So, as a kid you were a little scrawny thing. Not very strong, but that was ok. You still had fun moving around all the extra rocks that were laying around in the back yard. Just out there building stuff. It might not look good, but whatever, you were a kid - you were having fun.
At some point you stopped playing with the rocks. You go away to school, and study architecture. You would sometimes think about playing with those rocks again, but you never get the chance. You finish school, get a job, buy a house, have some kids and life moves on.
On some random Wednesday, you are sitting in your kitchen, lazily staring out the window. The back yard is plain and empty. You get to thinking about those rocks you used to move around and build with when you were a kid. You begin to imagine all the marvelous things you can do in your back yard. You take out your sketch paper, your ruler, your pencil. You draw up amazing plans, call up the local quarry, and get a truck load of rocks delivered to your back yard.
You work at moving those rocks into position all day. But quickly realize that while you grew up and learned all about architecture, that you never once went to the gym, and still have a scrawny weak kids body. The back yard is a mess, you couldn’t stack the rocks higher then a few feet off the ground, it looks nothing like your plans, and you are frustrated.
The issue is that your skills at carrying and placing rocks haven’t kept up with your planning and imagination. You are unbalanced. You have a great vision, but are having trouble moving those rocks to where you want them.
You sit in the kitchen at the end of the day, staring into the back yard. You realize that if you just keep working at it - if you keep moving those rocks around - that you’ll get stronger. And one day you’ll eventually be strong enough to place the rocks exactly where you want to. And you’ll be happy.
“The mainstream media’s slobbery obsession with the Casey Anthony trial underscores how deeply the ideal of white womanhood is steeped in reverence for white motherhood. As many cultural commentators have observed, Anthony was appealing because she was a perverse representation of the Middle American “us.” She epitomized the seductive quandary of how seemingly good middle class white girls, good white mothers, could go so colossally bad. The white masses were transfixed and outraged by the tawdry saga of innocent little Caylee Anthony’s disappearance because she was “every child,” thus putting the sanctity of white motherhood on trial.
Being marked as bad bitches already, women of color don’t have far to fall when it comes to the pathological mother immorality sweepstakes. To paraphrase Gil Scott Heron, the realities of neglectful mothers of color will not be televised. They will not be the object of round-the-clock cable news, Court TV or supermarket tabloid frenzy. They will not elicit thousands of dollars in donations to defray their legal expenses because the subtext of the bad black or Latino mother is the good white mother whose children are America’s children. For example, fetal homicide laws disproportionately criminalize poor pregnant women of color. Like decades-old legislation that has penalized generations of pregnant black women for crack cocaine use, fetal homicide laws are the new frontier in the anti-abortion backlash. One of the more egregious examples of this is the case of Rennie Gibbs. Gibbs is an African American Mississippi woman facing a life sentence for murder after giving birth to a stillborn baby in 2006 when she was 16-years old. The state of Mississippi has charged that Gibbs’ stillbirth was due to her alleged cocaine use. Although medical reports concluded that Gibbs’ cocaine was not a contributing factor in her child’s death, the case is nonetheless progressing in criminal court after five years.”—Bad Bitches, True Women: The New Cult of True Womanhood (via themetropoliskid)
As a queer sex worker, the spreading of my glitter has been an act of personal and political emancipation, and a celebration of my own strangeness. To see the way glitter has been utilized in disruptivepoliticalprotest recently, pushing beyond petty glamdalism, and individual delight makes me really proud.
As a baby stripper I covered myself in glitter. I couldn’t get enough on myself. Certain customers wouldn’t buy dances from me, and regulars who asked me to stop. Yeah right. I would be outright dismissive, or encourage them to tell their wives and girlfriends what they were up to, and bring them along to share these experiences. I wasn’t lying to anyone! I am happy to be a stripper, and happy to spread my glitter everywhere. I will not succumb to a customers shame over our transactions, and I will not allow them to hide their participation. For me it happened organically: just a love of glitter, and how upset it made the men who tried to lie to important women in their lives.
The queer community has elaborated the glitter metaphor into a visual representation of our existence. In the battle for visibility, throwing glitter has become an act of political aggression. A campy act of spreading queerness, activism, and love that disrupts privileged spaces. Glitter has a connotation of uncleanliness and impropriety… the herpes of arts and crafts, right? I fucking love it! Throw it everywhere, demand to be acknowledged.
The glitter bomb is a fabulous weapon in the in the Stripper Army arsenal and it’s the closest we’ll ever come to Wonder Woman’s golden lasso of truth. Glamdalism is not limited only to bodily glitter bombs: We should bomb everything Like the graffiti dudes who have established a methodology of reclaiming spaces of urban decay and corporate visual pollution by bombing walls, fucking with billboards, and making free public art. Like that, but what I’m talking about isn’t art. GLAMDALISM IS AGGRESSION and there needs to be a lot more of it.
It’s aggression against the thousands of commercial images we are exposed to everyday that embed the seeds of our self destructions and drive us perpetually out of touch with our bodies, genders, sexualities, and the power of our erotic selves. And it’s aggression against the tangible structures of corporate imposition on their spoils from the class war, against a government that hates us, a military that wants to kills us, and a society that shames us.
When Virgil wrote The Aeneid, he didn’t invent Aeneas; Aeneas was a minor character in Homer’s Odyssey whose unauthorized further adventures Virgil decided to chronicle. Shakespeare didn’t invent Hamlet and King Lear; he plucked them from historical and literary sources.
Writers weren’t the originators of the stories they told; they were just the temporary curators of them. Real creation was something the gods did.
All that has changed. Today the way we think of creativity is dominated by Romantic notions of individual genius and originality, and late-capitalist concepts of intellectual property.
”— TIME magazine, “The Boy Who Lived Forever”, by Lev Grossman (via lalumena)
1. Autism Speaks talks about us without us. Not a single Autistic person is on Autism Speaks’ Board of Directors or in their leadership. Autism Speaks is one of an increasingly few number of major disability advocacy organizations that refuse to include any individual with the disability they purport to serve on their board of directors or at any point in their leadership and decision-making processes. In large part this is due to Autism Speaks’ public relations strategy of presenting Autistic people as silent burdens on society rather than human beings with thoughts, feelings and opinions.
2. They use fear and stigma to try and raise money off the backs of our people. Autism Speaks uses damaging and offensive fundraising tactics which rely on fear, stereotypes and devaluing the lives of people on the autism spectrum. Autism Speaks’ advertising claims that Autistic people are stolen from our own bodies. Its television Public Service Announcements compare having a child on the autism spectrum to having a child caught in a fatal car accident or struck by lightning. In fact, the idea of autism as a fate worse than death is a frequent theme in their fundraising and awareness efforts, going back to their “Autism Every Day” film in 2005. Indeed, throughout Autism Speaks’ fundraising is a consistent and unfortunate theme of fear, pity and prejudice, presenting Autistic adults and children not as full human beings but as burdens on society that must be eliminated as soon as possible.
3. Very little money donated to Autism Speaks goes toward helping Autistic people and families: According to their 2008 annual report, only 4% of Autism Speaks’ budget goes towards the “Family Service” grants that are the organization’s means of funding services. Given the huge sums of money Autism Speaks raises from local communities as compared to the miniscule sums it gives back, it is not an exaggeration to say that Autism Speaks is a tremendous drain on the ability of communities to fund autism service-provision and education initiatives. Furthermore, while the bulk of Autism Speaks’ budget (65%) goes toward genetic and biomedical research, only a small minority of Autism Speaks’ research budget goes towards research oriented around improving services, supports, treatments and educational methodologies, with most funding going towards basic research oriented around causation and genetic research, including the prospect of prenatal testing. Although Autism Speaks has not prioritized services with a practical impact for families and individuals in its budget, its rates of executive pay are the highest in the autism world, with annual salaries as high as $600,000 a year.