krystal + junk
for hail gay satan zine
I didn’t come out and write about Angelina Jolie’s pre-emptive double mastectomy earlier, because I had to let it sink in. Breast cancer took my Mother and I see Jolie’s children with a bit of strange jealousy. I wish we would have known. While some take pot shots at her for what she’s done, I applaud her and hope that more women will take the opportunity to educate themselves about BRCA1. People have measured her capacity as a professional entertainer by her breasts and that is despicable.
This thought occurred to me, while thinking on that situation.
She wept openly.
Not for the pain, not for the chemicals, or havoc upon her body, wreaked.
She was brittle and emaciated. Tears ran down her sunken cheeks.
“He still loves me.” She smiled through the stream of tears.
Double-mastectomy, and a sickness that would not quit,
She was dying and she knew it.
But she cried because my dad still held her at night,
“He still calls me beautiful.”
Her black hair, gone. Her eyes bloodshot and sitting in hollowing sockets, the cancer was winning and there wasn’t much time— but she was so alive, she was still nineteen and smiling in his eyes.
In the mirror, there sat a stranger, skeletal and empty, “but I know he still loves me.” She shook her head incredulously.
I sat quietly. I watched her die.
He wept openly.
Not for the damage, not for the pain.
He missed his best friend.
Without her, he was less man.
You know, the one that gives housewives/full-time mothers a pension— wages for housework?
It’s ONLY A HUGE VICTORY FOR FEMINISM, SOCIALISM, AND WOMEN OF COLOR. Not a big deal or anything. Tumblr is mysteriously silent about this.
I THOUGHT THIS WAS KIDDING SOGMLASG
Spoiler alert, yahoo! buys tumblr.
Last of Warsaw Ghetto Survivors Calls for Rebellion Against Israeli Occupation
On Yom Ha-Shoah, one of the few remaining living survivors of the Warsaw Ghetto, Chavka Fulman-Raban, delivered a fierce denunciation of evil and injustice, including the Israeli Occupation of Palestine. Her speech was offered to guests at the ceremony of Beit Lohamey Ha-Getaot (the Ghetto-Fighters House).
On April 19 1943, seventy years ago, the first rebellion in occupied Europe broke out–the Jewish rebellion. I wasn’t part of it. As a courier, I had been arrested during resistance operations in Kharkov and had been brought to Auschwitz a number of months earlier.
All of my nearest, most beloved comrades fought from the rooftops, in the fires, from the bunkers. Most of them perished. I hurts me that I can no longer remember all their names. We memorialize only a few. But in my heart I am not parted from them, from the forgotten. …
Continue the rebellion. A different rebellion of the here and now against evil, even the evil befalling our own and only beloved country. Rebel against racism and violence and hatred of those who are different. Against inequality, economic gaps, poverty, greed and corruption.
Rebel against the Occupation. No–it is forbidden for us to rule over another people, to oppress another [people]. The most important thing is to achieve peace and an end to the cycle of blood[letting]. My generation dreamed of peace. I so want to achieve it. You have the power to help. All my hopes are with you. …
Long ago my knuckles mended, and I forgot how to want
to clash again. I was once hipshot and erratic, but now I’m glass,
the slicked leavings of earth. Oils from hands mar me no more
than a smudge. I’ll not melt for a thousand years. I’ll not shatter
but for fire or force. I’ve realized there’s no glory in pliancy,
no succor in the softness of clay or breast, for to be supple
is to wait for bruises to rise. And I forgot how to want
to fight, but tyrants are walking around so heavily.
All I wanted was to be in your blood, and be quiet. But soldiers
dare me to hazard out in the world with my prison face,
the one that shifts with the shadows, contorts, lacks control.
My hands won’t lie softly in my lap any longer, for listeners
and liars are close. All I wanted was to be a splinter under your skin,
to be wrapped in your body and wait for you to heal over me.
— cj evans