To love the people we love better and more deeply, we need to turn our wounds from gaping to scabbing.
I ask stunning questions because I am a theorist. It takes a lot for me to form interest in someone, and folks oriented toward makeshifting, which I theorized being Octavia Butler’s you have to be willing to be changed by what you change. In order to make and make well, you must be willing to shift. Living in trauma capsules makes the shifting of making ever more difficult. To trust that people can love you is a big task worthy of attention.
Every single happening transposes my transformation into a score with expansive rules, denoted by murky beginnings and celebrated endings. And when happenings clump toward each other like cells, possibilities widen into the birth of reality. We move forward honoring the fallen things, remembering that utopic does not necessarily mean void of harm as we still traverse the ruins of white supremacy.
We are drowning in our ashes. Our residue, pride. Transgender people over and over again give the breath of culture. I met someone at The Field Center whose being in the world and body as change politic have resonance in how the play of performance can be and often is a portal to erotic exploration requiring a resounding divestment from shame, the fringe of where utopic gestures make themselves known. In recovery from a birthing of sorts, I take stock of how my body is organized, and how its organizations ought to be in play with other trans bodies. To soothe the rumbling of intimacy fears, I ask questions, lean in, and give my body over to change.
gorgeous 🌊