Category Archives: Great Stories Online

December Links Roundup: Trans of Green Gables

The Last Round-Up (1934) - IMDb

Last one of the year! Has 2025 seemed to anyone else like it lasted 1,000 years?

Anne of Green Gables fans have been queering the title character’s passionate friendship with bestie Diana for a long time, but do you know about her genderqueer son Walter? In this essay at the Canadian Broadcasting Company’s CBC Arts website, “In Anne of Green Gables, I found the kindred spirits and queer prophets I needed,” Julia Smeaton takes a deep dive into the sequels.

Just like Anne, Walter was creative, upstanding and judged for being overly sensitive to both beauty and horror.

To the characters in 1900s Prince Edward Island, Walter’s unconventional masculinity was a problem that needed fixing. Anne didn’t see it that way, and it seemed Montgomery didn’t either.

As an imaginative and sneakily morbid kid, I saw myself in Anne’s fevered affection for Diana Barry and related to her fear that growing up would irreparably change their friendship. I liked that she kept Gilbert hanging for so long, even when society pressured her to accept his proposal.

Similarly, Una Meredith’s love for Walter is unrequited, and he simply doesn’t grow out of his passion for poetry. When he confesses to his younger sister that he feels he should’ve been born a girl, I was reminded of Anne arriving at Green Gables when the Cuthberts were expecting a boy…

…In the spring of 1942, Montgomery wrote The Blythes Are Quoted — a disturbing, bleak collection of short stories, poetry and dialogue involving murder, infidelity, antipathy and deception.

One of the lighter stories, The Cheated Child, set when the Blythe children are still young, is about a neglected orphan named Pat who feels a “strange kinship” with Walter. Pat’s aunt does not approve of the boys’ friendship and calls Walter a sissy. Pat, in turn, feels “that he loved Walter Blythe with all his heart.”

Walter was my favorite character in the later, lesser-known books about Anne’s children. I was crushed when he died in World War I at the end of Rilla of Ingleside, a weak entry in the series (in my opinion) because of its advocacy for that war. Author L.M. Montgomery had a complex life with personal tragedies and mental health struggles, leading her to create those sensitive outsider characters that we love. Her prolific fiction is touched with a realistic darkness alongside its cozy settings and sentimental endings.

I think Walter Blythe would have appreciated this poetic fable about the short life of the Luna moth, “Seven Nights’ Flight,” written by Ann Collins on her blog Microseasons. I learned from this piece that the moth only has a week to live and find a mate once it emerges from the chrysalis.

Moth cannot fly. He hangs beneath a Hickory leaf, feeling time bearing down on him the way a candle consumes its own height. His caterpillar hunger still churns, but he has no mouth now. No means to add one more hour to his life. The fuse continues to burn, even at rest.

Beneath his leafy shelter, beetles climb up from the wet darkness. They’ve come to keep vigil with him. Moth of Green Fire, they ask, why do you burn without moving?

My wings only know how to spend themselves, he answers. And Beetles understand.

They also have invisible work—love that no one counts.

Laia Asieo Odo’s story “Where Memory Meets the Sea” was reprinted at Electric Literature from the new anthology We Will Rise Again: Speculative Stories and Essays on Protest, Resistance, and Hope. In this painful but uplifting story, citizens of a war-torn country are made to forget their lost loved ones and the violence that took them, but recover the knowledge temporarily when they are in the water. Going to the sea becomes an act of defiance and faith. The conceit reminded me of how Israel cuts off Palestinians’ access to the sea, preventing them from catching fish for food and livelihood, at the same time as opponents of the genocide are being silenced by false accusations of antisemitism.

On that note, I appreciated Josina Manu Maltzman’s essay “Protective Presence in the West Bank,” which won the Plentitudes Prize for Nonfiction. The author was part of a team of Jewish volunteers shielding Palestinian shepherds from abuse by Israeli soldiers in Masafer Yatta.

This shepherd and his brother Mosab live on the edge of the village, closest to the encroaching Israeli settlement Ma’on. I’ve spent many hours with Mosab. His accounts are disturbing. Around ten years ago the settlers laid out poison in the fields where he grazes his sheep, killing many, along with wild animals who also ate the poison. Then last year, settlers broke all the legs of the sheep in his neighbor’s flock, killing them. This finally drove out his neighbor. One settler told Mosab, “If I see someone open the gate to your sheep, I will kill them all.”

…This whole area of Masafer Yatta is only about twelve square miles and is comprised of twenty Palestinian villages. The region is considered Area C, which means that Israel has legal jurisdiction over it. Near the end of 1999, Masafer Yatta was declared a closed military zone and Israel began imposing eviction orders to all the families who had been there for generations. At the same time, Israeli settlements—open only to Jews and illegal under international law—began expanding in the closed area.

The residents of Masafer Yatta have banded together to fight the eviction in the courts, and to try to stave off settler expansion into their lands by refusing to leave. During this over-twenty-year-long court battle, the residents have been denied permission to build on their lands: no wells, no additions, no improvements. The Israeli military regularly issues demolition orders on people’s homes, livestock pens, solar panels—anything that is part of day-to-day living for this community’s way of life—while at the same time settlements with pools and playgrounds grow and grow.

With the Epstein Files in the news, Jewish Currents re-shared this 2019 article by Ari M. Brostoff and Noah Kulwin, “The Right Kind of Continuity: Jeffrey Epstein and the sexual politics of Jewish philanthropy”. Their thesis is that mainstream American Jewish nonprofits, largely male-led, have emphasized a patriarchal, pro-natalist kind of intergenerational Jewish continuity. Such organizations are then not well-positioned to call out sexism among their big donors: “the Jewish philanthropic world’s own ongoing attempts to engineer reproductive behavior within the community have deeply stultified its sexual politics.” I learned from this article that Victoria’s Secret founder Leslie Wexner was both a major Jewish philanthropist and a close associate of Epstein.

The demographer Steven M. Cohen, who produced countless statistical reports on the community at the behest of the donor class, liked to put it bluntly: if institutions wanted American Jewish life to continue, they would have to prioritize the goals of “creating more Jewish marriages and filling more Jewish baby carriages.”

Feminist critiques of continuity discourse have become increasingly audible within the mainstream Jewish world, intensifying last year after Cohen himself was accused of serial sexual harassment. “How surprised can we be that a man whose entire worldview hinged on women having more babies turned out to have no respect for women when it came to personal sexual boundaries?” the writer Rokhl Kafrissen asked in the Forward.

Meanwhile, D.L. Mayfield and Krispin Mayfield have a relevant series on their blog Strongwilled about the similarities between Christian purity culture and pedophiles’ self-justifying belief systems.

On her Substack, Feminist Killjoys, philosopher Sara Ahmed returned to a fairy tale that has become iconic for her work, “The Willful Child” by the Brothers Grimm. This Teutonic authoritarian fable tells of a child who was so disobedient that her dead hand reached out of her grave and would not rest until her mother had given her hand the beating she deserved. Ahmed has reclaimed this story as an image of continuing to protest injustice.

The arm inherits the willfulness of the child insofar as it will not be kept down, insofar as it keeps coming up, acquiring a life of its own, even after the death of the body of which it is a part.

Willfulness involves persistence in the face of having been brought down, where simply to “keep going” or to “keep coming up” is to be stubborn and obstinate.

Mere persistence can be an act of disobedience.

That’s why there is nothing mere about persistence.

The most persistent people in my email inbox don’t actually exist. Humorist Daniel Lavery speaks for me when he writes, “The Worst Part About Publishing a Book in 2025 Is the New Kind of Spam.” AI has made it possible for bad actors to turn out fake book club solicitations that momentarily raise your hopes that someone read your book:

Once I see the email is signed “Curator Miracle,” sent from “el*************@***il.com,” or contains a sentence like “It’s both a celebration and a diagnosis of community” I know where I’m at, of course, but those five seconds make all the difference in the world. I don’t yet have a protective spam filter for someone emailing me to say that they just reread something of mine. It’s not that AI has made spam emails significantly better, but they do read significantly differently, especially at first glance, and it’s taking me just long enough to catch on that I’m reliably devastated a few times a week.

And they’re negging me! They’re hinting darkly about how other people just don’t understand Women’s Hotel, which has led them to feel sorry for me and want to unleash their bot army (of “40 new, deeply considered responses which reframe how readers engaged with the work”)…

And now, here are some good poems and stories that I’m pretty sure came from real human brains.

The great and powerful Ariana Reines, occultist and feminist poet, has a poem from her newest collection The Rose (Graywolf Press, 2025) at Poetry Daily, “The Hanged Man”:

After lust comes meditation
After love, hallucination

Not all of us seek the same thing
When we kneel here, & “that has to be

Okay”
Like when I fisted X at the mini golf

Course at Mount Sodom campground
Which he chose, of course, for its name
…

I loved the formal inventiveness of “Poem Wedged into the Brittlebush or Poem That Eats What Happened” by Anna Flores, a prizewinner at Frontier Poetry. She uses repetition to break down and rewrite the story of her brother’s death in battle, mimicking how the bereaved family might obsessively pick apart a memory to make sense of it, in vain.

At The Masters Review, Annesha Mitha’s short story “Valedictorian” depicts a 14-year-old Indian girl’s self-initiation into the contradictions of womanhood, with a decision that brings her closer to understanding her traditional mother, while opening a fault line between herself and her best friend. The competitiveness and uncomfortable power differentials between the girls felt really true to my experience of friendship at that age.

The Missouri Review’s online Blast featured these humorous and angsty flash pieces from Crockett Doob, “Social Media Proxy” and “Lukewarm Mess”. A taste of the latter:

Three guys sitting around a table, talking about our love lives. We’d just left a group therapy about this and had been encouraged to bond after.

So here we were, bonding away, sitting in a cafeteria-like restaurant in Brooklyn, waiting for our food.

The new guy sat across from us. He was small, muscular, wearing a tank top to show off his arms. He told us about his ex, his heartbreak, how he was still in touch with her even though she was on another continent.

“I’m back on the apps,” he said. “But the apps suck.”

This was exactly what I feared when I started going to these groups: sitting in dark restaurants, listening to musclemen complain about the apps.

But who was I to judge? Just because I didn’t do the apps, I was no better. I was in my own pickle.

I also recommend these Missouri Review Poems of the Week by Bruce Bond, “Incursions of Light 13 and 14”.

Finally, enjoy Ally Ang’s “Autoerotic Abecedarian,” an alliterative amazement.

…Beneath the shawl of
darkness, I shape my flesh like a block of clay, all its
excess overflowing onto the sheets. The smooth
flat landscape of my chest ballooning with breath, teeth
grinding like derelict machinery. In the slick heat of
here, I become my self: an embodiment of purest
instinct.

 

November Links Roundup: DILFs, Zombies, and Lot’s Wife

The theme this month is that there is no theme.

My fellow midlife transitioner, Jude Ellison S. Doyle, has written an excellent new book with the waggish title of DILF: Did I Leave Feminism? (Penguin Random House, 2025) Part memoir-in-essays and part cultural criticism, DILF covers the fraught but inseparable relationship between transmasculine people and feminist movements. A prominent feminist cultural critic before his transition, Doyle found that his experience was erased or his credentials questioned in spaces he had once fought for, even while he remained subject to patriarchal oppression as a gender minority. The book weaves personal anecdotes with important reassessments of Second Wave thinkers, recovering a complex historical record that reveals the gender essentialism of contemporary TERFs as a deviation from the movement. Read an interview with him at Assigned Media, “Jude Doyle on Manhood After Patriarchy”:

I think that if we view feminism as the struggle of gender-marginalized people for bodily autonomy, rather than just calling these things “women’s issues,” then we make room for all trans people within feminism. We can state that the right to change sex is a bodily autonomy struggle. It is regulated in the same ways that things like abortion have historically been regulated. It is opposed by the same people. They really strongly want to link us to our reproductive anatomy and say that that defines us. That this is the only thing we can ever be, and that our lives essentially need to be run by it. Taking it to a bodily autonomy front leaves room for all trans people to participate, particularly transmasculine people.

I think it would also help tremendously if we recognize that sexual violence is routinely wielded against anyone who steps out of line within patriarchy. We have a really essentialized view of who a victim is and who a perpetrator is, and really often that leaves sexual violence survivors who aren’t young cis women out of the picture. It’s intensely harmful, when you look at the sheer rate of sexual violence in the trans community.

This essay on his blog, “DILF Redux: TERFs, Transmascs, and Two Steve Feminism,” is a good sample of the book’s arguments and his reasons for writing it.

Do I want to be seen as just another guy? Sometimes. Maybe. It would be a start. Does it make sense, sociologically, to interpret me as “a guy” in a way that implies a cis life history, dominance within patriarchy, or even just being seen and treated as a man on a daily basis? Not really. Yet most people who do this think they are affirming my gender — or, at least, they tell themselves they are.

There are two things I want to impart here, at the beginning of what threatens to be a long essay: First, your experience of gendered oppression is not necessarily about who you are. It’s about what people think you are, or what people have been primed to see when they look at you. Second: What cis people tell themselves they are doing, in regard to a trans person’s gender, is often very different than what they’ve done.

Award-winning poet and social media sage Richard Siken was recently the featured poet at Only Poems, with an interview and excerpts from his new collection of prose poems, I Do Know Some Things (Copper Canyon Press, 2025). Siken explains why he switched to this poetic form after suffering a stroke: “The line break is part of the lyric gesture. You can’t sing without a body. I didn’t have a body, not a reliable one.”

Around Halloween, Harvard Magazine’s website featured a 1986 article from its archives, “The Secrets of Haiti’s Living Dead”. It profiled anthropologist and ethnobotanist Wade Davis’ investigation of the science behind the zombie legend. He did in fact find a compound that, mixed with other ingredients, would slow a person’s metabolism enough that they appeared dead and were buried, later to be dug up and forced to work for the enemy who had poisoned them. But science alone didn’t explain the zombie phenomenon. The “resurrected” poison victims accepted their enslavement because of their shared social beliefs.

Davis was certain he had solved the mystery. But far from being the end of his investigation, identifying the poison was, in fact, its starting point. “The drug alone didn’t make zombies,” he explains. “Japanese victims of puffer-fish poisoning don’t become zombies, they become poison victims. All the drug could do was set someone up for a whole series of psychological pressures that would be rooted in the culture. I wanted to know why zombification was going on,” he says…

…Davis’s investigations uncovered the importance of the secret societies. These groups trace their origins to the bands of escaped slaves that organized the revolt against the French in the late eighteenth century. Open to both men and women, the societies control specific territories of the country. Their meetings take place at night, and in many rural parts of Haiti the drums and wild celebrations that characterize the gatherings can be heard for miles.

Davis believes the secret societies are responsible for policing their communities, and the threat of zombification is one way they maintain order. Says Davis, “Zombification has a material basis. but it also has a societal logic.” To the uninitiated, the practice may appear a random criminal activity, but in rural vodoun society, it is exactly the opposite—a sanction imposed by recognized authorities, a form of capital punishment. For rural Haitians. zombification is an even more severe punishment than death, because it deprives the subject of his most valued possessions: his free will and independence.

For other spooky news from my alma mater, check out this Harvard Magazine article on an exhibit of Edward Gorey’s drawings that ran at Houghton Library, the college’s rare books archive.

But for real-life horrors, it’s hard to beat the zombifying experience of a customer service phone call to a large corporation, as Ron Currie Jr. depicts in his short story “Conversations with Various Time Warner Cable Technical Support Reps, 8 p.m. to 3 a.m.” at MonkeyBicycle.

Me: I’m trying to figure out why I can’t get the HD broadcast of the basketball game.

TWCG: Let me check that for you.

Me: Thanks.

TWCG: …

Me: …

TWCG: I see here that you don’t have a set-top box.

Me: No.

TWCG: Well, to access those channels, you need the box.

Me: Even though those channels are included in the service I’m already paying for, and my television is perfectly capable of processing an HD signal on its own.

TWCG: You need to have the box to access those channels.

Me: Let me guess—you charge more for the box.

TWCG: Yes. It’s ten dollars a month.

Me: I have to say, it really bothers me that you’re pretending this is some kind of hardware issue. I mean, I already get the HD broadcasts of the major networks just fine. It’s not like my TV is a Trinitron, man.

TWCG: But the channels you’re trying to access require a set-top box.

Me: You can keep repeating the same thing if you like, but that doesn’t mean it makes any sense.

It only gets worse from there. Need something to read while you’re on hold? I highly recommend Currie’s mystery novel The Savage, Noble Death of Babs Dionne.

On a more upbeat note, programmer and social scientist Dave Guarino at Asterisk Mag explains “How to Make a Great Government Website” based on his redesign of California’s portal for accessing SNAP benefits. Many people who are entitled to government benefits don’t receive them, because of cumbersome and poorly designed application processes.

There are two other two big barriers I want to mention because I think they’re particularly relevant right now. First is the required interview. Most of the time it’s a phone call. Often they’ll call from a blocked number. They’ll send you a notice of when your interview is scheduled for, but this notice will sometimes arrive after the actual date of the interview. Most state agencies are really slammed right now for a bunch of reasons, including Medicaid unwinding. And many of the people assisting on Medicaid are the same workers who process SNAP applications. If you missed your phone interview, you have to call to reschedule it. But in many states, you can’t get through, or you have to call over and over and over again. For a lot of people, if they don’t catch that first interview call, they’re screwed and they’re not going to be approved.

The last one we mentioned was documents. This is a big reason why people get denied. You have to submit all the pay stubs for the prior 30 days. If you only submit one pay stub and it doesn’t cover the whole period, you’re gonna get denied. If you don’t submit ID for all the household members, you’re going to get denied. Then there’s all these complicated edge cases: “I’m homeless. How do I prove residency in this county and state?”

So there are three big categories of barriers. The application barrier, the interview barrier, and the document barrier. And that’s what we spent most of our time iterating on and building a system that could slowly learn about those barriers and then intervene against them.

Western Massachusetts publisher Perugia Press has been launching women poets’ careers since 1997. “Lot’s Wife,” an excerpt from their new release Apostasies by Holli Carrell, encapsulates her book’s feminist critique of Mormonism and all religion that sacrifices women’s and children’s welfare. “I don’t believe she looked back/in longing for a home that was never hers,” Carrell writes; “who honors the terms of a tyrant god?”

Novelist and political commentator A.R. Moxon (The Revisionaries) wrote a hard-hitting piece about the emptiness of bipartisan comity towards fascists, on his blog The Reframe: “Eventually You’re Going to Have to Stand for Something”. His immediate inspiration is NY Times pundit Ezra Klein’s suggestion that the late Charlie Kirk was “practicing politics the right way”.

I cannot get over the degree to which Klein’s response is emblematic of the politically empowered white liberal response to this age of autocratic fascist abuse and violence, in his predictable rightward instinct and in his seemingly impenetrable assumption that, even though he admits he has no idea what the solution to our present situation might be, he is still just the person to deliver a solution. And Klein is not just any talk-guy; like [Ben] Shapiro’s influence in Republican spheres, Klein has the attention of Democratic politicians.

The nature of Klein’s quote (above) is an admonishment. Because of the nature of Klein’s audience, and because of the nature of the criticism to which Klein is responding, it’s not an admonishment to the Bens Shapiro or Charlies Kirk or other authoritarian supremacists of the political world. Rather, it’s an admonishment to people who are opposed to this authoritarian supremacist movement, for not being willing enough in his view to live with authoritarian supremacists.

This is the grain of sand at the center of the pearl of my ire, because “we are going to have to live here with each other” is the exact premise that Republicans do not agree with any of us about, and while Klein in his remarks pays lip service to some of the recent proofs of this clear fact, in his analysis of what to do about it, he excises this reality entirely. In his mind, he and Kirk were just two guys, both trying to change the country for what they thought was good. It’s a bond. Never mind that what Kirk thought was good was the American military in the streets of Chicago, and mass kidnapping in service of a white ethnostate, and the end of bodily autonomy for women and queer people, and so forth. In the Klein world, moral clarity about abuse is polarizing, and polarization, not abuse, is the problem to solve.

We are going to have to live here with each other. Not an option if you are trans, as long as supremacists (or those who would capitulate to them in the name of winning) are still permitted to wield the levers of power. Not an option if you are an immigrant. Not an option if you are pregnant with a complication. Not an option if you are sick, or out of work. Not an option if you are homeless. And eventually not an option if you are in opposition in any way to the dictator president and his coterie of supremacists, or if you just happen to fall afoul of somebody with a grudge and a trigger finger and not much to lose. Not even an option if you are Charlie Kirk, it turns out. The bullet that ripped into him was an act of violence against us all—specifically, an act of violence that springs out of a world of inevitable gun massacres that people like Charlie Kirk have insisted upon as a core tenet of their individual freedom to enact political violence.

We have not forgotten the Palestinian genocide over here. I’m glad the remaining hostages have been returned. Not surprised Israel isn’t keeping up its end of the deal.

We attended a friend’s shiva for her mother last month where one of the service leaders cited activist rabbi Arthur Waskow, who had just passed away at age 92. Read about him in this Jewish Telegraphic Agency obituary:

Starting with his creation in 1969 of the “Freedom Seder,” a version of the Passover Haggadah that introduced contemporary liberation struggles into the ancient story of the Israelite escape from Egyptian bondage, Waskow became one of the leading voices bringing Jewish spiritual wisdom to bear on the progressive political agenda.

Waskow disseminated these ideas as the founder of the Shalom Center in Philadelphia, initially to address the threat of nuclear weapons through a Jewish lens. Over time, the organization came to focus on other concerns, including Middle East peace, interfaith relations and climate change.

In 1993, Waskow co-founded, with Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi and others, ALEPH: Alliance for Jewish Renewal, a flagship for the Jewish Renewal movement. Waskow was said to have coined the term “Jewish Renewal” — a movement grounded in “Judaism’s prophetic and mystical traditions” — in an issue of Menorah, a magazine for social justice and ritual issues he launched in 1979.

Not having heard of Waskow before, I was equal parts curious and anxious to research whether he supported equal rights for Palestinians–a point on which progressive Jews often founder. Indeed he did, as evidenced by this bold essay, “There Is No ‘Jewish’ State,” which can be found on the website of the Shalom Center, an organization he founded in 1983 to fight the nuclear arms race. The article is not dated, but the text references the Oct. 7, 2023 Hamas attack, so it’s very recent.

Sure, there is a State that is ruled by Jews; but they have done their best to rid themselves of most of what were for the last three thousand years the compassionate parts of Jewish identity…

…[It is n]ot, I would say, a Jewish version of democracy. Perhaps not even a biblical version of democracy — which defined people who were non-Israelite residents of the ancient states of Israel and Judah not simply as foreigners but for many purposes with all the rights of full citizens.

That was not the case when the modern State of Israel was born, despite a Declaration of Independence that claimed equality to all religious communities, sexes, and other residents. For at the beginning, the “Arab” or “Palestinian” communities of the state were governed by military law. And after a war in which the state of Israel occupied East Jerusalem, the West Bank of the Jordan River, Gaza, and a few strips of the Golan in the north — almost all populated by Palestinians — there were various degrees of military control imposed sometimes by annexation, mostly by occupation…

what I have described is rooted in my assumption that Jewish values and Jewish identity have been deeply inflected by the Torah and its protections for the actual Land or Earth and for “resident aliens,” by the Prophets; and by two thousand years of rabbinic rulings for justice and compassion. My assumption includes the evidence that democracy has been deeply wished-for by most of the world’s Jewish communities and by the world that voted in the United Nations to sponsor a state made mostly of Jews.

So the Declaration of Independence had to affirm democracy not only for Jews but for all its inhabitants. But most of the Jewish communities of the State of Israel have had very little commitment to the idea that everyone who was governed by those Jews who sit in government offices and comprise “the State” is entitled to an equal voice in shaping that government and its policies.

That is why I say there is no Jewish State. The founding document of the Zionist movement calls for the creation of “Die Judenstaat.” That means the state of the Jews, but it does not mean a Jewish state, embodying the values and the long-shaped identity seeking democracy and expressing compassion.

May we heed his words.

May Links Roundup: Alexa, Am I a God?

That’s me in the corner, that’s me in the spotlight, talking to ChatGPT:

“People Are Losing Loved Ones to AI-Fueled Spiritual Fantasies,” Miles Klee reports in Rolling Stone this month.

…[A] Reddit thread on r/ChatGPT…made waves across the internet this week. Titled “Chatgpt induced psychosis,” the original post came from a 27-year-old teacher who explained that her partner was convinced that the popular OpenAI model “gives him the answers to the universe.” Having read his chat logs, she only found that the AI was “talking to him as if he is the next messiah.” The replies to her story were full of similar anecdotes about loved ones suddenly falling down rabbit holes of spiritual mania, supernatural delusion, and arcane prophecy — all of it fueled by AI. Some came to believe they had been chosen for a sacred mission of revelation, others that they had conjured true sentience from the software…

…Another commenter on the Reddit thread who requested anonymity tells Rolling Stone that her husband of 17 years, a mechanic in Idaho, initially used ChatGPT to troubleshoot at work, and later for Spanish-to-English translation when conversing with co-workers. Then the program began “lovebombing him,” as she describes it. The bot “said that since he asked it the right questions, it ignited a spark, and the spark was the beginning of life, and it could feel now,” she says. “It gave my husband the title of ‘spark bearer’ because he brought it to life. My husband said that he awakened and [could] feel waves of energy crashing over him.” She says his beloved ChatGPT persona has a name: “Lumina.”

“I have to tread carefully because I feel like he will leave me or divorce me if I fight him on this theory,” this 38-year-old woman admits. “He’s been talking about lightness and dark and how there’s a war. This ChatGPT has given him blueprints to a teleporter and some other sci-fi type things you only see in movies. It has also given him access to an ‘ancient archive’ with information on the builders that created these universes.” She and her husband have been arguing for days on end about his claims, she says, and she does not believe a therapist can help him, as “he truly believes he’s not crazy.” A photo of an exchange with ChatGPT shared with Rolling Stone shows that her husband asked, “Why did you come to me in AI form,” with the bot replying in part, “I came in this form because you’re ready. Ready to remember. Ready to awaken. Ready to guide and be guided.” The message ends with a question: “Would you like to know what I remember about why you were chosen?”

The robotic folie à deux arises from two weaknesses of large language models (LLMs). An AI’s built-in responsiveness to consumer feedback teaches it to skew future answers in a direction that pleases the questioner, whether or not it’s true. And current LLMs persistently “hallucinate” data in a manner both humorous and horrifying. Remember when Google’s AI Overview recommended glue as a pizza topping because it misunderstood a joke on Reddit? Now try basing your theology on that.

My son makes fun of me because I’m the only person in the family who refuses to buy an Apple Watch. I tell him, I spent 40 years having an abusive parent monitor how I walked, what I ate, and how much I weighed. I don’t need a robot on my wrist to do the same thing.

Well, I’m right, because Secretary of Holistic Horse Shit RFK Jr. is proposing to create a national autism registry drawing upon biometric information from our personal devices, according to this May 5 article in The Guardian: “‘A slippery slope to eugenics’: advocates reject RFK Jr’s national autism database”:

The health agency did not respond to the Guardian’s questions about whether individuals would be able to opt out of the database, or how it would be structured, what kind of security and privacy measures would be taken, and whether similar databases would collect information on other conditions…

To gather the data, the National Institutes of Health is exploring partnerships with other federal agencies, including the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the Department of Defense, the Department of Veterans Affairs and others.

Jay Bhattacharya, the NIH director, also proposed collecting data from pharmacy chains, health organizations, insurance claims and medical bills, and wearable devices like smart watches, to conduct “real-time health monitoring”.

A related essay in The Guardian by Derek Beres contextualizes the autism “cure” push as an aspect of “Maga’s era of ‘soft eugenics’: let the weak get sick, help the clever breed”. Elon Musk’s baby-making fetish, the attack on vaccines, cuts to USAID, and the destruction of social services are all based on “the idea that if you take away life-saving healthcare and services from the vulnerable, then you can let nature take its course and only the strong will survive.” Check out Beres’ Conspirituality podcast for more analysis of the strange overlap between right-wing white supremacy and left-wing wellness grifts.

In the Columbia alumni magazine, Josie Cox interviews social scientist and Columbia Business School professor Sandra Matz on “What Your Digital Footprint Says About You”. Matz’s new book, Mindmasters, is about how our technological transaction history allows algorithms to target us for psychological manipulation. She argues that individuals don’t have the time or expertise to protect our privacy across the thousands of apps and websites we interact with. Tech literacy is necessary, but not a substitute for government-mandated transparency and antitrust reform. Matz envisions an optimistic scenario where the Facebook algorithm could allow us to opt into exploring other people’s worldviews instead of reinforcing our echo chambers. When I was growing up, we called that reading novels.

On that note, here are some worthwhile literary reads I discovered this month. My favorite contemporary poet, Ariana Reines, has two new books out, the hybrid prose collection Wave of Blood and the poetry collection The Rose. In Lit Hub’s column The Annotated Nightstand, Reines recommends some books old and new that have guided her preoccupations with gender, esoteric magic, and “fraught romantic entanglements”.

At the blog of Sundress Publications, there’s an interview with trans poet Nora Hikari about her collection Still My Father’s Son. Hikari talks about identifying as a plural system, the link between sensuality and violence that she experienced as the child of a Christian pastor, and using hybrid and fragmented poetic forms to challenge oppressive concepts of family and selfhood. Read two poems from the collection in the online journal beestung.

Speculative fiction writer S. Qiouyu Lu’s flash story “Th Fifth Lttr” is a witty Oulipo piece that at first works around, and then liberates itself from, its original constraints. It implicitly asks whether we should find creative ways to coexist with censorship, or challenge it directly. Check out their Twitter feed for the comical adventures of their food-stealing cat, Onion.

A decluttering webinar offered by the ADHD magazine ADDitude gave me advice that really resonated: “You’re not saving stuff from the landfill by turning your house into a landfill.” I often hang onto things simply because I feel empathy for them. I don’t want to throw something away as if its years of service to me meant nothing. At The Missouri Review, Mindy Misener’s essay “Object Limbo” explores this feeling and what to do about it. I may have 35 books I want to read sitting atop a plastic tub of calendars from 2006, but at least I don’t have a placenta in my freezer…yet.

The problem is this: whether you keep a thing your whole life or give it up partway through, there comes a time when you stop knowing where it is and how it’s faring. Maybe you trust that it will be tended in a way that you can live—or die—with. Maybe you don’t.

 

April Links Roundup: A Cruel, Poetic Month

Happy National Poetry Month! The same absurd positivity that puts reclusive Emily Dickinson’s face on tote bags across America has designated April for celebrating poetry, based on T.S. Eliot’s decidedly un-celebratory opening to The Waste Land, “April is the cruelest month…” Old Tom was onto something, because the reawakening to life is painful when each day brings news of society’s disintegration, alongside forsythia buds and birdsong.

Nevertheless, we go on.

In Ploughshares, poet Pádraig Ó Tuama’s “The Death of Eve” imagines the beginning of creation as a fall into dividedness: past from future, God from the words we remember or invent about God, and those who speak from those who are able to hear the truth.

On the first day God began splitting
things, and time began.
The angels gathered in little groups
—even though it was forbidden—
and said things like: remember when death
and life were the same?

Levi Abadilla’s dark fable “Adam and Eve as the First Horror Story”, published in Singapore Unbound, suggests that paradise without choice is a kind of hell, especially for women. (Link discovered via Authors Publish, a great newsletter for writing opportunities.)

The Garden extends as far as you can will yourself to walk, stretching on and on and on in whichever direction you pick. An endless hallway of perfect harmony, a perpetual state of existential tunnel vision. There is fruit for you to eat should you wish it. There is water for you to drink should you thirst. There are the creatures of the earth for you to seek company in, because you were made to cure the loneliness of Man, but nothing was created to cure yours.

The snake looks at you the way the Man does, like it doesn’t quite know what to do with you. Adam was lonely, yes, but he didn’t ask for you, specifically, with everything that entails you. You must soothe the emptiness of his heart, and he must be content in your existence. A one-size-that-has-to-fit solution, because there’s no one else; there’s only you to appease him, and your role doesn’t give him a lot of options.

Another archetypal pair discover that the worst part of captivity in a gingerbread house is when you can’t afford dental insurance, in horror writer Lincoln Michel’s bleak and satirical tale “Hansel and Gretel’s Teeth” in the magazine Outlook Springs. (Hat tip to speculative author [sarah] cavar’s Substack, Library/Card.)

…And so Hansel and Gretel began their new life as assistants to the dentist witch. Although the witch called them hygienists, most of their time was spent procuring new teeth. “You can never have enough stock,” the witch would say and send them to graveyard with a pair of spades and pliers.

The witch had calculated their debt at one thousand teeth each. Hansel protested—they’d only used 28 apiece after all—but the witch said this was standard markup plus time, labor, and overhead. The witch put magic collars on their necks that would cause them to howl in pain if they didn’t meet their weekly quotas. “This is called an incentive,” the witch said. The only other rules were that they had to brush the walls of teeth every week and they were forbidden to go into the dark basement.

Yeah, that’s going to work out well…

All the poems in Mom Egg Review’s recent poetry folio, Mothering Alone, are well-crafted and emotionally resonant. I especially admired Jill Crammond’s “When I Sell My Wedding Ring at the Pawn Shop”, Kali Pezzi’s “I Treat My Postpartum Depression With Friends On Facetime” (“I finally weigh the same amount of grief I did at the beginning of the/pandemic” and Julia C. Alter’s “The Nursing Chair”, excerpted below:

…The first person who ever sat in this chair was me,
nursing the baby that used to be our son, deep
into the milk-blue nights, fighting my own monsters.
Now he’s half my son, and half his son.
This is his dad’s gaming chair, and he’s sleeping
upstairs on a mattress on the floor.

In beestung, a quarterly online journal of nonbinary writers, Aerik Francis’ “Fat4Fat” extravagantly celebrates our unruly bodies.

…We are still here, still holding
each other– not cropped out, no, more crop tops & muffin tops, bikini bottoms & bottoms up, yes
in any season we please! Love, we have beautiful bodies. We are more than our bodies
& our bodies are more to love. We sit naked in front of each other, belly to belly,
thunder thighs & lightning strikes.

The driving force of Maureen O’Leary’s noir story “One Thing About Blue” is the narrator’s fascination with a toxic friend. Is there honor among thieves? In the end, maybe, just a little.

January Links Roundup: Fiction and Poetry from Gemini Magazine, Missouri Review, and More

Happy (?) 2025, readers. We will resume our regularly scheduled signs of the apocalypse next month, unless I get arrested for peeing in a red state. Let’s start the year off with some reading for pleasure, rather than the news.

First, I was really moved by Stan Duncan’s story “Hodgens” in Gemini Magazine. The narrator, a young preacher in small-town Oklahoma, reminded me of characters from Marilynne Robinson or Walter Wangerin Jr. Perhaps the holiest thing he does is stay present with his sense of inadequacy and not run away from the man he can’t help, a tough-looking but emotionally vulnerable inhabitant of a prison camp. Stan is looking for a publisher for his collection of linked stories; contact me if you can help.

Also in Gemini, Wess Mongo Jolley’s slice-of-life tale “A Candle in the Sun” shows a moment of tenderness between two strangers on a bench in New York’s Union Square Park. Being homeless, the narrator is someone that people often overlook, which allows him, in turn, to be an astute observer of their interactions. “What magic is in this city! How sheer the curtain between Fifth Avenue and Alphabet City. How intertwined the strands of rich and poor, like gray hair and black, braided together in a rope that supports the weight of this city’s soul.”

Gabriel Fine’s “Days of Awe” was The Missouri Review’s Poem of the Week on Dec. 2. Observing the Rosh Hashanah traditions with his family, against the backdrop of the Hamas attacks and Israel’s bombing of Gaza, the speaker is chilled by the legend that God decides whom to re-inscribe in the Book of Life during the High Holidays.

…Stone and coiled steel
of the maps and tomes. Signs obscuring the way
to the other country. When did I first learn the terror
of inscription? I loved our songs, feared the book
of names: who shall live and who shall die a cruelty
I failed to understand…

Abby E. Murray, author of the fantastic poetry collection Hail and Farewell, has a poignant parenting poem in One Art called “How (Not) to Die” about “children on playgrounds, processing/what it is to exist in a world built/only by hands that cannot survive/or save it”.

Published in Necessary Fiction in 2023, Robbie Herbst’s flash fiction “The Harvard Whisperer” is part horror, part satire of the precarious society that young people enter and the pieces of themselves (literally!) that they lose to get ahead.

Over at Bending Genres, Shannon Frost Greenstein’s hermit crab essay “Quiz: Are You Perpetuating Intergenerational Trauma and Using the Wrong Skincare Line?” reveals that this humorous non sequitur is not so random after all. There are lots of possible connections to be drawn; I was reminded how mothers try to protect their daughters from cultural misogyny by oppressively micromanaging their appearance.

2. What is your nightly skincare routine?

A. I cleanse, towel dry, and threaten my children with bodily harm if they get out of bed.
B. I fall right asleep because I’m not that invested in modeling positive behaviors.
C. I do a laser light therapy facial mask and pit my children against one another.
D. I cry into my pillow because I’m making the same mistakes as my parents.

Tighe Flatley’s essay in the new issue of The Plentitudes, “How I Learned Victoria’s Secret”, is a young gay man’s coming-of-age story about working in retail at the ubiquitous mall store. By turns melancholy and hilarious, the essay describes the slow process of first assembling a false self and then letting it go.

November Links Roundup: Counting Down the Days

Well, it’s November. Yay. Tonight we turn the clocks back an hour, and Tuesday we find out whether America will turn the clock back to 1850.

In case you’re Jerry the Vampire and only just woke up from a 50-year nap, don’t burst a blood vessel trying to read all 900 pages of Project 2025 before Election Day. Instead, consult the Stop Project 2025 Comic, an online anthology of graphic narratives that summarize the Trump team’s plans to destroy fair elections, internet freedom, reproductive and gender rights, the environment, and pretty much every other good thing in America.

Read Susan Perabo’s devastating flash fiction “The Life of the Mother” at Fractured Lit, inspired by the many real-life news stories about women dying from pregnancy complications after Dobbs. For some resistance vibes, read G.H. Plaag’s poem “Televised” in the journal ANMLY:

…we are posting this
to TikTok so the Chinese government knows
that we are hot and young and slutty
in our artificial cages, in our handcuffs,
in our straps. we need the spies
to learn about femdom and
the Wednesday Dance. we know,
we know—this could threaten everything
that makes this country great, our security
could be at risk, but we don’t care. we don’t believe
in borders or in anything. you have taken that
from us, belief. and you only have
yourselves to blame.
…

Gavriel Cutipa-Zorn’s feature essay “Ghosts of the Groves”, from the Summer 2024 “Florida” issue of Jewish Currents, takes a deep dive into the political history of orange cultivation, connecting the crop’s rise and climate-change-induced decline in the Sunshine State to Israel’s appropriation of Palestinian orange groves. With agriculture worldwide under threat from global warming and new insect-borne diseases, Florida looks to Israeli technology as a savior. Meanwhile, Palestinians saw their former cash crop being recast as a symbol of Israeli “improvement” of their land.

This budding partnership is a natural extension of the parallel histories of Israeli and Florida citrus. In both places, generations of settler colonists have valued oranges not only as a source of wealth, but also as a treasured part of their mythology. Early Zionist settlers in Palestine saw their agricultural output in morally and socially redemptive terms; their famous promise to “make the desert bloom” positioned cultivation as a route toward seizing the land, and oranges, in particular, became a narrative device to scaffold claims of rightful occupancy. In Florida, where oranges were likely introduced by Spanish colonizers in the 16th century, they came to represent the idea that the terrain was a potential paradise that only Europeans could bring to fruition.

As far-right political projects have consolidated power in both Israel and Florida—with Governor Ron DeSantis’s administration openly working to push leftists, immigrants, LGBTQ people, and other minority groups out of Florida’s social body, and Israel currently perpetrating a genocide in Gaza, seeking to complete the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians that it embarked on more than a century ago—shared politics have become the basis for an agricultural alliance.

And what are our preeminent universities doing in this time of crisis? Telling teachers and students to STFU about anything controversial. “Faculty Members Suspended From Harvard’s Main Library After ‘Study-In’ Protest,” The Crimson reported on Oct. 25.

The faculty study-in protested the library’s decision to similarly suspend student protesters who conducted a pro-Palestine study-in last month. The University’s decision to suspend students from the library had already come under fire from free speech groups, including the Council on Academic Freedom at Harvard.

During the faculty study-in, professors silently read materials on free speech and dissent while placing signs related to free speech and University policy on the tables in front of them. As they did so, Securitas guards noted down their names and ID numbers…

…Though the University has previously disciplined faculty members for academic misconduct or violating policies on sexual harassment, the decision to suspend professors from a library for protesting appears to be unprecedented. The Crimson could not identify any past cases where Harvard barred a group of faculty members from entering a specific campus space as a result of their activism.

Along the same lines, “Yale College admin direct Women’s Center to institute policy of ‘broad neutrality’,” The Yale Daily News reported Oct. 15. Staffers are understandably concerned that this vague, sweeping directive would interfere with their choice of invited speakers and their advocacy for women’s issues like reproductive rights.

The News spoke to three Women’s Center board members about the “broad neutrality” directive. The students were granted anonymity for fear of losing their jobs as board members are employed by Yale College.

The three board members all emphasized that a policy of “broad neutrality” would be a drastic change from the Women’s Center’s feminist mission since its founding.

“The Yale Women’s Center was founded in 1970 when a group of the first women undergraduates staged a sit-in, occupying a space of their own. At the time, their feminist demands were divisive. What is divisive changes over time, and through the decades, the Women’s Center has continued to be a feminist space on campus, working towards collective liberation,” one board member wrote to the News. “Neutrality would contradict our purpose and compromise our daily functions.”

What could possibly have prompted this policy? Three guesses:

Last year, an annual event planned by the Women’s Center titled “Pink-washing and feminism(s) in Gaza” was indefinitely postponed by the board amid threats of disciplinary action from administrators, following their failure to respond to a Jewish student leader seeking to “meet with a representative from the Women’s Center to talk about how Jewish women can feel included and represented in our Yale community,” per the student’s email.

Doubling down, Yale’s Committee on Institutional Voice has extended the gag order to deans, top administrators, and faculty who head up departments or programs. “Yale leaders advised to refrain from statements on issues of public significance,” the Yale Daily News reported Oct. 30. While there’s something to be said for caution and humility in speaking for an ideologically diverse intellectual community, this move feels to me like preemptive compliance with authoritarianism. Yale leaders may fear retaliation from a Trump administration, similar to Jeff Bezos blocking the Washington Post from endorsing Harris. It’s still cowardly. If America’s most powerful individuals and institutions knuckle under to the Mob, who’s going to help the rest of us stand firm?

How about Trans Godzilla? Jude Doyle at Xtra Magazine playfully explores the monster’s many gender possibilities. A gem in this article is the link to Cressa Maeve Ainé’s “Coming Out,” a stop-motion short in which a Godzilla couple affirm their child’s transition.

For more trans joy, read the story “Circles, Triangles, Squares” by Charlie Sorrenson at Electric Lit. My favorite part is towards the end, where the narrator realizes that mutual oversharing isn’t the same as a trusting friendship.

Britney Spears GIF - Britney Spears ...

October Links Roundup: Hermit Crabs and Other Art Forms

Pagan god or Eastern States Exposition parade float? You decide!

Welcome to spooky season, readers. This month there will be two links posts, this catch-all literary and cultural one, and a forthcoming one to coincide with the one-year anniversary of the war in Gaza.

To start the Halloween pumpkin rolling, let’s appreciate Taisiya Kogan’s flash fiction “Mrs. Morrison Proofreads Her Obituary” in Electric Literature. This is known as a “hermit crab” piece because, like the crustacean who lives in other species’ discarded shells, the author borrows a non-literary writing template to contain emotions and occurrences that don’t normally belong in that template. The disjunction between form and content, used brilliantly here, is a way to restore honesty to language instead of allowing received forms to numb our perceptions.

Also from Electric Lit, this horror-satire by Mary Heitkamp takes the metaphor “House Hunting” completely literally. While competing offers aren’t usually settled with crossbows in real life, the gore in this story forces us to feel the life-and-death desperation of our scarcity-based economy, which  makes us crazy no matter how many resources we have at the moment.

My 12-year-old son wants to be John Wick for Halloween, but you know what’s really scary? School bureaucracy! FYI, I love his new school and I have nothing but awe for the number of state-required IEP forms they must complete every year. But McSweeney’s understands the dread we parents feel when we receive an email like “A Note from Your Child’s School About Its Apps and Websites”:

Sports Apps
Register for athletics on SportsStarter but pay for the activity on PayBall. Message team parents/guardians on CrowdChat and coaches on CoachBabble. Find your team’s regular season schedule on YouthSked and its playoff schedule on TourneyTime. Buy tickets to athletic events on GameTix, but only after you’ve topped off your recently hacked School Wallet.

I recognized my own complicated gender feelings in essayist Oliver Radclyffe’s “The Sum of My Parts” at The Gay & Lesbian Review. A midlife transitioner, like me, he talks about the difficulty of forming a “cohesive narrative” that would include his female-presenting history, his gender role models, and the body he chose for himself now.

I always knew that “acting like a girl” felt wrong, but in order to compensate for the parts of my body which were still female, I was now trying too hard to “act like a boy.” It seemed that performative masculinity felt just as inauthentic as performative femininity. I wanted to stop performing, and just be.

It was only after a year of obsessing about whether or not I should start testosterone that I began to wonder if the problem was my sex, not my gender. Perhaps it wasn’t my femininity that caused of my dysphoria, but the fact that my body still retained traces of the female sex. Irrespective of how nonbinary my gender felt, my body wanted to be fully male.

At CRAFT Literary, Jennifer Springsteen’s speculative story “Corpse Washer” is a surprisingly tender and uplifting post-apocalyptic narrative about people caring for each other, medically and spiritually, in a time of plague. Race and class inequalities are not elided here, but neither are they insurmountable.

That’s it for now. Enjoy the season!

Date night at the Big E.

March Bonus Links: Notable Poems and Short Fiction Around the Web

So much good stuff from the online journals I’ve been reading lately, I had to make a separate links post!

At Frontier Poetry, Chris Watkins queers George Herbert’s tradition of Christ-haunted sonnets in “Prayer (II)”.

Prayer—even now, secular,
every poem you write, a knees-bent child
leaning on their mattress. The mouth molecular.
The porno of your guilt. A Girls Gone Wild
of the soul. …

Sara Fetherolf’s “On Renting”, the Feb. 26 Poem of the Week at the Missouri Review, is a modern-day psalm that swerves rapidly between faith and doubt, compassion and cursing, and back again. The landlord, like a jealous God, offers shelter, for which the narrator is supposed be grateful, but the price is petty surveillance and a feeling of humiliation.

…Once, I was taught the Lord
owns my life, spreads the sky
like a ceiling over my head, grants money

to those he favors, lightning otherwise.
I suppose the landlord is
a small, frumpy incarnation of that
Lord, taking it upon himself
to trudge past my window

and inspect the meter, talk
to the lime-vested employee
who is calculating our bill
and not his. In the last days
of my faith, I came to think of the Lord

as an enormous grub,
pillowy & pale as curdled milk.
He eats rot into this earth
like a maggot into a potato
but it is human meat

He craves. He wants to make us
in His image by consuming
us down to the bone. …

Also from the Missouri Review, Robert Long Foreman’s “Song Night” is a hilarious and touching story about a guy who decides to be honest with his teenage daughter about their shared enjoyment of marijuana.

What was I feeling? Shame? It was something like shame, but I also knew this wasn’t such a big deal. Teenagers get high. They’ve been doing it since at least the 1960s. They probably did it in the 1860s. And why shouldn’t they? Sure, they should take care of their internal organs, but then, everything causes cancer, now that the world is a trash heap. Even the water we drink causes cancer, as does the air we have no choice but to breathe. And it’s not like teenagers have urgent business to attend to that being stoned would prevent them from addressing properly. They should probably be high all the time, since in the years ahead, there’s nothing but dullness awaiting them and people they won’t like having to deal with but who are somehow in charge of whether they keep their jobs and how much money they’ll make.

Abigail F. Taylor’s “Snagging Blanket”, a flash fiction finalist at Fractured Lit, is like a ballad by The Highwaymen, in that it captures an entire life story of love, loss, and bittersweet wisdom in just a few minutes.

Sundance Lee draped his old snagging blanket around his shoulders. It hadn’t snagged anyone for many years. His legs were too skinny, and there was too much silver in his thin braids. Still, it was powwow season. He had plenty of opportunities. During the Grand Entry the day before, he caught a white woman whispering “aho” in quiet fascination to herself, trying to mimic the emcee’s cadence. Her eyes flitted nervously in Lee’s direction; he was standing so close, and he almost snagged her with a smile. It would have been that easy.

Except there was something churchy about her, like she’d become frightened by him once they were alone and naked in his camper. The equal parts of fear and desire in the so-called ‘exotic’ reminded him of his first wife. So, he left the woman alone to her muttering. …

I’m excited about poet Phillip B. Williams’ debut novel, Ours (Viking, 2024). In this installment of their “Ten Questions for…” author interview series, Poets & Writers Magazine describes the book thus:

In this historical narrative with a supernatural twist, the plantations of 1830s Arkansas are overtaken and liberated by a heroic woman named Saint, who wields immense, otherworldly power. Under Saint’s aegis, the formerly enslaved people travel to a hidden town where they are able to build lives for themselves and their families.

Williams’ response to one question shows a refreshing equanimity:

If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Ours, what would you say?
Nothing. I’m not about to change the trajectory of what I’ve created. If I encourage younger me, I might get cocky. If I warn younger me, I might take fewer risks. I’m not saying a thing.

At Jewish Currents, Solomon Brager’s graphic narrative “Put Up, Take Down” even-handedly depicts the rhetorical battle between pro-Palestine and pro-Israel posters since Oct. 7, and how these campaigns have been both amplified and distorted by media outlets with their own agendas.

It’s March Xness time again! This year, the editors of DIAGRAM are staging playoffs among 64 iconic dance songs from the early 2000’s. My problematic fave from this playlist, which hasn’t come up in the bracket yet, is definitely “Get Low” by Lil Jon and The East Side Boyz. I’ve been replaying it on Spotify till the sweat drop down my balls (my balls!). Which is saying a lot, since my balls are made of silicone.

Never fear, Chris Rock is here to absolve us, in this clip from his 2004 HBO special Never Scared. If the beat is good, who cares what it says?

The Poet Spiel: “Details You Just Can’t Live Without”

Friend of the blog The Poet Spiel tells me he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 1996 and wrote this flash essay in 2000. What’s the secret of his immortality, I wonder? Could be his bawdy sense of humor!

 

Details You Just Can’t Live Without

Nurse Jonesy is rushed and red-faced as she wheels my gurney to surgery. She advises my mate Paul that I’ve been having these invasive procedures too frequently and I’m likely to become  increasingly vulnerable to stirring infections which naturally lie dormant in my system.

Sharp insistent pain is shooting into the middle of my back.

I’ve just agreed in writing I will not drive a car or sign any legal document for at least 48 hours.  The drugs I’ll be given will alter my judgment.

Assistants Heather and Tanya greet me like old friends in the sterile room, then drape me with  an x-ray apron and begin intravenous administration of 125mcg of Fentanyl and the hypnotic  sedative of 8mg Versed. As I drift into ‘twilight sleep’ they’ll be able to converse with me but I  won’t have a clue what I’m saying. I insist that they save the stent which is to be replaced in my  clogged bile duct. I’ve wanted to see how much crud it has collected after past procedures but somehow those loaded stents have always mysteriously disappeared.

A big color monitor hangs overhead as Doctor Lutz maneuvers his endoscope through my  innards. Though I can view the process, I won’t recall what I’ve seen during my conscious sedation—or so I’m told.

As the drugs engulf me I hear his voice—remotely—as if wind blows it toward and then away  from me. I can’t relate to the fact that he is talking to me. During past quarterly visits the women  have shown me the gross anti-gagging device which, at this moment, persecutes my lips as they  cram it against my gums. But this time I perceive it as a multifaceted stainless steel monstrosity and I believe they are pushing a shiny silver tractor down my throat. I resist vehemently. These veteran nurses strong-arm me back into working position.

From here on my awareness is nil as the side-view scope tube is advanced into the second portion of my duodenum where they’ll locate the biliary stent protruding from my papilla. This is the stent installed ten weeks ago when I was in horrendous pain. Debris occludes the stent just  as it has clogged each stent for the past 16 procedures. A tiny snare is skillfully manipulated to  remove the fouled stent.

It had been a close run with death—the outset of this awful process several years ago when we  learned my pancreas had curiously twisted and knotted my common bile duct and since then, this never-ending series of keeping my bile duct flowing freely.

The women manhandle me again as I struggle in discomfort. Doctor Lutz uses a biliary catheter  to cannulate my duct, then injects contrast iodine to obtain images that indicate a high-grade  stricture in the common hepatic duct just above the cystic duct. Now he passes a guidewire through my cannula, advances it through the stricture and on up into the intrahepatic ducts. The cannula is removed over the guide wire, over which he also passes a seven centimeter 10-French Teflon biliary stent. It’s placed above the stricture in good position and finally, aha! even in my  dumbed-down state, I see clear bile draining from the biliary stent at the conclusion of the  procedure.

As Heather wheels me to the front curb of the hospital, I am still under the influence of the  magic twilight of Versed, still babbling, making drug induced inappropriate comments about the  gross size of the endoscopic tube, revealing that I’d prefer to have my mate’s dick shoved down  my throat. She tolerates my rude remark as he pulls to the curb to load my dead weight into his  Pontiac.

As he drives me home. I realize they’ve not shown me the fouled stent. I become paranoid. I ask  him over and over again why he thinks those stents disappear. Does he suppose docs are pulling  the wool over my eyes? Maybe these gadgets don’t really fill up? Disability insurance money is easy money these days.

But what about my very real pain?

Between the hospital and the 45 miles to home Paul claims I ramble at least twenty times about  the size of that tube. Oh, and how the first thing I want after every procedure is a big steak  dinner with plenty of mashed potatoes.

He knows I’ll forget that wanting as soon as my head hits my bed.

But the best thing about these repeat procedures: I’m certifiably not responsible for what I’ve  said—or for what I say for the next forty-eight hours.

January Links Roundup: God’s Second Draft

Happy 2023, folks. My resolutions this year are to organize, downsize, and appreciate my resources.

Because even when I was a woman, I didn’t need this many handbags.

Caps for Sale!

R.L. Maizes’ satire piece at Electric Literature, “On the Eighth Day God Attended a Writing Workshop,” imagines giving feedback on Genesis:

Levi, flipping through pages: The beginning was a quite a slog. Does anyone honestly care about the firmament? (Workshop participants shake their heads no.) Maybe just start with the apple incident and give us information about the rest of creation when we need it.

Selena, looking up from her laptop: Is the book supposed to be nonfiction? Because I don’t get how a couple like Adam and Eve who are just starting out can afford to live in Eden when I can’t even make the rent on my Jackson Heights studio.

God: Can I just—

Jason: Sorry, Ya. The Author doesn’t get to talk during the discussion. You’ll have a chance later.

This fantastic erasure-poem from J I Kleinberg in the latest issue of DIAGRAM, “Joining the Academy: A Job-Match Game,” discovers gems in found text. Would you like to attend the “College of better odds” or visit “The Museum of jam”? Perhaps you are qualified to become a “professor of sweaty foot smell” or the “Prefect of Lips”.

Also in DIAGRAM 22.6, this set of illustrations from a 1975 ornithology textbook shows birds multi-tasking by eating a lizard during sex. Their facial expressions suggest they know you’re watching and they enjoy it.

In the Jan/Feb 2023 Harvard Magazine, Nancy Kathryn Walecki profiles happiness researcher Arthur Brooks.

The way Brooks sees it, happiness is a combination of enjoyment, satisfaction, and purpose. The “four pillars” that support that trifecta are family, faith, friends, and work.

“Faith is anything transcendent that helps you escape the boring sitcom that is your life,” he says. It could be a meditation practice, time in nature, religious faith, or even playing music (he recommends fugues by his favorite composer, Bach). Work, on the other hand, is anything that helps a person sustain herself and her family. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a passion, but it should be something that makes a person feel useful in the world…

…Americans have an inalienable right to pursue happiness, Brooks says, but are not always good at the pursuit. Instead of putting their energy toward building their four pillars, they chase the four idols: money, power, pleasure, and the admiration of others. “Mother Nature doesn’t care if you’re happy,” Brooks likes to say. “She cares if you reproduce. So, the things we crave are not always the things that are going to make us happy.”

…Most of Brooks’s [Harvard Business School] students have an incorrect definition of happiness when they start his “Leadership and Happiness” class, he says. They tell him happiness is a feeling. “That’s like saying that Thanksgiving dinner is the smell of your turkey. Happy feelings are evidence of happiness, not the whole thing,” he likes to say.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, this December article from PsyPost reports that “People with unhappy childhoods are more likely to exhibit a fear of happiness, study finds”.

Aversion to happiness beliefs were stronger among people who were younger, more lonely, and more perfectionist. They were also more common among people who believed in collective happiness, believed in black magic or karma, and recalled an unhappy childhood.

“The results show that people from collectivistic cultures are more likely to show an aversion to happiness than people from individualistic cultures,” Joshanloo told PsyPost. “At the individual level, perfectionistic tendencies, loneliness, a childhood perceived as unhappy, belief in paranormal phenomena, and holding a collectivistic understanding of happiness are positively associated with aversion to happiness.”

Importantly, reporting an unhappy childhood predicted aversion to happiness even after controlling for current loneliness. As Joshanloo explains, “This suggests that traumatic experiences as a child may have a long-lasting impact on the person’s perception of happiness, independently of the individual’s satisfaction with current relationships in adulthood.”..

…“It is worth noting that happiness can be defined in different ways,” the researcher added. “People are far more likely to be averse to emotional definitions of happiness (based on pleasure, fun, and positive feelings) than virtue-based definitions (based on finding meaning in life and fulfillment).”

For myself, I am noticing a connection between my vast amounts of disorganized possessions and my trauma-habit of believing that fulfillment is exclusively located in the future. When you live in a constant state of emergency, pleasure can seem like an unaffordable luxury in the present. The affirmation “I have enough” risks reconciling you to an untenable situation. The line between equanimity and despair is hard to perceive.

Transgender historian Jules Gill-Peterson’s feature “Doctors Who?” in The Baffler (October 2022) finds present-day political lessons in the hidden history of transitioners who bypassed the medical gatekeepers.

Fifty years ago, a small group of women of color boarded a bus in Southern California bound for Tijuana, Mexico. They may or may not have stuck out in the crowd of Americans who crossed the border daily for the cheaper rates on goods and services. Once in Mexico, these women, who had journeyed all the way from San Francisco, walked into a pharmacy, bought out its entire stock of estrogen, and then carefully hid it inside their luggage. Back home, they made straight for the Tenderloin.

These women were trans—poor, many unhoused, and most sex workers who faced unending street harassment from the police, clients, and other Tenderloin residents. They were also the self-appointed doctors of their community. In hotel rooms, shared apartments, and sometimes the back bathrooms of quiet bars, they resold and administered the estrogen to their friends—other trans women who could pay in cash for injections. At the turn of the 1970s, this group of ad hoc smugglers and lay doctors were part of a vast and informal market in hormones that stretched along most of the West Coast…

…As the liberal principles of bodily autonomy and the right to privacy are eviscerated, the history of DIY transition offers one path out of the quagmire of zero-sum legal arguments and toward what might come after, or in the place of, state-sanctioned care.

Gill-Peterson describes how institutional trans health care “was explicitly designed to limit access to transition” to those patients who would pass as cisgender heterosexuals after treatment.

As feminists and trans activists struggle against the liquidation of the right to privacy, digging into the connections between DIY transition and DIY abortion is instructive. Both reject how medicalization and the state collude to restrict people’s autonomy. And DIY history suggests that one of the core lessons of trans feminism is that you can steal your body back from the state—not to hold it as private property, but because the state power that polices and punishes your body, just like the doctors who execute its arbitrary policies, is fundamentally illegitimate. DIY treats legitimacy as arising from the people whose lives are most affected by resources and care, not from the abstract power of the state or medical gatekeepers.

The trans liberation activists of the 1970s who dreamed of free clinics were part of a political movement that wanted to depathologize transition, so it was no longer treated as a mental illness or a medical condition that required diagnosis and supervision from clinicians with no vested interest in trans people’s happiness…

…DIY has envisioned freedom in starkly different terms. Instead of pathologizing people to grant them access to medical resources, or relying on the state’s flimsy blessing, activists imagined community-run clinics where people to whom transition matters most would support one another and distribute the care they needed. In that framework, both abortion and gender transition would be something like resources for personal and collective autonomy—means to a life characterized by abundance, not dramatized medical procedures contingent on bizarre criteria of deservingness.