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Welcome to Tavi Gevinson’s NY apartment
Take the tour.
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Join the Pratt MFA Writing Activism series this coming Wednesday in the Women Writers of Color Reading Room for a reading & conversation with LaShonda Katrice Barnett. This event is free and open to the public.
Wednesday, February 3rd, 12-2pm.
Women Writers of Color Reading Room, Pratt Library, 3rd Floor.
Kansas City native LaShonda Katrice Barnett grew up in Park Forest, Illinois. Editor of I Got Thunder: Black Women Songwriters On Their Craft (2007), and Off The Record: Conversations With African American and Brazilian Women Musicians (2015), and author of the story collection Callaloo (1999). Barnett is a graduate of the University of Missouri, Sarah Lawrence College, and the College of William and Mary, where she earned a B.A., M.A. in Women’s History and the Ph.D. in American Studies, respectively. Her debut novel, Jam on the Vine, courses a woman’s launch of a black newspaper in the Jim Crow Midwest.
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Anne Sexton at home reciting one of her most critically acclaimed poems titled “Her Kind” c. 1966
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Tomorrow Jasmine Gibson will be reading (Thursday November 5th) from 2-4 in North Hall, Room 307. Jasmine Gibson is an amazing young poet whose chapbook Drapetomania was just published by Commune Editions.
You can down download it here: http://communeeditions.com/drapetomania/
A link to other work is here: http://www.maskmagazine.com/…/psychosis-and-state-repression
Jasmine Gibson is a Philly jawn now living in Brooklyn and soon to be psychotherapist for all your gooey psychotic episodes that match the bipolar flows of capital. She spends her time thinking about sexy things like psychosis, desire and freedom. She has written for Mask Magazine and LIES Vol II: Journal of Materialist feminism and has now published a chapbook, Drapetomania, off of Commune Editions.
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Photo of Hurricane Joaquin taken by an astronaut on the International Space Station... ummm loooove this. Looks so majestic and massive and small and puffy from above.
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This Wednesday I’ll be reading at the launch of Eileen Myles new book party/reading...
Eileen Myles: Launch of I Must Be Living Twice: New and Selected Poems 1975-2014 and Reissue of Chelsea Girls
With Sam Ace, Jen Benka, Charles Bernstein, Stephen Boyer, Alex Chee, Cathy de la Cruz, r. erica doyle, Megan Fernandez, Adam Fitzgerald, Emily Gould, Patricia Spears Jones, erica kaufman, Porochista Khapour, Ben Lerner, Nate Lippens, Elinor Nauen, Trace Peterson, Ariana Reines, Jill Soloway, Stacy Szymaszek, Anne Waldman, Joe Westmoreland, and Simone White. Hosted by Nicole J. Georges, K8 Hardy, and Morgan Parker.
Eileen Myles was born in Boston (1949) and she moved to New York in 1974 to be a poet. Educated at the poetry project by Violi, Notley, Berrigan & Zavatsky, Myles is the author of 19 books including new & selected poems I Must Be Living Twice & Chelsea Girls, Snowflake/different streets (poems, 2012) and Inferno (a poet’s novel) (2010). She’s a Guggenheim fellow and in 2014 received a grant from the Foundation for Contemporary Art.
This event will be cash only. Admission is $8 at the door, $7 for students and seniors, and $5 or free for members.
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#uploadingnature poem or #uncomfortablepronoun
for Loma aka Christopher Soto aka Loma
My gender identity is a…
multifaceted multifarious molecular body
belonging to a garden variety dinner menu.
Though vegetarian — not exactly what my Mother ordered.
Culture couldn’t succeed in proving
why i ought to claim a professional gender.
The well groomed perfected gender identity unable to honor smudged lipstick
the morning disarray, the afternoon confusion, the late night insomnia
the saltwater holding my body as i swim towards the depths
to grab the sand and let my feet swing up towards the surface
i let the sand go and allow the wave currents to pull me
spiral tumble swell upwards into the white-wash
pushing me towards shore.
Mercreature. Seaflower. Manatee ascending starbound.
I am not a professionalized gender.
I am not a part of speech.
I am not a noun.
I am not a pronoun.
I am not a professional noun.
I am not seeking approval by a professionalized proper vocabulary.
The sun is on my back — Janet Jackson blasting in my headphones —
i wonder how can faggots identify with a woman so obsessed with love?
as i fly towards the ocean
determined to find the safe embrace of its depths.
Whenever someone asks what my pronoun choice is
i wonder what is it about me that screams pronoun?
Is there some smudge on my face that i do not see?
i am not a professional noun.
The professional noun has much work to do.
My gender identity is a child’s dream
as it makes sense of the clouds
swirling above. Someone once told this child
if it looked close enough the clouds themselves
would form all the animals roaming the earth.
My gender identity is an animal’s dream:
The dog barking & twitching in sleep
An owl hooting over yonder
Rats burrowing into heaps of trash
A sea turtle arching its shell and lowering its fins toward the reef
The lions yawn
The frogs summer ribbit choir
A cats morning meow.
Remember when we met, we all went in a circle, naming our names and pronouns and i said whatever for lack of time?
i’ve often thought of changing my name:
green or mercury or venezuela or pit
but i always come back to my given name
and this given language.
Remember when you plucked me from the garden and told me “you’re beautiful” then left me on the counter to wither alone?
My gender identity is heroic.
Still — the professionalized noun triggers my fear of the corporate state.
Is there an equivalent to healthcare system for the English grammar system?
Because my gender identity needs social services.
My unprofessional gender identity is homeless, jobless but wants assistance.
However, it refuses to be professionalized as a pronoun.
Remember when my gender identity dripped orange all over the canvas?
My gender identity is too sloppy to be contained as a word
it’s leaky & unwashed & into sploshing
and too poor to hire a professional to clean up the mess.
Am i in my gender identity
or has the park
and the poem
and the tree
and the squirrel
existed forever?
Like cats — we shift.
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Welcome to spring! I woke up to my chickens eating a wild bird…. it was already pecked clean by the time I found them. Now I’m wondering if they’ve been doing this all along?!?!!! It’s sorta freaking me out, but I guess it’s what everything does. I guess, “it’s a chicken eat wild bird world” after all…. my next book of poems is aptly to be titled “chicken eat wild bird world”.
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My friend Stephen Boyer (author of PARASITE) in their Chelsea basement bedroom.
(All photos styled by Stephen using their own wardrobe.)
© Amos Mac
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