Life is getting sick and dying. Life is suffering. And that’s ok.
I’d see the soft outline of a couch or get a whiff of coffee roasting in machines, and it was like I was smelling diesel, blood mixed with dust. The bees would start to buzz frantically then, and the noise was deafening.
Tôi phải ở lại trong ngôn ngữ này, như đã trong một cơn mơ bổng, như đã trong một cú kéo chìm, một tự trói buộc, nhọc nhằn và vẫn ở đó, chút lửa nhen. | I have to reside in this language, as in a flying dream, as in a sinking down, a self-bound, burdensome and still there, little fire.
Writers of the Bangladeshi diaspora reflect on liberation and identity.
He was nice to my father and his siblings. But still…
Even though you didn’t say “no” in what you’ve been told is the “right” way to say no, you were saying no.
Sometimes it is easier to call the truth a story or a song. / What some deem repression, I name reflections.
When it comes to how rape culture is enabled, made mundane, what are the hard questions we have not yet posed?
Bubbling under the cacophony of the city or suburban mundaneness is the sound and the fury of an unutterable desperation for acceptance, family, and something that will endure
Im lặng nhẫn nại của vực sâu hối thúc tôi mở mình | The patient silence of the abyss urged me to open myself
My journey to understanding love and joy as powerful forces of resistance during a pandemic, with the help of Dr. Margo Okazawa-Rey aka DJ MOR Love and Joy.
An interview with the Virginia Poet Laureate on poetry as witness, colonial history’s hauntings, and her longstanding poem-a-day practice
On making critical connections to the long legacies of intraracial and cross-racial Black and Asian American lesbian organizing and community building.
The investigative journalist and author of the true-crime book The Good Girls in an interview about honor, caste, and patriarchy in India.
When you are a descendant of indenture, even the violence of the colonial archive presents the seduction of finding.
Sometimes I’m mad at you for never teaching me how to get away. / Sometimes I’m mad at myself for opening a door I could not close.
Not upon, over, at, or near, rape is not adjacent to anything. It is the thing.
On the spaces we exist in and the legacies we leave behind
I’d see the soft outline of a couch or get a whiff of coffee roasting in machines, and it was like I was smelling diesel, blood mixed with dust. The bees would start to buzz frantically then, and the noise was deafening.
Bubbling under the cacophony of the city or suburban mundaneness is the sound and the fury of an unutterable desperation for acceptance, family, and something that will endure
Im lặng nhẫn nại của vực sâu hối thúc tôi mở mình | The patient silence of the abyss urged me to open myself
My journey to understanding love and joy as powerful forces of resistance during a pandemic, with the help of Dr. Margo Okazawa-Rey aka DJ MOR Love and Joy.
Tôi phải ở lại trong ngôn ngữ này, như đã trong một cơn mơ bổng, như đã trong một cú kéo chìm, một tự trói buộc, nhọc nhằn và vẫn ở đó, chút lửa nhen. | I have to reside in this language, as in a flying dream, as in a sinking down, a self-bound, burdensome and still there, little fire.
An interview with the Virginia Poet Laureate on poetry as witness, colonial history’s hauntings, and her longstanding poem-a-day practice
Writers of the Bangladeshi diaspora reflect on liberation and identity.
On making critical connections to the long legacies of intraracial and cross-racial Black and Asian American lesbian organizing and community building.
The investigative journalist and author of the true-crime book The Good Girls in an interview about honor, caste, and patriarchy in India.
He was nice to my father and his siblings. But still…
When you are a descendant of indenture, even the violence of the colonial archive presents the seduction of finding.
Even though you didn’t say “no” in what you’ve been told is the “right” way to say no, you were saying no.
Sometimes I’m mad at you for never teaching me how to get away. / Sometimes I’m mad at myself for opening a door I could not close.
Sometimes it is easier to call the truth a story or a song. / What some deem repression, I name reflections.
Not upon, over, at, or near, rape is not adjacent to anything. It is the thing.
When it comes to how rape culture is enabled, made mundane, what are the hard questions we have not yet posed?
On the spaces we exist in and the legacies we leave behind