trixiejackmattachine-blog-blog

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signal boosting

okay I found the perf blog; it’s titled side entrance. It’s basically submission pictures of mosques and their “side entrance” for Muslim women. 

Muslims really need to consider working on this project, especially Muslim women, and consider sharing pictures that illustrate their local masjid’s hospitality towards women and their lack of interest of women needing space to worship in God’ house. 

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Campaign Buttons - something as minor as this shows where a candidates priorities are…..

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The greatest of all treasures, which is hope

I need to apologize to the people I scared tonight. When I came home from work I felt like shit. Some days, this happens. Part of living through trauma is sometimes feeling traumatized, even when there's no pressing reason to. I wrote what I did so I could try and get the shitty feelings out of me, before I drowned in them. Then I shut my phone and Kindle off. I took another migraine pill and cried for a few hours. Then I had a heart-to-heart with my Mum and ate some homemade pizza while I looked up pictures of exotic spiders on ARKive. And I started to feel better. I never meant to imply that I was saying goodbye to the beautiful friends and family that I have--I was trying to say goodbye to someone I lost several years ago, who I've not yet been able to let go of. I never meant to imply I was going to commit suicide. Re-reading what I wrote--now that I'm feeling stable again--I definitely see how it came across that way. I am horrified at the fear I caused, and the worry and the pain. I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry. Please understand that I am not in danger, that I did not self-harm and will not. I am so sorry for the fear and worry I know some of you felt. I love you all, and am truly blessed to have such caring and compassionate people in my life. You are the reason I will not ever give up. Again, I am so sorry. Mea culpa.

In somewhat related news, I've learned that one ought always answer one's phone in the wee hours of the morning--no matter now sleep-befuddled one is of how much one is convinced they're being drunk-dialed. Otherwise, one runs the risk of having two uniformed police officers wake one's parents up at 1:30 AM to ask if their daughter is still alive.

Seriously: mea fucking culpa.

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I have held this in all day. I did not cry until I left work. I did not cry in front of anyone. I can be proud of this, at least. Proud of keeping up a facade. Proud of pleasantries and courtesies. Proud of pretending. Proud of this emptiness.

So much of me is empty. The only part of me that is full is my stomach. But the rest of me is empty, and will remain so. The past years have taught me that. I am empty and all I want is to be full.

I don't want this.

I do not want to remain cognizant of that which I cannot have.

I am sorry. Please forgive me. Please know that this was not your fault. This was not anyone's fault. Please understand. I am sorry.

All things end. All things pass.

I'm sorry.

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Eid Mubarak

I worked a 40-hour week this week. I've worked two weeks without calling in sick.

Neither of these things should be accomplishments but for me they are.

I am so tired I am crying. Literally. I legitimately do not have the energy to deal with people, or the newspaper or the televisioon or cleaning my room of any of the things I was going to do after work or even hanging out with my parents. I'm just utterly exhausted.

I feel so disabled right now. I feel so fucking disabled. Like I'm never going to be able to do this for a significant period of time. I am so far out of spoons and I still have to get through another 40-hour week. Fibromyalgia, I hate you. I hate what you are and what you do to me and how you came to be and what you represent, you bullshit trauma-induced bit of psychosomatic soul-fuckery.

Fuck me I am tired.

I feel so alone right now, I can't even feel Allah. I haven't completed a day's fast for over a week and haven't been able to properly perform salat. Allah, I can't feel you. I don't feel connected to my community or any Muslims or Islam or you. I've broken something fundamental and I feel like a failure, like a fraud, like a liar and cheat and thief. Like I'm not a true Muslim, not any kind of Muslim, never was or will be. I don't know what to do.

I'm tired.

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:D

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I'm lonely.

I think maybe I'm ready to be with someone. But I don't know. Who would willingly take this on? All of... ofthis.

And I don't know where to meet people.

Especially Muslims.

I want to find someone to be with. To love. To be part of my life. To be part of their life.

I don't want to be alone. :/

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For me, I have always lived in an extremely supportive and tolerant atmosphere. Although there have been times I was discriminated against, and times I have been uncomfortable being out, these times pale in comparison to many of the people I know, and to the circumstances of queer people around the globe. The sheer bravery and hope that these people manage to hold within their hearts is not only inspirational to me, but ought to be to others. That they, or anyone, should face both institutionalized threats and physical violence ought to bring outrage to any person who claims to have any sort of moral center.

Gay Pride Events in Uganda

“The importance of this Pride event cannot be understated. The fact that these brave activists could pull this off in this milieu of persecution is a great victory for the community. Visibility like this notes the ongoing legacy of late activist David Kato, it defies the export of American Evangelical hate, and it helps ensure defeat of the Bahati Bill. It shows leadership for all of Africa, and above all it shows that the LGBT people of Uganda simply refuse to give up their right to exist and to live their natural born sexual orientation.”

you can read the full article here

Their bravery is inspirational. 

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:(

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Would you risk death to write poetry?

The women of Kabul’s Ladies’ Literary Society do just that – meeting secretly and often risking their lives to write poems.

Pictured, Lima Niaza, age 15, joined the society two years ago.

She addressed her latest poem to the Taliban:

You won’t allow me to go to school.

I won’t become a doctor. Remember this: One day you will be sick.

Learn more about the women of Afghanistan’s largest women’s literary society.

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Reblog if you feel depressed about all of this.

Reblog if you just want to go to sleep and forget it all.

Reblog if you’re directly affected by these events and suffer through all that goes with marginalization every day, and can’t believe people don’t acknowledge their...

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We are in the universe, and the universe is in us.

Neil deGrasse Tyson

4.5 more hours until the beginning of the most important scientific mission of our time.

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Tahmina Kohistani, a 22-year-old Afghani Olympic athlete, seriously, this woman is one of my heroes. I love her. She just has this upbeat, can-do, screw-your-misogyny attitude and I have no words. <3

She is relishing her first visit to the UK, enjoying training in Hatfield.

“There was no one to disturb me, no one to look at me. That was the very best for me.”

Kohistani is most struck by how much everyone smiles. “It is the thing I have learnt from your people – when I go back home I am going to do this with my people also. It is the most wonderful thing.”o this with my people also. It is the most wonderful thing.”

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The process begins with the individual woman’s acceptance that American women, without exception, are socialized to be racist, classist and sexist, in varying degrees, and that labeling ourselves feminists does not change the fact that we must consciously work to rid ourselves of the legacy of negative socialization.

bell hooks, Ain’t I a Woman: Black Women and Feminism (via ghett0bird)

It's taken me a very long time (25 years--5 of which were devoted to studying feminism and feminist theory) to realize not only the privilege bestowed on me as a white woman, but to realize that no matter how much I try not to be racist/classist/sexist, I still will be. 

So every single time I open my mouth, profess a view, take action, move my body, respond, or react--I have to be open to the possibility that what I am saying is not only prejudiced, but may be both offensive and damaging.

Realizing that, reminding myself of that, creating a space inside my head that actually recognizes how intrinsic these prejudices have become, helps me--I think--to be open to people criticizing me for these prejudices. And I think it helps me to learn all the insidious ways these prejudices have become part of my culture, my language, my body, my words, even my thoughts. And I feel like learning where all of this prejudice is--and where it may be--helps me to create a dialogue with people where we can together create spaces where these prejudices are lessened and, hopefully, gotten rid of altogether.

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