Uppity-Negro.com

But as I mentioned earlier, I'm not reading warblogs anymore. Improves my mood, my outlook, and I think my skin is clearer.

From Inga Muscio's Writing vs. Desperation: The Afterword to “Cunt”:

The day after Arundhati Roy broke my heart with her words, I went to a (locally owned, independent) bookstore where Robin D. G. Kelley was reading from his new book, Freedom Dreams: The Black Radical Imagination. This proved to be one of those instances where the universe decides it’s time to save my ass from utter despair.

[. . .] We’ve been getting shafted for a long time now. We have fought, and the freaky little white men have prevailed. The stories of our fights are glossed over in the freaky little white men’s history, which is partly how they have prevailed. Now they are poised to kill the earth, and this is not about signing petitions and attending protests. This is about eradicating fascinations with celebrities who contribute nothing to our imaginations. This is about telling our stories, poetically employing our imaginations in the actions of our every day lives. And this is about loving each other.

Which is up at Pop and Politics. Maybe I should start ripping off mining that for material instead.

Still haven't picked up the book, because I suck. Oddly, I don't give a second thought to reading something with that title in public. Well, maybe if there are children about. . .

In a similar vein, C.L.I.T. -- Chicago Lesbians Invading Taverns -- is having a second anniversary get-together this Friday. I know this, because I'm on the mailing list. I'm on the mailing list because. . . you know, that's a damn good question, because I'm certain I didn't sign up for it.

Of course, even if I wasn't on the list, an announcement also came up under the bulletin board listings on my Friendster page.

I'm seriously torn between not going and not going.