The 325th Five Star Mixtape Is Brought to You By Agatha Christie
This week's Five Star Mixtape is brought to you by learning to prioritize and not take stuff too personally, finding one's power, a relief from this transgender/transracial mess of an argument, the then and now of newspapers, the ability to see one's mother as a multi-dimensional human being, a real danger of living in a dangerous neighbourhood, discovering one's lack of privilege, the desire to leave a legacy of love, snacking horror, and Agatha Christie:
What we don’t realize is that there is a fine art of non-fuck-giving. People aren’t just born not giving a fuck. In fact, we’re born giving way too many fucks. Ever watch a kid cry his eyes out because his hat is the wrong shade of blue? Exactly. Fuck that kid.
White people love to tell me how lyrical my writing is, how the rhythms of my words flow so well, how every verse is so political, so eloquent. Outside of past college workshop classes, however, white people love to scrutinize my Black existence. They love to touch my hair (especially when it’s pastel colored), invade my personal space bubble, whistle and holler out of truck windows, and sneer as I walk through suburbia.
Until Janet Mock or Laverne Cox gives me something to work with, I want to attempt to explain that while race and gender are both social constructs, they don’t occupy the same space with regard to perception or flexibility.
A blind copy editor was a joke on some Mary Tyler Moore TV show, but we actually had one, a guy who leaned his white cane up against his desk. They could have booted him onto disability, but they didn’t. He edited the weather page, his nose pressed close to his monitor.
I’ve spent years trying to understand why I loved her so much, why I still consider her to be one of my heroes. People have asked me how I forgave her for the pain she caused and I could never articulate the why or the how of that forgiveness.
Find one who is kind, likes the same things you do, and has asthma so they’ll stay behind with you to play pretend and tell stories, when the other kids run off to play sports. Go everywhere and do everything together. So that if your best friend died, and someone made a collage for her funeral, they wouldn’t find a single photo of her that didn’t have you in it.
This is a different kind of life. This is the privilege people often claim isn't real, because it's uncomfortable. Because it is real.
I choose love. I choose encouragement. I choose edification. I choose support. I would rather be wrong about an issue and have a legacy of love than be right and have some person’s suicide on my heart.
Nature is horrible at almost everything. That’s why on those rare occasions when it does manage to create something of immense beauty – like the Grand Canyon or Beyoncé – we can only sit and marvel with our mouths hanging open.
And because you are a fan of finding good, new writing online: