Venus Speaks is going on a brief hiatus until I can work out these technical issues. Thank you for reading so far & I hope to be back soon.

My hands are small but they’re stretched wide
Like a spider’s net and
They’re trembling like tissue paper
So I don’t notice your stares

No, you can’t know what’s wrong with me
It would take years to explain and honestly
I feel way too old

To compromise.
I could use the word atrophy
But that’s such a vague word
For such an old friend.

For now, why don’t you
Leave me and my friend Atrophy be
This crip girl
Prefers the quiet to questions.

WordPress & I are having some serious problems: For some reason, my home laptop will not allow me to access the page neccessary to write a new post. I’ve tried everything. Yet for some reason, WordPress is persistantly denying me the ability to post.

It’s only WordPress I’m having a problem with. I can access any other website on my home internet connection. (I stopped by the campus library to post this.) I don’t know what to do about it.

Also, my custom header image dissappeared for no reason that I know of.

But putting the technical problems aside, there are other reasons I haven’t been meeting my regular schedule. For one, it’s finals week (and I feel so woefully under-prepared I could cry). For three (and it’s a very big three), my chronic pain condition has been causing complete chaos.

I’m going to try my best to get back on track, as always.

If you aren’t already a regular reader of the blog Sweet Perdition, I urge you to go read Tera’s latest entry, No Words. It’s a courageous piece that reminds us the face of abuse is far from one-dimensional.

It’s My Favorites Monday, and I’d like to highlight: Queer Zine Lit.

What It Offers:
Manifestos - soap box talk from free form expression to essays
Free Verse
News Headlines
Message Board
Artwork
Links & Resources - on LGBT issues, fat acceptance movement, sexual freedom, racial diversity,  and disability

What It’s Like:
“Identities are multiple. Identities are complex. And while we often are asked to check off the boxes that define us, identity is not easily caged. QueerZineLit challenges the status quo notion that we must assimilate to succeed. At the same time, QZL recognizes inevitable overlap between communities. The key is to examine what privilege we possess and discover ways we can become allies for each other.”

Why I Picked It:
I find myself thinking back to the manifesto written by Jessica Gird, “Female Masculinity  and Shame Amongst Lesbians”. Female masculinity is a topic I have a mild obsession about. As I mentioned when I highlighted Sophia Wallace’s photography, I have a love affair with masculine women. But there’s more to it than that… I cannot quite word it yet, but I think it’s something that merits another entry further on down the line.

Today is my birthday, and I consider it a wonderful present that I recently won the Excellent Blog Award from lastcrazyhorn over at Odd One Out.

In the tradition of the award (originally started by Shannon at the Mommy Project), I now must pick ten others to bestow it upon. However, I’m going to bend the rules a little and just pick five. ; )

In alphabetical order:

Abyss2Hope. This blog was started by writer and novelist Marcella Chester, who persevered through a traumatic rape with courage and determination. My recent posts have been in part inspired by her frankness and openness.

Cripcrick’s Weblog. Okay, lastcrazyhorn mentioned her too, but I couldn’t help it. Her blog is that great. Take a look at her recent poem, The Disability Experience, to see her gift with words.

Judgesnineteen’s Girly Thoughts. I think this feminist blog is phenomenal! Every post is high quality and thought provoking. Check out the entry Dear Googlers to witness her wicked humor.

Tera’s Sweet Perdition. Video game reviews AND disability chatter in the same blog? For me, total heaven. For a taste of her style, read one of her recent posts, Hard Parts.

Nolittlelolita. I found her blog through Feministe. This is one fierce young woman who is making her own way as a feminist and as a writer. I recommend her most recent post regarding feminism and gaming, The Sliding Scale of Gaming.

This post is a continuation of the same theme found in my poem, A Piece of Fruit. I wrote it in honor of April being Sexual Assault Awareness month.

I used to think rape was about desire.
I know better now.

I know better now because as a queer crip my body has never been the subject of steamy gossip or longing glances. Sure, on my ‘good’ days I can almost pass - almost - as able-bodied, and therefore ‘attractive’. I’ve been told on numerous occasions that my slender body is beautiful and that my eyes are piercing.

But there are enough ‘bad’ days that I know I could never pass. On those days, my hands shake, little miniature tremors rattling my fingers. On these days, my gait is uneven and my limp is pronounced; the brace on my leg seems to dig further into my skin with each step. On these days, the hemiplegia seems stronger than ever, and I cannot help but feel as if the right side of my body is fading slowly away, like an old memory.

I never thought that I would be the one in that 1-in-4 statistic. How could I be, when my classmates looked at me with eyes brimming with pity? How could I be, when no one wanted to take me to prom? How could I be, when I stayed with the geek crowd and away from the bad boys with their souped up trucks and condom-stuffed wallets?

I wasn’t aware back then that sexual assault isn’t about sex, or mini-skirts, or ‘raging’ hormones, or too much booze and making ‘mistakes’. It’s about power. It’s about control.

Looking back on the dark memory of my first sexual assault, I can see that need for power within my assailants. They wanted to humble me, the obstinate queer crip who didn’t want anything to do with them. They wanted to boost their own egos by saying that they fucked the town lezzie. They wanted the honor of converting a self-proclaimed queer.

Looking back, I can remember how paralyzed I was, how helpless I felt as their hands dove into my clothes and mapped out my body. I remember that the dominant fear possessing my mind was that they would notice the indicators of my CP, rather than the fear of getting hurt. At the time that was the most secret part of my identity, and I did not want it taken by a group of men that considered my body to be a conquest.

After all this time I still remember their hands, their breath, their words. Often these things visit me in nightmares. Sometimes the healing process seems never-ending, and I am left thinking that I will never feel the safety I did before.

But I am hopeful.

Don’t
Push the button, you tell me
I look down at its red surface:
dial-a-nurse
I listen, but I want
to keep pushing - keep pushing! -
Until someone realizes the state we’re in

“Another girl came in, her girlfriend sat beside her -”
says the nurse, talking, - talking -
We are so quiet
I nod but wonder - girl friend or girlfriend?
You look so out of place in that crib of a bed

Girlfriend - lover - most definitely not my girl friend
I hold your hand light brown like the fields I grew up in
With wheat colored fingers,
So tight we form a full circle.

The medication has soothed you but
terror stills runs through my body
at the thought - the thought - of your disappearance.
My mind started running with my feet
I had to catch that ambulance

I think about
Your clay-colored eyes that speak - creation! -
Lips with the softest words I’ve ever heard
Endless nights with crumpled bedsheets and laughter
And kitchen smells
Of adobo and pansit

Today is my partner’s birthday. Last Sunday I had to take her to the hospital, so it is in fact a happy birthday to see her well.

I also wrote this poem to recognize the fact that we often don’t realize how tenuous these relationships really are - how easily threatened by time and health.

The assaults.
Assault? What assault?
My brain asks.
It just keeps repeating the word:
Assault assault assault assault assault all the way into the distance.

My throat hurts. My chest hurts.
The gigantic weight of what I have to say
Feels awkward in my throat,
Like I swallowed a piece of  fruit -
I am choking.

I have choked before,
And it was in some ways much like this.
The way my eyes started to go black,
And the blood was pounding in my head,
Pounding.

I feel a bit shy about posting this, but I want to get out of my comfort zone.

I’ve been having a few problems with WordPress…among them being it’s tendency to publish drafts without the addition of any editing done after the save…it did this earlier and I had to delete the post… Publishing from a computer other than my laptop, I don’t seem to have these problems…

Anyway… a quick post to focus myself in these hectic last days of the semester!:

Mission Statement of the Venus Speaks blog:
My goal with Venus Speaks is to paint a picture of what it means, on an individual and broader societal level, to be a queer, disabled woman. This will be accomplished by sharing relevant information and anecdotes from my day to day life.

Posting schedule:
Current decision - Consistently Mondays & Fridays, other days if applicable

Upcoming Blog Features:
Monday - becoming ‘My Favorites’ Monday. Sharing Sophia Wallace’s Bois and Dykes project with a few of my friends elicited more enthusiasm than I expected! I thought it might be a good idea to make it a regular feature. I’d like to use My Favorites Monday to keep track of new things I’ve found and liked, and hot topics/ discussions capturing my attention at the moment.

New pages - Links, Projects.