blvckvampyre

[blvckvampyre]

The Other Mother

another blog for Tananarive Due’s Afrofuturism course!

I wanted to take this last post to go a little more in depth about the short story I wrote for this class, because while the rationale was really helpful for me to work out my creative choices, I love gushing about my own work as much as other people’s.

The idea came to me after reading “Like Daughter.” Black women are pressured to mother everyone in the damn world. We are supposed to peacefully educate the ignorant, passively support the men in our community, and unconditionally baby our partners, especially if they are men, often to make up for the lack of home-training that some people’s sons simply do not receive. Our role is very specific: exceedingly loving but ready to foam at the mouth for the sake of someone else; inhumanly tough-skinned but sensitive enough to empathize with non-Black people’s problems. Mother to all—that is what so many hoteps seem to think. And speaking of hoteps, I thought of a very specific image or set of images while conceptualizing this story. I thought of the many illustrations I have seen, spread by Black men and women alike, of Black women as Mother Earth. The specific image I had in mind is pictured here:

I wanted Violet to embody the anxiety that comes with these expectations. Not just of motherhood, but of saviorhood. Black women are supposed to save everyone. But who saves us? Why do we have to be the saviors? Why do we have to think about the greater good and be the better person? With this in mind, Violet was born. I wanted her to be associated with the natural world in subtle and obvious ways: her name, the apron from Jon, even Jon’s comment that she’s “warm at the core, just like the Earth.” She is forced into that role; the name is given to her by her parents, the apron by Jon. Like the Earth, Violet is expected to give and to give for the sake of the greater good. But she can only give so much, especially when she loses her biggest support, Jon. Loving Neo in the wake of Jon’s death is difficult for her when she never wanted him to begin with.

The backstory I pictured explaining the other and her “world” is also very specific. In this story, the other could truly be an alternate version of Violet, or a future version of herself. In the other’s timeline, Violet actually did carry Neo to term. A few years after Jon’s death, as the climate crisis got worse and worse, the other Violet decided to poison herself, Neo, and her mother to end their suffering. However, only Neo and the grandmother died from the poisoning. Filled with guilt, the other Violet goes to the lake to drown herself, and finds herself back in the past or an alternate reality where she had not yet killed her son and mother. The other Violet sees our Violet and decides to take her place to ensure her son and mother do not die. By killing her past self, the other Violet inadvertently usurps the role of mother and savior that she had hated so much, albeit through bloody means. This demonstrates that to be the all-powerful savior Black women are expected to be, we have to lose a part of ourselves and “kill” the version of ourselves that contradicts that archetype.

[blvckvampyre]

Mothers and Daughters

an assignment for Tananarive Due’s Afrofuturism class!

“Like Daughter” is one of my favorite short stories we have read for this class, if not my favorite. I am quite the softie for mother-daughter dynamics, and I love doppelgangers, copycats, clones, all of it, so it was the perfect combination of my favorite themes.

I was thinking to myself before writing this, “How and why does Black maternity factor into Afrofuturism?” And I think it is because of the relation between maternity and futurity. Black mothers literally mold Black futures. They create and prepare the next generation of Black folks. The traditions passed down, the stories retold from generation to generation, all (for the most part) reside within the Black maternal space. What would the community be without those that birth us and those that raise us? While my mother is white, I have multiple Black aunties who have been second, third, and fourth mothers to me since I was young. Whatever my mom did not know, they taught her. It is because of experiences like mine that affirm to me the necessity of Black mothers and Black women’s collaboration. It does indeed take a village.

Our elders always want better for the next generations, which is why they press us so hard. This is the most sympathetic reasoning I can find for the old heads who look at us sideways when we are a little too outlandish, a little too natural, a little too queer. I know above all, it is motivated by fear, fear for how we’ll be received. However, that pressure can be overwhelming, even toxic. I see those pressures in the life Denise tries to give to her cloned self, Neecy. It is a mutually destructive pressure. It breaks down the parent, who tries to think of any and every way to prevent the child from being changed by the world. It breaks down the child, who struggles to form a life of their own and to separate themself from the self that their parents envisioned. Sometimes these selves align, as in the case of Denise and Neecy. But sometimes these selves are unsustainable; parents leave, relationships fall apart, no marriage is perfect. When the knowledge that the perfect life you have tried to make is crumbling, we go a little crazy, like Denise.

It was not until a few months ago that I realized our parents are just children in larger bodies who are reliving their childhoods, usually through us. My mom always tried to give me a better life than the one she received. While I know she misses my lively, more agreeable four-year-old self, my physical resemblance to my mother grows every day. It became easier to understand my mom and her protectiveness when I understood what she sees in me: her other heart.

[blvckvampyre]

Black Vamps

another Afrofuturism course assignment!

As a big fan of the Sunken Place course, it brings me great joy to have horror works on our syllabus too. That class actually got me into horror in the first place! Without it, I would never have had the strength to step up from thrillers and try watching Hereditary.

I really love Black vampires (I chose this blog name for a reason). “Greedy Choke Puppy” spoke to so much more of Black womanhood than I expected. Its discussion of beauty, loss of youth, and the pressure to be wife material in an instant really resonated with me. Maintaining one’s appearance is so difficult; the thought of being able to remove your skin, step out of it, and become flying fire is the ultimate image of freedom I can imagine. The passage about infant mortality speaks to the ongoing fear of expecting mothers in the Black community. I see the soucouyant as a mythological understanding not just of infant mortality but of the dangers of giving birth to both parent and child, as Black women have some of the highest childbirth mortality rates in this country.

Black vampires are just cooler, in my opinion. There’s so much history there, so many culturally Black traditions to work with, like the soucouyant. Sure, I like the aesthetic of stories like Interview with the Vampire and Castlevania, with the figure of the vampire as an ancient, puffy shirt–wearing, borderline bishounen European relic who’s watched every war known to man. But I see the Black vampire as a special case. Even if a Black vampire weren’t as old as any of the white ones I’ve seen in popular culture, the anti-Black violence they’ve witnessed over centuries or even mere decades must be more exhausting and taxing than whatever the white vampires have seen. Ancient Black vampires would see and feel too much.

I’m scheduled to rewatch Ganja & Hess for the first time since I took Black Horror my second year, and I’m already excited. It was my favorite film we watched that quarter, and it makes me think hard about Black vampirism. I’m ready to relive the painfully beautiful visuals, the haunting African song. To me, Hess’ devolution and depression always spoke to the African-American experience: the painful realization of all that’s been stripped from you—the culture, the language, the memories, the families and traditions, the sense of “home” and belonging—and how it overwhelms you to the point that it becomes impossible to exist any longer.

I’ll be watching Ganja & Hess with one of my best friends. I’m beyond excited to see her reaction. We tend to recommend and watch together some of the films that have emotionally scarred us the hardest. She’ll love it.

[blvckvampyre]

Androids and Af Ams

an assignment for Tananarive Due’s Afrofuturism course!

Seeing Janelle Monáe on this syllabus was a top ten academic experience for me.

Her music has always spoken to me. Each chronicle in the journey of Cindi Mayweather and her other personas has immersed me in at least three different dystopian worlds. “Sincerely Jane” fills me with a sense of film noir and espionage, like I’m the next Bond lady. The upbeat and optimistic tone of “Tightrope” brought teenage me out of several slumps. I spent most of my freshman year of college singing “It’s Code” to myself when romantic pursuits ended in misery. And “Make Me Feel” has and will always be my favorite wash day bop.

Her use of the android to illustrate subjugation and repression of Black and queer folks is very provocative. It insinuates a particular dynamic of ownership and invention. Androids are manufactured by the people who repress them; they are built for a function and are discarded when they no longer fulfill that function. For African Americans, white people and supremacy have in a way “made” us by erasing our past, forcing us to assimilate, breaking up families, etc. For centuries, our “function” in the eyes of white America has been as objects of labor or entertainment. White America has crafted, manipulated, and defined the image of Blackness for so long that I see Janelle's android story and especially Dirty Computer as a means of resisting that image and forming a new one on Black people’s terms.

What also speaks to me about Dirty Computer is how it depicts a pretty near future. The outfits and styles are recognizable, even while the tech has advanced. While the establishment trying to brainwash Jane are dressed in nondescript, futuristic attires, the people—the resistors, the background characters, the artsy folks that Jane spends her time with—look more like us. It is refreshing to see a future world where the most exciting element is not the tech advancements but the people themselves and their cultures. The hovercrafts and brainwash tech pale in comparison to the vibrant nightlife depicted in “Crazy Classic Life” and “Make Me Feel.” This distinction is especially evident when thar technology is used only to raid and to punish rather than to aid and to protect. I appreciate that Janelle manages to depict a more “hopeful” dystopia, one where the people thrive and an escape from the oppressive institutions is possible (with the help of your community).

[blvckvampyre]

THE WATER WOMEN by Yah Yah Scholfield / Émotion (Nobuhiko Obayashi, 1966) / What the Water Gave Me, Florence + The Machine

THE WATER WOMEN is up on my website! I think it was a commission but I really don’t know who for hm … Anyways! It’s about the town of Easton’s strange tradition, a girl named Myrtle and her uncle, who are trying to survive it. As with all of my stories, it has themes of mental illness, familial bonds and balance/circles! 

Massive content warning for suicide and descriptions of violence! Tread with caution!

[blvckvampyre]

A GIRL WALKS ALONE by Yah Yah Scholfield // 1.8k words // commission piece for @eyeseer // it follows (2014, dir. david robert mitchell 

I had an amazing little thing written up about the themes of the story and the plot but then tumblr decided this sexless story was much too spicy and needed to be taken down. Anyways! We’re back at it again with a commission piece for eyeseer, who asked me for something to do with vampires with a slasher vibe. I think this is a good interpretation of that, while still keeping my love for terror! As with all of my stories posted on Tumblr, there is not much editing. I don’t bother my editor with these as she has much more important things to do, you know?

A Girl Walks Alone is about Gretchen and the after effects of an attack by a mysterious assault. Like many of my stories, it’s sort of circular, and where you begin is where the story ends as well, and vice versa. 

As usual, likes are appreciated but reblogs/comments are appreciated even more. I love getting feedback for my writing! If you like what I do, consider commissioning me yourself, sending me a message or putting money in my KO-FI account! Thanks a ton and enjoy!

To be a woman at night, alone, walking by herself and, perhaps, with her thoughts, was to walk alongside loneliness itself. Gretchen didn’t mind it so much in the daytime. There were plenty of people out, and she was comforted with the thought that if something happened to her that someone would see and say something. She believed wholeheartedly in the power of community—that people, when given a chance to do right, did right by others. Even simple things, like helping someone with their bags, soothing a stranger’s crying baby, speaking genially and kindly to the person next to you on the train because you noticed, privately, a glimmer of sadness, boredom, anxiety flit across their face. Gretchen enjoyed the idea of being seen in the daytime, of people knowing her routine of coffee, a jog, back to her house, to school, to work; people knowing what train she took, people knowing where to look for her, where she would be and who with and why. It was a safety net.

But at night, in the darkness, illuminated by nothing by street lamps and neon from the nightclubs, there was nothing at all to protect her. The people out were in their own worlds, drunk and tired, stumbling home to or with whoever. The noise was irregular, pushing instead of pulling in. It wasn’t that people were more ill-intentioned at night; it was that the world was so full up of other things— music, dancing, lust, love, lights—that a girl walking alone at night, swaddled in her party dress, senses softened by throbbing house music, was a non-issue. She melted into the landscape. Melted into the darkness, purple-blue sequins on her dress flashing attractively.

Keep reading

[blvckvampyre]

The Cycle

A short story by Ashley Davis.

~5580 words. Inspired by Ganja and Hess (1973), Night of the Living Dead (1968).

“ Esther was left in the dark, waiting for a shifting that never came. Somehow she knew that she was dying. Animals knew when they were dying; in their final moments, they loosed that long, mournful moan as either sickness or some other animal tore it to shreds. Somehow, she had tapped into that long-lost sixth sense, and it was neither comforting nor terrifying. It was a dull reminder throbbing in the back of her misshapen skull. You’re almost done. She was transforming, and when she reached that final stage, she would disappear. Either her body or her mind would fail her. ”

Esther woke up to find she had lost two more teeth overnight.

They were molars this time: flat, still bloody at the roots, one chipped from when she bit down on a walnut as a teenager. She opened her eyes to find them right in front of her face, lying in dried flecks of blood; evidently, she’d had the mind to spit them out in her sleep.

She uncurled herself, her spine popping as she moved, and sat up on her mattress, staring at the teeth warily, like they might get up and move if she watched long enough. These two made seven teeth she had lost. In a moment of vanity, she prayed she’d never lose the front two; she didn’t want to look like a six-year-old in her final moments.

There were no windows in the cell. There was a door, one too heavy for Esther to open even if it were ever left unlocked. The floor was hard and cold. She’d slept on it for a week before her captor finally and quite literally tossed the dirtied twin-sized mattress into the room, letting the door slam shut behind it. When she shivered, it added a blanket, and when she complained of neck pain, a stiff square of a pillow. Every other request went unanswered.

She had no idea what to call it, so she settled for “captor” or “beast.” To this day she laughed at her situation, at her own stupidity and skepticism. She remembered hearing about the first sighting in March of last year; a man had taken a shortcut home through the woods and claimed he saw a monster with the eyes of his brother, who had disappeared months earlier. He’d escaped, but weeks later another had disappeared, a woman this time, blonde-haired blue-eyed Ellie Dench, and with her disappearance came vigils, month-long searches, and the support of the entire town. She’d been found eventually, naked, gaunt, and shivering in the woods, unable to explain what had happened to her or who had taken her. Since Ellie Dench, there had been eleven sightings and half as many disappearances, nearly all of whom had shown up months later confused and afraid. All but two of the people kidnapped had turned up. One of them was Esther’s neighbor Lathaniel. The other was her fiancé. Her Marcus.

Keep reading

[blvckvampyre]

sit here and watch the sunlight fade! honey enjoy, it’s getting late! there’s no plan, there’s no hand on the rein as mack explained, there will be darkness again

[blvckvampyre]

Ghosts are real, this much I know

[blvckvampyre]

Get Out (2017) | Us (2019) dir. Jordan Peele

[blvckvampyre]

Us (2019) dir. Jordan Peele

[blvckvampyre]

Us (2019), dir. Jordan Peele.

[blvckvampyre]

Lupita Nyong’o in Us (2019) dir. Jordan Peele

[blvckvampyre]

haven’t been able to stop thinking about the us trailer since it dropped

[blvckvampyre]

They look exactly like us.  They think like us.  They know where we are.  We need to move and keep moving.  They won’t stop until they kill us or we kill them.

Us (2019) dir. Jordan Peele

[blvckvampyre]

“You know how sometimes things line up. Coincidences. They’ve been happening more and more. It’s like there’s this black cloud hanging over us.”

Us (2019) dir. Jordan Peele

[blvckvampyre]