The 347th Five Star Mixtape Is Brought to You By Mary Wollstonecraft
This week's Five Star Mixtape great blog roundup is brought to you by enlarging one's view of the world, trusting your own creative process, #BlackGirlMagic, a powerful pot cookie, a thousand tiny cuts, not fitting the ideal, a really smart escape hatch, and Mary Wollstonecraft:
I began by following a feminist activist, then a vocal member of the Black Lives Matter movement. They were followed by a lesbian Jewish Rabbi, a transgender indie game developer, a queer Muslim woman, and a Quaker woman who writes science fiction. I had hoped to find people that weren’t like me, and find them I did.
Within a few short days my Twitter timeline was, frankly, a mess.
There’s no wrong way to do it, as long as you’re doing it.
There’s no timetable, as long as you’re taking the time.
Nobody can tell you how you do it. They can only tell you how they do it or what illusions they hold about the process — illusions that often wither under actual implementation.
We create BET, Blavity and ‘The Wiz Live!’ not to be racist, but because we crave to see ourselves in the light we know we live in. We are joyful, creative, amazingly talented and funny people. We’re rarely given a fair opportunity to show it, so instead, we take it. We will make a dollar out of 15 cents. We will take the scraps of the animal and make a culinary delight. We have a strength that can move mountains and birth movements.
After we’d settled into our Catskills Room of Space-Whimsy, Scott took out the cookie. We ate only 1/4 each, as per our instructions. It was not difficult to only eat 1/4 of it. It tasted like if you licked the inside of a suede vest that had just spent a long hot jam session pressed up against Robert Plant’s pectorals. Approximately.
"What Goes Through Your Mind: On Nice Parties and Casual Racism" by Nicole Chung at The Toast:
Someone mentions my interview with Constance Wu of Fresh Off the Boat, and this, apparently, is her cue to look up and address me for the first time since we exchanged our initial his and nice to meet yous.
“Do people ever tell you that you look just like everyone on that show?” she asks.
It’s weird to write all of this down and not have it feel like a string of complaints. I don’t know how to say it’s not complaining when it so clearly reads like complaining. It’s not, though, and you have to promise you trust me on this. You trust me on other things, so trust me on this. It’s just what it was like to live in my body this year.
A few weeks later, your boss calls a one-on-one in his office, walks up behind you, and stands too close. His breath fogs your neck. His hand crawls up your new dress. You squirm away. He says, “Sorry, I thought…”
You know what to do. You’re just shocked to find you’re not doing it. You are not telling him to fuck off. You are not storming out. All you’re doing is math.
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