wherein we entertain the notions of a creature embroiled in sorting multiple identities. is she a mother? a poet? a performer? an organizer? or is she simply the product of a feminist movement in which women dreamt that simultaneously singing opera, tap-dancing, spinning plates, spouting rhetoric and solving algorithms was liberation. here are the rough drafts.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Typical Conversation About Race In Pittsburgh
[Negro lies on the sidewalk]
Al: Look at that wound!
Be: That's a bleeding wound!
Clear: That's a bleeding wound! open all the way down to the bone!
Dammit: That arm has a bone in it!
Al: Look at the bone!
Be: That's a bone with blood all around it and ripped muscles!
Clear: Are you sure that's not a ligament or tendons?
Dammit: It certainly is something.
Whitey: It could be a movie prosthetic. Are you an actor?
Negro: A little help here? I'm bleeding out.
JC Negro II: (rolls up his sleeves, kneels down and begins holding Negro's wound together.) Anyone got a bandage?
Al: Um, I'm actually just about to use this band-aid.
Be: Here, have this organic sea foam and Indonesian dirt tincture.
Clear: Have you tried yoga?
Dammit: We should get a Hazmet team in to clean up this concrete. It's a biohazard. Think of future generations!
Whitey: I'll write up a report about this polluted concrete right away. Ow! Paper cut!
Negro: (whispers )a little help?
Al: A paper cut! Are you okay?
Be: Omg! White light! White healing light all around you!
Clear: Call an ambulance!
Dammit: Omg! Omg! Omg!
Whitey: Owwwww! I'm dying!
JC Negro II: I got this! (rips off his shirt, tears it into strips of bandage, and wraps Whitey's paper cut. turns and look at Negro) You got this, Negro?