In calling me deceptive, Varner invoked one of the most odious stereotypes of transgender people, a stereotype that is often used as an excuse for violence and even murder. In proclaiming “Zeke is not the guy you think he is” and that “there is deception on levels y’all don’t understand,” Varner is saying that I’m not really a man and that simply living as my authentic self is a nefarious trick. In reality, by being Zeke the dude, I am being my most honest self — as is every other transgender person going about their daily lives.
Zeke Smith wrote a guest piece for the Hollywood Reporter about being outed as transgender on Survivor, and it is too good for one quote to do it justice. Read the whole thing here.
I think of reading like a balanced diet; if your sentences are baggy, too baroque, cut back on fatty Foster Wallace, say, and pick up Kafka, as roughage. If your aesthetic has become so refined it is stopping you from placing a single black mark on white paper, stop worrying so much about what Nabakov would say; pick up Dostoevsky, patron saint of substance over style.
Warning: Swearing, angst (come on guys it wouldn’t be me if there wasn’t a little drama in this) and umm sassy, witty, playful banter.
A/N: This is a spin off of Criminal Minds Penelope x Morgan relationship, only they end up together at the end. haha. There will only be like 5 or 6 parts to this at the most. Hope you enjoy, let me know if you want to be tagged.
You being the tech analysis for the Avengers, you’re at their call 24/7 specially when they take off on missions. You have a great relationship with the whole team, but the playful, witty banter you have with Steve is next level, your his favorite girl and he’s your blue eyed god. Little does he realize you’re harboring a deep, brooding love for him, now if only he returned the same feelings.
Your heels click on the floor under you as you make your way
down the office hallway, thumbs clicking away as you text, briefly looking up
you see Nat, Wanda and Clint looking out from the meeting room. Quickly you
enter through the side door.
“What are we staring at?” You don’t look up still texting
“Did you miss the show?” Clint asks with a small chuckle.
this day in 1830, the Book of Mormon was first published at E.B
Grandin’s New York bookstore. The founder of Mormonism, Joseph Smith Jr,
claimed that he had been visited by an angel called Moroni who told him
of ancient writings on golden plates which described people God led to
the Western hemisphere before the birth of Jesus. These plates were
supposedly found by Smith buried by a tree near his home.
Smith said he was told by Moroni to translate the plates into English
and publish them. Smith initially struggled to find someone to publish
the book as many considered it fraudulent and blasphemous. Smith
and his friend Martin Harris began work on translating the Book of
Mormon, with Smith dictating by either reading directly or using seer
stones placed in a top hat. It took eight men and boys
working 12 hours a day, six days a week, for almost eight months to
print the initial 5,000 copies, which went on sale in March 1830. The
building in New York where the Book of Mormon was first published and
sold is now the Book of Mormon Historic Publication Site.
Some of you have written asking for recommendations for things to read over the summer. I just read things that I’m in the mood to read, but these are some of the books I’d like to read this summer.
Prose (Fiction, mostly)
How To Be Both, Ali Smith (currently reading) The Waves, Virginia Woolf (currently reading) The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, Arundhati Roy Invisible Cities, Italo Calvino In the Skin of a Lion, Michael Ondaatje In Other Words, Jhumpa Lahiri Cat’s Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut Fugitive Pieces, Anne Michaels The Awakening and Other Stories, Kate Chopin
Louder Than Hearts, Zeina Hashem Beck (currently reading) Citizen, Camille Rankin alchemies of distance, Caroline Sinavaiana-Gabbard Incarnadine, Mary Szybist This Far Back Everything Shimmers, Vicki Husband Extracting the Stone of Madness, Alejandra Pizarnik A History of Colour: New and Selected Poems, Stanley Moss
Woman and Nature, The Roaring Inside Her, Susan Griffin Danube: A Sentimental Journey from the Source to the Black Sea, Claudio Magris Mythologies, Roland Barthes Mussoorie and Landour: Days of Wine and Roses, Ruskin Bond Blue Nights, Joan Didion
In my low periods, I wondered what was the point of creating art. For whom? Are we animating God? Are we talking to ourselves? And what was the ultimate goal? To have one’s work caged in art’s great zoos- the Modern, the Met, the Louvre?
I craved honesty, yet found dishonesty in myself. Why commit to art? For self-realization, or for itself? It seemed indulgent to add to the glut unless one offered illumination.
Often I’d sit and try to write or draw, but all of the manic activity in the streets, coupled with the Vietnam War, made my efforts seem meaningless. I could not identify with political movements. In trying to join them I felt overwhelmed by yet another form of bureaucracy. I wondered if anything I did mattered.
Robert had little patience with these introspective bouts of mine. He never seemed to question his artistic drives, and by his example, I understood that what matters is the work: the string of words propelled by God becoming a poem, a weave of colour and graphite scrawled upon the sheet that magnifies His motion. To achieve within the work a perfect balance of faith and execution. From this state of mind comes a light, life-charged.