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Thinking about queer liberation and Palestinian liberation as a white person in the U.S.
At Valentine’s Day, I mostly think about friends and community, especially queer community, and how our obsession with cis-hetero monogamous romantic love as the be-all and end-all human relationship is harming people with loneliness and disconnection. Obviously right now, there’s a much larger direct harm at work in the world, but it’s interconnected. I keep
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Guts: Writing, striptease, and the myth of public vulnerability
VULNERABILITY. I’ve been thinking about this topic because I share my own combination of partial nudity and personal lore on social media. I also talked about it with my friend Heather Farley (who is headlining the Best Of episode of the RISK! podcast on Oct 3rd, with a perfect example of a personal story that
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Skirt
A mini story about compulsory straightitude 20 years ago. When I was young, one of my guy friends picked out a super short stonewashed black denim miniskirt for me. It had two functionless buckles on the side. So short and low-rise that it was practically a denim belt, but it was one of the most
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Hers is my vengeful breath of fire
I had a whimsical early life full of elves and cats and homemade costumes. I loved glamour and colors and textures from day one. Now that I’m letting go of many rules and expectations, I love femininity all the more, not less. Gowns and lashes and styled hair still feel like glamorous costumes, because to
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Talisman series: Coty Airspun
I’m filling my digital sketchbook with writing and images about talismans, amulets, keepsakes, fetish objects, and charms, and the importance of holding items sacred in a time of overconsumption. Here’s me with my Coty Airspun setting powder, which has the same scent as the old perfume l’Origan, my grandmother’s signature. After my grandmother died, I
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The hermit crab
In the weeds at my feet scattered exoskeletons shimmer, speaking of lives fattened and fled. Away, on wires, the bones of a mammal softly swallow light. Oil drips onto our centuries, no longer lighting the way. I seek my new place to fit as the world empties out, the armor to wear when I stand in the
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Channeling anger (an interlude)
In the day, I am calm, never reaching any zenith of emotion. The deep feelings roll like fat-drippings into my subconscious and shimmer there, an iridescent pool that I visit when I sleep. Tuesday night, I had dreams in which I was screaming in rage at the top of my lungs. Upon waking, I could
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Magazines really messed me up #1: It’s Silkey, bitch
This isn’t a body positivity post. It’s just a post about my body and my mind. I wasn’t a big pop star fan when I was young, but I wasn’t too cool to listen to pop singles on the radio. Against my wishes, I wasn’t exactly Like the Other Girls in a couple ways, but
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The early 90s tasted like neon watermelon
In this world, I never stood a chance against consumerism. My brain came online in the early 90s, screaming for sights and sensation, and the world rushed to meet it. Peppermint-scented teddy bears, battery-powered Barbie cars, glittered-maned plastic ponies, shock-haired trolls with precious gems in their belly buttons, dolls with designer wardrobes, candy of every
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Welcome to silkidelic
Last week, I started going through my old journals, scrapbooks, and photo albums from my most prolific era so far: ages 8 through 16, during the years 1995 through 2003. This blog is partly an effort to process what happened to me in those years, during which my family moved to and fro across the
silkidelic 