

in other words, how small is the queer community?

1 - twitter message from fivestar about hot pics at dykes in the city, who are in chicago



2 - interested in their photography/er, i check out misty winter photography, who is also in chi-town, where i find



3 - the most recent comment, posted by someone named daniel who lives in seattle, whose profile pic is of their sweetie, who is one of the teachers of the relationship skills class on polyamory that i just took, and whose 'zine i just read



not many licks..



p.s. did i mention how hot they are? though i'm not to into the militarism or working-class-chic

Seeing Voices: A Conversation with Nisi Shawl

by Jesse Vernon

Whether drawing upon the protective power of watermelon vines, the healing power of funk, or the pragmatic power of intelligent women, Nisi Shawl's collection of short fiction sparks the imagination. Her synesthetic descriptions elucidate an often psychedelic perception of the worlds therein. The tales in Filter House leap forward and backward through time and space, deftly weaving all-too-real topics like resource depletion, colonization, and racism within fantastical worlds of persuadable dragons, fickle gods, and interstellar travel. In true Seattle fashion, we discussed these stories and their inspiration over the din of an espresso machine.

^^^

This collection of stories is entitled Filter House. What exactly is a “filter house”?

I like ocean things, I like marine biology [and] I enjoy anything oceanic. I found this article about appendicularia and was reading about them and then looked at other articles on the web and found out about filter houses. They are so, so gorgeous. They are so beautiful. And I was just really attracted to the idea of something that was so ephemeral and beautiful.

So [a filter house] is sort of like an underwater, 3-D spiderweb that [appendicularia] use to trap food. They are filter feeders but they build these filters outside their body that last for about two or three hours, until the appendicularia outgrows it or they become clogged, useless. Then they release them and they drift down to the lower levels of the ocean. If you’ve read about anything in marine ecology, you’ve heard about “marine snow” – all the lower levels of life subsist on [it]; that’s the basic element of their ecology. So [discarded filter houses are] a large component of marine snow. [I liked] the idea that it was something so basic, too.

I wanted to have the title of the collection not be a story and I wanted it to be the sort of combination of words that would make people think, “Well, what is that?” I also was drawn by this idea that the structure of the short story collection is ephemeral, that it’s made up of other elements that are brought together in this moment – because they are so short, short stories are sort of ephemeral too.

I noticed the theme of water throughout different pieces in this collection, although they were written over a span of eight years. Bodies of water seem to hold significant power in your many of these stories.

[Water has] pretty much always been a passion of mine. I feel very watery – I know we’re all composed of 90% water or something – but I really feel like not just my body is made out of water. When I think about astrology, I’m a Scorpio: a water sign. I practice this West African religion called Ifá and in Ifá, one of the things is that different orishas are said to rule different people’s heads. You’ll be closer to or have an affinity for a particular orisha. And the one that I’m close to is called Olokun, [who] rules the bottom of the ocean.

So all of that benthic stuff really, really excites me…I love it – it’s water.

The stories in Filter House contain a huge breadth of narrative voices – not only within the collection but within each story as well. They range from rural African-American dialects to a philosopher princess in a medieval Muslim community to disembodied prisoners. Will you talk more about it’s like to make these shifts while you’re writing?

I’ve heard that there are people who write visually and people who write aurally. I hear everything – I hear the words. And so I hear those different voices – I hear the healer and I hear the aunt – and if I don’t hear them right, then I know I better not write them. ‘Cause they’ll be fake.

There is a lot of warmth in the relationships between your characters, especially the voices of children when they are narrating the stories. It feels like it captures something really familiar to me, even in stories that have nothing to do with my own history, or tradition, or culture, or spirituality…

I do write about children a lot. I use a child’s point of view quite frequently. Maybe it’s because you remember being a child. Some people forget that right away and I promised myself I would never forget what it was like to be little.

I told myself that too.

I think that some people really do forget. How can they live? [laughing]

In addition to writing stories, novels, and poetry, you also review books for the Seattle Times.

Yeah, I just turned in a review for a book called Incognegro that’s a graphic novel, a mystery. Oh, it’s wonderful. It was the first graphic novel I’ve ever reviewed…I’ve also reviewed some science fact, like Oliver Sacks and stuff like that. And some books from Africa. Sometimes if a science-fiction writer does something that’s not science-fiction, I’ll review it – like I reviewed Molly Gloss’ The Hearts of Horses which is a western and the last two William Gibson books; he’s not writing science fiction anymore.

So you’ve had extra opportunity to be reading lots of different books. Who has influenced you in terms of your writing and who are some of your all-time-favorite authors?

Well, as far as who I want to emulate, for a long time I’ve really been influenced by Colette. She’s a French writer. She was most popular in the 1920s, 1930s, up through 1950 – she had a good long run of a career. It’s very sensual writing; what I love about her writing is that there are no inanimate objects. They’re all characters.

[…]

I first got the idea that I could actually write science fiction and get other people to read it, besides my English teacher, from Suzy McKee Charnas. In the 1970s she came out with all this feminist science fiction. Particularly Motherlines – there’s a nuclear war and all the head honchos have their little hideaway in the Colorado mountains and then several hundred years later the story starts with the civilization that developed in the aftermath of that. It was a very harsh story but it was really beautiful and courageous – a story of this woman who was one of the slaves of the patriarchy that developed from these war survivors and how she tries to find a mythical land where women were in charge. So I read that and thought, whoa, so you can write this kind of stuff, and get away with it. [laughing] So, that was a big influence.

When I’m not reading for pay (with the Seattle Times), when I’m not reading for the science-fiction book club, which is another reading gig, or for my critique groups, I read Victorian literature. Because it’s so different than, first of all anything that I have to read for pay, and anything that’s going on now. The class consciousness is so different and so unconscious. And the attention to detail and the attitudes – it’s all sensawunda.

Hmm, that explains how you can capture so many different voices – that you're reading something that I don’t think a lot of sci-fi authors are reading.

They’re not reading the Trollope, they’re not reading the George Eliot, no.

Who else? Samuel Delany. I found him early on. And Jack Vance, still very pleasant to read. I’m not gonna just sound cool here, I’ll tell you the truth....

Let’s see. I read a lot of romances at one point. Regency romances. They’re the ones, where if it’s getting really racy, the couple will hold hands. [laughing] Georgette Heyer, in particular was one of those. She has this great, great wit. And again there’s a slang that they use in the Georgette Heyer novels. Those are set in regency period, you know, Jane Austen. She’ll have the slang of the young blades, then she’ll have the language of the older dames that are widows and dowagers and then she’ll often have the language of people who are called Bow Street Runners – this was before police forces, they were freelance detectives. And then criminal slang. So maybe that has some influence on the different voices.

I’ll tell you one more thing about different voices. Have you heard of the term code-switching?

Yes.

Okay, so from the beginning I was code-switching. I was raised in a house where the people I lived with spoke different voices. You would speak one voice when you were talking to someone at a barbecue and another one when you were at a PTA meeting. So, it’s like second nature, of course. I’ve carried it to such an extreme that one time I was taking orders over the phone at a natural foods warehouse – each person in the office had [their own] accounts and at one point, one of my favorite accounts said to me, about something that was suspicious that was happening with his order, he said, “There’s a nigger in the woodpile.” And I just never spoke to that person again. He had no idea who he was talking to, because I had been so good with the code-switching. So sometimes it’s a little harsh on me.

How do you feel like your personal experiences with or political ideas around power and oppression influence the way you tell your stories? For example, in one story in this collection, “Deep End,” prisoners are punished by being removed from their bodies and, in turn, given the bodies of their oppressors.

Well, that story, actually, was an invitation to write about colonization from a person-of-color’s point of view. So I was drawing on the idea that a lot of times places are settled by prisoners, [like] Australia. And then I thought, corporations only get worse (or better depending on your point of view) at what they do. So what’s one step further from sending you as a prisoner to do their dirty work of settling somewhere? The answer was, well, they don’t really need the body. Just commodify the mind.

My take on politics…a lot of people would consider me really apolitical. When I was very young, like five and six and seven, one of my earliest memories was actually being on a picket line and picketing a drug store because they wouldn’t hire black people. They were in a black neighborhood with all black customers, but they were all white. And I was out there marching on that. But when the World Trade Organization met here, I wasn’t protesting. I didn’t think that it would do any good, except make people that participated in it feel better, because they were doing something. But I didn’t see that it would change anything. So I think that I probably have a pretty cynical view. I think that actually the ways to change things are to do things that are not necessarily considered political. I do them consistently. So, hopefully, people can change things by changing themselves.

I vote all the time. I’ve been told all the time that voting doesn’t make any difference, but I know that people, that were my ancestors probably, fought for the right to vote. So, if someone was trying to keep them from doing it, then I’m going to do it. I think that the fact that I write at all, that I’m literate, is pretty political actually.

Is there anything else that readers should know about Filter House?

I want to say one more thing. This goes back to when I was little. When I was little I heard [the saying], “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” and I couldn’t understand that, because, one bird or two birds? Two birds are obviously worth more, plus you get this bush! Maybe it has berries on it and stuff. After someone finally explained it to me, I got the concept that having something in your hand is holding it and controlling it and that that is the boundary of yourself – your hand. But before that, no, the bush was mine too! And so what I want to give people is two birds and a bush.

^^^

You can purchase Filter House, which will be officially released in August, through Aqueduct's web site in early May. More information about Nisi Shawl can be found at her homepage.

my favorite bike shop..

go the wrong way down the one way street, through the alley by the federal bank, through the door behind the dumpster, carry your bike up three flights of stairs and enter bike-geek paradise. check it out

pike place pillow play

this is how i spent (five minutes of) my afternoon:



you can get some good shots of me around minute 3.

these are not my beautiful feet...

i glanced down as i strolled through the drizzle blanketing downtown seattle and it took me a moment to recognize my own feet. my father just bought me $125 timberland boots and $114 lucky jeans. i just snuck into my house, shamefully hiding the nordstrom bag behind me.

i feel guilty and happy and wary and comfortable in this soft-as-butter leather and stretchy durable denim.

aside from some hiking gear, i haven't had a new pair of shoes or pants in years. all of my clothes come from thrift stores, friends, free-boxes or (sometimes) more nefarious means. most of my shoes are old enough to fold in half; most of my pants have multiple holes or patches in the crotch. the reasons for this are complicated and various. i don't feel comfortable saying "i can't afford new clothes," because i know that definitions of "can't" and "afford" are so fucking contextual. that's where class comes in.

choices. yeah i have the privilege to make the choice...i guess. the choice to pay my $350/month student loan bill or buy new clothes. but it's also about values. i like my thrift store/free box clothes. it's not just some hipster/radical aesthetic - i like soft, worn clothes that smell like my friends. i like sweaters with stories and pants with layers of patches. but i do have to come clean with that fact that at some level, this is a choice. if i really wanted to, i could buy brand new clothes. i could get a well-paying job with my fancy degree. i could do a lot of things that i don't want to do.

it gets more complicated. and i want to talk about this without disavowing my own complicity and role in all of this.

see, two days ago, my dad only had $42 dollars in his checking account. the day he arrived here to visit me, he was on the phone with his bank to make sure that the check for the house he just closed on (he's a realtor) went through. and all of a sudden he's magically rich again, for who knows how long. one second, well four years actually, he can't give me a dime for my college education, and the next he says, "what do you want?" this access is so fleeting that i know i have to take advantage of it before it disappears again. we're at the mall downtown (his girlfriend is shopping and i feel like i'm on an alien planet...well an alien planet where i spent my formative years and haven't since returned), and he asks if i need anything. "um..." i mumble, mind racing strategically. thinking about my little list of things i'll buy for myself when i save up enough money. things i plan on buying as ethically as possible, researching labor practices and local manufacturing. maybe i'll even pay more for something custom that a friend of mine can make, happy that i'm supporting my community. but here we are in fucking westlake mall, surrounded by nike and kitschy shops and department stores.

we wander into nordstrom, as i'm still pondering my answer to his question. see it's all about the now. not later maybe we can go to this local store or even REI to get good biking shoes, let alone maybe later we can donate your money to a good cause. but now, at nordstrom's, "what do you want?"

something about this store brings out the fag in me and i start to think, well i could use some nice dress boots since i tend to bike in all of my shoes and scrape them up on my toe clips. i tell my dad that shoes might be nice and he starts to walk toward the women's shoe department. "no," i calmly correct him, "men's shoes." he turns, seemingly unfazed, and we walk to the men's department.

the smells and textures of this world intrigue, excite and terrify me. i follow him toward the pristinely dressed clerk who addressed us with, "how can i help you gentlemen?" my heart leaps at this momentary passing with these same conflicting emotions and i smirk a bit. i think my dad ignores it, too confused about how to "correct" him, or maybe he just pretends that he doesn't hear it, and asks about boots. he tries to explain what i want and then awkwardly defers the clerk to me, who quickly hides his surprise as he addresses me personally. "business, casual or athletic?"

"um..." i respond, still trying to orient myself in this simultaneously familiar and distant world of high-end retail.

luckily, we're in seattle and the clerk is wonderful and either queer and cool with going with the flow of this genderqueer/trannyboy/whateverthefuckiam asking for men's shoes or he has experience with other folks like myself. he kindly shows me over to the boots where i immediately find the simple black slip on timberlands that i've seen before and have wanted for a long time.

while we are waiting for the suave and sweet clerk to find the size 7 i'm hoping will fit, my dad starts drooling over a table of beautiful italian shoes. i join him and we take turns "oooing" and "aahhing" at the intricate designs and textures. did i mention what a fag my father is? no, he's not quite out yet, but i think he's getting there. we have always bonded in an ostensibly father/daughter way but i can't quite admit how good it feels to connect over an appreciation for overpriced fabulous designer boots.

this...this is different. somewhere i hope that he knows (that i'm not a girl) and somewhere i think that he knows that i know (that he's not straight).

then the clerk returns with my size 7 that i make fit with an insole and, barely glancing at the price, my dad buys them.

then he asks if there's anything else i want. well...the pants i'm wearing are falling off my ass - the back belt loop is broken so my belt rides on my hips while the pants sag below. i shyly admit that i do need new pants. "but, but...," i think, "i could buy 10 pair of pants at a thrift store for the price you are willing to pay for one pair of pants here." but that's not how this game is played. now or never is the sentiment and i not-so-begrudgingly acquiesce to his offer. again, he wanders toward the women's department and again i correct him.

i can't quite put language to the feelings that come up in the men's clothing department. longing is definitely one of them. earlier i admitted to dad that someday i would really like a nice tailored suit, after he jokingly asked when the last time i wore a dress was. (in a teasing, how-silly-our-old-ways-were kind of way)

see, i want to be one of them and i never will be. i think that simple sentence is the best way to express my gender identity at the moment. no, i don't think i was born in the wrong body or that i really am a boy deep inside...for me, those narratives mean that there is some truth about gender outside of all of our experiences of it. like there's such a thing as a real boy or a real girl. no, instead it feels like a club. especially here in the nordstrom's men's department in seattle - a wealthy gay men's club that i simultaneously despise and yearn to be a part of. but again, thank god we're in seattle, or at least, thank god for the sales-savy clerks who treat me with respect as they search for jeans with a 30 inch inseam.

i find the perfect pair that hugs my ass and bulges a bit at the crotch and handsomely contains my biker thighs. (<--------not my ass)

i'm kind of scared to feel hot like this. but, god, do i feel hot in these...

one of my foundational, earth-shattering (sounds like an oxymoron, but it's not) conversations around gender was when i was talking with a friend about my fear of "dressing up." see, i have this idea that the more dressed "up" you are (at least in my experience of white middle-class american culture), the more polarized the standards of gender become. and the more lost i feel. i cannot feel hot in a dress. (well maybe with a wig and excessive makeup and heels, but that's another story) i don't know if i ever have. and i've been scared to explore the other side fully. in large part because going out and buying a bunch of new clothes, especially clothes that i can't wear everyday, can't bike in, is not a luxury i can afford. so through this conversation i figured out that i might feel hot in a suit or men's dress clothes. but i never really tried it until now.

this feels silly because i'm really just talking about jeans and black boots, not a three-piece-suit, but still. they are fucking expensive and made of really nice materials and feel so fucking good against my skin. not to mention the lingering smell of cologne and leather that permeates the air in this department. it's also being surrounded by men in this forbidden world. and feeling like i'm connecting with my father in a whole new way...a way that neither of us is quite willing to admit - to each other or ourselves.

this raw love

holding it all. all the love and hurt and rage. swirling past lives through these melodies. twisted smiles and sad eyes. forgotten faces and memories of joy. i want to hit and kick and break and scream and hold and squeeze and love and remember and forget.

if these songs could talk..could they tell of the rooms they've filled, the hearts they've opened...and broken? sometimes they sound so true, sometimes they are all lies. the soundtrack stays the same while the movie changes. but no, the songs change too - we becomes you, us becomes them. they tell the stories we are afraid to admit, confess the love and fear and confusion and change.

contentment. sitting with all of this. observing...

how the pain changes. sharp, raw, dull ache, pulsing through tense muscles, lingering with remembered memories, mingling with a warm, holding love. on one side, a sparkling grin and wink from a cute new friend; on the other, a reassuring hand on my back. behind me, her laugh goes through me, pressing against the fading bruises. my eyes lite up at the opening chord while my body braces for this rush of pasts.

i don't long for the way things were. i'm actually very happy with the way things are now. i just wish that change didn't mean loss.

ed. note: this post was written immediately following a musical show i attended. some of y'all know exactly what i'm talking about and some have no idear.

me too! me too!

so recently some pals of mine told me about a meditation technique called Vipassana. in a nutshell, it is the practice of self-observation while refraining from communication (verbal or otherwise) with the outside world while minimizing distraction. this is called "noble silence" — "silence of body, speech and mind." it is usually practiced at retreat centers, for a period of ten days.

i've been taking an intro to Ashtanga Yoga series at Samarya and i love it. if feels amazing and balancing and i am learning a lot about myself. i also have all sorts of complicated feelings about it at the same time. like what spirituality means to me now, particularly in light of my evangelical christian upbringing. and how appropriation of the tradition and beliefs of a culture that is not my own plays into my practice. but that's not what this post is about.

i'm super interested in the Vipassana retreat. it sounds amazing: really intense yet calming, terrifying yet safe. right up my alley. and i'm totally down with the 4am to 9pm schedule. the vegetarian food. the utter silence. there's just one problem: not only are the sleeping quarters divided by gender, but "complete segregation of men and women is to be maintained," including even meals.

now, though on a purely theoretical level i disagree with gender segregated sleeping quarters, i understand and respect the reasons why many folks feel like this is important. namely the instances of sexual violence that most women have experienced. and the importance of feeling safe, particularly in an environment like this.

but segregated eating?! and meditation?! i am filled with rage.

******

mind you, part of this is a very logical and rational rage. those rules are predicated upon two false premises: 1>that there are only two genders 2> that the distinction between these two genders is clear and universal.

the debater in me wants to go off. whip out my Anne Fausto-Sterling and talk about the regulation of bodies. the mutilation of intersexed babies. the multitude of ways we define sexual difference and their inconsistency. the emphasis on difference as a self-fulfilling prophecy - not just in a hippydippy humanities kinda way: Fausto-Sterling is a biologist and she explains how gender socialization, even before birth, physically changes our brains. how there are soooo many more differences among men and among women than there are between them.

oh yeah, i said i wouldn't go off. not because the above claims can't be fleshed out into a convincing argument. but because they are based on truth claims, which folks, particularly those that benefit from this polarization of gender, will always find ways to refute. and because talking about truths about bodies is kinda an oxymoron. the dichotomies between nature and nurture, sex and gender are false ones and i don't want to play into reinforcing them. you have to be able to separate these things (like culture from bodies) in order to pit them against each other and i don't think that that is possible, or healthy for that matter.

******

so usually, when i get to this point in my head, i feel panicked. my body freezes up, my jaw locks, i withdraw from folks who disagree with me, often without telling them why, i make myself sick with tension. because there are a shit ton of really intense feelings beneath these ideas. feelings that aren't up for debate and can't be rationalized away or logically justified. and when i engage on a purely "rational" level (which in itself is always a farce) the rage becomes a distorted blob inside of me.

******

before i get to those feelings though, humor a few more arguments.

let's pretend that there only two sexes and that their difference is clear and distinct. er, i mean, even if there are two sexes and their difference is clear and distinct, why would the folks that do Vipassana meditation feel the need to separate men and women? i did my best cursory internet research and haven't been able to find any reasoning for this tenant of the practice. (please let me know if you know something i don't) so the best i can do is guess.

maybe it has to do with the history and culture connected to this tradition - namely Buddhism. i didn't find much about gender and Buddhism (also didn't have time to do an exhaustive search), though this article was interesting. but in some ways i think that the tradition of Buddhism is beside the point. namely because,

People from many religions and no religion have found the meditation course helpful and beneficial. Vipassana is an art of living, a way of life. While it is the essence of what the Buddha taught, it is not a religion; rather, it is the cultivation of human values leading to a life which is good for oneself and good for others.

there's all sortsa stuff i could go into here about the complexities of cultural appropriation, cultural imperialism, change that comes from within a culture or tradition, etc. but again, that's a much bigger topic. i want to acknowledge that but am not getting into it at the moment.
so where do i, this white american, raised in a conservative christian tradition that taught me that meditation was evil because clearing your mind would literally open it up to the devil, where do i get off criticizing this tradition that is not my own? i think mainly because it's purportedly for all folks to participate in, yet i feel intensely, though not intentionally, excluded.

but i want to go back to my speculated reasons for this division for a moment.

some might argue that separating men and women is to prevent distraction. like i said earlier, this is one of the most essential factors of the practice: "All students must observe Noble Silence from the beginning of the course until the morning of the last full day. Noble Silence means silence of body, speech, and mind. Any form of communication with fellow student, whether by gestures, sign language, written notes, etc., is prohibited." they don't allow: any other techniques, rites, forms of worship; physical contact; yoga and physical exercise; religious Objects, rosaries, crystals, talismans, etc.; intoxicants and drugs; tobacco; outside food; revealing clothing; outside contacts; or music, reading and writing.

obviously distraction from internal reflection is to be avoided.

but assuming that somehow men will distract women more than other women and vice versa is hella heterosexist. founding this rule on the assumption that everyone participating is straight is not okay.

******

and it's transphobic.

this is hard to talk about because i'm tempted to immediately connect this claim to the initial arguments i make in this post. about the fluidity of gender and how this principle excludes trans folks.

them. not me.

but really, this is where i feel most excluded. of course the transphobia is all bound up in the heterosexism (they need each other to exist). but this is the gut level that left me sobbing myself to sleep last night.

i feel left out. i don't want to click "female" or "male" on their application form. i don't want to be surrounded by self-identified women and have them assume that i am one of them. i don't want to be surrounded by self-identified men and either have them hate me/give me weird looks because i'm not one of them or wear a binder for ten days (which sure as hell wouldn't facilitate meditative breathing) and attempt to pass, terrified of being found out.

i just want to have this experience...as a human.

______

all of the quotes about Vipassana are from this website.

ed. note: this post is mostly written to an imagined foe, who is a conglomeration of folks i've argued with in the past and to my internal dude who delegitimates intense feelings like this when they come up.

warms my heart (click it)

ehtaerb

so i said i'd write.

kinda like i say i'll call. i don't do well when i can't see your eyes.

(think i'm talking about you? i prolly am..in fact i'm currently envisioning about eleven specific eyeballs at the moment)

doesn't work too well...all this stuff in my head, changes in my life. reconnecting with old friends, falling away from others. today the little pre-yoga-class inspirational message was about letting go of what needs to go and holding on to what needs to stay. but which is which? i think the point is to pay attention to the energy you are putting into the grasping. hmm.

sometimes the contradictory space in my head feels so good, so spacious and clear in its confusion. like a room full of fluffy multi-colored pillows, where you sink in and notice the table on the ceiling and the waves on the wall and you breathe and think, it's okay.

and sometimes the light changes and everything shifts and nothing makes sense and that's not okay. the either/or monster sneaks in the back door and every facet of life becomes an imminent decision. now or never. hated or loved. smothered or lonely. successful or a failure. hypersensitive or oblivious. hott or hideous. weak or tough. boy or girl.

the trick is to remember that the light will shift again. and the memory of the upsidedown teacup will get me through the sticky times.

fried participation

7:05 PM
becky: needle
scoop
orange
envelope
elephant
seaweed
thyme
balloons
potatoes
roots
heels
7:06 PM
train car
frills
me: uh-uh
7:07 PM
mouse
green light
wrapper
red
tummy
squeeze
juice
click
around
stretch
bud
o'clock
so there
7:08 PM
becky: model
pants
apple
penis
joke
writer
feet
octopus
arugula
calcium
7:09 PM
goat
rug
metal
bunkbed
7:11 PM
me: only if
rack
chasing
child's POV
gurgle
beard
eyes
phone
vertebrae
push
crack
chocolate
eagles
7:12 PM
becky: oyster
crumb
arm bone
drill
cardamom
sheets
velvet
ribbon
7:13 PM
chain
pump
grapefruit
yeast
depression
vacation
7:14 PM
me: drunken-centaurs
roller
coaster
becky: tail
me: tea
face
becky: lemonade
7:15 PM
broken
me: h20
becky: birthday
me: breathe
secret
fix
fur
fluff
7:16 PM
defy
burgle
becky: choke
fire
string
bag
me: time
drop
soar
button
becky: jupiter
me: climb
compost
glue
slouch
7:17 PM
becky: firefly
scotch tape
automatic
me: dead
air
border
balance
bloom
becky: ring
stone
blank
grave
7:18 PM
flower
confusion
story
polka
ceramic
fried
participation
7:19 PM
me: tongue
gulp
twirl
plastic
crinkle
bake
cord
alas
vast
step
7:20 PM
leave
becky: chop
bus
splash
creature
7:22 PM
me: home
house
space
gas
gallop
7:23 PM
hide
gaze
rest
tangelo
becky: finances
me: stick
becky: key
wardrobe
tiger
eebwak
fuzzy
7:24 PM
curls
summersault
dig
me: support
dilemma
deny
spectrum
sliver
heart
7:25 PM
becky: ipod
noodle
stretch
forget
comply
run
7:28 PM
me: if
pop
bulb
heave
7:29 PM
here
magic
real
becky: barf
monkey
me: fart
poodle
7:30 PM
becky: embroider
knot
show
lake
snow
sky
cut
quick
mercury
dinner
7:31 PM
u left the kitchen messy
7:32 PM
me: uh-huh ::shame::