combining the “we need a nonsexual social space as an alternative to bars” idea with the “libraries feel weird because it’s a public space where you don’t have to spend money to be there” idea for a new, more powerful hybrid idea.
Author Archives: Coyote
Update: the sequel.
Note: the font I’m using for these is Card Characters from Harold’s Fonts, which is a free download, so feel free to use that to make your own playing card-themed stuff.
Continuing adventures in trying to make graphics: made this the other night, born of 1) conversation with Rowan about lesbian blogs, and 2) wondering if young people remember that there’s more than one way to symbolize an orientation than with horizontally striped flags…
Hm, okay. Here’s a thought I’ve been having. Even though it’s January now, a lot of people still have Christmas decorations up, right, and the other day while driving through an unfamiliar part of town I passed a church(?) with a big ol’ “Keep Christ in Christmas” banner, and that reminded me of my whole… perspective, on… that.
I suggest further that this focus on otherwise-privileged group members creates a distorted analysis of racism and sexism because the operative conceptions of race and sex become grounded in experiences that actually represent only a subset of a much more complex phenomenon…. I argue that Black women are sometimes excluded from feminist theory and antiracist policy discourse because both are predicated on a discrete set of experiences that often does not accurately reflect the intersection of race and gender. These problems of exclusion cannot be solved simply by including Black women within an already established analytical structure. Because the intersectional experience is greater than the sum of racism and sexism, any analysis that does not take intersectionality into account cannot sufficiently address the particular manner in which Black women are subordinated. Thus, for feminist theory and antiracist policy discourse to embrace the experiences and concerns of Black women, the entire framework that has been used as a basis for translating “women’s experience” or “the Black experience” into concrete policy demands must be rethought and recast.
–Kimberlé Crenshaw, “Demarginalizing the intersection of race and sex”
Although racism and sexism readily intersect in the lives of real people, they seldom do in feminist and antiracist practices. And so, when the practices expound identity as “woman” or “person of color” as an either/or proposition, they relegate the identity of women of color to a location that resists telling.My objective here is to advance the telling of that location by exploring the race and gender dimensions of violence against women of color. Contemporary feminist and antiracist discourses have failed to consider the intersections of racism and patriarchy… Because of their intersectional identity as both women and people of color within discourses that are shaped to respond to one or the other, the interests and experiences of women of color are frequently marginalized within both.
–Kimberlé Crenshaw, “Mapping the margins”
I have been thinking about this link Siggy posted ever since I first saw it, mostly about how the word “asexual” is used — because it was posted as an example of “wacky things that appear in my [‘asexual’] google alerts” — (and yes I’m not addressing the bigger picture atm because, foolishly or not, I expect everyone who reads this blog to share roughly the same opinion on Nazis). The article has nothing to do with asexuality, but the part with “asexual” in it is here: [cw: anti-lesbian talk/ethnocentricism]
We sat at a table in the kitchen, where Spencer told me about a game he liked to play called “Lesbian or just German?”, the idea being that German women were so hairy and asexual that one couldn’t tell the difference.
I can’t tell from the context whether the attribution of the traits “hairy and asexual” to both German women and lesbians was explicitly given as reasoning by Spencer to begin with or whether that was the author Julie Hill’s own extrapolation, but either way,
I know the “asexual” as it’s being used there isn’t the same as the “asexual” people self-ID as, but that’s just the thing — what it is being used as, as far as I can tell, is desexualization/the absence of heterosexual sex appeal/lack of “sexual availability” (to men). And I’m just. I’m just looking at how “asexual” is already being treated like it goes hand in hand with the “hairy lesbian” stereotype, and since the right response to that stereotype isn’t to throw actual hairy gay women under the bus (with not just “hey not all lesbians are hairy” but also “being a lesbian and being a hairy woman are both okay — hairy lesbians deserve support”)… there’s another demographic combo I can think of that doesn’t deserve to be thrown under the bus, you know? Maybe asexual/nonsexual lesbians need more love too, you know?
Iunno, as long as the broken anti-dialogue pro-circulation tumblr format is going to exacerbate so many folks taking swipes at each other over a perceived gay vs ace dichotomy, I’m gonna keep whining that we need a mass migration to another platform.
Hmm, okay. Here’s a thought, spurred by a fandom post of all things. I’ve seen arguments to the effect of “romance is not sex” and “sex is not intimacy,” and so on, but how about this: intimacy is not good.
And by that I mean: intimacy is not care. It can be but is not necessarily nurturing, or safe, or nice, or fond.
I need to be able to name the bad or negative intimacies because otherwise that leaves me with a relationship scale from “strangers, no connection” to “best of loves, closest kinship” with nowhere to place the rot and the lousy. There is an unwanted intimacy with witnesses to an embarrassing moment. There is an intimacy with the people who have seen you at your worst because they personally dragged you there. There is an intimacy in the connection between yourself and the ones who have deeply hurt you.
“Intimate” is not the same as “good.”
It can be powerful and electric and full of a yearning to prove something without. being. good.
It’s important to me to be able to recognize a sense of intimacy without always construing it as something positive, and I’d hope that would be important to other people, too.
This is a piece of what I think makes it so difficult to make external (in words) certain negative experiences. You might be able to recount all the moves made and the words used, but it’s sometimes hard to capture how immensely personal it feels. How potent, how close to the bone. That’s intimacy, is what it is. Some intimate interactions are made all the more negative by how intimate they are.
Anyway that’s why I need people not to take the term “intimacy” itself as a ringing endorsement, thanks.
This is a post about a short simple “game”/visual novel called “We Know The Devil,” because Cor has recommended it frequently enough that I actually went and played it myself. Part 1 is the non-spoilers part, and Part 2 is the part with spoilers on everything. In this post, I try to answer a few basic, simple questions: What is it about? What does that title mean? And what the heck was going on with my reaction to that ending?
Sam wrote in:
Why are you a Theist?
Ahaha. Oh man. Really? Okay.
(For those reading: that’s it. That’s the full message, as it was received.)
Well, first maybe I should clarify, I wouldn’t like… introduce myself as “a theist.” The reason this blog is called “The Ace Theist” is for the wordplay, honestly.
Anyway, I kind of wish you had said a little more or elaborated on what you were looking for here, because there’s at least several ways you could approach this question.