Share this:

Bench chills. #mileend #cafeolympico #montreal #street #showmeyours #converse

Share this:

St. Henri. #sun #sunset #green #trees #blue #sky #clouds #montreal #west

Share this:

We get over excited and jump around. #friends #actionshot

Share this:

Suppose, to suppose, suppose a rose is a rose is a rose.
To suppose, we suppose that there arise here and there and here
and there there arose an instance of knowing that there are
here and there that there are there that they will prepare, that
they do care to come again.
Are they to come again.

GS (1912)

Share this:

When I saw Blurred Lines, I totally assumed it was subversive and satire. Complicated? Yes. Effective? Unknown.

The best part is that Robin Thicke isn’t in on the joke.

‘Blurred Lines’ Director Meant the Video to Be ‘Subtly Ridiculing’

Share this:

President Barack Obama looks out from the ‘Door of No Return,’ through which slaves once passed as they boarded ships for the Americas. The house is located on Goree Island, in Dakar, Senegal, Thursday, June 27, 2013. 

 

Share this:

Sometimes you can choose your family. #tbt #love

Share this:

First bun ever. @sataybros #atwater #market #foodporn

Share this:

My participatory installation. Discourse analysis to narrative through ethnographic fiction.

Reese and Clara [trigger warning]

            Reese looked down at her hands. She remembered thinking that her nails were dirty. The ink was staining the tips of her fingers. Was it ink? Whatever it was, it was residue. Staying on her hands after she was done flipping through the paper. She smiled to herself, thinking how appropriate that is. It would take more than water and soap to wash it off. Reese put the newspaper down next to her on the bench she was sitting on. Got up, walked away.

            Walking into the café that they agreed to meet at, Clara looked up from her book and caught Reese’s eye. She nods as Reese walks over to the table and sits down. She wants to know why. Doesn’t even say hello, just starts right in on her. Clara’s eyes look down, away. Reese gets up, walks over to the counter, grabs a newspaper. She flips to the last page where there is a headline – ‘Coach Enters Guilty Plea In Exchange for Time Served.’ Reese has taken the newspaper and thrown it down on the table. All Clara can say is I’m sorry. What else is she supposed to say to her friend? I fucked up? I lied? I couldn’t go through with it? It was all too much for me to bear? Reese grabs the paper and walks away.

            Three years ago. Reese was running around the track at her high school. She was a freshman and determined to make it onto the basketball team. She was the best athlete in her middle school – which made her lucky and somewhat immune to teasing. Other girls would have their hair pulled, especially, because of this weird fascination with black nappy hair. Reese never understood it. If you want to touch my hair, just ask. She sometimes wanted to play with her friend’s hair, she could understand. But why did they have to pull it?

            At the first basketball try-out of the year, Clara and Reese are playing an intense game of one-on-one. Reese, being a sophomore and one year older than Clara, should have been able to beat her. But no. Clara was a star. She won the game and her place on the team that day. And Clara and Reese became friends, rivals, teammates. The female basketball team at their high school was the only female sports team. The girls became a family. Protecting each other against the constant harassment of the boy’s teams, the other students, sometimes the teachers. ‘Lesbian’ was screamed at them in the halls – which neither Clara or Reese ever understood. How is that an insult they wondered? They would often scream back – ‘I wish’!

            Six months later. The team won regionals and were competing in the national girl’s championships. Clara sat on the bus staring out the window as they arrived at their hotel. A big banner said ‘Welcome Girls!’. Did the boy’s basketball league have to have their gender in the title of their championship? No. Obviously not. Basketball is assumed to be played by boys. Duh. Baseball too. Also – football, hockey, golf, rugby, soccer… on and on and on. Clara cried for the first time that weekend.

            Later that night, Reese leaves her hotel room and hears the door lock behind her. Her eyes can’t focus. She’s in shock. She falls to the ground. She can’t remember life before this moment. She can’t imagine life beyond it. She is glued to the ground. Rows of fluorescent lights are above her. Overhead. She lays her head down on the cheap blue hotel carpet. Her hair makes a ruffled noise. Half awake, half asleep. It will be the same way for the next year. She’ll never again be able to surrender herself to sleep. For the rest of her life, the lights will be dimmed just shy of full strength.

            Two and a half years later. Both Clara and Reese have graduated and are on full scholarships at Ivy League universities. Clara could never have been able to afford Harvard without Basketball. Reese was always going to Princeton. Basketball or not. There was always that thing between them. Clara is sitting in her dorm room, crouched in the corner, holding her cell phone close to her face. She’s crying. Her blonde hair is stuck to her face. Yes, she knows. Yes, she remembers. Yes. Yes. Yes. Reese is on the other end of the line, locked in the bathroom of her student-housing flat. She’s sweating. Her voice is so quiet it’s hard for Clara to make out what she’s saying. But Clara doesn’t care. She knows what she’s saying. She remembers. It happened to her, too.

            Clara and Reese decide, that night, that they’re going to tell. At first, they’re not sure whom. Then a security guard finds Reese sitting in her car, screaming. He brings her to counseling services and Reese confesses. They call the police. After that, it happens very fast. Arrests, depositions, confessions. Other girls, boys, teammates. But no rape. Touching, inappropriate comments, even one sleepover. But it’s just Clara and Reese that say it — rape.

            The hierarchy of assault is played out in the local paper.  Experts describe the judicial difference between sex – Was it inserted? Where did his hand go? Then, the real shit begins. Reese was sitting at her kitchen table at her parent’s house, it was summer break and she was trying to deal with this thunderstorm around her. The newspaper was spread out on her kitchen table. Then she sees it – ‘Black Vs. White. Man Vs. Girl. Rich Vs. Poor. How One Rich Black Girl’s Claim of Rape is Ruining the Distinguished Career of Local Coach.’

            Reese should have known this would happen. Clara’s rape is mentioned at the end of the article, as an after thought. No one gave a shit about Clara. All they did was attack Reese. Her twitter was filled with slut shaming. Her cell phone getting so many messages she had to cancel it. All negative. All claiming that she was in love with her coach. Obsessed, they said. Would have done anything to get with him. Wanted to be white, like her adoptive parents. Have a white baby. Slept with him to get into college. Her birth mother is a drug addict. From a bad part of town. Reese had heard it all. Every word.  

            Six months later and Clara agrees to meet Reese at the coffee shop. She knows what’s going to happen. Clara has dropped the charges. She’ll have to take a semester off school to prepare to testify. She’ll lose her scholarship. She just can’t do it. Clara knows that without her testimony, the case is too weak. No one is claiming rape, other than Reese. The media has attacked Reese, no jury will convict. Her word vs. his. They all know it. But Clara will lose everything. She’ll have to go to a local community college, work full-time. Her dreams. Over. Then she gets mad. This isn’t about her. This is about discrediting Reese as a witness. This is about the world they live in.

            Clara sees Reese walking into the coffee shop. She can’t look at her. She’s too ashamed. This man who has raped them both will be set free. That’s it. No more consequences. He agrees to plead guilty to aggravated sexual assault. No rape. No registered sex offender. No pedophilia stamp. Clara knows what this means. As Reese runs out of the restaurant, Clara follows. She runs to her, hugs her, tells her everything will be okay. They both know it’s a lie.