Author: Amelia

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QUEERIES: My Love for Eli Clare’s Exile and Pride and Why You Should Go Ahead and Read It, Okay?

I haven’t connected to any other class’s readings as I have connected with Eli Clare’s Exile & Pride. I’m trying to figure out why, and I still don’t rightly know, but I needed to share.

It seems obvious to say, “Well, I like the subject matter,” but really. I do. And it is all very different but so intrinsically connected, that I feel bad that I ever doubted the meshing of these worlds into one book. The environment, queerness, and disability (to narrow it down to a main triad) are all sides of the same coin. The environment–the one he have created and the one that has always been–often dictates disability. Disability provokes a queer understanding of identity. Being queer in different environments–rural and urban–is like being a polar bear or a house cat,  a bird or a lost lizard in a sewer. The criticism that Clare invokes when talking about these topics is also critical of race and ethnicity and of privilege and gender. Who was the first to claim land as an inexhaustible resource? Who dictates the gender and sexual norms? Who creates the urban space that perpetuates disability? Clare touches on all of these linked together identities and sites, and it feels so right. I learned so much from Clare’s writing, but I also picked up his sense of criticism; that calm, assertive, compassionate voice that questions why and kicks out with fervor. Clare’s criticism is beatifically formed and so god damn smart, but it’s not the only thing that keeps me in the book.

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Girlhood: Repressing an Angry Body

From my high school 365 Project.

From my high school 365 Project.

My friend and I had been talking about assault. I was talking about how if anybody ever approached me violently, I would use my entire body against them. I would kick them in whatever sensitive areas I could perceive, rake my nails into their skin, and use my teeth like a sabertooth tiger gripping the haunch of a primordial deer. I would make them regret ever thinking I was somebody weak. I would make them regret ever thinking I wasn’t prepared. I was excited for that aggression. That excuse for the energy I can exert, the dominance I can show, the unbridled aggression that can finally be released. And that concerns me. Why do I want to rip off some poor fucker’s ear? Sure, if they assaulted me, a defensive maneuver or two is probably warranted, but why would I want them to bleed. Why am I so excited by this visceral urge? Why is my being able to service my aggression so enthralling? That’s what I really want to talk about. The embodiment of aggression.

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Note of Absence for 10/9

I’m not going to class today.

I can’t say that it’s because I have a fever, or because I had a dentist appointment, or because anybody died.

I’m not going because of the sensations I feel when we talk about fatness. The sickness and the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy (that has always been pushed in to my mentality from various points in my life) always crop up as we talk about our fat, or not so fat bodies. It’s inevitable, this distinct sucking feeling, as if my gut has become a vacuum, and I can zip myself away like a fancy reusable grocery bag.

We talk critically about the hegemonic institutions that create these body ideals. We complain together, air our grievances, we nod and shake our heads together. We are a good class, a good group of people who can empathize and understand each other’s problems, but that’s not enough to save me from wanting to shrink into my backpack and cry in a bathroom stall.

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Yearly Exam

I silently sign my name on the sheet telling the front desk staff sitting at the computer that I am here, and sit down in a generic, but expensive-looking chair.

Aiming for comfort.

Aiming for comfort.

Women are glued to their copies of Parenting or Marie Clare. A couple sitting cattycorner to each other look up at me, and then glance back at each other talking. An instrumental version of Memories from the musical Cats plays softly in the background. I don’t have a magazine, so I take up Candy Crush. After 10 minutes the woman at the front desk calls my name.

“Hi, Amelia! We just need to get a urine sample from you, so if you could just go down the hallway and to the second door on the left and leave that for us in the metal cabinet, then go to room number two, that’d be excellent!”

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