[stylist] LGBTQ REVISITED

[kec92 at ourlink.net]

Hi all, 

I am sending a couple links to articles that I found recently about the
intersection of disability and LGBTQ I found them interesting Here are
the links: 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mark-brennan-rosenberg/lgbts-living-with-disabil_b_3016564.html
[10] 

http://www.gaystarnews.com/article/disabled-champions-humiliated-hands-glasgow-gay-club140613
[11] 

Earlier, when I wanted to make the distinction between gender identity
and sexual orientation, it was because, many times, I have encountered
people saying that transsexuality/transgender is a sexual orientation.
There is a difference between sexual orientation and gender identity.
Also, there is a difference between sex and gender. For me, it was kind
of hard defining all of the gender varient terms because I know that
there is a lot of variability within gender and how people define
gender. I personallyidentify as gender queer and more on the
transmasculine end of the gender spectrum. 

Katie 

On 27.03.2014 16:07, Bridgit Pollpeter wrote: 

> Thanks. I try exploring my universe and attempt to connect it to the
> world's universe. Sometimes I get it, other times, not so much. I still
> have a lot I haven't had the courage to explore with my life, but maybe
> some day...
> 
> Bridgit
> 
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of
> KajunCutie926 at aol.com
> Sent: Thursday, March 27, 2014 1:25 PM
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> 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.orgSubject: 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.netwrote: 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 winn
 er.
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] [1] stylist mailing list stylist at nfbnet.org http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org [2] [2] To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for stylist:
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