Love Village, as summer comes to an end, and we welcome fall off the backs of hurricane devastations, unexpected deaths and suicided from children hood remembrance to elderly forget and forgiveness, I want to bring all of your attentions to love.
Love still exists. It still scrapes knees on play grounds and makes the arguments between human’s worth it. This summer/past year, has taught those whom have chosen to listen (to people instead of your heart) that Love is indeed, not possible/not available and has no future. I offer this… “that’s some bullshit.” Love is indeed alive, breathing, kicking and is well. As temperature drops and we adjust to new places, people and try new things, my prayer is that you remember love is not a weird thing to carry with you.
Love is not a strange thing to desire and to hope to receive back. These next few months I will offer you a series of love poems only to be taken and received when you need it most. When you need a kiss on the cheek or a hug and you are all alone…please have enough courage to visit us here at Queeries Blog and get your monthly kiss and hug in the name of Love.
Welcome back to The Shelf, a film review podcast about the physical media we carry with us. Join Nic and Hannah as they explore the alien world of Ygaam on this weeks episode, Fantastic Planet. Together they discuss the strange nature of dressing pets like people, the strength of allegory, psychedelic French rock, and weird statues.
I know you’ve been taught that big and black is scary, that being gay is a sin, and if I don’t repent before the clock strikes life, I’ll reside in the pits of Hell. I know you’ve been taught that going against the odds of fashion means that I’m a bastard, and my father must be to blame. I know you’ve been taught to believe that if I lose too much weight I must have AIDS, yet with all of this hateful “knowledge”…
I must relay this:
“I love you, anyways 💜”
When we are reminded of the worlds sorrow.
PS: When you wake up in the morning, make sure you say “hello,” And be thankful to have laid sin free, propped on a sacred pillow.
This piece was first debuted as part of The TMI Project: MHI in Ulster County. Visit The TMI Project’s website to learn more .
Que Será, Será, is Zelda’s (aka Judith Z. Miller’s) humorous, sobering, hopeful multimedia one-person revelatory performance that chronicles her personal story of the joys and challenges of navigating non-binary Queerness from childhood during the 1950’s to adulthood. Zelda is the recipient of an Arts Mid-Hudson Individual Artist Commission to develop the show to premiere in Kingston, NY at the Hudson Valley LGBTQ Community Center on December 7 & 8 as a workshop production. It will include an adapted version of “A Chorus of Female Voices” as well as the previously published “Sheitlestock”. You can learn more about Que Será, Será and support its development here.
I’m 8 years old. My parents take me to see the movie “Some Like it Hot” starring Marilyn Monroe. It’s a fancy theatre with plush red seats. We’re in the very front row of the balcony, high over the orchestra.
A thick shiny brass railing protects us from falling onto the people seated below. Marilyn is singing “I’m through with love, I’ll never fall again,” and as she breathes in deeply through her pouted lips to enunciate her words, I can see the details of her full breasts through her tight-fitting, completely sheer gown. I’m standing up, gripping the bar, leaning all the way over the top as far as I can, trying to climb into the movie — to immerse myself between Marilyn Monroe’s breasts.
By looking at the concept of “fiction gender” and how it’s enacted, its clear that sometimes – in order to understand yourself in a real way – you have to dig yourself a little deeper into the world of fiction!
I’ve always been a nerd.
Whether I was holed up behind my computer screen, running around with a foam sword and a tunic in a field, or rolling dice in someone’s basement, as a child I happily found happiness through fantasy worlds. When I was young I always saw it as a form of escapism from my formidably rocky childhood. As an adult, I’ve been returning to these games I’ve used to play again. I find they are still a wonderful form of escapism from the horrors of our world today – but I also appreciate it as a time for me to stretch my creative muscles and practice my crafts while having some good ol’ sober fun.
It’s become clearer and clearer as I grow older and continue to re-engage with my nerdy roots that the fantasy worlds I evoked were also a play place and learning ground for my gender expression. I am not the only person who did this and grew up to recognize it. I’m not even the only person to write on this topic. Might I suggest another article on this by my dear friend M, who talks about “Roleplaying From The Closet” in their much more comprehensive take on gender in roleplaying games, “Gender At The Gaming Table”? I’d still like to offer up my experiences to the conversation, however. This is because I want to drive home the fact that playing with one’s gender expression in fictional settings is a perfect example of how complicated and winding a road it can be to understand one’s own gender identity.
Welcome back to The Shelf, a film review podcast about the physical media we carry with us. Remember high school? Oh, you blocked it out? Yeah, we did too. Join Nic and Hannah as they discuss the light-hearted (?) adaptation of Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter– Easy A.
First or third Wednesday of any month and you and your friends found yourself in the North East Bay with nothing to do? Hop on the 6 and head on down to the White Horse, the oldest continuously operating LGBT+ bar in the United States. There you’ll find a packed venuw filled with cracking pool balls, the happy buzz of friendly people, and… someone thrusting their fanny pack at you. You look around but the eye contact is unavoidable.
You just met VERA, one of the members of the Bay Area’s largest drag king collective – the Rebel Kings of Oakland. From there, you’ll be eagerly ushered to the back portion of the bar where a large mass, small horde of patrons are gathered around a stage adorned which rainbow flags.
After that– who knows what you’re gonna get. From live singing to kings lobbing candy into the audience, burlesque, gender-fuckery, and more, Rebel Kings brings an open platform to performance artists of all shapes and sizes for what always promises to be a night of humor, intrigue, and quite probably some nudity. …
I joined in at the Queer Liberation March this year, attending the protest instead of NYC WorldPride. My heart, at the same time, was filled to the brim and…as I walked home, broken once again.
Pride month has long left us. Happily richer, the corporations have since painted over the rainbows they were sporting, leaving the queer community with the same guarded white walls we’re used to having thrown up in our face.
However, the love, power, passion, and anger of the LGBTQIA+ community lives on.
This year, my fiancé and I attended the Queer Liberation march. We both have a bit of a sordid history with Pride parades, but knew we wanted to be in New York City in commemoration of the 50thanniversary of the Stonewall Riots. We weren’t sure how we were going to show up to honor our community’s history in a way that felt right.
…Then the Queer Liberation March popped up. Meant to be a people’s march to reclaim Pride, it was a counter-march to the Parade that sported no corporate floats or police presence. What other way is there to honor Sylvia Rivera, Marsha P. Johnson, Miss Major, Stormé DeLarverie, Larry Kramer, the Mattachine Society, the Daughters of Bilitis, Frank Kameny, the Gay Liberation Front, Et All? What other way is there to commemorate an anti-police riot that lasted days after our rights had been violated so deeply and so unwaveringly?
We met up with a friend in Bryant Park to join the March at its mid-way point. The energy just in the park itself was electric. Throngs of people dressed in both black, pink, and gold (the colors of the march) as well as bright, fantastic outfits. It felt like every single person in the park had a purpose – and in a lot of ways, perhaps that is true. Each and every person who showed up to the Queer Liberation March made a purposeful decision to attend the March instead of the Parade. Therefore, each person’s body became a powerful statement against the corporatization and pink-washing of Pride. Each person purposefully became a part of a new wave of the continued street presence of Queer protest and riots. By making the choice to be here, just a few blocks away from there, they became a part of a grand testament to the strength and resilience of queer activism. No one was there because it was “fun”. No one was there because it was something to do. No one was there because they were being paid to be there. Everybody was there because they knew they needed to be.