manyhappyreturns-motherfuckers:

My voice does not belong to you.

My body does not belong to you.

Bitch does not belong you you.

I do not belong to you.

Poetry written and performed by Isabel Elliott and Maddie Cramer
BNV 2013 Finals Round #1-Denver

One of my students!

(via violetcoil)

Easter Peeps

Easter Peeps

bana05:

I wanted my first-year film students to understand what happens to a story when actual human beings inhabit your characters, and the way they can inspire storytelling. And I wanted to teach them how to look at headshots and what you might be able to tell from a headshot. So for the past few years I’ve done a small experiment with them.

It works like this: I bring in my giant file of head shots, which include actors of all races, sizes, shapes, ages, and experience levels. Each student picks a head shot from the stack and gets a few minutes to sit with the person’s face and then make up a little story about them. 

Namely, for white men, they have no trouble coming up with an entire history, job, role, genre, time, place, and costume. They will often identify him without prompting as “the main character.” The only exception? “He would play the gay guy.” For white women, they mostly do not come up with a job (even though it was specifically asked for), and they will identify her by her relationships. “She would play the mom/wife/love interest/best friend.” I’ve heard “She would play the slut” or “She would play the hot girl.” A lot more than once.

For nonwhite men, it can be equally depressing. “He’s in a buddy cop movie, but he’s not the main guy, he’s the partner.” “He’d play a terrorist.” “He’d play a drug dealer.” “A thug.” “A hustler.” “Homeless guy.” One Asian actor was promoted to “villain.”

For nonwhite women (grab onto something sturdy, like a big glass of strong liquor), sometimes they are “lucky” enough to be classified as the girlfriend/love interest/mom, but I have also heard things like “Well, she’d be in a romantic comedy, but as the friend, you know?” “Maid.” “Prostitute.” “Drug addict.”

I should point out that the responses are similar whether the group is all or mostly-white or extremely racially mixed, and all the groups I’ve tried this with have been about equally balanced between men and women, though individual responses vary. Women do a little better with women, and people of color do a little better with people of color, but female students sometimes forget to come up with a job for female actors and black male students sometimes tell the class that their black male actor wouldn’t be the main guy.

Once the students have made their pitches, we interrogate their opinions. “You seem really sure that he’s not the main character – why? What made you automatically say that?” “You said she was a mom. Was she born a mom, or did she maybe do something else with her life before her magic womb opened up and gave her an identity? Who is she as a person?” In the case of the “thug“, it turns out that the student was just reading off his film resume. This brilliant African American actor who regularly brings houses down doing Shakespeare on the stage and more than once made me weep at the beauty and subtlety of his performances, had a list of film credits that just said “Thug #4.” “Gang member.” “Muscle.” Because that’s the film work he can get. Because it puts food on his table.

So, the first time I did this exercise, I didn’t know that it would turn into a lesson on racism, sexism, and every other kind of -ism. I thought it was just about casting. But now I know that casting is never just about casting, and this day is a real teachable opportunity. Because if we do this right, we get to the really awkward silence, where the (now mortified) students try to sink into their chairs. Because, hey, most of them are proud Obama voters! They have been raised by feminist moms! They don’t want to be or see themselves as being racist or sexist. But their own racism and sexism is running amok in the room, and it’s awkward.

This for every time someone criticizes how characters of color and female characters of color especially are treated in text and by subsequent fandoms.  It’s never “just a television/movie/book”. It’s never been ”just”.

(Source: letthetruthlaugh, via ramblingpoetry)

""Because we need to call the feeling one has after a great loss something, we call it “grief,” but anyone who has experienced it knows that this is just a word assigned to what is, in its shifting, horrible, massive complexity, unnameable. This book is an effort to rename this feeling. It should take at least that number of words and pages to begin to do so. One could say the entire book is a new name, the name of this emotion one can feel after such a loss.

The most difficult thing for a reader of the book might be the intensity of the feelings, and also at times because language is trying to reach for some kind of knowledge or understanding that seems impossible, given the horrible hugeness of the absence of the one who has died. The reader feels the poet’s intense desire to only say true things in the poems, in honor of her friend and her passing. The book is not otherwise difficult to understand, or, it is only difficult in the way all poetry is and should be. The poet does what poets do: reactivates words, makes odd associations, connects things that do not ordinarily belong together in order to create deeper meaning.”

Go read the whole thing.

I never have gotten the hang of Monday.

I never have gotten the hang of Monday.

rebeccachaperon:

This book is B.S.

I’m glad my daughters are going to grow up in a world which recognizes just how bullshit that book is.

rebeccachaperon:

This book is B.S.

I’m glad my daughters are going to grow up in a world which recognizes just how bullshit that book is.

I love recreational reading and I’m glad I’m forcing myself to make space for it. For too long i’ve read only what I needed to for whatever reason, and you can forget why you got into literature in the first place if you do that too long. It’s nice to read a book without the thought in the back of your head “how would I teach this?”

This is book 3 of Earthsea, which means I’m almost done with it. Then I’ll have to find something else. I’m slowly working my way through Foucault’s Pendulum by Umberto Eco, which is the kind of novel Dan Brown wishes he could write, and I’m savoring Roxane Gay’s An Untamed State for the Rumpus Book Club, and I just picked up Kristen Brimhall’s Our Lady of the Ruins, which is amazing so far.

Given how your daily life can careen between needs and necessities, from nurturing your inner life or raising children to enjoying friendships, from shopping for lightbulbs to reheating dinner, from doing the laundry to saving for a trip — and even given the times when you find yourself caring seriously for the ill, elderly, or young in your life — you know all too well that the rampaging exteriors of the modern world seem intent on smothering the inner life of your poetic self whenever and wherever it can.

Of course it can’t. Your inner life is inextinguishable.

So to become a poet in the modern world is to trust that a poem is one of the essential messages you send right back at modernity. A poem is a means to define modernity. And it’s your poems that remind us not only of our individuated ecstasies and trials but also of the shared and granular images and stories of human experience.

But a very curious battle does take place, no? An ancient and noble battle, yes? We all sense it.

For one thing, accessing your poetic imagination doesn’t require a password — and neither will there be an upgrade next year. For another thing, your inner life subverts the turbulences of modernity, and the open fields of your imagination will not be fenced in by the onslaught of day to day existence.

On the contrary, your poetic imagination represents a compassionate and cultivated defense against the brute forces of modern living. Because, as if on cue, as if also at war with modernity — as if in the very moments that daily life seems most successful at crushing you as a creative individual — some odd aroma will trick your true poet’s self to embrace the imaginary along with the inventive forms and auras of language, of rhythm, of literary echoes, and of patterns and orders of the words and images that comprise your poems.

letsbeliberalhere:


cognitivedissonance:

natalie-ann:

asmilinggoddess:

thefuuuucomics:

cognitivedissonance:

darthmobius:

cognitivedissonance:

I have bronchitis. Thanks to the ACA, I was able to get medicine for $0. #ThanksObama

LIES.
that came from taxes I paid.

Well, let my know how much I owe you and I’ll drop a few pennies in the mail. War comes from taxes you paid, and I personally dislike the amount I pay going for that… Maybe we should check “yes” or “no” on our 1040 forms this year for allocation of tax dollars.
I’m sorry you think I’m lying, but I’m not. I qualified for the Medicaid expansion under the ACA, which is partially funded through taxpayer revenue. I don’t think the IRS mailed you a letter saying, “Nah nah nah nah naaaaaaah! This year’s tax dollars went to pay for medicine for poor people mwahahaha!” Who knows? Maybe YOUR portion of tax dollars went to a Hellfire missile that took out a village in Afghanistan. Ooh, how exciting for you!
Comfort yourself with that thought as I use my inhaler, which I would not have been able to afford without the ACA.



#gonna need obamacare to afford treatment for that burn jackass

what the fuck is wrong with Americans who aren’t on board with free healthcare. I’m Canadian and I don’t care that I pay extra taxes so a little boy in Alberta can have open heart surgery, or an elderly man in Nova Scotia can get the heart medication he desperately needs. It’s called taking care of your people. I’m glad I pay so that people can have a good quality of life. It’s called being a decent fucking human being.

This ↑

THIS. SO VERY HARD.


American conservatism is based on the idea that “those people” are stealing from them and that “those people” are getting stuff they don’t deserve. I’ll leave you to figure out who “those people” tend to be.

letsbeliberalhere:

cognitivedissonance:

natalie-ann:

asmilinggoddess:

thefuuuucomics:

cognitivedissonance:

darthmobius:

cognitivedissonance:

I have bronchitis. Thanks to the ACA, I was able to get medicine for $0. #ThanksObama

LIES.

that came from taxes I paid.

Well, let my know how much I owe you and I’ll drop a few pennies in the mail. War comes from taxes you paid, and I personally dislike the amount I pay going for that… Maybe we should check “yes” or “no” on our 1040 forms this year for allocation of tax dollars.

I’m sorry you think I’m lying, but I’m not. I qualified for the Medicaid expansion under the ACA, which is partially funded through taxpayer revenue. I don’t think the IRS mailed you a letter saying, “Nah nah nah nah naaaaaaah! This year’s tax dollars went to pay for medicine for poor people mwahahaha!” Who knows? Maybe YOUR portion of tax dollars went to a Hellfire missile that took out a village in Afghanistan. Ooh, how exciting for you!

Comfort yourself with that thought as I use my inhaler, which I would not have been able to afford without the ACA.

what the fuck is wrong with Americans who aren’t on board with free healthcare. I’m Canadian and I don’t care that I pay extra taxes so a little boy in Alberta can have open heart surgery, or an elderly man in Nova Scotia can get the heart medication he desperately needs. It’s called taking care of your people. I’m glad I pay so that people can have a good quality of life. It’s called being a decent fucking human being.

This ↑

THIS. SO VERY HARD.

American conservatism is based on the idea that “those people” are stealing from them and that “those people” are getting stuff they don’t deserve. I’ll leave you to figure out who “those people” tend to be.

(via violetcoil)

Ha!

Ha!