Not queer like gay. Queer like, escaping definition. Queer like some sort of fluidity and limitlessness at once. Queer like a freedom too strange to be conquered. Queer like the fearlessness to imagine what love can look like…and pursue it. — Brandon Wint (via ethiopienne)

Word for thought

(via therumpus)

Dear Marguerite,

You’re itching to be on your own. You don’t want anybody telling you what time you have to be in at night or how to raise your baby. You’re going to leave your mother’s big comfortable house and she won’t stop you, because she knows you too well.

But listen to what she says:

When you walk out of my door, don’t let anybody raise you – you’ve been raised.

You know right from wrong.

In every relationship you make, you’ll have to show readiness to adjust and make adaptations.

Remember, you can always come home.

You will go home again when the world knocks you down – or when you fall down in full view of the world. But only for two or three weeks at a time. Your mother will pamper you and feed you your favorite meal of red beans and rice. You’ll make a practice of going home so she can liberate you again – one of the greatest gifts, along with nurturing your courage, that she will give you.

Be courageous, but not foolhardy.

Walk proud as you are,

Maya

— Maya Angelou: Letter to her younger self
Mental time travel may indeed be the cognitive rudder that allows our brains to navigate the river of time. Brain Pickings
“Lean In” skirts the topic of privilege and fails to call for change beyond the personal level. Encouraging people to believe in themselves and pursue their goals can be motivational advice. But telling people that the only reason they have not been able achieve their goals is because they are not trying hard enough is turning a blind eye to the external issues that women and people of color still face.

“Faux Feminism”: bell hooks Calls It Like She Sees It

(via feminspire)

aljazeeraamerica:

America’s faith in media at all-time low

Americans now trust television and print media about as much as they do the Internet, which is to say, not very much.
The latest edition of a Gallup poll that tracks confidence in media follows a decades-long trend that shows a declining faith in television and print news. The percentage of Americans that have “a great deal” or “quite a lot” of confidence in the three media formats now hover around one-fifth.

Read more

Alas.

aljazeeraamerica:

America’s faith in media at all-time low

Americans now trust television and print media about as much as they do the Internet, which is to say, not very much.

The latest edition of a Gallup poll that tracks confidence in media follows a decades-long trend that shows a declining faith in television and print news. The percentage of Americans that have “a great deal” or “quite a lot” of confidence in the three media formats now hover around one-fifth.

Read more

Alas.

It’s not a question of getting over it or healing. No; it’s a question of learning to live with this transformation. For the loss is transformative, in good ways and bad, a tangle of change that cannot be threaded into the usual narrative spools. It is too central for that. It’s not an emergence from the cocoon, but a tree growing around an obstruction. How We Grieve: Meghan O’Rourke on the Messiness of Mourning and Learning to Live with Loss
wnyc:

Poet, author, and activist Maya Angelou has died at 86. Brian Lehrer spoke with her last year about her life, work, family, and more.
-Jody, BL Show

wnyc:

Poet, author, and activist Maya Angelou has died at 86. Brian Lehrer spoke with her last year about her life, work, family, and more.

-Jody, BL Show

I don’t know why we long so for permanence, why the fleeting nature of things so disturbs. With futility, we cling to the old wallet long after it has fallen apart. We visit and revisit the old neighborhood where we grew up, searching for the remembered grove of trees and the little fence. We clutch our old photographs. In our churches and synagogues and mosques, we pray to the everlasting and eternal. Yet, in every nook and cranny, nature screams at the top of her lungs that nothing lasts, that it is all passing away. All that we see around us, including our own bodies, is shifting and evaporating and one day will be gone. Where are the one billion people who lived and breathed in the year 1800, only two short centuries ago? Alan Lightman