THE NEW YEAR RUSHES UPON US with momentum born of crisis and necessity. In every direction one looks, change is needed—and not cosmetic alteration, but deep, structural repair. The issue of immigration is no exception.
A CRUCIAL COMPONENT to undoing misogyny and sexism is revealing to men that we are sold an illusion. The “man” they would have us be is an unnatural and dangerous one. It is a fanged, bereaved, lie. It is the shifting shape of oppression with a wolfskin slung over its eyes. It is a shroud.
I feel we need more permission to be less conclusive and less defined and to bleed over our boundaries a bit. That approach is even what allows me to shift and change in the ways I do. Any label or title we fit upon ourselves ought immediately feel like a crown of thorns, ought immediately be suspect and deemed temporary at best. When we draw those concrete boundaries, those barbed-wire assignments—even around only ourselves—we are also deciding that others ought be contained in the remaining space.
House of Nezua
the XOLAGRAFIK theater!
