To the hostages of our policies, my apologies— the petty stenographers of the crooked rulers in the once fancy now crumbling cities of our fading Empire lied then. They lied then and they lie now. Everything they say and write is a lie, about law and freedom, about equality and justice, in the rubble of the bombs we make and sell, in the silent cries of limbless orphans, in the night lit by white phosphorous and the relentless sound of buzzing drones. They tell us we used to have things of value, even things we ourselves made, and that it was a place like no other. All I know is that Sinbad once sailed to Gaza and so to Gaza he’ll sail once again.
Yesterday I was reading Oliver Willis’s Substack (with a great photo of Kal El, as always,) and he’s begun a news aggregator for liberals/progressives called Breaking News USA. Oliver Willis knows of what he speaks, so I’ve bookmarked it to look at every day. Today, I ran across 2 I want to post here today.
Women walking into the bathroom on Capitol Hill Thursday morning found a buoyant dance party in progress: A group of trans artists and activists staged a protest in a women’s restroom in the U.S. Capitol, dancing to the song “Meeting in the Ladies Room” by the all-women pop and R&B band Klymaxx.
Thursday’s dancing protesters include trans actor James Rose, nonbinary influencer Jerome Trammel, comedian Elizabeth Booker Houston, influencer Alexis Rose, transgender model June Raven Romero and activist Hope Giselle-Godsey. A video posted online starts with a panorama of the Capitol building’s interior before panning to a nearby restroom filled with dancing women. Some wear shirts with the colors of the transgender pride flag, pink, blue and white, and slogans like, “Flush the Hate, Not Our Rights” and “Trans People Are NOT Dangerous. You Are!” (snip-MORE)
The campaign is over; the election is done. The cases against Donald Trump—for the theft and improper storage of sensitive and classified government materials; for the effort to obstruct election administration in Georgia; for the attempt to overthrow the government of the United States on January 6, 2021—are wrapping up, unfinished in some cases and never really started in others. His sentencing for the 34 felony counts where he was found guilty of falsifying business records to hide election interference has been postponed indefinitely. In the executive branch, the transition is underway, complete with smiling photo ops and assurances from President Biden that he won’t stifle or undermine the incoming administration the way he was hampered—by the very man Biden is welcoming back to power. Everything is on track for January 20, 2025: the day that Joe Biden will cease to be president, and Donald Trump will be crowned as king.
There is no question that Donald Trump will not be limited by the Constitutional strictures on the presidency. Not only has the Supreme Court granted his absurd and expansive view of executive power as per Trump v. U.S., but Trump has spent the last four years out of office actively campaigning for the right to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, however he wants, without consequences. The incoming Republican Congress won its power on much smaller margins than Trump took the presidency, and he is barely two million votes ahead of Harris in the popular vote. Neither the slim and chaotic majority in the House nor the thoroughly Trumpified Senate will reject his whims, either because they’ll agree with his interests or they’ll be too cowardly to object if they don’t. Trump’s early appointments—sex pests and conspiracy theorists, incompetents, lackeys, bootlickers, and sycophants—reveal the nature of what this administration will be. These aren’t people put into place to work for the American people; they will be installed to preserve, protect, and defend the interests of one Donald J. Trump, damn the country.
Yet King Trump, first of his name, is not an inevitability.
It’s his blatant disregard for the Constitution, the disinterest and disrespect for its limitations, checks and balances, that provides us with one last chance to derail the coming coronation. On January 20, 2017, Donald Trump stood at the Capitol of the United States and swore an oath to the country, the one every president has taken, as prescribed in Article 2, Section 8 of the Constitution. And on January 6, 2021, Donald Trump broke that oath in an attempt to overturn the election, overthrow the duly-appointed government of the United States, and install himself as dictator. It was, in word and deed, an insurrection. And, despite our republic’s long history of peaceful transfers of power, we have an answer for that, if we will only ask the question.
Does the 14th Amendment apply to Donald Trump? (snip-MORE)
Transcendental poses are fractured by migration In Rafael Soriano’s chimeras dreams transpire through the electric human A body can pitch several lingams— there is only one home as it returns from another journey a new sunrise an orange memory hand pointing the indigo way inward A conjurer throws a fistful of lips five teeth tell the sunburst story . . .
When we search for an object there is only finding the quest it is after all like that— you merge you speak there is art & you find your way home inside the infinite
(Barfbag alert for the 2002 entry. But it is US history.)
December 5, 1955 Five days after Rosa Parks was arrested for refusing to give up her bus seat to a white man, the African-American community of Montgomery, Alabama, launched a boycott of the city’s bus system. The Montgomery Improvement Association (MIA) was formed to coordinate the boycott with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., elected as its president. Out of Montgomery’s 50,000 black residents, 30,000-40,000 participated. They walked or bicycled or car-pooled, depriving the bus company of a substantial portion of its revenue. The boycott lasted (54 weeks) until it was agreed the buses would be integrated. Waiting at a transportation pickup point during the Montgomery bus boycott – 1955-1956 < What was the Montgomery Bus Boycott? >
December 5, 1955 The American Federation of Labor, which had historically focused on organizing craft unions, merged with the Congress of Industrial Organizations, an organization of unions largely representing industrial workers, to form the AFL-CIO with a combined membership of nearly 15 million. George Meany was elected its first president. AFL-CIO history
December 5, 1957 New York became the first city to legislate against racial or religious discrimination in housing (Fair Housing Practices Law).
December 5, 1967 Dr. Benjamin Spock 264 were arrested at a military induction center in New York City during a Stop the Draft Week Committee action. Dr. Benjamin Spock and poet Allen Ginsberg were among those arrested for blocking (though symbolically) the steps at 39 Whitehall Street where the draft board met. 2500 had shown up at 5:00 in the morning to show their opposition to the draft and the Vietnam War. Allen Ginsberg
December 5, 1980 The United Nations adopted the charter for the University for Peace in Costa Rica. Its purpose would be “promoting among all human beings the spirit of understanding, tolerance and peaceful coexistence, to stimulate cooperation among peoples and to help lessen obstacles and threats to world peace and progress . . . .” The monument sculpted by Cuban artist Thelvia Marín in 1987, is the world’s largest peace monument. It also established short-wave Radio for Peace International (RFPI)which was shut down by the University in 2004 when RFPI exposed a plan between the University for Peace and the U.S. to hold anti-terrorist combat training on campus. Interview with James Latham, CEO of RFPI when it was under siege
December 5, 2002 President George W. Bush with Sen. Lott and Sen. Thurmond At the 100th birthday celebration for Senator Strom Thurmond (R-South Carolina), Senate Republican leader Trent Lott (R-Mississippi) praised Thurmond’s Dixiecrat Party 1948 presidential campaign (official slogan: “Segregation Forever!”). “I want to say this about my state. When Strom Thurmond ran for president, we voted for him. We’re proud of him. And if the rest of the country had followed our lead, we wouldn’t have had all these problems over all these years, either.” The reaction to this sentiment led to Lott’s resignation as Senate majority leader.
I only got up about 2 hours ago; I was up late again, and stayed abed like a lazy person. I just read this in email, and it really hit the spot for me! Enjoy.
“Life is the first gift, love is the second, and understanding, the third.”
We deserve it. This evening’s national and world news is unbearable. I don’t mean the Trump crap; I mean the real-people-doing-real-people things like trying to live in tents in the Carolinas, people stuck on highways in 23 degree temps, or people trying to help other people survive in the Middle East and Ukraine, Sudan, etc.-that is unbearable. So, the fairies decorated today while I decorated. I sometimes see them flitting around (the white lights,) but they decorated their big trees! Enjoy some beauty because we are fortunate to be able to do so.
Queer artists have always subverted musical boundaries, shaping the sound of culture itself. That truth is the guiding ethos behind TRANSA, an astounding new compilation from the nonprofit production company Red Hot that puts a spotlight on trans, nonbinary, and queer artists, celebrating the unique gifts they have brought to the world. Artist, model, and trans activist Massima Bell, who produced this compilation alongside senior Red Hot producer Dust Reid, puts it best. “I see in the quality of music trans people make this ability to create a portal out of their music and take you to a different place in a way that is really powerful,” Bell tells me.
TRANSA provides precisely that kind of transporting experience. Featuring 46 collaborative tracks with over 100 contributing artists, the compilation was inspired by Bell and Reid’s love of the music of Beverly Glenn-Copeland and the natural world. The passing of trans musical visionary SOPHIE in 2021 prompted the pair to focus on a project which they now describe as a “spiritual journey in eight chapters.” Individual chapters with titles like “Womb Of The Soul,” “Awakening,” and “Reinvention” serve as a blueprint for a winding musical narrative with multiple missions, one of which is to be a living document of contemporary music by trans and nonbinary artists. “We often don’t get to understand our history and the long legacy of trans people,” Bell says, “both in music, but throughout time and human culture.”
Queer artists and makers work hard all year long, but due to the seasonality of product sales, many only make the majority of their income during the final three months of the year. So this holiday season, instead of buying from mega-retailers who love to slap rainbows on their merchandise for Pride month, you can put your dollar to better use by shopping small and buying direct from LGBTQ+ sellers.
Plus, with your house being such an important space for relaxation and recharging, what could make a better gift for queer loved ones in your life than handmade home decor? It’s a win-win: Your friends and family will get quality things to beautify their abodes, and you’ll help pay a queer person’s bills.
If you want to help your friends and loved ones jazz up their space, here are some incredible options for handmade home decor made by queer artists. (Buy something for yourself, too. We won’t judge.)
For plant parents
The thing about adopting plants is that it’s too easy to go from having a few here and there to an apartment full of aloe, monstera, and pothos. If you know someone whose home is overrun with greenery, you can never go wrong with the gift of a new container, so get the plant parent in your life a bright, 3D-printed flower pot to really make those leaves look good.
Made by the completely queer-owned design shop Object Lover, these pots are constructed from recyclable, biodegradable corn-based plastic, so your eco-conscious friends can feel good knowing their plants are helping the planet.
For candle lovers
Nothing is more synonymous with the holidays than a good candle, especially as the days get shorter and darker during winter. But there’s no one-size-fits-all candle, so here are two very different options:
Queer Candle Co. is your go-to if you’re buying for someone whose style is a little more subtle. The glass jar and black-and-white label are both fairly nondescript, but the scents spill the tea. You’ll find blends like their astrological bundles for Fire Signs, Water Signs, and Air Signs as well as decadent scents like dark plum — all of which are tastefully designed by a queer-owned company who wanted to “promote visibility and amplify the voices of members of our community.” The company contributes 10% of their profits to the Sylvia Rivera Law Project.
If you’re looking for another candle company with product names that elicit some queer rebellion and cheekiness, look no further than Violet&Jade. With scents like Leather Daddy, Campfires & Carabiners, and Drag Brunch, these candles will make a great addition to any queer person’s mantle or side table.
For people who like to burrow in a nest of blankets
Please click through to read more about this poet, and her poem (especially in light of some terms she used in her work. It is fine history.)
My Forest Brave, my Red-skin love, farewell; We may not meet to-morrow; who can tell What mighty ills befall our little band, Or what you’ll suffer from the white man’s hand? Here is your knife! I thought ’twas sheathed for aye. No roaming bison calls for it to-day; No hide of prairie cattle will it maim; The plains are bare, it seeks a nobler game: ’Twill drink the life-blood of a soldier host. Go; rise and strike, no matter what the cost. Yet stay. Revolt not at the Union Jack, Nor raise Thy hand against this stripling pack Of white-faced warriors, marching West to quell Our fallen tribe that rises to rebel. They all are young and beautiful and good; Curse to the war that drinks their harmless blood. Curse to the fate that brought them from the East To be our chiefs—to make our nation least That breathes the air of this vast continent. Still their new rule and council is well meant. They but forget we Indians owned the land From ocean unto ocean; that they stand Upon a soil that centuries agone Was our sole kingdom and our right alone. They never think how they would feel to-day, If some great nation came from far away, Wresting their country from their hapless braves, Giving what they gave us—but wars and graves. Then go and strike for liberty and life, And bring back honour to your Indian wife. Your wife? Ah, what of that, who cares for me? Who pities my poor love and agony? What white-robed priest prays for your safety here, As prayer is said for every volunteer That swells the ranks that Canada sends out? Who prays for vict’ry for the Indian scout? Who prays for our poor nation lying low? None—therefore take your tomahawk and go. My heart may break and burn into its core, But I am strong to bid you go to war. Yet stay, my heart is not the only one That grieves the loss of husband and of son; Think of the mothers o’er the inland seas; Think of the pale-faced maiden on her knees; One pleads her God to guard some sweet-faced child That marches on toward the North-West wild. The other prays to shield her love form harm, To strengthen his young, proud uplifted arm. Ah, how her white face quivers thus to think, Your tomahawk his life’s best blood will drink. She never thinks of my wild aching breast, Nor prays for your dark face and eagle crest Endangered by a thousand rifle balls, My heart the target if my warrior falls. O! coward self I hesitate no more; Go forth, and win the glories of the war. Go forth, nor bend to greed of white men’s hands, By right, by birth we Indians own these lands, Though starved, crushed, plundered, lies our nation low . . . Perhaps the white man’s God has willed it so.
The morning sun streams through the little kitchen’s wooden panes; its luminescence tempts me to forego coffee. But I don’t. The dark coffee scent melds with the birds’ chirping along the hidden acacia. Then, a small bird alights on the cross of the wooden clothesline. Its tiny head turns from side to side, then as if sensing me, it gazes at me through a window square. We ponder each other, then remember our manners, and it flies off into the clean, cold air.
My Kiowa friends say a visit from a bird is the spirit of a departed loved one. I think again of Marie, my friend, my comadre – the many feast days, powwows, and trips we shared. We cruised down Taos’s one main street, and rushed to Smith’s grocery for last-minute necessities, or Walmart for the white cylinder candles for wakes. We hauled huge, bulging bags to the town dump.
Oh, sister, this entire town brims with memories of our long sisterhood, since our early twenties when we were young mothers, but that was in the last century.
This quiet casita is surrounded by tall stands of elm and cottonwood trees, their bare, brown branches stark against the deep, blue sky.
Every other week, snow falls in thin waves onto the flat ochre houses that seem anchored to the ground. Outside of these thick adobe walls, a stillness settles upon everything. As memories drift all around, I gather ingredients for a stew, scents of coffee and toast linger around the arched doorway, and the warm air in the kitchen lightens the chopping of vegetables. Soon, the windowpanes are damp from the simmering stew.
All there is now, is to wait, sip coffee, and watch the snow fall in layers on the roofs, trees, fences, and cars.
I am in a serene cocoon of memories. All our conversations and laughter are silent now. Somewhere north of here, dogs bark playfully, probably romping in the fresh snow. Just up the road at the pueblo, your family gathers. They replenish the fire, stir pots of red chile and place potato salad and platters of sliced oven bread on the table.
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Scottie's Playtime 