The Search for Non-Capitalist Pleasure
by Ansley Clark
One of my most pleasurable memories occurred in my friend’s tiny room, sitting in her plastic and unremarkable desk chair. We were English teachers living in Beauvais, France; my hair was full of split ends, and my friend offered a trim. Since none of us owned any glassware, she handed me red wine in a mug. Her fingers combed through my hair, occasionally skimming my scalp, while her scissors quietly and steadily snipped away, like small gentle insects.Continue Reading
Queering a Path through the Universe: Sex & Love in Sci-Fi
by Courtney E. Morgan
There have been more and more representations of queer characters and relationships in mainstream media lately—more depictions of fully fleshed out, round protagonists, given fullness and complexity in their relationships and their narratives. Queer characters can be the leads in important movies, can win awards: Moonlight, Call Me By Your Name, Battle of the Sexes come to mind. It’s a beautiful thing.Continue Reading
Book Review: Feminized Rastafar-I, Adaptive Diaspora, and Embodied Resistance in Marcia Douglas’ The Marvelous Equations of the Dread
by Stephanie Couey
Marcia Douglas’ 2016 novel, The Marvelous Equations of the Dread centers around a young Jamaican woman named Leenah. Leenah’s multimodal and fully-embodied engagements with sound grant her privileged access into the temporal and spiritual experience of Rastafar-I. Following pan-African traditions of resistance centered around adaptation, Leenah radically adapts to her surroundings as a deaf woman in a persistently-masculinist and sound-driven movement.Continue Reading
by Ansley Clark
She is on top, curled between his legs with her back against his groin, almost a fetal position. Her thin thighs press together, contained into a skinny tight v. Her arms wrap around her knees, her calves lifting to reveal tiny wet vulva lips, a cock sliding between them. She is a ball of tiny-shaped legs and a swell of belly barely there and thin arms and a sharply prominent rib cage. The caption reads: “I love this pic because it shows how tiny I am and how big he is.”Continue Reading
Imagine you’re a lesbian, at a lesbian bar on Lesbian Night. You strike up a conversation with a total babe. You buy her a drink. She’s leaning in, touching your arm, giving you the eye. You take her out onto the dance floor and start mackin’. As the night winds down, you ask for her number. She giggles self-consciously.
“Oh, um…so, I’m not really a lesbian. I just think women are beautiful, and like, I thought it would be fun to hook up a little, or something.”Continue Reading
by Alysia Sawchyn
I pulled into the row of parking spaces at 6:25pm on a Saturday night, already five minutes late to the monthly prayer meeting at Our Lady of Clearwater. Looking up at the glass-paned building, the stone grottos encasing plaster statues of Jesus and Mary on either side of its main entrance, like guardian lions, I took one deep breath in and let it go slowly.Continue Reading
By Mariam Williams
For two weeks after the election, I wrote nothing. I was enrolled in two writing workshops for my MFA, and I wrote nothing. I submitted a poem I had written over the summer and didn’t bother to revise for my poetry workshop that week. The following week, I skipped my nonfiction workshop all together. I also doubled my regular dosage of anti-depressants and avoided all the people I can’t stand on even my best days.
On November 9th, I opened up Instagram and my writers group pages on Facebook and found people touting Morrison, Baldwin, Hughes.Continue Reading
by Caitlin Scarano
Author’s Note: Starting the night of the 2016 Presidential Election, I started a log on my computer that I maintained for ten days. I attempted to trace my reactions to Donald Trump’s victory, while recording other losses that were happening in my life at the time. This essay is shaped from those notes with some revisions and additions.
The night of the election, I am all body.
Later, my mother will say: My whole body is numb with an unbearable sense of grief. Later, Josh will write me: I felt it in my spine.Continue Reading
by loie merritt
It’s been two weeks since I’ve sat down to write. Everything is just misspelled words knocking against silent sobs in my ribcage. I can’t remember the way I felt before, the safety locked in, like both feet happily grounded in a block of cement, heat conducted and hardened with my own privilege. At the same time, nothing has changed. Day to day, feeding to feeding, broken dish to shitty diaper, my children requiring me to hold my own shit together. But in silence, I hear a clock ticking. And we don’t own a ticking clock. On this rare rainy day, I am thankful that I don’t have to go outside, into the world, the world that is the same except cut open. Do you feel that pain? What does the pain sound like today?Continue Reading
Jennifer Williams is a writer, musician and community organizer living in Oakland, California and has self-published two workbooks titled The Process of Letting Yourself Have a Creative Process and The Better Feminism Workbook. We chatted with Jennifer about The Better Feminism Workbook, finding strength in the era of Trump, and more.