Forgetting will not be mistaken for forgiving
This week I’ve been thinking a lot about amnesia, compulsively reading about the different ways our minds are bludgeoned — by objects, by tumors, by alcohol, by other humans — and renders itself incomplete.
This amnesia manifests in all kinds of insidious ways. Sometimes we can’t remember what has happened — huge bites have been taken from our mind-cake. Sometimes we can’t forge new memories — you’ll never remember how delicious that cake is.
And sometimes we’ve been through so much — violence, fear, betrayal — that our brains take a bite out of themselves. They find the places of pain that have grown unbearable and try to forget them on our own behalf.
But what’s most interesting to me in all of this is the dialogue between imagining and forgetting. In truth, both feel predicated on possibility. Imagining lances all kinds of psychological blisters.
Adults happily pretend they can forge the future. Self-help books insist that the Universe sees your pining and just might bend to your will.
But isn’t forgetting also a kind of imagining?
And I guess I am wondering if there are things we can try and forget. (Which is not to be mistaken for forgiveness.) Are there heavy, awful things we carry inside ourselves that can’t be solved and would be best left heaved on a shore on a shoal far far away?
Can we imagine a place without that pain?
I’m trying to be lighter, trying to be more intentional about the weight I bear and carry. Can we help with your load?
With love + rage,
Co-founder | Creative Director
By Eleven Goothius
Where so many horror films use disability as a cover for or diversion from the supernatural, Hereditary is both part of a tradition of films that use horror to explore mental illness as lived phenomenon and part of a recent wave of body horror films that redefine the imagery of the genre.
Mental illness in horror is madness; not madness in the way that the word has been re-appropriated by, for example, a variety of groups and movements that have used the moniker “Mad Pride” in celebration of mental illness, but in the (arguably related) sensational, exploitative sense, preceding scientist or doctor: madness as the horrorization of disability.
THE ESTABLISHMENT HAS BIG F*$@-ING NEWS…
In just a little over three weeks, we’ll be migrating off of Medium and back onto Wordpress where we can all grow bigger, brighter, and more beautifully rage-ful together.
WE. CAN’T. WAIT.
There’s gonna be a tasty treat for our members as well so — STAY TUNED — for more good news.
By Rebekah Rodriguez-Lynn
Let other white people swallow every lie in the press about Latinx immigrants. White Americans work side by side with Latinx immigrants, both documented and undocumented, in restaurants every single day. There is no plausible deniability for them. They know undocumented immigrants aren’t choosing to be undocumented. They know that America needs them, exploits them, and persecutes them.
Bourdain’s loyalty and willingness to tell the truth didn’t end with humanizing immigrants. He also demanded real solutions from the people showering him with awards and television shows.
Bourdain didn’t just ask for loyalty, he returned it.
The following is an excerpt from, ‘She Called Me Woman — Nigeria’s Queer Women Speak’:
“I remember trying so hard to pray away the gay. It might have even been my sole aim in hajj. I would include it in salat, during tawaf around the Kaaba, during my walks on Safa to Marwa, and it was my consistent prayer when I stood on Mount Arafat.
I prayed every day, deeply, sincerely, that I would no longer be in love with girls, that I would no longer be a lesbian. I wanted nothing more than to be straight, to meet a man, fall in love with him, get married and have a family. I just wanted to fit in, to be a good daughter, to be a good Muslim.”