juiceonice
anarcho-queer:

angry-hippo:

Lolita Lebron (1919-2010) was an anti-imperialist, feminist, and socialist who advocated for an independent Puerto Rico. In 1954 she entered the United States House of Representatives with other members of the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and opened fire with semi-automatic handguns after yelling, ”¡Viva Puerto Rico Libre!" Five lawmakers were injured in the attack although Lebron herself only fired shots at the ceiling. From prison she became a symbol of hope and strength for many young revolutionaries, and is often cited as an influence of feminist militants from the 1960s and beyond.

The attack on the House of Representatives was in response to the bombing of Puerto Rico by American forces.
On October 30th, 1950, Puerto Rican Nationalists began an armed uprising and declared the island independent from America,
President Harry S. Truman declared martial law and ordered the U.S. Army and Air Force to attack the town of Jayuya and Utuado with bomber planes, land-based artillery, mortar fire, and grenades in the attack, destroying 70% of the town of Jayuya and even riddling school buildings with bullet holes. People were shot in the streets by police and Guardsmen as they walked about or attempted to get away.
It was the first time America bombed it’s citizens since the Civil War. 
The U.S. government carefully restricted the news from reaching America. President Truman dismissed the battle as an “incident between Puerto Ricans.”

anarcho-queer:

angry-hippo:

Lolita Lebron (1919-2010) was an anti-imperialist, feminist, and socialist who advocated for an independent Puerto Rico. In 1954 she entered the United States House of Representatives with other members of the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and opened fire with semi-automatic handguns after yelling, ¡Viva Puerto Rico Libre!" Five lawmakers were injured in the attack although Lebron herself only fired shots at the ceiling. From prison she became a symbol of hope and strength for many young revolutionaries, and is often cited as an influence of feminist militants from the 1960s and beyond.

The attack on the House of Representatives was in response to the bombing of Puerto Rico by American forces.

On October 30th, 1950, Puerto Rican Nationalists began an armed uprising and declared the island independent from America,

President Harry S. Truman declared martial law and ordered the U.S. Army and Air Force to attack the town of Jayuya and Utuado with bomber planes, land-based artillery, mortar fire, and grenades in the attack, destroying 70% of the town of Jayuya and even riddling school buildings with bullet holes. People were shot in the streets by police and Guardsmen as they walked about or attempted to get away.

It was the first time America bombed it’s citizens since the Civil War.

The U.S. government carefully restricted the news from reaching America. President Truman dismissed the battle as an “incident between Puerto Ricans.”

All the Barbies Look Like Me

For as long as I have been alive, in this vessel, I have looked like a doll. I probably will continue to look like a doll until my skin starts to wrinkle. I have a round face, no cheekbones, big green/grey eyes, lots of blonde hair and petite porcelain doll lips (leave, the button nose-not present on this chick).
At no point have I ever thought about my relation to dolls and what dolls represent until recently. Naturally one of the first lessons you learn in womens studies class is about toys and how toys are used to oppress people by teaching children societal rights and wrongs-and racial rights and wrongs. I can’t necessarily remember owning or seeing any directly racist toys as a child but I did see many many many white blonde dolls. I never thought anything about it. My mom was a blonde beauty with a body like a young Pamela Anderson, my sisters were both beautiful blonde little girls with blue/green eyes. Not only that, but I grew up in Littleton, Colorado as a kid. I honestly can’t even remember seeing any nonwhite kids. Not to mention (and I don’t know how it is today) but “history” class in the 90s was one hundred percent shameless white washed bullshit. 
A few weeks go my friends and I were at Target shopping for the High Priestess show. We wanted to buy dolls that represent ourselves for the altar. So, Sara-a brunette and Sarah-a redhead combed the aisles looking for our little self reflective tokens. I had mermaids, princesses, fairies, doctors, babies, shop-a-holics-all blonde, all blue eyes, all of them literally did look like me. As for my friends, nothing. There was maybe one or two crappy brunette dolls. At this level we were just trying to find anything that isn’t blonde and white. Anything! Of course, by obligation, there were some black barbie options but scarcely. This is Chicago, not Scottsdale, little girls have dolls to remind them that they are being hidden and oppressed.
That experience disturbed me. It’s not like I don’t know about oppression and racism in America (or, as world view)-I’m an educated aware young woman. But, to see it in such a tactile way, that made me reflect on my own childhood and my own upbringing as a woman who for all intents and purposes is good-to-go in terms of appearance by societal standards. 
I really never had to think about the fact that as a child I was constantly seeing myself reflected back at me. My image was perpetually affirmed by everything I saw on TV, in magazines, in toy stores, Disney cartoons and then directly-in my family. Dolls are disturbing. The need to use an icon of a human being to show children what to be and what not to be is horrifying. There would be no other purpose for dolls except that. If there weren’t dolls children would play with something else, kids are smart and they are more imaginative the less they are given to work with. I never liked dolls as a kid because being a woman wasn’t something I was interested in, I didn’t really care for humans or babies in general. I liked dogs. I pretty much only liked dogs and I wanted to be a dog. Hey, I was a white kid, you want to be a dog? The sky is the limit. No one ever told me I couldn’t be a dog and I never felt like there was anything barring me or holding me back. 
And furthermore-my only relation to Barbies later on in life was hateful and destructive as a young punk kid. Even though I found feminism at the age of 10 I didn’t get how beheading Barbie dolls among other things is directly representative of violence against women…a strange sort of internalized misogyny, if Barbie is the enemy and I look like Barbie, then what the fuck am I doing? What’s more is I was at least with it enough as a kid to refute dumb blonde jokes. That’s the closest I can get to image oppression that directly targets me. Dumb blonde jokes hurt my feelings and upset me…yet, with my internalized misogyny it was still a “me vs. them.” And then I dye my hair pink. Boom. I am not like “you” girls. How backwards and pointless is all of that? Making a huge fuss out of nothing, that is being white, looking for something to take issue with, some way to separate ones self rather than being self actualized. 
In terms of my relation with race as a kid, like any young girl in the late 90s TLC was my fucking JAM. I loved Left Eye the most, I was straight up obsessed with her. I never thought I couldn’t be Left Eye. I saw her as different than me, but never unattainable. It sickens me to know that this is a symptom of serious white ignorance. I can want to be black because a.) I don’t know what that entails in terms of actual lived experience and b.) Because I’m white and other people’s things can be mine. If I was a woman of color the idea of wanting to be white would be loaded with oppression-and after a few months in cosmetology school, I got even more acquainted with this upsetting concept. I get it, Miley Cyrus. You want to be black and you don’t understand what that means or what white dominion is. 
I had a few moments of potential self actualization, but honestly I wouldn’t even say I was reflecting on myself-I was seeing racial oppression outwards, as something that exists outside of myself and although it’s the most natural human thing to reflect things back onto yourself, I never really did this about racism. I don’t think most white people do, because it’s damned near impossible to understand something you have no lived experience of. It’s the trouble with misogyny too. 
When I was 10 I had a best friend who is Persian. I spent a lot of time with her family and I used to obsess over how beautiful her older sister was. She was a woman in my eyes. She wore black eyeliner all around her eyes to emphasize their shape and darkness. Again, I longed to look like her, but not in a self actualizing way. A few years later my same friend would be victimized and humiliated in an airport by a male TSA employee after 9-11. She was 13 and apparently a potential terrorist. I was there for my friend during this, but I never reflected about being white.
Empathy is understanding that there are other perceptions of reality and other lived realities. Seeing that they are different from your own and having a respect and appreciation for that-and being humbled by the suffering of others. Not seeing the oppression of others as a threat to your own identity. 
The resolution and end product of this piece is not me hating myself for being white. I don’t. I don’t feel guilty for being born into privilege. I am not taking responsibility for the actions of others. I do not see myself as other people throughout history-but I acknowledge that I easily could be. I can feel my leg room and my comfy chair. I don’t feel the need to condescend to women of color about making someone more beautiful or important than someone else. I don’t feel the need to immerse myself or not immerse myself in the cultures of other people. I love myself and my beauty and I will continue to idolize other white blonde women throughout history who I find beautiful-and who I see myself in. That isn’t inherently wrong-but yes, the original incarnation of this concept was for the sake of racial oppression. Social and cultural self awareness is the key. I can’t apologize on behalf of my race, it’s stupid and counterproductive, but I can listen and be aware of other realities and my place in the WORLD not just America. A lil humble pie.
My reaction is to be humble about my privilege, to be self actualizing and to be empathetic to my fullest capacity. It’s like what we always say about rape culture-don’t teach women not to get raped, tell men not to rape. As a white person, you quite simply need to not stomp out, dehumanize, oppress, exploit and exterminate non-white people. 


It’s a tall order. 

All the Barbies Look Like Me

For as long as I have been alive, in this vessel, I have looked like a doll. I probably will continue to look like a doll until my skin starts to wrinkle. I have a round face, no cheekbones, big green/grey eyes, lots of blonde hair and petite porcelain doll lips (leave, the button nose-not present on this chick).

At no point have I ever thought about my relation to dolls and what dolls represent until recently. Naturally one of the first lessons you learn in womens studies class is about toys and how toys are used to oppress people by teaching children societal rights and wrongs-and racial rights and wrongs. I can’t necessarily remember owning or seeing any directly racist toys as a child but I did see many many many white blonde dolls. I never thought anything about it. My mom was a blonde beauty with a body like a young Pamela Anderson, my sisters were both beautiful blonde little girls with blue/green eyes. Not only that, but I grew up in Littleton, Colorado as a kid. I honestly can’t even remember seeing any nonwhite kids. Not to mention (and I don’t know how it is today) but “history” class in the 90s was one hundred percent shameless white washed bullshit. 

A few weeks go my friends and I were at Target shopping for the High Priestess show. We wanted to buy dolls that represent ourselves for the altar. So, Sara-a brunette and Sarah-a redhead combed the aisles looking for our little self reflective tokens. I had mermaids, princesses, fairies, doctors, babies, shop-a-holics-all blonde, all blue eyes, all of them literally did look like me. As for my friends, nothing. There was maybe one or two crappy brunette dolls. At this level we were just trying to find anything that isn’t blonde and white. Anything! Of course, by obligation, there were some black barbie options but scarcely. This is Chicago, not Scottsdale, little girls have dolls to remind them that they are being hidden and oppressed.

That experience disturbed me. It’s not like I don’t know about oppression and racism in America (or, as world view)-I’m an educated aware young woman. But, to see it in such a tactile way, that made me reflect on my own childhood and my own upbringing as a woman who for all intents and purposes is good-to-go in terms of appearance by societal standards. 

I really never had to think about the fact that as a child I was constantly seeing myself reflected back at me. My image was perpetually affirmed by everything I saw on TV, in magazines, in toy stores, Disney cartoons and then directly-in my family. Dolls are disturbing. The need to use an icon of a human being to show children what to be and what not to be is horrifying. There would be no other purpose for dolls except that. If there weren’t dolls children would play with something else, kids are smart and they are more imaginative the less they are given to work with. I never liked dolls as a kid because being a woman wasn’t something I was interested in, I didn’t really care for humans or babies in general. I liked dogs. I pretty much only liked dogs and I wanted to be a dog. Hey, I was a white kid, you want to be a dog? The sky is the limit. No one ever told me I couldn’t be a dog and I never felt like there was anything barring me or holding me back. 

And furthermore-my only relation to Barbies later on in life was hateful and destructive as a young punk kid. Even though I found feminism at the age of 10 I didn’t get how beheading Barbie dolls among other things is directly representative of violence against women…a strange sort of internalized misogyny, if Barbie is the enemy and I look like Barbie, then what the fuck am I doing? What’s more is I was at least with it enough as a kid to refute dumb blonde jokes. That’s the closest I can get to image oppression that directly targets me. Dumb blonde jokes hurt my feelings and upset me…yet, with my internalized misogyny it was still a “me vs. them.” And then I dye my hair pink. Boom. I am not like “you” girls. How backwards and pointless is all of that? Making a huge fuss out of nothing, that is being white, looking for something to take issue with, some way to separate ones self rather than being self actualized. 

In terms of my relation with race as a kid, like any young girl in the late 90s TLC was my fucking JAM. I loved Left Eye the most, I was straight up obsessed with her. I never thought I couldn’t be Left Eye. I saw her as different than me, but never unattainable. It sickens me to know that this is a symptom of serious white ignorance. I can want to be black because a.) I don’t know what that entails in terms of actual lived experience and b.) Because I’m white and other people’s things can be mine. If I was a woman of color the idea of wanting to be white would be loaded with oppression-and after a few months in cosmetology school, I got even more acquainted with this upsetting concept. I get it, Miley Cyrus. You want to be black and you don’t understand what that means or what white dominion is. 

I had a few moments of potential self actualization, but honestly I wouldn’t even say I was reflecting on myself-I was seeing racial oppression outwards, as something that exists outside of myself and although it’s the most natural human thing to reflect things back onto yourself, I never really did this about racism. I don’t think most white people do, because it’s damned near impossible to understand something you have no lived experience of. It’s the trouble with misogyny too. 

When I was 10 I had a best friend who is Persian. I spent a lot of time with her family and I used to obsess over how beautiful her older sister was. She was a woman in my eyes. She wore black eyeliner all around her eyes to emphasize their shape and darkness. Again, I longed to look like her, but not in a self actualizing way. A few years later my same friend would be victimized and humiliated in an airport by a male TSA employee after 9-11. She was 13 and apparently a potential terrorist. I was there for my friend during this, but I never reflected about being white.

Empathy is understanding that there are other perceptions of reality and other lived realities. Seeing that they are different from your own and having a respect and appreciation for that-and being humbled by the suffering of others. Not seeing the oppression of others as a threat to your own identity. 

The resolution and end product of this piece is not me hating myself for being white. I don’t. I don’t feel guilty for being born into privilege. I am not taking responsibility for the actions of others. I do not see myself as other people throughout history-but I acknowledge that I easily could be. I can feel my leg room and my comfy chair. I don’t feel the need to condescend to women of color about making someone more beautiful or important than someone else. I don’t feel the need to immerse myself or not immerse myself in the cultures of other people. I love myself and my beauty and I will continue to idolize other white blonde women throughout history who I find beautiful-and who I see myself in. That isn’t inherently wrong-but yes, the original incarnation of this concept was for the sake of racial oppression. Social and cultural self awareness is the key. I can’t apologize on behalf of my race, it’s stupid and counterproductive, but I can listen and be aware of other realities and my place in the WORLD not just America. A lil humble pie.

My reaction is to be humble about my privilege, to be self actualizing and to be empathetic to my fullest capacity. It’s like what we always say about rape culture-don’t teach women not to get raped, tell men not to rape. As a white person, you quite simply need to not stomp out, dehumanize, oppress, exploit and exterminate non-white people. 

It’s a tall order. 

If you live in Chicago and you love my tumblr-I highly suggest you come out for my art show this week on July 25th!
The theme is Tarot, more specifically the High Priestess. I am curating and hosting and my business partner/soul mate Sarah Lorraine (Esoteria) will be reading Tarot. 
There will also my visual art by some of my favorite local artists: Amanda Joy Calobrisi, Sara Jones, Rik Garrett, Olivia Rogers, Charles Ernest Roberts III and  Meagan Fredette. and performances by Heather Lynn (as Technopagan), Heather Marie and Darling as well as a performance by Meagan Fredette as the Sword Suit. Oh and video by Sara Crow of No Future Films!
Facebook event page:
https://www.facebook.com/events/240704622789574/?notif_t=plan_user_joined
Hope to see you all there!

If you live in Chicago and you love my tumblr-I highly suggest you come out for my art show this week on July 25th!

The theme is Tarot, more specifically the High Priestess. I am curating and hosting and my business partner/soul mate Sarah Lorraine (Esoteria) will be reading Tarot. 

There will also my visual art by some of my favorite local artists: Amanda Joy Calobrisi, Sara Jones, Rik Garrett, Olivia Rogers, Charles Ernest Roberts III and  Meagan Fredette. and performances by Heather Lynn (as Technopagan), Heather Marie and Darling as well as a performance by Meagan Fredette as the Sword Suit. Oh and video by Sara Crow of No Future Films!

Facebook event page:

https://www.facebook.com/events/240704622789574/?notif_t=plan_user_joined

Hope to see you all there!

Lydia (Lunch),In the event that I don’t hand this to you in person, I was the mermaid in the audience. I’m a freak. An alien. I think from another dimension, I’m a lost mythology. A sailor caught me and threw me back in the ocean with the rest of the trash and dead fish a long time ago. But, I’m a survivor. I believe in my own magick. I will thrive on Earth.Your work-Paradoxia, Memory and Madness in particular, changed my life. I saw you in 2008 (or 2009?) at the Empty Bottle. I was a little goth girl with bobbed hair and a bat shaped backpack. You said, “you wish you had done it, but I did it first.” I cried. Because I thought it was true for me. I was 21.I’m 26 now and I found myself, my own way, I idolize you, but I no longer want to be my idols. I want to be one-and I will be.I love you and I honor your majestic place in this world.-Morgan

Lydia (Lunch),

In the event that I don’t hand this to you in person, I was the mermaid in the audience. I’m a freak. An alien. I think from another dimension, I’m a lost mythology. A sailor caught me and threw me back in the ocean with the rest of the trash and dead fish a long time ago. But, I’m a survivor. I believe in my own magick. I will thrive on Earth.

Your work-Paradoxia, Memory and Madness in particular, changed my life. I saw you in 2008 (or 2009?) at the Empty Bottle. I was a little goth girl with bobbed hair and a bat shaped backpack. You said, “you wish you had done it, but I did it first.” I cried. Because I thought it was true for me. I was 21.

I’m 26 now and I found myself, my own way, I idolize you, but I no longer want to be my idols. I want to be one-and I will be.

I love you and I honor your majestic place in this world.
-Morgan

Were all the Goddesses man-made? Was Pagan history written by man, like all the history books?

When we stop looking backwards, when we stop idealizing creations outside of our own realm of given consciousness we can look forward, we can create from our own personal wells. 

Sarah asked a question last night. A question that skewed my recently skewed perspective, it was a question that brought years of studying ancient art flooding back to the forefront of my critical mind-it was a question and an answer. An answer to my question: Why is Aphrodite so cruel to women?

She asked, do you think Goddesses were figures created by men, for the sake of objectification? Were they fetishized ideals of women? Unrealistic standards to hold Earth women to? (Was the Venus of Willendorf a buttplug? I’m kidding…kind of)

Yes.

I think of Venus in Furs, the statue of Aphrodite, donned with Wanda’s fur coat, Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch would long for. He created Wanda in her image, an impossible image that lead to ultimate dissatisfaction and role reversal. Physically, that is. 

Aphrodite is so cruel to women because she was created by men, to remind women that they will never be made “right.”

Studying the High Priestess has been disheartening in many ways. In realizing she is yet another impossible archetype for women-virginal, motherly, loyal, untouchable-yet she is the archetype for the ideal women in most readings, historically. What about her lower emotions? 

Lower emotions are not “low,” they are carnal, they are of the Earth, they are female and male. Sexual.

The Empress, a sexual being, takes the burden. 

We create our own Goddesses, in the women we are, in the women we know, in the Earth women we have followed and admired. 

I was afraid of equality because I thought my magick would disappear, or it would become a male magick. Men hold their magick within-in the upper chambers of the mind, they are intellectual and logical. Women have their magick in their bodies, we are sensual, we feel. I say men and women as male and female-which is a non-commitment to biological sex. Souls don’t care about your genitals. Like the High Priestess, we cannot access our true powers without the balance of masculine and feminine. It is our Divine unity. Polarities-s a d o m a s o c h i s m



Goddesses live within us, among us, and through creativity we connect with the higher power that makes us whole. 

(High Priestess illustration by yours truly) 

Were all the Goddesses man-made? Was Pagan history written by man, like all the history books?

When we stop looking backwards, when we stop idealizing creations outside of our own realm of given consciousness we can look forward, we can create from our own personal wells. 

Sarah asked a question last night. A question that skewed my recently skewed perspective, it was a question that brought years of studying ancient art flooding back to the forefront of my critical mind-it was a question and an answer. An answer to my question: Why is Aphrodite so cruel to women?

She asked, do you think Goddesses were figures created by men, for the sake of objectification? Were they fetishized ideals of women? Unrealistic standards to hold Earth women to? (Was the Venus of Willendorf a buttplug? I’m kidding…kind of)

Yes.

I think of Venus in Furs, the statue of Aphrodite, donned with Wanda’s fur coat, Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch would long for. He created Wanda in her image, an impossible image that lead to ultimate dissatisfaction and role reversal. Physically, that is. 

Aphrodite is so cruel to women because she was created by men, to remind women that they will never be made “right.”

Studying the High Priestess has been disheartening in many ways. In realizing she is yet another impossible archetype for women-virginal, motherly, loyal, untouchable-yet she is the archetype for the ideal women in most readings, historically. What about her lower emotions? 

Lower emotions are not “low,” they are carnal, they are of the Earth, they are female and male. Sexual.

The Empress, a sexual being, takes the burden. 

We create our own Goddesses, in the women we are, in the women we know, in the Earth women we have followed and admired. 

I was afraid of equality because I thought my magick would disappear, or it would become a male magick. Men hold their magick within-in the upper chambers of the mind, they are intellectual and logical. Women have their magick in their bodies, we are sensual, we feel. I say men and women as male and female-which is a non-commitment to biological sex. Souls don’t care about your genitals. Like the High Priestess, we cannot access our true powers without the balance of masculine and feminine. It is our Divine unity. Polarities-s a d o m a s o c h i s m

Goddesses live within us, among us, and through creativity we connect with the higher power that makes us whole. 

(High Priestess illustration by yours truly) 

I put on this bra and red lipstick for the first time in over a year. I wanted to take a private photo for a lover.

I used to wear this bra, and these lips, every day. 

I think about the plastic woman, the fetish object, the patent leather goddess. I never felt so disconnected from her in my life. When I did, I was disconnected from my self.

When I looked at myself in the mirror my eyes welled up with tears. My eyes are filled with tears while I write this and I think about myself, looking this way, because it is not me. It isn’t anyone-she isn’t anyone, and she never was. She was an object, she was for sale.

I never think about my time as a dominatrix as a time I regret. But I do often think about how I was viewed by men. As a means to an end. Not human, and that followed through with my connections with other men. 

This image of women makes me feel uneasy sometimes, though I aesthetically love it. The plastic princess wasn’t viewed as a being with a soul. I struggle to connect Goddess with such a notion of emptiness and availability. 

I have a lot to say about this, about experiences I’ve had in this bra, I have a lot to say about how it feels to be an object. But I don’t want to ruin the beauty of simple aesthetics, the appreciation of such an artistic expression, so genuine-and in it’s original incarnation, she was so pure. The first time I put on fake leather and painted lips I was 12. 

I wanted to be viewed this way, and after so many years of experience I want to cover myself in fresh flowers and I want to be drenched in water. 

I put on this bra and red lipstick for the first time in over a year. I wanted to take a private photo for a lover.

I used to wear this bra, and these lips, every day. 

I think about the plastic woman, the fetish object, the patent leather goddess. I never felt so disconnected from her in my life. When I did, I was disconnected from my self.

When I looked at myself in the mirror my eyes welled up with tears. My eyes are filled with tears while I write this and I think about myself, looking this way, because it is not me. It isn’t anyone-she isn’t anyone, and she never was. She was an object, she was for sale.

I never think about my time as a dominatrix as a time I regret. But I do often think about how I was viewed by men. As a means to an end. Not human, and that followed through with my connections with other men. 

This image of women makes me feel uneasy sometimes, though I aesthetically love it. The plastic princess wasn’t viewed as a being with a soul. I struggle to connect Goddess with such a notion of emptiness and availability. 

I have a lot to say about this, about experiences I’ve had in this bra, I have a lot to say about how it feels to be an object. But I don’t want to ruin the beauty of simple aesthetics, the appreciation of such an artistic expression, so genuine-and in it’s original incarnation, she was so pure. The first time I put on fake leather and painted lips I was 12. 

I wanted to be viewed this way, and after so many years of experience I want to cover myself in fresh flowers and I want to be drenched in water.