When Will the Ouroboros Run Out of Body-Length to Eat?

Our system postures itself as a beneficial ouroboros; one is led to believe in the presence of infinite resources fit for infinite consumption, yet one can look beyond this façade and see that individuals who rank power and profit above all else have been devouring those deemed unimportant or undesirable. Within the false notion of never-ending resources, one can see a paradox in which abundant resources suddenly become scarce when those outside of a particular group request them. It has been declared that our society cannot have free healthcare, clean air, timely cures for devastating conditions, affordable housing, public health measures, food for hungry children, or the absence of war because it is too expensive or difficult.

Beyond this excuse, one can see that the most likely reason for withholding and denying is that many of these protestors’ demands would not generate sufficient profit for the right companies, nor would the outcomes conform to the prejudiced worldview that has kept the systemic divide alive and well for centuries. As such, numerous causes do not receive attention until a problem becomes so impossible to ignore, so popular, that one may wring profit and control out of it. We produce reusable straws at the detriment of many disabled people, greenwash products made by grossly underpaid workers, and tout ‘personal carbon footprints’ in an unwalkable society, yet the majority of polluters are allowed to continue.

How loud must one be in order to be heard by those in a nearly soundproof box? How visible to be seen through the frosted glass wall that surrounds us? There is a highway barrier between the suffering and the indifferent, built by those who seek profit and power. Even in the places where this barrier crumbles, one is conditioned, either through excess exposure that rots one’s ability to fully see the magnitude of it all or dismissive falsities meant to cloud one’s perception, to see one’s suffering and look away. Those in the figuratively often-less-dangerous slow lane are told that those stuck in the fast lane are to blame for the highway, for its traffic and danger, forgetting that we are all trying to safely reach the same destination while those who built this system fly overhead.

Sinisterly Solitary

Something that I often ponder about is the utter chaos within our country’s prison system, and the many people who are severely wronged by this daily. While the U.S. seems to have an endless number of flaws, this one really gets me wondering. I haven’t done much research on this particular topic, but I do know that innocent people, or those who may have committed smaller crimes, are much too often wronged with extensive prison time. From what I’ve heard, it seems as though our country doesn’t allot enough resources to helping those in prison who may not actually be guilty.

What I wonder about is the fact that something this threatening and life-changing could truly happen to anyone. Who’s to say that you won’t be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and end up being blamed for a crime? It’s scary to imagine that one’s life could be turned upside down so quickly, simply due to unfortunate circumstances. Being in prison is no life to live, and I’m sure many in prison would prefer death, which usually isn’t an option. I simply cannot imagine being trapped and isolated from the world, and any sense of freedom, especially knowing that you’re innocent.

This relates to the film that we watched in class, The Strike. Another aspect of the U.S prison system includes the concept of solitary confinement, which is when prisoners are locked up and kept away from social interactions, pretty much 24/7. In The Strike, the prisoners discussed working out in their cells to stay busy, having food and books delivered to their cells, and talking to each other through the vents during their ‘outside time.’ While some prisoners truly deserve the worst of the worst punishment, people are too easily placed into something as mentally tormenting as solitary confinement. I can only imagine how a person would lose themselves and their identity, hobbies, dreams, and so much more by being put through this psychological torture.

The U.S prison system is consistently in need of major reform.

Why me?

Why me?

Why me? I ask myself this question everyday why was I born so sick? Why was a born with these mental and physical struggles? Why do I feel so different like I don’t belong here? Why did I not die a birth? Why did I live instead?

These are things that I ask myself when my depression/ anxiety speak for themselves. I fight them back every day each day goes by it get a bit easier since starting therapy and getting medicine. Even so it still a fight, I for so long was afraid to seek help due to being suicidal I was afraid they would lock me away and throw away the key, like they do to so many others. I had personal connection to this fear my mom had an aunt who was sent away to the mental hospital back in the late 60s, to this day no one has any idea what happen to her once she was sent away no one heard from her or saw her again. This is something that is not just history it still happens to people today, but no one know or speaks about it. This why many people fear asking for help they don’t want to be taken away thrown in a hospital and have all their basic human rights stripped from them.

Solitary confinement is a cruel/inhumane punishment they put not just prisoners through but also those with mental struggles. They say to protect them, but it is to control them this does not help a prisoner reform nor help someone with mental health recover it only make these issues worse. Although has been some improvement but nowhere enough and it only improved for those of certain class and race.

In the Trenches

United in Anger and the AIDS movement taught me important lessons about civil disobedience. One of the most powerful lines in the film was when an individual with AIDS said that they may not be able to fight the disease, but they can fight the system. “As long as I can physically function and physically fight, that’s what I’m going to do” (United in Anger). These words in the film inspire me to become more active in politics. In high school, I was passionate about politics… but COVID-19 slowly sucked the life out of me and I lost my drive. United in Anger reminded me that change can be possible, and also informed me about the ways in which movements can be organized and successful. I found one person’s motto impactful- they said that if you act up, you get impact. This encapsulates how making “the powers at be” uncomfortable, you can “interfere” with “business as usual.” I really appreciate the weight behind these words.  

Read more: In the Trenches

It was also interesting to learn about how ACT UP was “sculpting” the narrative in the media by putting locals in all areas of the country to give their perspective. ACT UP did not want the media to continue using “specific language” to describe people with AIDS, so they represented themselves. There was an individual in the film that compared being impacted by AIDS to being in “the trenches,” because the “war is only happening to those in the trenches” and no one else knows (or is paying attention to) what is happening. ACT UP also used affinity groups to strengthen its community. This reminds me of my peer support group and makes me realize how important it is to gather with like-minded people who have been through similar struggles. 

It was disgusting, disheartening, and shocking (at least to me; I had little prior knowledge of the fight for AIDS care) to learn that there were propositions to have those with AIDS quarantined or get tattoos in order to identify themselves. This is obviously reminiscent of the treatment of individuals who were Jewish, of color, queer, or with disabilities by the Nazis. Unfortunately, there are traces of this bigotry and ideology throughout the United States. 

Racism will never go away.

Racism is something that has unfortunately been around for centuries. However, with the new breath of the modern-age, it has been argued by many that racism is “no longer a problem”. What so many fail to realize is that racism is embedded in so many things, ranging from popular phrases, to the developments of entire practices of medicine. Because of this, it is impossible to fully remove it, no matter how much of a progressive society we present ourselves to be.

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Burnout, The Grind and My Activist Work: A Vent

A quick sketch I made for this post. This is a very toned-down version of where I’m at. (photo ID: a black-and-white sketch of a small humanoid “snailcat” with his back, shell, and tail to the viewer, holding in one hand a paintbrush with black paint over a bucket while scratching his head with his other hand. he is staring at a brick wall, his shadow over it to his left and a couple of minimally detailed posters to his right.)

Whenever something big and horrible happens, one of the biggest coping mechanisms I have is to redirect any overwhelming crushing despair or anxiety I have about it into doing my part, and doing what I can. I’m an artist, so I know I can make art about it, and I’m a GWST scholar, so I know I can write about it.

That is, I would be able to. IF I DIDN’T HAVE SO MUCH WORK TO DO.

I am unemployed and taking 15 credits this semester, 3 of those including an (UNPAID!) internship where I have to produce 55 entire pages of full illustrations, 5 of which have animated components. I am 3 whole weeks behind on that work, and my timing should work out but it is going to be awful and crammed and I feel sick just thinking about how much catch-up I have to do. I’m not getting paid but it’s good work that I can use in a future portfolio, and it’s for a good cause (books suited to an older reader demographic while providing illustration and comprehension assistance for readers with cognitive disabilities). Meanwhile in my actual classwork I have a major final project with a deadline coming up alarmingly soon that I want to get perfect because it’s an analysis of a video game (ULTRAKILL) and topic (Jack Halberstam’s Queer Art of Failure) that I really care about. So I am already diverting energy into two interdisciplinary activist/GWST-related things I genuinely want to get exactly right. And I feel confident in saying that I am Burnt Out.

All of this was already stressful before, you know. WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 6TH 2024.

My social media pages that day were full of posts encouraging me to get organized, make art, write thought pieces detailing my unwillingness to give in to the doom and roll up my sleeves. And I would love to participate in any movements that are mobilizing in the context of The Horror That Is Unfolding Before Our Eyes. I know I have the skill to contribute art and work beyond just sharing resources and mutual aid drives (though that is always helpful). And I know I shouldn’t hold myself to the standard of a “good” project being one that is always perfect and brilliant and revolutionary. But in times like this the pressure to make art that perfectly encapsulates the rage just adds to the crushing pressure of the world itself.

It’s a rage I fear I can’t put into words, and seeing all of the art and performance work in disability activist movements we’ve been looking at for class makes me feel like I have something to live up to. But that potential I have is shrouded by the labor required to survive, to get a job, to build a portfolio, to get a degree. And I am grateful that this is labor I can direct passion into, but man I wish it was easier. I wish I had time!!!!!!!

(all this being said, the first thing im doing once i have time is making a sticker with shadow the hedgehog holding the trans flag and saying a raw as hell quote from sonic ’06 so if thats something that interests you, keep an eye out!)

What Were You Wearing

“I was seven,
Wearing play clothes,
When he decided,
I was his experiment
I was seven,
Playing in my home,
When he decided to
Claim my innocence”

“I was eight,
Wearing a black shirt,
And pj pants with pink stars
When it all started
I was eight,
In the trusting lap
Of my uncle,
Too young to question,
Too young to debate”

“I was three,
Or possibly five,
When it became,
A monthly encounter,
I think I was three,
Sometimes in a sundress,
Others in pajamas,
When he decided
He had the right to me”

This poem was inspired by an exhibit called What Were You Wearing. The title of the exhibit is a question commonly asked to victims of rape/sexual assault, implying that what happened to them was somehow their own fault. The exhibit proves that clothing is irrelevant when it comes to sexual assault, and that we should stop victim-blaming by asking this question. 

Music has kept me alive

Music has kept me alive

Since I was in middle school I’ve dealt with depression and anxiety. I had to find ways to keep myself from going over the edge because sadly during that time I didn’t really feel like I had someone to talk to. Both of my parents are immigrants and if you know, you know. Mental health isn’t a very big thing to them because they grew up being told to get over things and that they’re fine. So they only passed on what they were taught, which is fine I can’t really blame them too much. That only meant that I had to figure it out on my own, so I indulged in music. Mostly Jhene Aiko, she brought me a sense of peace, the beats were soothing, her voice was calm and gentle so honestly she was my escape for a while. Since she helped me so much, whenever I would be sad or in my head I would play her music and it would help me get out of my head. A song by her that has helped me a lot is called W.A.Y.S. Which stands for “why aren’t you smiling”, this song would help me realize that although I’m sad and how I’m feeling is valid, there’s so much to be grateful for.

Now realizing how much music helps me, I try to listen to more upbeat music when I am feeling sad or anxious because it can completely change your mood and vibrations. Honestly, before i used to listen to sad music which would make me sadder. I feel like we’ve all done it before because sometimes you just want to listen to how you feel, but i realized that for me i need to try to get out of the mood as soon as possible before it gets worse. Don’t get me wrong though, i still very much enjoy my “sad” music because alot of the time i can relate to what they’re saying and going through and it’s nice to know that I’m not the only person that feels a specific way. Music can make you realize that we as humans are so much alike.

Music has such a huge influence on people, it can simply be someone’s escape and that’s what it was for me. Unfortunately i don’t have a nice singing voice so i couldn’t really “do” music. But i will always enjoy it, sing other songs, dance to it, just be free when music is on. Thats what it’s about right? Being free and being able to express yourself in a healthy way.

My Reflection

Who am I?
I,
I’m my thoughts,
My dreams,
My aspirations.
I’m my name,
My looks,
My imagination.
That’s what I see,
When I stare,
Into my reflection.

My reflection,
Ripples in the river of life,
The shallow,
Shallow river of life.
To the world,
I am my reflection:
I am only what the world sees,
Only what the world decides I am.
My body is but a vessel;
Why must the world ignore me,
But acknowledge the vessel?!

Books, merely objects
Are still judged 
By only their covers,
So who am I to demand
They not judge me
By only what they can see.
The inside of a book
Is where the value lies
But most people don’t bother;
It’s easier to judge
From the outside

My body is a part of me,
It embodies my soul
My personality,
But it is not all I am.
I am not my scars,
My disability,
I am me,
A completely separate entity.
I, Me,
Not just what you see

My Mom (& her BMI)

Keto,
Maybe that’ll help
Paleo,
Couldn’t hurt to try
So many failed attempts
To lower her BMI
How can I tell her, 
That a number 
It doesn’t define her!

The scale, the scale
What does it say?
FAT, it says 
But in numbers, 
It judges.
Why must we care 
What a metal box 
Has to say?!
Why do we care
About the numbers
At the end of the day?!
The world says
Those numbers matter
The world says
Those numbers decide 
They have more say
Than we do,
In our own lives

It shatters my heart
The look on her face
As we snack on chocolates 
While she eats ice chips
Sugar-free,
Fat-free,
And low-carb
That’s her life

My BMI, 
That number
It’s way too high
UGH
How can I tell her
That number is futile
Tell me now,
Does the BMI know
Of the babies 
You’ve born?!
Does the BMI know 
Of the PPD 
You’ve overthrown?!

A number cannot measure beauty
So why,
Why does it bring tears to your eyes?
A number cannot measure beauty
So why,
Why must the matter 
Overwhelm your mind?
I tell you you’re perfect;
But my words
They are fruitless,
It is only numbers
That get through to you,
The same numbers,
That judge you