[stylist] LGBTQ REVISITED
Atty Rose
attyrose at cox.net
Thu Mar 27 18:37:06 UTC 2014
Thanks for sharing this.
----- Original Message -----
From: <KajunCutie926 at aol.com>
To: <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Thursday, March 27, 2014 1:24 PM
Subject: Re: [stylist] LGBTQ REVISITED
> And I can but echo Jackie's comments, Bridgit... well done and I will
> have
> jumping rope on my mind for the rest of the day at least. Well done, as
> always!
> Myrna
>
>
> In a message dated 3/27/2014 1:05:17 P.M. Central Daylight Time,
> jackieleepoet at cox.net writes:
>
> Bridgit,
> Your essay shows in great detail, the cruelty you endured throughout your
> young years. I never imagined that a diabetic would be the target of such
> bullying. You certainly demonstrate that it is not only reserved for the
> sexually different.
> Your writing, as always, shows your gift of making your life real to all
> of
> us. I might mention that it has a poetic quality to it with internal
> rhyme
> sprinkled throughout.
> Also, it is the best description of jump-rope that I ever heard. It took
> me
> way back, and until the cruelty, was a thrilling memory.
> If your tenacity and ability to write, in some way, grew out of your
> tough
> experiences, perhaps, in retrospect, it was worth it.
> At least, now, you are a gift to all of us, showing us your writing
> skills.
> Jackie
>
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Bridgit
> Pollpeter
> Sent: Wednesday, March 26, 2014 9:37 PM
> To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
> Subject: Re: [stylist] LGBTQ REVISITED
>
> Bill,
>
> You're absolutely right. I'm posting my essay that was recently
> published because it says better what I'm trying to say here. I've
> copied and pasted several times, and the formatting keeps pasting weird,
> so sorry about that.
>
> Bridgit
>
>
> Give a Cheer for all the Broken
> Hold on. And you don't know what you're waiting for, but you don't want
> to know more. Hold on.
> From Hold On by Good Charlotte
>
> Slipping into the forgotten, hearing only the silence, too many seek the
> solace of whispered graves. We see you, we know you, but ignorance is
> our bliss as another percentage piles at our feet.
> The band leads with a tune slightly off key. A melody with no harmony
> begins the black parade.
> Echoes of introspection radiate on faces of a studio audience as Madonna
> speaks against bullying on TV. She shames with her speech about
> acceptance.
> I shutter remembering a face full of pain, hoping only for a friend. A
> little girl, innocent and sweet, who braved school despite the mocking
> jeers of classmates; her tear-stained face pops into my head. My memory
> forges up the day I pricked her with a needle, and we laughed as tears
> rimmed her eyes.
>
> Cut my life into pieces
> This is my last resort
> Suffocation, No breathing
> Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
> Do you even care if I die bleeding?
>
> Acceptance means following the crowd. As a group, we don't feel the
> sting of loneliness.
> Eventually I stepped out of this role, but an isolation replaced
> acceptance. I walked the halls and knew the cruelty of adolescence. The
> pain of being different is not easy to bear.
>
> The bell rang for recess, and Mrs. Petat's second-grade class came to
> attention. Each child sat still, but our pent-up energy raced around our
> features. A hushed frenzy waiting to explode.
> We rushed in lines of order as our teacher released the class. The
> barrel of balls and jump ropes emptied in a succinct fashion. Reaching
> the door to the playground, our line of whispered buzzing erupted into
> shouts and giggles as we stormed the yard.
> Sarah tossed me the end of a long red jump rope, and we started the
> ancient swing known to children world-round.
> Laurie jumped in first as the chant began. Soon I rolled into a
> well-oiled maneuver. The motion of the swing remained steady while
> Laurie and I jumped in unison.
> I jumped in and out never skipping a beat. We laughed and shouted as
> each girl took her turn, and our chant mingled through the noisy
> playground.
> Laurie and Chandra replaced Sarah and I as we kept the motion, never
> skipping a beat. Sarah and I danced to the back of the line, catching
> our breath through bursts of giggles.
> The rhythm of the chant reverberated through my body, tingling. My long
> ponytail whipped around my body as I spun on my heel, ready to enter the
> arching rope spinning round and round.
> Giddiness prickled my skin as an effortless leap slid my skinny body
> into the winding motion of the game. I smiled, but something had
> changed. The chant was different.
> "Di, di, di, Bridgit is diabetic-she is gonna' die-die-die."
> I glanced at Laurie and Chandra still whipping the rope around. Their
> faces concentrated on the task at hand, but their mouths wiggled with
> escaped laughter through the chant.
> "Di, di, di, Bridgit is diabetic-she is gonna' die-die-die."
> My feet scratched against the cement jumping backwards out of the
> motion. Facing the line of jumpers, their expressions seemed mocking.
> The chant halted as kids around the playground pointed. A laugh
> thundered through the yard. Tears nipped my eyes.
> A group of boys corralled nearby, snickered. "The DIE-abetic's gonna'
> cry."
> My mouth opened, but words seemed like the enemy at the moment. Holding
> my breath, trying not to cry, my feet trudged to the edge of the
> playground. Leaning against the red brick of the school, my body took on
> the stillness of the stone pricking my back.
> A stony isolation left me at the edge, unsure how to find my way back.
>
> Phoebe Prince understood isolation. She took it with her to the grave.
> In high school, playground politics grow deadly.
> A heart pierced with pain, Phoebe gasped for air.
> Who knew being beautiful would cost you your life? Jealousy placed the
> rope around your delicate neck.
> Stylish clothes, popular pursuits, they do not bring immediate
> inclusion. We spent years perfecting the art of judgment and acceptance;
> now we wonder why bullying has grown, too big to be contained.
> E's Fashion Police blares on the TV. I laugh as Joan Rivers mocks the
> latest attempt of Milie Cyrus to fit in. Joan's biting commentary dare
> anyone to face the world in any garb other than the accepted mode as
> prescribed by an elite few.
>
> Every day is so wonderful
> Then suddenly, it's hard to breathe
> Now and then, I get insecure
> From all the pain, I'm so ashamed
>
> We breathe in acceptance and breathe out cruelty. The pumping of our
> pulse leaps with joy to mock.
> Cut- cut down- cut it out- cut to bleed, to feel.
>
> When you grow up,
> will you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?
> Will you defeat them,
> Your demons, and all the non-believers
> The plans that they have made?
>
> Matthew Shepard understood isolation. By birth, he fell to this earth,
> contaminated with isolation.
> Dreams and hopes filled Matthew's mind, but the intolerance stifled his
> voice. Shameful and wicked, that is what they told you.
> A boy, shameful and wicked, not fit for this world. Shameful and wicked
> shadowed your every move. Shameful and wicked, your existence was
> disgusting-you must go.
> Was it goodness and purity that stranded you, tied naked to a fence
> pole?
> They took your light allowing ignorance to guide.
>
> I wear purple today in recognition of Stop Bullying Gays day. Purple
> sweater, purple boots, purple jewelry.
> God did not create people only to have them destroyed by hate.
> Who are precious in His sight? Love thy neighbor, turn the other cheek
> and hate the gays. This is the message spread to the ends of the earth.
> Molded, shaped and formed, our concepts of Adam and Eve are constructed
> out of rigid, immoveable material.
>
> Life it seems, will fade away
> Drifting further every day
> Getting lost within myself
> Nothing matters, no one else
> I have lost the will to live
> Simply nothing more to give
> There is nothing more for me
> I need the end to set me free
>
> Curled up in a corner on my bed, I sobbed, my head resting on my knees.
> Screams hovered in my throat. No one to talk to, to cleanse the poison
> from my soul.
> Swollen eyes searched my room for any remnant of hope. I wanted
> something to tie me to this world, an anchor that made me one of them.
> Happiness seemed easy for some. Inclusion was my goal, to be normal. Too
> much weighed me down; these jagged thoughts pierced me to the ground,
> unable to join the world.
> Cruel words piled up like dirt. Slut, whore, tramp-- it did not matter
> that I was a virgin; the gospel of rumors is truth.
> Pink-handled scissors whispered tantalizing possibilities. Suffocating,
> unable to move, death was inviting. Escaping this enclosure was the
> relief I sought.
>
> Consumed by emptiness, you sought a final solitude. Unaware of the
> future, you saw only today. Unable to dry the flow of tears, you stopped
> the flow of blood. Your enemy's words were endless, but you deafened the
> sound with a blow.
>
> The television guides us as Chelsea Handler spews comments searing like
> acid. Derisive laughter accompanies the jokes made at the expense of
> others.
> We are taught to mock, caring only for our pleasure. We have learned
> well-grasshoppers , now go forth and spread this message of hate to all
> who will listen.
>
> With the lights out, it's less dangerous
> Here we are now, entertain us
> I feel stupid and contagious
> Here we are now, entertain us
>
> I turn the TV off in disgust. I feel heavy with the guilt of the
> countless souls I heaped more pain on to. My own past misery, a shared
> experience, has taught me nothing.
>
> The guys living upstairs sat on their balcony, one crying, one
> consoling.
> Giggles escaped me as I strained to hear what absurdity made a grown man
> cry into his beer.
> "What a wuss," I said.
> "It's not funny," Ross, my husband, said.
> I turned around to stare at him. "Are you serious?"
> "You don't know what's wrong, it could be serious."
> "He's crying like a drunken baby." I giggled again.
> "That's really insensitive. I've been there."
> My giggles cut short. "Like I don't know hurt and pain?"
> "You're the one laughing." He walked away.
>
> I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend
> You could cut ties with all the lies, that you've been living in
> And if you do not want to see me again
> I would understand
>
> These are the thoughts I ponder. I still fight to accept myself,
> thrashing my spirit about, but I can no longer live among my own
> intolerance.
> Ripped to tattered pieces, many find no solace. The pain of difference
> cost much, and many run dry trying to balance the debt.
> Hushed for now, wipe the stains from your eyes. Flesh broken and
> bruised, but alive just the same. Sticks and stones will break my bones,
> and words will lead to the grave.
> Hands will lift you. Rest, but only rest. Walk in the light breaking
> free of the shadows. Blessed are those who undo the ties that bind.
>
> I'm beautiful in my way
> 'Cause God makes no mistakes
> I'm on the right track, Baby
> I was born this way
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of William L
> Houts
> Sent: Wednesday, March 26, 2014 1:38 PM
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> Subject: Re: [stylist] LGBTQ REVISITED
>
>
>
> HI Bridgit,
>
> I understand what you're saying, and in general, I think it's a solid,
> useful dictum: never suppose that you need to justify yourself to
> others. We're all equals, whatever our differences. But when you're
> gay, you have to pass through trials which healthy heterosexuals don't
> even think about because heterosexuality is the expected --some would
> say demanded-- standard. But those of us who came of age thirty years
> ago have had to work out basic issues of self-worth and self-respect
> just to win our place under the sun. I think it's different for gay
> kids growing up now; in many or most cases they're simply not brutalized
>
> for being who they are. This isn't universally true. Ignorant, brutal
>
> parents still consign their gay children to "ex-gay" ministeries in
> order to "pray away the gay". Schoolyard bullies and bullies of all
> kinds still torment young gay and lesbian folk for being who they are,
> and sometimes they do more than simply torment them. Straight people,
> even very kind and well-meaning straight people, don't have this
> experience and consequently don'understand why gay people sometimes have
>
> to take a noisy stand about who they are. It shouldn't be that way, and
> it shouldn't be that way, and it shouldn't be that way. Yet in the
> office and in the schoolyard and in the parking lot it IS that way, and
> gay people have to fight that war just to stay alive, just to live their
>
> own lives with dignity and self-respect.
>
>
>
> --Bill
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> On 3/25/2014 12:51 PM, Bridgit Pollpeter wrote:
>> And perhaps this is an ignorant heterosexual talking, but the way I
>> see it is that no one expects straight people to constantly identify
>> our sexual orientation, so why gays and bi's and transgender? I think
>> a part of equality and inclusion means accepting people as whole
>> beings regardless of sexual orientation. Identifying or being
>> identified by sexual orientation is the same as being identified by
>> disability or hair color or music interest etc. It's just one part of
>> a person.
>>
>> Bridgit
>>
>> -----Original Message-----
>> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of William
>
>> L Houts
>> Sent: Monday, March 24, 2014 11:38 PM
>> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
>> Subject: Re: [stylist] LGBTQ REVISITED
>>
>>
>>
>>
>> HI Katie,
>>
>> I cheerfully identify as gay, though my reality is a little more
>> complicated. For various reasons, I no longer go to bars or
>> participate
>>
>> in gay culture in that way. It's all fine, clubs, bars, parades, the
>> whole thing. But to my friends and family, I feel myself to be
>> "postgay", which is how I identify myself on the rare occasions the
>> subject comes up. Postgay isn't nearly the same thing as "ex-gay",
>> which is false and noxious. Postgay, as I understand the word, means
>> that yes, yes, I love men, and in general take a relaxed view of
>> sexuality. I'm just not very interested in making a big issue of it.
>
>> I
>>
>> love all of our gay heroes, our Oscar Wilde, our Harvey Milk, our name
>
>> your poison. But I don't go out of my way to make gay jokes, to
>> frequent
>>
>> gay owned establishments, or to attend gay-themed parties. You're
>> welcome to go, and I'll be glad to hear about it when you come home.
>> As
>>
>> for me, well, I'm working on a sestina tonight.
>>
>>
>>
>> --Bill
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>> On 3/24/2014 9:22 PM, kec92 at ourlink.net wrote:
>>>
>>>
>>> Hi all,
>>>
>>> I am still writing the play about the bisexual transgender male. I
>>> would just like to update on some of the issues that I have read
>>> about and talking to lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, and
>>> Questioning
>>> (LGBTQQ) peoples. One of the issues that I have read about is that
>> many
>>> of the characters that are seen on movies that are acting as LGBTQQ
>> are
>>> mostly heteorsexual and cisgender (people whose gender idenity and
>>> assigned sex match), play LGBTQQ characters. There has been some
>>> controversy in the LGBTQQ community where they want people who
>> actually
>>> identify as LGBTQQ.
>>>
>>> Another issue that I would like to bring up is the inclusion of
>>> people with disabilities who also identify as LGBTQQ wanting
>>> inclusion as well. Even within the LGBTQQ community, there is still
>>> discrimination and bias.
>>>
>>> Thanks,
>>>
>>> Katie
>>>
>>> On 24.03.2014 20:23, Bridgit Pollpeter wrote:
>>>
>>>> Jackie,
>>>>
>>>> The movie is Tu Wong Fu: To Julie Newmar, with Love, starring
>>>> Patrick Swayze, and yes, it was a funny but heart-felt movie. It was
>
>>>> made in the mid-90's.
>>>>
>>>> Bridgit
>>>>
>>>> -----Original Message-----
>>>> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of
>>>> Jackie Williams
>>>> Sent: Monday, March 24, 2014 7:42 PM
>>>> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
>>>> Subject: [stylist] LGBTQ REVISITED
>>>>
>>>> I AM STILL REVISITING ALL THE E-MAILS I MISSED. Well, I enclosed my
>>>> few about spiders. I have had a hard time remembering the meanings
>>>> of all these letters, but I have one or two poems that might nibble
>>>> on the edges. I have known many gay men, some fellow teachers, two
>>>> of whom adopted. Quite amazing for Arizona. Better parents I never
>>>> knew. I also found that my Great Aunt Dora, a heroine of mine
>>>> throughout my life, left a letter when she died asking that her
>>>> headstone be placed next to another woman's headstone, and a tender
>>>> letter was enclosed. A very attractive woman, she refused offers of
>>>> marriage, and became the Librarian at Upper Iowa University. When
>>>> she retired after fifty years, an old beau asked her again, and she
>>>> again refused. Years after this mystery, an answer. Then, some years
>
>>>> ago, I saw a movie with a Chinese title about a drag queen. It
>>>> starred the dancer who also starred in ghost, and it was hilarious.
>>>> I also visited a friend in San Francisco, and went first to a place
>>>> to eat and see the belly dancers. Then we went next door and saw
>>>> endless men in drag. I had to write about a man with a mother that
>>>> could be me, and his wife and child who could be my daughter-in-law.
>
>>>> Other than my imagination, I don't have a lot of knowledge, except
>>>> my scientific-based beliefs, that is most developments take place in
>
>>>> the womb, and sometimes are highly influenced also by environments
>>>> that cannot help but magnify or turn the tide to an already genetic
>>>> pattern. Now that I think of it, I have three poems that touch in
>>>> some way on one or another of these "letters." I suggest that you
>>>> read this first line by line, and spell out the few words that are
>>>> not phonetic, then read it a second time with insert, down arrow. It
>
>>>> is long, 73 lines. I submitted it to Georgia for several years,
>>>> since I understood it to be the drag queen capitol of the U.S., but
>>>> it must have offended someone to claim it as part of their history.
>>>> It is a marathon of rhyming, and if you do not hear it, the format
>>>> has not remained true. Category 4 Jacqueline Williams Expressing
>>>> Beliefs In All Ways 1431 W. 7th Place
>>>>
>>>> Mesa, AZ 85201
>>>>
>>>> 480-834-1782
>>>>
>>>> The Evolution of a Drag Queen
>>>>
>>>> "My Mother, nothing comes to mind
>>>> to extricate me from my bind."
>>>> Athletic honors, throwing shot
>>>> and javelin were surely not
>>>> the skills that now will make up for
>>>> a youth I wasted. I foreswore
>>>> the effort facing learning times,
>>>> realities and saving dimes.
>>>> All those awards led me astray
>>>> until too late, though I must say
>>>> the medals for my breaststroke swims
>>>> left me big "pecs" and long strong limbs.
>>>> I had a decent resume
>>>> before I lost my job. Foul play
>>>> robbed goals set by my love and me
>>>> for newborn son, cast them asea.
>>>>
>>>> "My son, I'll think about it soon."
>>>> So often, Mom, I've heard this tune.
>>>> You'll wear your gowns and gaudy rings
>>>> to hifalutin social things.
>>>> Oh, wait, my quite majestic mom,
>>>> so tall, so buxom, such aplomb.
>>>> Ideas brew-a rushing tide.
>>>> I'll find a conquest for my bride.
>>>>
>>>> You gone, your spikes upon my feet,
>>>> I walk and fall and still repeat
>>>> a practice that becomes my code,
>>>> a perfect imagery, the mode.
>>>> I've got the walk, now what to do
>>>> to make the perfect witch's brew
>>>> that causes me to light the flame?
>>>> Please bring me soon to newborn fame.
>>>>
>>>> My wife's peach-pink scant underpants
>>>> inspire an undulating dance.
>>>> While she, adored, earns great big bucks,
>>>> I hold the bottle my son sucks.
>>>> As "Mister Mom," I take him here
>>>> and there and now it's everywhere.
>>>> The beauty parlor-such a place!
>>>> He always grins his funny face.
>>>> We hang out as a winsome pair.
>>>> The ladies think us both quite fair.
>>>> As one beautician holds him tight,
>>>> another makes my eyes shine bright.
>>>> Eye shadow, glitter, wigs all glow.
>>>> My heart beats fast. My wife will know
>>>> the depth of love I feel for her.
>>>> Oh, dear, my makeup must not blur.
>>>> I slowly roll my thigh-highs up-
>>>> the jet-black net-oh, quite corrupt.
>>>>
>>>> My mom and wife will meet for dinner.
>>>> I pray that they will see a winner.
>>>> Mother, son and dearest one
>>>> arrive all laughing, full of fun-
>>>> awash in new-felt wonderments
>>>> at rainbow fans on fundaments.
>>>> They do not know I'm here, you see,
>>>> cast eyes at entrance doors. Oh me.
>>>>
>>>> The drum roll comes and I sashay
>>>> the runway, not one hair astray.
>>>> Bestowing smiles on all alike-
>>>> arched eyebrows, winks, I pass my tyke
>>>> with arms outstretched and then he knows
>>>> his "Mommy" right down to my toes.
>>>>
>>>> And now when all is said and done,
>>>> with kudos to my lovely one,
>>>> she must compete with all those droves
>>>> who bring me gifts and treasure troves
>>>> of drag queens-past and present tense.
>>>> I hope that I'll maintain the sense
>>>> to build a future-one to see-
>>>> that's free of fear and bigotry.
>>>>
>>>> _______________________________________________
>>>> Writers Division web site
>>>> http://writers.nfb.org/ [1]
>>>> stylist mailing list
>>>> stylist at nfbnet.org
>>>> http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org [2] To
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>>>> stylist:
>>>>
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>> ai
>> [3]
>>>> l.com
>>>>
>>>> _______________________________________________
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>> et
>> [4]
>>>
>>>
>>> Links:
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>>> [3]
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>>> m
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>>>
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>> et
>>> _______________________________________________
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>> stylist:
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>> om
>>
>>
>
>
> --
> "Let's drink a toast now to who we really are."
>
> --Jane Siberry
>
>
> _______________________________________________
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