WHEN I REALIZE I HAVE TWENTY MORE PAPERS TO GRADE:
wheninacademia: True Story.
Things don’t make sense until they’re not in my life anymore.
How I feel about Alaska not winning Drag Race:
poems we write to each other: the fold
To our poetry community in Binghamton, NY. We held each other up. Thank you for the poem, Devon. This isn’t for ‘followers,’ whatever the fuck that means. This is survival and memory. ——- That: Needed, by Devon Branca I have the feeling of our little-big group standing out there somewhere inside me. And I can make my skin hold us closer and closer until I am back...
Four classes a week, you say?
The Sirens - Richard Wilbur
tziganeheart: I never knew the road From which the whole earth didn’t call away, With wild birds rounding the hill crowns, Haling out of the heart an old dismay, Or the shore somewhere pounding its slow code, Or low-lighted towns Seeming to tell me, stay. Lands I have never seen And shall not see, loves I will not forget, All I have missed, or slighted, or foregone Call to me now. And weaken...
this is the 21st century and we need to redefine r/evolution. this planet needs...– Assata Shakur (via ikenbot)
When someone says I'm biased
phdstress: Dedicated to my Marxist ideological classroom apparatus
everything was forever, until it was no more
This country is a nation of thieves. It stole everything it has, beginning with...– Stokely Carmichael (via pushertee)
… Assata is not a threat. If anything, this is a vendetta. She is innocent, and...– Angela Davis, Angela Davis and Assata Shakur’s Lawyer Denounce FBI’s Adding of Exiled Activist to Terrorists List (Democracy Now!, 3 May 2013)
[T]here’s always this slippage between what should be protected free speech—that...– Angela Davis on the FBI’s Political Decision to Put Assata Shakur on Its List of ‘Most Wanted Terrorists’. (via notjusttheminutiae)
Remembering I have to teach
The Necessity of Tender
Soft, by Beth Weaver-Kreider for Leigh Phillips Tell me something soft, you said, and all I can think is the soft bellies of my hens, the place on the inside of the elbow, or the tender skin on the head of the woman of Goose Creek who has shaved her hair and walked into her story. Soft, like the ashes that have cooled when the burning is done, when you sift the remnants of the past ...
Meeting my ex lover at the new year's party
This, the semester of ghost ships. A poets hands are meant for poems, not holding a rosary in death, a breath stolen by the injustice of spring and its blossoming tumors. My belief in skylines dies amongst the flowers. I hold my body together with ace bandages and clean the rest of me with whiskey. And they tear through the tear with their blade and I dreamed of a girl from Texas until the drugs...
When someone assumes I'm straight
Going to a fancy straight bar
When someone says that gay people are fun
When seeing the pile of papers I have to grade
When discovering how fun #twitter is five years...
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