I am...a New Yorker

[Previous entry: "Never Gong to Sleep Agan"]

Monday, October 22, 2001
The Answer to the Question

Margaret Cho, live.

At the diversity of her fanbase -- gay, lesbian, Asian, femnist and then some.

We are family!

"Perhaps ... I am the face of one of your fears. Because I am a woman, because I am Black, because I am a lesbian, because I am myself -- a Black woman warrior poet dong my work -- come to ask you, are you dong yours?"

-Audre Lorde

Of my one-woman show. I told Tavia she's on the list -- none of this sweatng it out at will-call busness. That goes for Fang, Dorothy, Jen, Jade, Fabulana and any Heartless Bitch out there. Except Madonna, 'cause she can afford it, yo.

Jane Duvall, by happy accident.

Jane is yummy!

My screen with the Six Feet Under screen saver:

happy, bouncng coffn

You've really gotta love an animated, happy, bouncng coffn.

I am...the Revolution.

Every time I strut down the street as if up the catwalk, every time I fuck with wild abandon, every time I thnk I'm just as good/human/worthy as someone thnner/prettier/whiter, every time I enjoy the luscious expanse of my thighs, every time I defend my person by any means necessary, every time I refuse to shut up, every time I write here, every time I tell the stories my life has been threatened for tellng, every time I choose to love nstead of hate myself, every time I don't back down, every time I refuse to be a good girl and keep my troublesome ideas to myself, every time I fight the good fight.

I am dong it for you as much as myself. I am standng up for ndividuality and aganst hate. I am chippng away at the great wall that needlessly divides us.

This wall of which I speak does not benefit you and I. You and I do not profit from war, the diet ndustry, make-up sales or any other big busness.

I remember speakng to Dorothy after the attacks and I told her the thng of it is, they don't know Jackson. "They don't know Dorothy," I said, "or they could not help but love you." You don't see Osama bn Laden himself flyng a plane nto anythng.

I cannot help but love it if you agree with me. But even if you don't, whatever you do, don't be a tool of the cowardly, egomaniacal forces that want you to hate me because I am an American, a woman, biracial, black, white, agnostic, a New Yorker, brilliant, a spnster, fat, bald, tall, right-handed or some combnation thereof. Fuck them!

Inspired by the comedic stylngs of the Notorious [Margaret] Cho.

. . .

I am...watchng a special on the World Trade Center. It was recorded n January and March.

Some of the people talkng about how the buildng works (worked, I mean -- it's hard to learn to use the past tense) are missng. The man who washed the wndows, the one who ran the air conditionng system, the one (Frank DeMartne) quite ironically positng that the buildngs could survive multiple 707 plane crashes. (Indeed, it survived the crashes, it was the heat generated by the fuel that destroyed the buildngs).

I wonder -- were they the great Satan?

I am...still convncng myself it's gone -- there's still no way to fathom it, this place I went so many times, where I got lost, where I had lunch, at whose Gap I bought the slippers with the snowflakes that I threw out just before I moved back here, n whose elevator I got naseous, where my friend Ken took me on my first trip to New York, where I took Fang on her visit, from which I took pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge, on whose roof I took my precious little brother with nary a worry.

It seems like a dream and now we're n the nightmare.

[Next entry: "Rememberng a New York Moment"]
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