Anne Agnes

someone poured scotch into tiny crystal glasses

dropped in a small abyss

and made her eyes


her hair is wire

spiked and dangerous


(possibly electric) 


she looks right at me and does not see me

it’s ok

if she saw me I’d just

stop like a traffic light and

turn red


things move on

I’ve never been so grateful

to get back to my life.

Use wooden chopsticks to get stuck toast out of the toaster.

Or plastic ones, but never metal ones. Wood and plastic are insulators and you won’t get zapped.

So I’m as white as plain rice or bleached flour, and I was raised in the 80’s in a conservative New England town. But we had a math teacher who was Indian, and she wore the sarong (saree?) and the bindi and I thought she was amazingly beautiful. And ever since I’ve thought, sarongs are gorgeous, and the women who wear them are so graceful and stylish, as I wore jeans and sweaters and combat boots. 

So today I found this website and wanted to share what I saw there, ebcause these are stunning, dramatic, flowing, gorgeous, feminine, powerful dresses.  

I see ombre and greek and Japanese design elements, honeycomb and snakeskin, colors like the ocean and colors like a jungle pond. This is the modern world.

All wars are rich men’s wars
How else do you expect to buy
The guns to fight them?
Guns cost money.
All wars are rich men’s wars but
That does not mean they are not worthwhile
That fighting them is wrong
That the cause is not just.
All wars are rich men’s wars
Blood and gold have ever been
Bound together
Your life has a set price.
All wars are rich men’s wars
You might as well burn money as shoot bullets
Might as well fire coins out of cannons
And into the bodies of the poor.
All wars are poor men’s wars
Because nobody else must go
Throw away the flowers and songs of life
For the hearing loss and infection
Of the battlefield.

Listen up.

I don’t care what your gender is or your religion or your skin color or anything. Every part of you belongs to you.

Your hair belongs to you. Style it how you choose, professionally or a home cut, dye it or leave it plain - it’s yours. Nobody tells you what to do with it. You accept the consequences of it - but it belongs to you.

Your face belongs to you. Wear makeup, get a sunburnt nose, get plastic surgery, moisturize - it belongs to you.

Your body belongs to you. Nobody has any right to touch you against your will. If you have agreed to a tacit social contract between friends that handshakes and hugs are ok, that’s you saying that contact is ok - but if you ever say “I don’t want to be touched today” that is your right. If you don’t ever want physical contact with anyone ever again that’s your choice. If you want to spend every day hugging people - well, make sure they agree, and do it. It’s your choice.

If you as an adult want to have sex, go for it (with the other person’s consent). You accept the consequences of sex with regards to emotions and physical risks, but it’s your right to choose to be open to having sex. If conversely you do not want to have sex - that’s also your right, absolute and inviolable. If you want to be a monk for the rest of your life nobody can or should force you to change that.

Your knees and shins and toes belong to you. Your fingernails and bellybutton belong to you. Nobody has a right to touch them unless you say yes, and if you say no, they have to stop and respect that. Paint your nails, get a tattoo, get a piercing, be plain-skinned and unadorned. This is your decision and yours alone.


Now I know that this does not always happen in real life and we don’t want to make a fuss out of every unwelcome shoulder-slap and too-long handshake we encounter in this world. But this is the baseline you start from. This is the fundamental truth of your body that you must always begin from, every morning you wake up, every night you go to sleep:

Every part of you belongs to you.

(Remember, remember that the inverse is also true: every part of every other person on this planet belongs to them, and you have no right to touch so much as their hair without their consent.)

I know it’s a 404 link. I know it’s written in cyrrilic and I don’t understand a word of it. I know they’re singing in Russian and Romanian and I don’t understand a word of that either. I don’t care. It’s awesome. 

MCU Trauma Symposium: GOTG and the misfit as refugee



All the reviews of Guardians of the Galaxy mention the “ragtag band of misfits” trope, but none of them seem to have noticed how political this movie is. Not that it’s especially allegorical or polemical, it’s not. This is not a movie about how politics is, could be, or ought to be practiced, which is good, because I hate that kind of movie. Instead, despite the epic scale, this is a much smaller movie, about the effects of political trauma on individual life.

When you hear “band of misfits,” you assume you’re going to get some combination of fuckups and weirdos, and GOTG certainly delivers. They’re all different colors and species, engaged in variously illegal activities, with levels of merriment ranging from “stonefaced” to “maniacal.” But to stop there would be to miss the most important part. The emotional core of everyone on the team comes from their origin stories, which are: abducted from home by mercenaries, coerced into service of same; family killed by invading attackers; family killed by invading attackers, then coerced into service of same; abducted from home (or synthesized?) by shadowy experimenters and coerced into experiments in service of same; and Groot, whose origins are unclear but who is completely alone, except for Rocket.

These are not “dropped out of state school because I was partying too hard” stories, despite the lazy jokes about Quill sleeping around. These are stories of political violence and disenfranchisement. Our heroes belong not to the social category of fuckups but to a political category: refugees. By the time the movie starts, they’re a long way from being innocents, but those trajectories all started with being rendered helpless and alone. “Life takes more than it gives”: it’s taken their communities, their families, their autonomy.

This movie is about what it means to make something new for yourself, after what you have is taken. Petty larceny doesn’t cut it, grand larceny doesn’t cut it, even vengeance doesn’t cut it. There are only two things that really help: making your own family, and giving a shit, which turn out to be pretty close to the same thing.

Our heroes belong not to the social category of fuckups but to a political category: refugees.

Dear Kindle: A “read around the cat” option would be nice, where you designate a portion of the screen temporarily unusable due to extenuating circumstances. 
Love, Anne

Dear Kindle: 

A “read around the cat” option would be nice, where you designate a portion of the screen temporarily unusable due to extenuating circumstances.