masculinity
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My Dead Father Taught Me Everything I Needed To Know About Fatherhood
by Christopher Lemones August 6, 2017My father passed away when I was 8 years old. It was during Christmas vacation, winter of 1998. My father was a quiet, hard working man. He enjoyed jigsaw puzzles,…
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(Watch) To The Children Who Come Next: A Love Letter To Black & Brown Babies
by Tabias Olajuawon July 31, 2017“Survival jujitsu is an expensive practice that takes more than it gives. You see, your mother wakens in the morning to see that you have joy throughout the day. Your…
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“Too often, we celebrate the emergence without thinking through the breaking. To emerge from concrete presupposes a collision, a violent collision. Tender stems run raw against grating rock for the chance to move from the thick of earth, from the gait of darkness to the warmth of life, for the chance to get beyond the birthing portal of survival and into the practice of living. Too often, we do not consider what is lost to the concrete. What energy spent? What creative power emitted? What raw-rubbed branding, or tattoo, drawn onto flesh for forever times? What fears of darkness, blackness, memory are made (il)logical? How much of us is left in the rock; how much of the rock is left in us? Where do we begin to live and die, to forget and remember? To bleed, heal and/or cauterize? Perhaps, maybe, we are like spectacular comets and asteroids falling (shooting?) from one realm to another and in our wake–in the magic of our contact–is fire, destruction and birth. What parts of us, then, become extinct? Which parts of us, or the worlds we (re)create and/or enter, are completely new entities, unperverted by the blood and fire stained gaits?”
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The Revolution Will Not Be Hash-tagged.
by Tabias Olajuawon November 10, 2016“The revolution will cost all that we have. It will cost our lives, with the ever-elusive promise, that we might transcend the products, producers and midwives of violence we have become…”
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Pieces of my me,littered about this apartment, seemingly organized into piles of too little, too much and other offending categories. My me, there! Sprinkled about like dirty laundry, soiled to…
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Queerness is More
by Tabias Olajuawon April 3, 2016