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andersonpress · 5 months ago

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Girl, what the fuck was that? #DEEPTHOTS

(Feb 6, 2025)

What in the FUCK was 2024?

I vividly remember the end of 2023. I was in the midst of a deep depression surrounding the decisions I’ve made in life. Before the end of 2023 (specifically the Summer of 23’)my wife and I had planned a move from Pittsburgh to Detroit. This was done for a few reasons. Mainly we had experienced far too much adolescence in Pittsburgh.

{Pittsburgh: The personification of ‘hate the place, love the people.’

- Taylor Waits}

In addition to the geographically specific trauma pushing us out, the gentrification our community was experiencing was the boot that kicked us out the door. In the five years I had lived in Pittsburgh I was thankful to have cultivated a large queer community, acquired a real big girl job, and had the opportunity to organize amazing events. And yet - it was time to go. On one condition: I couldn’t let my committee find out I left.

So by December 2023 my wife and I had been in Detroit for six months. I had quit my job before the move and hadn’t had any luck securing anything that matched what I made in Pittsburgh. My wife had just left their job so money was extremely tight. Not to mention I had previously promised my lil sis a trip too NYC and had already paid for the tickets.

We were also facing eviction. I had applied everywhere I was qualified to. To no avail. I was working full time as a DoorDasher (derogatory) when I got an interview to be a 10tth grade English teacher. On one hand I love highschool aged students and have dreams of opening my own high school for Black girls in the future. But in the other hand you have admin, parents, and teachers to deal with. But I wasn’t in a position to be stingy.

It’s a week before the trip and the week of THE interview. I dressed the part, I brought my lesson plans, and I was prepared for all the questions. The interview was swift. So swift that I totally misread the principals feelings about me. I took everything they said as sarcasm instead of sincerity. “I fucking blew it.” I cried and doordashed the rest of the day. Not one day later - hired! Not to mention the trip to NYC was fun but challenging. We were navigating with a teenager with no money. But she had fun. We all did. The new year was spent with friends watching the ball drop on TV.

New job, new start, and a Phd.

What the FUCK happened?

In short: My dreams were crushed and I was upset about it. While my new job brought us the money we needed to stay a float it was breaking my psyche going everyday. I still worked for my university as a graduate assistant. My planning periods and lunches were often filled with meetings from Pittsburgh or training. Just my luck, my dissertation chair had spent half of 2023 and a good portion of 2024 completely offline and of no help to me as my last semester approached. In all aspects oof my life I felt alone. And I had done it to myself.

I was hiding the fact that I moved away from my committee fearing that they (the white ones) would rat on me. I was hiding my depressive thoughts from my friends and my wife - everybody had enough going on. By the end of the school year I had a teaching gig lined up at a local university, a dissertation defense date, and a trip to Belize upcoming.

Now, the dream crushing part.

My career at the high school was full of busted balloons. My students and teachers I looked up to really loved my teaching methods. But basically everyone else was vehemently against anything I had to say. Not only as a teacher but as a student, I was failed. I found respite on reddit amongst teachers who had been in the field for one up to thirty years. All of us complaining about the stagnant pay, abysmal benefits, and the continuous responsibilities that piled on your desk.

It was nice to be affirmed by other queer and trans instructors who experienced bullying and hazing at their schools. They all encouraged me to apply for adjuncting positions and work with high school aged students in a different way. When I got my adjuncting gig they all congratulated me. It felt good not being alone for once.

Just as the school year was ending my funding stopped. I had expected to graduate in August since I was pushed a semester due to my chair’s absence. Not only was I staying in a program I didn’t like for an extra semester - now my Black ass has to pay for it. The week we flew to Belize we started a mutual aid campaign. We were behind because more than three checks had been unpaid by my past university for DJ gigs. $1350. That’s what they owed me. After months. I’ll be finishing the dissertation with no money, no resources, and an eviction notice. Lovely.

Well, that FUCKING happened.

After my wife and I work at a grocery store for a few months they land a job. I started teaching and kept my part time job in produce. We got a roommate. We battled (and still battle) more eviction notices. We scrape, we make due, we make community.

Thankfully our community had lead us out of every single notice and onwards to joy and freedom. For 2025 I’m back to filmmaking, scrip writing, organizing, creating, and thriving. I’m a Phd weilder now (thoughts on this coming within a memoir soon)and that’s weird. I’m really excited to write. And I’m happy where I am.

My new university is great. I started my production company, black. In this space I’ll be releasing my own projects but also those of other Black creatives needing a space to share their work.

I also have a new website - if you have made it to my tumblr you probably stopped there first. I’m planning some good shit.

And that’s what FUCKING happened.

2024 was the definition of a fever dream. I was tested as an instructor, a partner, a friend, and a business woman. Being 27 was not for the faint of heart. But I’m back for now.

You’re welcome!

#deepthots

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andersonpress · 5 months ago

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My ongoing relationships with ethical consumerism

Dec 6, 2023

This past week I finished Assata Shakur’s autobiography. If you don’t know who she is, she’s a Black woman who was once on the FBI’s most wanted list for the murder of a New Jersey police officer, an armed robbery, bank robbery and kidnapping. None of which was ever proven she did. She spent years being assaulted, sexually harassed, humiliated, and discriminated against by law officials. She was forced into exile after finding asylum in Cuba after being wrongfully charged with murder and sentenced to life in prison. Talk about a revolutionary.

She breaks up the book into two perspectives - past and present. She talks about her life before she became a radical. How she perpetuated colorism, capitalism, white supremacy, and patriarchy in her own life before deciding to join the Black Liberation Army. How she could see the oppressive state of the world all around her but she was too comfortable where she was in life to change it. She got all types of jobs, worked under the table, ran away from home, damn near had several different lives before she even became a revolutionary. Everyone around her told her leading a life of a revolutionary was stupid, misguided, and selfish. But as she grew older and saw the continuous deaths of Black folks and Third World persons all over the world [].She spoke of her brothers and sisters in Palestine, South Africa, Argentina, Cuba, and others. As she flipped back and forth between past and present I began to visualize all the many connections colonized people can make about their collective struggle for freedom.

Having then learned about even more atrocities of the world and collaborating with other Black activists across the globe she became empowered to seek justice through any means necessary. She then spent the rest of her life moving forward to show her ASS to the American government. This was after the murders of key Black Panther members, several governmental agencies targeting these members' intimate relationships, and the rise of anti Black rhetoric in combatants of the Black power movement of the 60s and 70s. No one is free unless we are all free.

What Assata was showing us is that we all have choices. And choosing to remain silent is definitely one of them.

Every Choice Holds Weight

If you have an American education you may vaguely remember that chapter of World History where they describe communism, democracy, capitalism, and consumerism. When them people burned up in that warehouse fire!!??? In like 1912 or some shit? And they used to let five year olds clock in to work? Yeah baby - that’s us. Capitalism is a facet of colonization that involves the economic/political system ‘in which a country's trade and industry are controlled by private owners for profit.’ While Europe was busy colonizing every part of the world they could lie they said they went to, they were stealing and exploiting from native peoples for a monopoly on goods. Hoarding these resources gave them the ability to establish unfair tariffs, protocols, and shipping processes to any competitors. They weren’t losing out on any money - they were the only people in business. Direct descendants of these resource hogs and scammers continued to create monopolies and exploitative practices in order to hoard wealth. Goods, people, natural resources, and energy continued to be made for sale. The oil barons, automobile tycoons, and railroad dictators start very exclusionary policies and laws in order to keep those they don’t want all up in they pockets out of their boardrooms and offices. They add more businesses to their ever growing web of resource hogging entities and establish our modern system of economics. Generations of children in America are then fed propaganda about how these resource hogging entities model ‘the American Dream.’ How we can maybe one day become resource hogging assholes who made their fortune on slave labor and selling stolen goods back to the people you stole them from. Some of our parents worked hard to teach us how to critically consume media. Or maybe a radical teacher did. Maybe they covered a lot of stuff or maybe they didn’t waver at all. Maybe we had to hear from a friend or overhear in public. Maybe you pass a protest or see a post on social media. And then it clicks - it’s all propaganda and they got you too.

Once Assata was radicalized (no matter how long it took) she never wavered from her values. She didn’t respond to her government name, joined the BLA, started hosting programming to help Black folks in America, she refused to succumb or answer law enforcement, she went on hunger strikes while in prison, fought guards, and eventually escaped her wrongful conviction. Her money, energy, and time went towards the liberation of her people. She dove in 100%. You start by doing what you can. And you keep that same energy. Whether she was in the street or in the basement of a New Jersey prison, Assata stood on business. This is what ethical consumerism can be used to do. Ethical consumerism is a practice of researching where, why, and what you buy. As an American you may like to shop small! You buy from people you know or see in your community. Instead of going to Walmart or Target you go to locally owned grocers. Maybe you grow your own food and also buy from major retail chains. In this case you are given many choices as to where, how, and what you spend your money on. Where do you choose to shop? Why?

Revolution takes blood and time

The almost 8 decade long genocide of the Palestinian people has been the main topic of many revolutionaries since the illegal occupation began. To say that this is a new topic does a disservice to the millions of people over the years who were killed in the name of American nationalism. The genocide we are watching happen before our very eyes is happening simultaneously across the globe to billions of descendants of colonized peoples fighting thorough generations of trauma at the hands of resource hogging assholes. Congo; Tigray; Yemen; Flint, MI; Los Angeles, CA; Houston, TX. Our struggles are tied together. We must struggle and thrive - together. Speak up for all of them. Continue to do what you can. But lets get some world building.

So start within. In that wallet. And then in your community. Instead of boycotting these resource hogging assholes for months at a time what would it look like to find a semi-permanent solution to a community issue? My wife and I have been gardening for about 2 years now simply to cut down costs in our grocery bill. We buy thrifted clothes online and in-person and repurpose our pieces. We refurbish furniture and we compost. We do what we can. We refuse to support organizations, people, or communitites that deny a genocide and illegal occupation in Palestine. We stopped buying disposable vapes and buying from certain brands as they contribute to slavery in Congo. We are working on making our own soap, furniture, and clothing. But that’s what we can do for now. As we gain more resources we won’t hog them. We will make fewer trips to Target and rely on nonrenewable energy resources less.

But we won’t act obtuse to the fact that there are people who can not exercise the right to choose where they spend their money. Some people ain’t got no money to begin with. And they are allowed to think I’m not doing enough. I remember blocking and muting so many ‘trophy talkers’ aka people who feel like they have the right to police what others are doing during the mask mandate debacle that started to reach more media visibility during 2020. Blaming individuals for the failure of elected officials; forgetting how misinformation and propaganda to marginalized communities creates barriers for spreading knowledge; and it’s just oppression olympics to police how other people process global atrocities. However, when folks are exposed to the correct information about social distancing, how the virus spreads, and how many people are dying from contracting it, I expect more folks to be better citizens. Wear a mask, test before large gatherings, warn people when you are sick. But disabled people can tell you best - folks who are disabled have significantly less rights to their own bodies than able bodied folks. Throw in that able bodied folks are taught to infantilize and fear disabled people and don’t typically fight for their interests. Millions continued to die due to the inaction of elected officials, medical racism and ableism continued, and social issues continued piling up. So the community started filling the gaps. Everyday people start online mutual aid funds; clinics making vaccines available to struggling communities; tenants and service workers unionizing against their overlords - we fought back.

Everyone has a place in the movement. But the movement must start within. People often think protesting is the peak of revolution but it is yet one part. Members of the Black Liberation Army were often arrested for offering protection or resources to poor Black folks for free. They were going around their government to meet their own needs. There were artists who were arrested for graffiti, for painting public buildings, defacing property in the name of spreading a message. Entertainers and athletes refusing to perform without change. Boycotts. Community meetings or social event coordinators. Caretakers, cooks, educators, elders, aides, and musicians. All working together for justice. So you may think - am I doing enough for those around me? Ask them. What do the revolutionaries in jail who are willing to risk their livelihoods need from us? Assata needed lawyers willing to risk their careers to help advocate for her while she was in prison. (One of her lawyers was mysteriously murdered during one of her trials and he was a white man y’all.) She needed her mom back home to keep her daughter safe. The nurses who locked doors to pass her information. Friends, lovers, and community folk who can call her, cook for her family, get some mail, pay a bill. It’s our job to support those willing to risk their livelihoods for justice. Bail funds, grocery mutual aid, and free transportation were number one topics during the shutdown of public events during the COVID - 19 pandemic. Folks stuck in abusive households were speaking out at higher rates. And protests were everywhere.

The revolution is happening. It’s been happening. It just won’t happen overnight. Generations of people are continuing to watch their tax dollars be used to go against their interests. (Every world war and funding to colonize other countries or influence the people…) We’ve seen it done year after year! And millions of people speak up, fight back, become radicalized, and get in community with each other. We must continue to make light, to speak up, to question where we put our energy and money.

But we also won’t shy away from those who have been brainwashed by resource hogging ‘American Dream’ propaganda. Alas. We will share knowledge. We will build community. Or we won’t. And that’s ok. You probably aren’t radical enough to somebody. And you might be too radical for others. But it ain’t about you. So many people are sitting in American supported prisons (not just in America) for petty or non-existent crimes due to racial discrimination. People living in systems of violence and poverty created by their own governments to justify lying to their people. Conserve your energy for handling conflict that’s necessary. Don’t people please. Be direct.

Being at the poverty line and ethical consumerism

It’s been wild becoming even more radicalized over the years and making less and less money. I feel more and more shame towards my purchases because I have no more money in my budget to be picky. As an organizer who pays all their talent and takes no money from said events I am constantly going broke trying to help my community. I take breaks in between but without a large enough following we are just community members helping other community members. And when everyone is on the verge of homelessness - keeping each other afloat becomes harder and fucking harder. I am finishing my PhD this Spring so I hope I’ll be able to secure some sort of higher pay. I can continue to help my community and redirect my money towards land ownership, learning trades, sharing wealth and resources with my community, and doing what I love. A girl can hope anyway.

Assata never saw the America she was working hard to build. Glimpses of it. Other people being radicalized yeah. Maybe more visibility to the many subjects she advocates for. But that’s very common. Many Black American revolutionaries leave their home country as refugees. Other Black folks just get fucking fed up with America as a whole. Some of us are stuck here. Some of us die here.

I may never see the America I am building towards seeing but you ain’t EVER gonna catch me going down behind a resource hogging asshole who made their fortune on slave labor. AT MINIMUM! I won’t be working against freedom. Hell nah. It’s possible to just lead a life outside of hegemony and traditional conventions. You can make opportunities for others to do the same. You can fight for the justice of other people and lead a life to be proud of. It won’t be easy. But it will be worth it. We ain’t free until we all free.

What are you doing to get free?

#deepthots

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andersonpress · 5 months ago

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10 Friend/Partner Autumn Dates

Oct 24, 2023

Now these are in no particular order babes. And I am obviously writing with bias. A bias towards the cheap and the delightful. Now I will spend a pretty penny on a once in a lifetime experience however on my grad student budget I’ve had to date on a dime time and time again. No, these autumn dates will not be fantastical or whimsical of any sort. You can rest assured that these recommendations will be real, attainable and easily adaptable to your wallet and needs.

10. Semi Abandoned Mall Date

Yes, the key to go to an ~almost~ rundown mall. Which in most places is just…the mall. But I make this distinction on purpose to really make clear that abandoned malls have a certain vibe. The kind that makes you wanna discover, explore, and ask questions. How long has this mall been abandoned? What store was this? Who even comes here? You end up talking more, taking more pictures, and actually participating in the programs at said abandoned mall. Wear your fluffy PJs or onesies for extra comfort points. Grab some mall food, walk to the only Spencer’s left in your city and keep it cute!

9. Local Festival Centering a Fruit or Vegetable

8. Themed Sport Event

I live in an area of the country that offers a myriad of summer and winter amateur and professional sports leagues. Professional teams that offer special discounts or specific perks for gameday are usually the ones we look out for. Don’t just look for professional athletes though. Amateur or local league mixed martial arts and boxing matches make for some of the most eventful date nights I can think of. Every sporting event doesn't have to have thousands of people there - and always support local.

7. Mini Golf

6. Movie Night

Not a sleepover. A movie night. Staying up late is something I refuse to do unless I am on illicit substances or if I have to. THIS is why I am a proponent for the perfect movie night. Usually there is a theme around the movie(s) on the setlist and the snack selection. I like to choose one throwback and one feature film that way we get a good four hours to hang and snack. A great example would be a Barbie night where Barbie is the feature film and like any movie about girlhood or pink from like before 2005 would be the other movie. Throw in some pink snacks and drinks and some juicy gossip and bitch - THAT is a movie night.

5. A Crisp Morning Walk and/or Picnic

4. Rooftop or Patio Bar

If you love Fall you love crisp air! I looovveee being silly with a bunch of my baddest bitches on a roof surrounded by huge heat lamps. It makes me feel amazing grabbing something quick to drink and eat; or listening to a selected DJ lineup for a few hours. Sometimes dancing on a rooftop cures all the problems of the week.

3. Art Gallery or Museum

2. Book Crawl

1. Thrift for Fall Essentials

Thrifting is essential for every season if you ask me. I like to go shopping for the beginning/middle of fall right in the beginning of August. Coats are typically on sale still and long johns are not few and far in between. The flannels have yet to be meticulously pick through and the boots are the best type of lived in. Going shopping with people, hearing their opinions (or not), and buying items that make you feel good or terrible is a super intimate experience. Some of my best thrift purchases were due to peer pressure or a friend finding something that looks “just like you!” And the demisexual OCD in me makes me love that piece even more because someone I love picked it out for me. Spice it up and set a budget or create a challenge or have a fashion show! Live the fantasy!

#culture

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andersonpress · 5 months ago

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How being trafficked informed my sex work

Sep 27, 2023

Human Trafficking is defined by Oxford as “the unlawful act of transporting or coercing people in order to benefit from their work or service, typically in the form of forced labor or sexual exploitation.” Statistics compiled from the National Human Trafficking Hotline highlights over 10,000 reports in 2021 alone with their projected number of victims being upwards of 17,000 people. The top three types of trafficking they report are: escort services, pornography, and illicit massages; however trafficking also occurs in non sexual ways as well. Victims are often exploited and recruited by employers, family members, and intimate partners. Emotional, economic, and psychological abuse remain the top three ways that victims are coerced into human trafficking and human trafficking can happen to any person regardless of their chosen and ascribed identities.

I, like many other survivors of child sex trafficking, had my access point through a friend. A fellow misguided and out right clumsy teen lying about their age to sneak into strip and dance clubs in Houston, Texas. I had met her at a teen night at a now shut down club after we were both fondled by the same guys on the dancefloor. He managed to get a hand under both of our skirts about three times before we decided to ditch the club. We talked mostly via text or on snapchat- the sex work app of the time. She had introduced me to camming online under a pseudonym only sending pics of mainly other people to creepy dudes we met at the clubs. Eventually we both migrated to meeting up with these guys at clubs on the nights we would dance or when we wanted to get in and try to make money. Making out, fingering, and fondling in between dancing on bars or on a tiny stage with a dirty pole made us about $250 - $500 split. By the time I hit senior year some of the guys would pay to Facetime me in the shower so I decided to meet up with a few to see what all they wanted. I had a car and time on my hands. Not to mention hating making the pennies I made at my job at a yogurt shop when the Johns started to thin out.

At this point I had not had penetrative sex with any of my Johns and managed to keep everything above the hood. I had met up with a few guys who wanted to exclusively have me as their sex slave and I wasn’t ready to risk getting a STI or getting pregnant doing things I wasn’t supposed to be doing. I had sweet talked or sucked my way around the P in the V conversations until I fell upon Secret Arrangement. I had seen a mini documentary on sugar babies in college after I had cut things off with my last Houston John, Alex. Alex was an old white man who hated white women. He had a brown bowl cut, a protruding belly, and a hanging bottom lip. But he loved to hear me talk. He thought I was so smart. And that I offered him more than any of his white wives ever did. And he was so old he “couldn’t imagine having sex,” with me. Which was delightful. We’d watch Cowboys games, talk about politics, he'd give me $300 and I’d go home. He was the second best John I’vve ever had. He had set a very high standard for me. And yet I didn’t know that what I was doing was exactly the same as other sugar babies. So once I moved to San Antonio and watched the doc I thought to myself: time to step it up.

I began watching all types of videos on how to be a sugar baby, how to create a lifestyle that wealthy men wanted to support, and how to make the most while also being a student. I then proceeded to go on my second sex work streak - now as an adult. From 2017 - 2022 I went on hundreds of dates with dudes literally collecting as much money as I could get. I connected with sex workers on Discord and on certain reddit and Twitter pages. As I continued on my journey of being an adult Black woman navigating online and in person sex work I gained more and more sex worker friends who warned me against serial offenders or people who intentionally wanted to blackmail or scam you. They offered me gigs to strip or dance at a private party or club and I’d do the same. We were all in need of money or financial independence and we wanted to help each other achieve that as much as possible. By the end of college most of my friends had an online sex work page, several online cash payment systems, and a small booklet of clients. We didn’t need pimps - we had iCal. We didn’t need to put ourselves in the line of danger with a John first and ask questions later - we would warn each other beforehand. Organizations like SWOP and my own #ChangeRapeCulture helped with building community with trafficking survivors, sex workers, and those seeking to get into the work safely and with mentorship. We were building the future of sex work we wanted to see and be a part of.

Now abuse and trauma still happen on the job for a lot of us even though we may have been able to find our more chronically online or remote audience. In person sex workers are still out here working hard for their money and relying on one another to stay safe. A quick look at #304 tik tok will show how tight (pun intended) sex work community is and how deep we look out for one another. The community I found through being trafficked that spoke up against non consensual acts, advocated for safe sex, and wanted to appeal to queer sex workers became my family. They helped me through my sexual trauma, my lost queer identity, my complex relationships to men, encouraged me to go to counseling, and helped me leave a FEW nasty relationships. Their love helped me understand why I originally sought out nightlife and followed my friend into seedy nightclubs.

I wanted the freedom that comes with sexual liberation especially after experiencing sexual trauma. I was chasing the peace within myself that I saw within the gogo dancers of Texas nightlife, the chaos of the bitches up in cages right next to the DJ, and the power of your body in a dark room with a man with money. I felt I was owed the ease they had. The money they had. The wisdom they seemed to have. All of the people I look up to were prostitutes at one point of time in their life - I wanted to see what they were seeing. There is so much that being trafficked took from me. My innocence;, my ability to trust and ask for help; and the dissolution of my immediate family. I would never recommend sex work to someone just looking for a quick buck or needing to get out of town. Many of us turn to sex work for money when we have no other option. However, those negative experiences we all face are the center of our current advocacy.

Sex worker advocates are fighting to have sex work decriminalized in the United States, incorporate standardized rules for consent, and working to have those being trafficked be free from their captors. I know that I dream of a future where porn, stripping, escorting, and sugar babying will be recognized as work and sex workers are compensated fairly for their work. I want sex workers to be safe and have access to free healthcare. I want sex workers to sponsor their families dreams, helping to grow themselves and their communities, and feeling free enough to explore their and others pleasure centers. I want to have the agency to do as I please with myself to please only myself and those consenting to be with me. Sex workers want to prevent sexual assault - not perpetuate it. Me included.

Some ways to support sex workers around you would be checking out your local SWOP chapters, supporting local groups like Red Light District, and supporting the sex workers around you. As always you can go to www.changerapeculture.org and look at our resources on our instagram pages that are sex worker specific. We released a reading list of POC sex workers for COVID! {https://changerapeculture.org/media/the-revolution-will-not-be-televised-2/} Follow them! And learn your sex worker rights history! Medium wrote a piece about sex worker’s rights that’s a good starting point. TIME did an article on how pivotal sex workers were to LGBTQIA2S+ rights in the 70s. POZ also did a great article on Black sex worker’s rights! Read up and diversify the perspectives you read from.

My experience being trafficked informs my politics around men, patriarchy, pedagogy, gender, solidarity, and activism. I’ll never forget it. I’m humbled to have made it out of being trafficked with my life as many Black women in person sex workers do not get the chance to do that. I hope no child is surrounded by the scumbags I met between the ages of 15 - 18 in Houston, Texas. I wish future kids have the space in their life to ask the questions they need to ask about sex, trauma, and abuse with people who care about keeping their childhood and being safe. I hope every Black girl feeling alone and desperate has a place to go with their favorite snacks, enough blankets to last a year, and unlimited data. Children deserve better and need more options for wellness when they have experienced sexual trauma. I want to protect my younger self and warn her about what lies ahead. This seems to be a part of that process. Send a sex worker some money today! Subscribe to my site: ismygirl.com/ChaosEmera and stay tuned.

#deepthots

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andersonpress · 5 months ago

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#DEEPTHOTS: Last Year TINGZ

This time next year I will be Dr. Waits.

You hoes are about to be SICK of me.

As many of my avid readers know - I have had an incredibly traumatic PhD experience both because of and not because of my university. It isn’t until just now that my colleagues and myself have even had time to process that we are in fact writing these long term large scaled projects that will now come into fruition. So much of this process is explaining over and over and over and over and over again why you are even doing the shit. “What will this project bring to the world?” I don't know why are you depressed working for a department that historically screws over people of color? Why are we being held to these old ass standards of ‘rigor’ that include working past our physical and mental capacities? How is it humanly possible to prioritize a writing project over feeding yourself or your family? ALL of us except the international students have full time jobs and it’s only because the US is xenophobic that my international classmates don’t have additional 9 - 5s.

This summer all our 6th year students were assed out for funding. The department basically said they ran out of money. So we have all these people running around and trying to find funding so they can pay rent and then something so stupid happens. I am assigned TWO jobs within my apartment. I was basically double booked. Booting one of those 6th years out in order to fill the spot. I am finishing a DJ gig on campus and heading back to Detroit when I check my email. Twenty students have emailed me irate that I “missed the first day.” I email my higher ups to show them I had declined the teaching gig back in June and accepted a second fellowship at the same time. It’s also illegal for me to have two jobs so I wanted it to be clear I wouldn’t be taken on the responsibility. That was about 5 days ago - and no I have not received an email from the teaching coordinator yet. They emailed all of the grad students at 7PM the night before the next class to ask someone to show up the NEXT MORNING at 11AM. THESE are the people who are entrusted with our education. Not to mention that it was communicated to my students (without me knowing) that I had “other responsibilities” and that there would be a new teacher GUARANTEED. But emailing people the NIGHT BEFORE when I sent an email almost immediately and avoiding my email.

I finished my first day in my last class for my PhD and that was even more irrelevant than the administrators who do nothing and avoid accountability. We went over 50 word blurbs y’all. I’m trying to get a salaried position in education administration not on the tenure track and we are over here reading alternative text captions. I’ve blocked so much of this shitshow out I forgot about the majority of my white classmates. Y’all are still here too huh? And yes they proceeded to add the most unnecessary points in class. And YES they all do work around Black and Brown people…the jokes write themselves.

So for this last year I want a job. I want to never have to speak or see the majority of these people again. And I want to center my art projects and job search over my dissertation project. My photography, films, creative writings, and philanthropic writings are way more interesting than ANYTHING going on in the ivory tower, no shade. The reality of this though will probably include lots of time alone and in seclusion. I’ll spend this year manifesting, dreaming, and searching for that dream job. I’ll work on enjoying my first year married. I’ll read books I like. And I’ll eat whatever the hell I want. I’m taking trips for fun. And I’m writing shit that makes me happy!

Fuck this class. Fuck the rules. And fuck feeling like shit. This year will go my way. I’ll make sure of it.

This time next year I will be Dr. Waits.

You hoes are about to be SICK of me.

Fuck this class. Fuck the rules. And fuck feeling like shit. This year will go my way. I’ll make sure of it.

#deepthots

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andersonpress · 5 months ago

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#DEEPTHOTS: You smell that Spongebob?

You smell that Spongebob?

It ain’t anchovies neither. Bitch…I’m graduating.

We have finally made it y’all. We have fucking reached YEAR 5!! (Cue fireworks, gunshots, asses clapping, and blunts sparked!) And while I am scared out of my ever living mind, I am moreso…mad. Like extra mad. Bullshit friends, failed career switches, and broke white saviors aside I am directing the anger where it belongs: The English Department.

I should’ve known it was going to be a crock a shit. I was coached into choosing my program over a more astute institution because of a lying loser who couldn’t write a book or mentor a student if they tried on their BEST day. I wasted the first two years of my program being bossed around by somebody who didn’t have a clue what they were doing. The department assured me that I was in the most qualified hands. Another lie. Most of my classes were interesting at best..and all of the really good classes don’t exist anymore. Ya know on account of most of the department leaving for better, higher paying jobs in a city that has more than 2 weeks of sun. I spent the last two years racing to departmental deadlines, avoiding every DEI group like the plague, and convincing myself doing more work for the department will get me nowhere. And guess what bitch - a bitch is HAPPY she listened to herself. As I type our department is working to appease all of our unfunded sixth years who are facing homelessness as their disposition of being unfunded wasn’t relayed to them until June. The same month the money ran out. Our professors who are ok with how things go are tenured and have no plans of giving up their checks. All the ones worth a damn (and mainly the ones who are of color) end up getting jobs in other departments or at other schools altogether. You are left with two or three overworked and very exhausted white people really trying their best to understand you and being left alone every single time.

In the same span of time that most folks use to solely work on their project I’ve run a charity, filmed a short film, published (almost) a textbook, created my own publishing house and production company. As the strike shows us now: it’s time to nut up or shut up. Having had my own work stolen and used without compensation too many times to count in the academy I can’t fathom doing the same fucking thing with my artwork. Instead of going conference to conference pitching my book idea imma just make, blind, and print my book my fucking self. Not only has this continued process of staking my independence and freedom within my career opened me up to notable opportunities I would’ve missed sucking everyone’s ass. I don’t have to follow the guidelines of a funder and I for damn sure don’t have to wear a dress shirt either. I can work with the people that want to cultivate compelling stories (say that 3x fast) and who actually have everyone’s safety and well being in mind. I can pay ABOVE the going rate for miscellaneous talent and pay them early without dealing with frustrating paperwork. I can just be a damn artist making my art. No strings attached.

This year is often known as the most stressful year in the PhD. Everyone is patiently waiting for you to tell them you had a book launch or a cool appointment in Norway or that you’ll be at a Tier 1 university teaching the next generations of thought leaders. I won’t think about that part. Until it matters. What matters is whether or not artists and creatives have the freedom to create, share their creations, be kept safe during the production, and are compensated fairly for their work. Until that’s done there is no point in hoping and wishing and wanting. I know what’s next. Working until we die. Sacrificing my life to some corporate entity so I can take 2 or 3 vacays a year and get a pool. What I am excited for is all the actual unknowns: the state of the entertainment industry; whether or not teachers will start to revolt and get paid well; if politicians will be voted out and who will be voted in; whether or not Sammi Sweetheart returning to Jersey Shore is going to bring drama to the house.

This time next year I’ll be a whollllee different bitch. Don’t act differently…just act accordingly.

#deepthots

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andersonpress · 5 months ago

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Bonnaroo Lookbook 2023'

June 25, 2023

This year on The Farm was yet another for the Roo history books. And the fashion MUST be in the first chapter. Bonnaroo like many other music festivals is a majority white event so yeah, there was a disgusting amount of Black protective styles on thin gangly Anglo hair. Never have I seen so much Kanekelon on so many people who didn't even know how to pronounce the word. So nonetheless I was a little bummed I wasn't able to participate in the Juneteenth White Only Box Braid trend - I went for a shaved head this year. I also decided to dress more comfortably this go around. It's so hot during the day and so cold and sticky at night all of my delicate clothes end up ripped, stained, or permanently ruined. Add in the fact that the nearest sink is around 300ft away and you have about 125,000 other people to share them with...makeup also became a non factor this year. Instead I planned on long walks, impromptu naps, constant dance parties, and chafe-free leisure! And I didn't even really break the bank! Keep reading and get a look at what I wore to Roo!

1) Wednesday - DAY OF ARRIVAL

The drive from Pittsburgh to Manchester was about 8 hours and we left out Tuesday evening around 9PM. By the time we pulled into Roo to park at Camp it was barely 11AM! My wife and I set up camp, met with our neighbors, got some food, and immediately head to bed. We had to wake up early and bring our friends from the Nashville Airport at 8AM the next day. So my original idea of wearing something very comfy aka pajamas worked out. I wore my favorite Vans beanie to cover my bald head from any winds. Add on my white frames, some necklaces, my IVY PARK fanny, and my lucky fleece; let's get this roast a-cookin! Everything I am wearing I owned previously so I spent $0 on this outfit.

2) Thursday - DAY ONE OF ROO

So we roll into our rental at 6AM and make sure to pick up the rest of our crew from the airport and stop for some much needed Waffle House before speeding back to the Farm! We all squeezed in a nap before Big Freedia hit the stage at 1AM! I went pretty HAM on the makeup since I no longer had hair to do. AND I went for a wispy backless and breathable dress instead of anything tight or uncomfortable. It was like walking in a blanket. I got the dress from Depop for $60 - It's Jaded LDN. Shoes were Chaco's, one pair was $25 another pair was $35 on Depop.

3) Friday - DAY TWO OF ROO

Friday proved to be a scorcher the majority of the day and the day we would be at camp the LEAST! I was worried this beaded dress was going to rub up against my arms and make me mad the whole time. Instead it was very comfortable and made me feel sexy! I was able to show off my chest and feel light and airy until nighttime when it was DEVILISHLY COLD. Back to pajamas and sweaters until Day three! I paid $30 for the dress!

3) Saturday - DAY THREE OF ROO

By the end of the trip I had opted for my "This is my Weed Smoking Shirt" tee and a pink maxi skirt. $0 spent. I was tired of my legs and my tits being cold. We were all also extremely exhausted, tired, and at our optimum laziness. The less something took to think about the fucking better! We got everyone back to the airport and ourselves and the rental back in one piece so it was a goood roo. I felt my outfits were equal parts comfy and cute. I felt cool and like myself. And I shook my ass in each outfit. Happy to say I will be incorporating a lot of these pieces in my winter wardrobe. Shoutout to Depot, Dr. Marten's, and Chaco's for my feet being comfy too! In total I spent $213 on outfits for Roo in total! Not too shabby!

Next up: Stay tuned for the vlog! I'll go over all the musical acts, day to day breakdowns, traveling tips, and do's and don'ts! Subscribe while you're here!

#fashion #black queer

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andersonpress · 5 months ago

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I've been married for a minute. I just didn't feel the need to tell you.

June 11, 2023

I legally married my wife in February of 2023. We had been talking about getting married a full year before we legally sealed the deal. As of June 2023, we are reaching our sixth month in couples therapy. We just recently celebrated this past May.

I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

For the first year of our relationship we were open. You can hear our budding thoughts on each other and on nonmonagamy here. In the beginning it was important for us to feel supported by each other as we navigated past lovers, dated situationships, and potential life changes. We quickly fell in love (like within 3 days) and yet we didn’t feel like it was appropriate to drop all of our individual goals and plans to pursue our budding relationship. While the love that was on the horizon felt good and made us want to explore more, neither of us were in a space to stop focusing on school, careers, and growing into being independent semi functioning adults. We took everything (but displaying our love for each other) nice and slow. It was beautiful. To learn more and more about someone because they want to be vulnerable with you. Because they are pushing themselves to be seen fully by their crush. And then actually accepting you once they’ve seen it all - that’s the hard part.

First, we wanted to work on celebrating one another and offering grace to ourselves. Both of our therapists felt two overachievers had found each other and particularly found something else to put our energy into. So we said let’s have an engagement trip! We could skip the bending on a knee and buying a ring and just agree to be engaged. We had this silly little idea: Let’s try (if we can) to actually relax. Thankfully we had a long minute to plan our trip. We weren’t going to have any time or energy or money until after we moved in together anyway to start planning so we decided to have a special dinner date first. Huge trip to commemorate our decision to be together, second! It wasn’t until Christmas/New Years that we were able to actually head to California and announce our impending nuptials for 2023.

A month after our trip while editing my wife and I’s very late engagement photo announcement we decided: let’s just legally get married now. So we did. By the time we got a Zoom invite court date we were well into Black History Month. In less than 15 minutes it was done - we were married and on to the next. Once again we decided to celebrate privately at Chili’s. We decided to tell very few friends. We were settled on not celebrating until we boh finished school and had some years to save up. However both of our mothers felt it would be best if we celebrated at least once in 2023 with a group of family and friends. And so we did.

So if you didn't already know: We’ve been married for a while now, we just didn’t feel the need to tell y’all till now. Our marriage is between us. We wanted it to be just for us. I’ll never regret keeping my marriage on the low - it’s been beautiful getting to enjoy it with my wife. We have no plans to ever have a ceremony or a formal reception. Hey, maybe 30 years from now we will throw a huge cookout…only time will tell I guess.

In the meantime just know that we are happy. That we don’t regret a second of our story. And we wouldn’t have had it any other way. Thank you to everyone who has congratulated my beautiful wife and I. I’m happy you all get to see how happy we are. We deserve it.

#deepthots

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andersonpress · 5 months ago

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n/ew shit may' 23

April 29, 2023

Effeminate Menswear

HEAR YE HEAR YE! NEW GENDER UNVEILING! PLEASE GATHER ROUND AND BEHOLD: EFFEMINATE MENSWEAR

With this I mean that my femininity is directly informed by my desire to cut through masculinity. An elder transmasc told a room full of homosexuals that more often than not transmascs, lesbians, and androgynous folks feel 'trapped, crowded, and confused' in their bodies. I definitely fit into the 'confused' category but not for the obvious reasons. I feel like whatever it is that eye am (right now) feels...good. I've always wanted to push that word - woman. I am a woman in rebellion. I want to be represented in the complexities of being Black and Woman and Lesbian and Gender Non Conforming and Demisexual. I often feel like I was never a woman before this life. Like my soul has been craving for the chance to be, woman. I will die and be known for being a Black gay woman. Others will know that I was destined to carve out space for women like me and the ones who don't think I'm a woman like them. So here is this new thing, effeminate menswear, to help me navigate my womanhood. A new lens to look through when molding my gender. The fun part is the continuance of movement. Moving until something sticks. Until things feel right again. Thank you effeminate menswear. The conundrum of you. How funny you are to say. How good you feel on my tongue. You feel right. This feels right.

Let me tell you a story…

I never threw tantrums as a baby. My dad always talks about the time he found me biting my brother so hard I drew blood. He said he got up for just two seconds. And he didn’t hear anything not even a noise until my brother screamed at the top of his lungs. He was two years old at the time and I was a few months old. He had to pry my mouth open to get off of him and when we were separated I didn’t even cry. And I stand on that.

If Only I Knew

If only I knew

When I parked on that street on a slant.

As we stood outside of a closed Aldi.

When you cuddled with me on the couch. When we fucked each other’s brains out.

When we didn’t leave one another for four days.

If only I knew

As I took your picture on the beach.

When we shopped in Philly.

When I held your hand in the water in Michigan.

As we napped during a 23 hour drive.

If only I knew.

What I know now.

I would accept the power of love.

I would accept my flaws.

I would do it all over again.

I would ask for you by name.

I would never let you go.

If only I knew

I would have no regrets.

I would feel so in love.

I would do it again.

I would choose you every time.

I would take any chance to be with you.

If only.

Black Lives In Focus

Center Me.

My shoes. You can’t fit.

I want your money.

I want your power.

Your empathy is impossible.

Sympathy not needed.

Don’t idolize me.

Center Me.

2:30AM thoughts

Hit the nail on the head.

(Oh shit Victoria Monet’s song about non penetrative sex “Touch Me” came on. Now…I’m horny.)

Now listen to this: If you need Dad to get it - don’t.

Things held over your head in the past few weeks/help/money/conversation/desperation/hunger/poverty

Go back to scamming niggas and doordashing on the side.

Get these 3 checks a month.

Girl do you.

And get niggas who have cash and ask no questions.

#deepthots

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andersonpress · 5 months ago

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#DEEPTHOTS: Puberty Pt 2

Feb 17, 2023

I had a breast reduction the month before I turned 18. In order for me to get it under Obamacare I had to be a child - so my Mom practically rushed me to the operating table. Don’t get it twisted I was all for this surg. I’ve always wanted several new bodies, faces, and aesthetics during my lifetime. Why not start during childhood? I had suffered for decades from having my body sexualized. I was known as the ‘big boob bitch’ as soon as middle school started. I saw boobs first. Not to mention how heavy it was carrying big mommy milkers around all day. Pain and early sexualization aside, my surgery was in many ways my entrance into independence. It’s easy to hide behind your body image. So much of how we treat ourselves is a result of how people treat us. Reducing the size of my bazoogas allowed me to start seeing my body the way I wanted to be seen. As other people who get gender affirming surgery understand, my breast reduction allowed me to explore my presentation. I could wear the shirts I wanted and not have to find all of the exact angles I wanted my body to be seen in. I felt more like me. And now almost seven years after my initial surgery I can feel another puberty upon me.

With age I’ve grown to build my sex work as a part of my portfolio. It remains a creative outlet for me. As a sexual violence survivor sex work acts as my call for agency. An avenue for control. I’ve learned to love my body no matter what size breasticles it has. But it's also ok to change. My career path accommodates my many talents, habits, and wishes. But I always have a plan A, B, C and D. I want to grow into a person that continues to do things my way. Now that my frontal lobe (or cortex or whatever tf) is fully formed it’s really time to kick it into overdrive! Instead of questioning my morals I’ll have to do as Glorilla and ‘stand on it.’ Instead of feeling moments of gender euphoria I want to work to feel euphoric about how I feel at least once a day. I want to utilize my insurance that I now have through my big girl job and invest in my body. The second half of my twenties is about a month away and I am craving a good revelation. A plot twist. A rumination. You’re only a twenty-something once.

#deepthots

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andersonpress · 5 months ago

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Kelela ROCKED the 9:30 club so hard I’m obligated to tell you about it

The minute Kelela tickets dropped my bestie and I were in the digital line to pick them up. Kelela was introduced to me via a road trip to Bonnaroo and I immediately enlisted myself as a stan of the DC native melodic dance music siren. Her debut project CUT 4 ME, the mother of all follow ups Hallucinogen next, the third treasure Take Me Apart, and the most recent masterpiece/center of this tour visit, Raven. When Raven dropped during #BHM I immediately was drawn to several of the many bops she decided to feed her children with. Contact is by far my favorite song with Closure and Bruises having a pussy battle for the runner-up. It forced me to deep die into her past projects and replay Kelela staples like Take Me Apart, LMK, Onanon, The High, All the Way Down, and Floor Show. “BITCH I’LL DIE IF I DON’T SEE THIS!”

We load up my ravy Ms. Thang, get a sitter for the boys, and pack the shortest skirts we own for an evening of rubbing up on strangers.

Wednesday Evening --

My wife and I arrive at U street and I’m immediately thrown into my childhood morning commute. At the age of 7 I was using the DC train and bus system to go back and forth to school. There aren’t any school busses in the city and my mom had felt my brother and I were started to act entitled. “Julian, hanging around all them white kids got these kids scared. Y’all are going to ride that bus and if the school calls me to say you’re late THAT’S YOUR ASS.” I would catch the bus from our cushy Chevy Chase suburb and descend into the city center. We would pass the same corner that combines the pool with the blue top Mcdonald’s across from the Howard bookstore. We drive past the Petco that we brought our second family pet to all the time. The streets seem thinner or maybe they just seemed so big as a kid. Gentrification has made my memories slightly skewed but also more embodied. We skuttle into the basement apartment, walk past the sleeping Mekh on the couch, and head to bed.

Thursday --

We started the day watching Barry and grabbing breakfast from Busboys and Poets. It’s a DC bookstore/cafe staple expanded into several equally impressive locations that became very easy to get confused. We grabbed up all the grub and went back to the basement to crunch down. As I watch two of my most favorite people appreciate their plates a very gay idea pops into my head: Museum Date! I order us tickets to the National African American History Smithsonian and we slap on the cutest outfits and go to run in the sun. We battle downtown D.C. on a particularly field trip compacted Thursday afternoon and make our way into the paneled building. We spend the next few hours asking “where are the faggots at?” It was cute…but male-centered. We stop for pics on our way back home to change for dinner and the highly anticipated Kelela concert.

Several showers and makeup brushes later we were cunty shrimp ready to be fried: spark up. We head to the venue on foot and make it super early - love that for us. We decide to go across the street to an Ethiopian restaurant, Ghion, and get SLOSHED on some delicious honey wine. We ate enough sambusas and injera to pop a button and then and only then did we feel it was time to wait for the siren herself. We line up next to Telfars, exposed collar bones, leather pants, bodycon dresses, and myriads of gender presentations. We light our Kelela blunts and soon we see other mini puff clouds forming up and down the street. Our queen brought all the DC hotties out for a night of smoking, laughing and jumping.

We enter the 9:30 club and wait for her. And then she emerges. And everything is right.

We walk home feeling inspired and uplifted. And hungry. Midnight snacks. Falling asleep on the couch. Waking up at 3AM to head back to bed.

Friday--

We woke up in disbelief the night before. Thankfully not hungover. And ready to eat. We ordered a myriad of foods off of DoorDash. My wife had some work to do so Mekh and I decided we needed to finish Barry and binge John Wick 3. I need to run some errands so I run out to dash around before we catch lunch, dinner, and head to my friend’s performance in Baltimore. I run around getting gas and trying to find a Red Bull at a reasonable price and I begin to cry. I miss what was. I hated so much about being a child that going back to so many places that give me joy was overwhelming. Being severely depressed is like having the world’s largest blinders. I’ve come back to my hometown with my chosen family and I had an amazing time. This place isn’t like it always was. You're safe now. So let’s head to lunch. We go to the Colada Shop for empanadas, margaritas, catching up, and pastelitos. Our dinner reservations at doimoi are moved to 8:30 because duh, Friday night and I let my friend in Baltimore know that this bougie dinner will be the last to stand in the way of us hanging out again. We head to the liquor store to drink Tequila and yell at John Wick. We end up at doimoi right on time and end up leaving somewhere around 11. We dance at the speakeasy downstairs and head back to the car. Back to the basement apartment for more late night laughs. Back to bed. Tomorrow we leave.

Saturday--

Saturday was sleepy and rainy. We stayed in the AirBNB until one minute before check out and piled back into Ms. Thang. One last day of actually sitting in Busboys and Poets and whatdoyaknow we get the sweetest waitress. We each get a staple and clean our plates. Mekh needs to catch a bus and we’ve only got 20 minutes to get there - time to go to a dispensary. We head to a very dystopian dispensary and pick up some eddies and a free pre roll before grabbing one last order of pastelitos. We obviously change Mekh’s bus time and head to Union Station. We kiss kiss and hug hug then set our sights back to the boys. Back to Pittsburgh. Back home, for now.

Kelela gave me a lot to stew on. My relationship to my childhood home. The feelings of deserving a vacation. Being able to afford a vacation. Being in majority queer spaces with my wife. And with my gender variant baddies. Not knowing most of the people I grew up with anymore. Knowing the people I do now. Being who I am. It’s a lot. But there is more to come.

All photos and videos by yours truly

#culture

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