There is no “feminist quota” you’re fulfilling that lets you be mysoginistic
Like you can’t go twenty three hours “thinking women are people” and five minutes of “joking about bitches” and feel like you’re doing your part.
Really? The rape joke is really in your top two minutes of funniest shit you have to say?
Non-comedians: This is applicable to you too. The shit you laugh at because you’re uncomfortable isn’t making it go away, it’s ensuring it continues. You don’t think something is funny? Don’t laugh. (And yeah, I’m serious, even though I know it’s like really offensive to comedians for a comic to tell someone not to laugh. Idgaf.)
Oh, I know I have it better than a lot of would-be comics buyers, and that’s what worries me. I’ve had it with the self-appointed gatekeepers in comics.
This makes me really sad. There are so many good comic shops out there. I work for one! I’ve visited dozens! It’s the reason I started the Valkyries, the reason I promote Ladies’ Nights. This shouldn’t be a thing, and it still is. Nerds get into comics so often because they want a safe space, then make it into an elitist club. I hate that! It should be welcoming and friendly.
At the same time, I’ve had this experience. I always get really snarky. I want to say, “Hey assholes, I wrote a book for Adventure Time. I also run a society for women who WORK in comic shops that has more members than first gen pokemon” but I don’t, because, well, I’m not a jerk. The temptation is there, all the same.
I’m spoiled by my shop, I guess. This is a real shame.
REGARDING MY CONTROVERSIAL LAST POST
@lifeofbk HOW dare you question the methods. Oh well, now you too can be an app-screenshot-edit-screenshot-edit-post MASTER!!!! It was a screenshot of an app, that I screenshotted again instead of posting to Tumblr (now I know my poem has my name on it), then did filters and drew on that screenshotted screenshot (now I know my poem is ugly and bad), and POSTED IT.
So use me.
the planet is people
you gotta ground yourself sometimes
like remember the bones and blood in your feet
and how gravity makes them kiss the space ball
also ground yourself like sit in a corner
but sit in a corner where there’s people
punish yourself by not letting you be alone
did you notice when you go to bars
how weird it feels to sit next to someone
thinking ‘where did that person come from’
and ‘where are they going after this’
and not asking to find out
did you notice how invisible you are
Are we really all waiting for our big moment to impress our future generations? I would argue that anything anyone does at this point is going to be remembered and that if you’re doing anything grand it’s for the people around now
Also why does anyone think they’re going to be around to see how remembered they are
dog dream excerpt from Balloons
The sleep was thin and cold and he felt at all times to be just a part of him submerged, eyelids dipped under a pudding skin of consciousness. As he slept he dreamed of being naked. He dreamed of walking the dog she’d had, a little mix that was wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, out and around the neighborhood and back again. He was naked and he walked the dog that never seemed to get tired. He walked to get his mail but being naked had no key. He walked the dog past an apartment and his landlord waved from a window. The dog acknowledged the wave, nodded his head at the landlord and hunched forward and got very small, and the leash went slack as all of a sudden the dog pretended to be very tired. So he turned the dog around and walked it back inside, where it plopped down on his bed and yawned a violin-stroke of relief and took its shoes off. He laid down on the kitchen floor and licked Cheerios from under the dishwasher. Later he dreamed he and this dog walked on a desert road, and the dog (wearing leather now) lost itself among the cacti (but where here, in Nevada, were cacti?) and then the dream shifted again and he was with the dog - found now - under a giant fiberglass sculpture outside a chocolate factory and the dog pointed to an open car door where another dog was hanging out the driver’s door chewing grass and vomiting, and then the sky turned dark and his eyes were opening.
a role for the poet in the time of social media.. please watch if u havent seen this!
So. Cal media REVOLUTION
some strands of thread
there are places inside me
I’ve never been
but I could trespass freely, and will
someday all my places will be mapped
and I will unravel them for you
between cork board pushpins
and each red string you twang
will lead back or forward
into my headspace’s space-time
beyond - we’ll map our connections
with Venn diagrams
of color, a painted mixture
with brush and water
with son and daughter
we’ll last together, but first -
but first -
Web show numero dos
Feel free to get used to this being a thing